As reported previously, alleged cult leader Keith Raniere – now in federal custody – and actress Allison Mack – founded a secretive women’s group called DOS [Dominus Obsequious Sororium or Master over Slave Women].
The women in DOS were branded on their pubic region with the initials K-R-A-M. [initials of Raniere and Mack] with a cauterizing pen. DOS offered its exclusively female membership instructions on the teachings of Raniere. Diet plays a vital role.
The presence of excess fat can disturb transmission of Raniere’s subtle energies to women, he said. He required female students to be slender. He offered instructions on overcoming bodily urges and “emotional viscera” toward food. DOS women were placed on three diets, separated by daily caloric intake: 500,[advanced] 800 [standard] 900 [women who had defiance issues].
Mack enforces dietary compliance and is on the 800 calorie diet. She developed bulimia. Other women lost hair and stopped having menstrual cycles – despite being in their 20s. Raniere explained this is part of “evolutionary growth.”
The ‘Raniere-Mack Diet’ consists of several spoonfuls of plain yogurt and fruit in the morning. Lunch and dinner consist of plain squash, kale, cucumber, or zucchini, and a bite of Kimchi. A favorite of slaves is shirataki noodles [10 calories per 4-ounce serving.] Beverages consist of lemon water with stevia, probiotics and Zevias, a calorie free sparkling water. For desert, several pieces of sugarless gum.
Raniere and Mack instruct DOS slaves to periodically fast on a beverage of water, maple syrup, cayenne pepper and lemon juice which they call the “Master Cleanse.”
Raniere, who teaches he is beyond the need for dietary restrictions, was a vegetarian, who ate meat on occasion. Since he is in prison, he is reportedly eating something that appears to be meat and indeed may have some meat or meat byproducts in it and goes by the name of the meat it is supposed to closely represent [i.e. bologna].
Raniere taught Mack and their slaves that his physical body is “a manifestation of universal cause and effect” and that women are “a physical embodiment of his own body.”
Barbara Bouchey, who defected from Raniere in 2009, testified in a lawsuit that Raniere teaches women that he develops an intense, supernatural closeness with them. The connection is so deep that, if a female student takes drugs or alcohol, eats meat or fish, it can have a “negative reaction”, which could take his “life force” and “rob him of years of his life.”
In addition to diet, Raniere’s slaves are instructed to sleep little. Raniere said he dispensed with the need for sleep; slaves are required to ask permission to go to sleep and awaken at the call of Raniere or Mack – which may come by text. Failure to comply comes with vigorous paddling on bare buttocks.
How much sleep Raniere enjoyed prior to his sojourn in prison was a matter of some conjecture. He was indeed awake all night since he did most of his teaching during the night and early morning. During the day he was generally unavailable. Several women who left Raniere claimed he slept most of the day. Raniere had these women sued and tried to get them convicted on various criminal charges.
Mack said the reason Raniere is unavailable during the day is he is in “deep transcendental communion with cosmic realities.”
Mack told her slaves the reason they are only allowed to sleep three to four hours per night is to teach them to be in “alignment with their inner representations” of Raniere.
Raniere, now in prison, must remain locked in his cell by night and only during the day can he go to his cell block. It is not clear how this change of his longstanding routine will effect his subtle energies.
When he was free – Raniere often selected a female student to accompany him to his “library” – which was described in the Albany Times Union as his ‘sex lair’. Kathy Russell – a 59 year old who he taught to be his slave years ago, and an aspiring ballerina – was assigned the task of cleaning the sheets for the bed and sanitizing the hot tub after such instructions of various women occurred.
When he was still free, it was not uncommon for slaves to look out their windows to see if Raniere was strolling by and with whom. Mack was heard to anxiously inquire of her own slaves if any had seen Raniere, after he absented himself from her for a week. Mack, in order to capture more of Raniere’s time and attention, helped Raniere, 57, get younger women. Mack – 34 – had aged out of Raniere’s first preference for slave harem. She volunteered to bring him younger women.
Raniere realizing that he was not as able to seduce younger women as once he could decided that Mack’s abilities to recruit plus blackmail and branding could work with young aspiring actresses – who he felt make the best slaves.
Before he went to prison, Raniere allowed himself to be viewed by his slaves and prospective slaves [by invitation only] when he played late night volleyball at Hayner’s Sports Barn in Half Moon, which was rented after hours for his enjoyment.
With Raniere in prison, only Allison Mack remains to keep slaves slender and obedient — awaiting the day when they will be reunited as his slaves when Raniere is released from prison.
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Such grotesque degenerates. Perverts, really quite simple, there is nothing going on here but sexual perversion, end of story. Vantard likes his women as adolescent girls, with no secondary sex characteristics, no periods, no vitality, no brains. If he kept them on a concentration camp diet and sleep deprived, they would not only fit his true desire for pre-teen girls but also be too weak and deranged to run away. A cult of perversion, nothing more, and now they are all going to prison for the rest of their lives.
These monumental dunces have accomplished exactly zero with all this time, money, and human life wasted on self-indulgent perversity, preposterous delusional self-importance, and nonsense ideology, if there is anything coherent enough to be called an ideology. From the documents I have seen produced by this short, chubby, hairy slob, he is barely coherent enough to put a thought together that wasn’t plagiarized from another source, much less come up with anything original on his own that would ever be of any value. And he thought he was a genius, hilariously grandiose if it weren’t so tragic. This pretentious loser produced nothing of any value in his entire life, he was only a taker, a user.
The lives of the many women who came into his sweaty orbit were wasted as well. They blew through years that should have been and could have been spent building their own lives, families, careers, having children, producing something of value, doing things in the service of others, for their communities, for individuals, for themselves. Enjoying and then taking care of their parents as they aged instead of cutting them out of their lives, as every cult demands. Just simply living their own lives and lifestyles, in the pursuit of contentedness and love and some fun, as most people manage create as best they can for themselves–that one shot at life was instead wasted catering to the needs of a mediocre lazy aging schlub. Which then descended into isolation, perversity, brutality, exploitation, criminality, and finally madness.
Anyone passing this turd on the street wouldn’t even notice him much less imagine escaping their adult lives and responsibilities, running away from facing the duty to manage their own lives, instead turning their autonomy over to this misogynist whose own life was centered entirely around his dick. Perhaps they might note his 1970s feathered hairstyle and Manson-esque facial hair, as if he were frozen in time, stumbling off the set of Welcome Back Kotter, minus the charm. Honestly he looks like he walked out of an earth shoe advertisement, like he should be surrounded by ferns, macrame wall hangings, some John Denver albums, reclining on a corduroy couch, wondering if his chest hair resembles Burt Reynolds, some pot seeds stuck to his beard. All that’s missing are the obligatory serial-killer aviator frames. Throw in a Pet Rock, some faded paperbacks of titles like I’m OK You’re OK, Passages, the Joy of Sex (cringe), and a used copy of Diuretics by Elron Blubbard, and the picture would be complete. A dingy unattractive grad student circa 1976, except he never was a grad student, now was he, too much of a lazy poseur to even achieve a master’s degree, too busy sleeping all day and conniving physically sick spinster cat-ladies in waiting out of their money.
There is nothing here, there is no there, there. Just an empty t-shirt, empty bank accounts, and a group of implausibly credulous lonely desperate women with empty heads. Delightful however is the notion of this throwback incarcerated in a Brooklyn jail, surrounded by bangers, gangstas, pimps, the hardest of the hardcore, Gangster Disciples and MS13, Bloods and True Bosses Only, from Albania, Russia, Dominicans and Trinidadians, from Marcy, Ingersoll, Tilden, Brownsville, Bushwick, Bed-Stuy. Then there’s wee Keith Raniere, soft and molly-coddled, having been surrounded by crazy bitches for decades, used to having his every whim indulged, never having to lift a fat hairy finger, lounging all day and screwing and yacking all night, oh to be a roach on the cinderblock wall, to witness what happens the first time he is challenged in a deadly game of male dominance, face to face, with no lawyers and rich girls to fight his battles for him.