Deleted member 20056
Specialist in Incel Psychology
-
- Joined
- Jul 25, 2019
- Posts
- 691
Once a travelling sage nearing the end of his journey posed a question to an incel who was often seen at night in a cemetery: "is the blackpill not dissimilar to the raven? An omen of death, summoned forth and enticed by a little whiff of carrion? Isn’t it true the breeze must bring with it foul air before its arrival and not after?” “That is not so” the incel protested. “It is this very augur that should cease my wandering so I may lie down in my grave before it is my time, and before my headstone has been inscribed. It is only then, after a visit from the raven, does a fetid stench make itself known. “But what of its beckoning? The sage asked. “Does he not first come to nourish his belly and soothe his hunger? If not, then why can ravens be seen circling overhead when a traveller feels his feet heavy and his breath becomes short? “Nonsense” the incel scolded. “ And I will speak of it no more!”
For the incel, his suffering is defined by its involuntary nature. He did not choose to remain a despised virgin into old age, and he would rather not be. He is cursed with impotence, lack of strength, a sickly constitution, and above all: frustrated agency. This thwarting of his will and the subsequent deprivations that follow are the cause of his suffering. If this were not the case, he would be volcel and very much happier. Many incel scholars agree that you could remain an incel all-the-while visiting a prostitute regularly. For it is not the lack of sex which defines an incel, but rather a lack of ability to be chosen or accepted for sex.
It is believed among many incels that upon the ingestion of the blackpill one receives a revelation, and as such he can no longer summon the will to strive now the hopelessness of life has been revealed. Indeed, it is the case the blackpill reveals many truths. Though we incels, who on this occasion, give ourselves out as truth-seekers, ought to examine the object of our own inquiry. Is it not the case that we incels hide ourselves away from others, and indeed, from life? Isn’t it true that we do not want our faces burned by the bareness of the sun, and that we would rather the sweet song of the siren than her sharp talons? Why then, you may rightly ask, does the incel embrace the truth of blackpills, sampling them and even greedily gobbling them up as though he delights in their taste?
In the very term “blackpill” the explanation can be found. It is, in essence, a medicine. In fashioning his futility into an articulate form he makes it canonical. The incel, in an act of self-anesthetization, soothes his frustrated will by giving it rest. “You need not act, for it is hopeless no matter what you do! It is best to lay down and rot!” This is how he comforts and assures himself with the mother of all copes: the blackpill.
For the incel, his suffering is defined by its involuntary nature. He did not choose to remain a despised virgin into old age, and he would rather not be. He is cursed with impotence, lack of strength, a sickly constitution, and above all: frustrated agency. This thwarting of his will and the subsequent deprivations that follow are the cause of his suffering. If this were not the case, he would be volcel and very much happier. Many incel scholars agree that you could remain an incel all-the-while visiting a prostitute regularly. For it is not the lack of sex which defines an incel, but rather a lack of ability to be chosen or accepted for sex.
It is believed among many incels that upon the ingestion of the blackpill one receives a revelation, and as such he can no longer summon the will to strive now the hopelessness of life has been revealed. Indeed, it is the case the blackpill reveals many truths. Though we incels, who on this occasion, give ourselves out as truth-seekers, ought to examine the object of our own inquiry. Is it not the case that we incels hide ourselves away from others, and indeed, from life? Isn’t it true that we do not want our faces burned by the bareness of the sun, and that we would rather the sweet song of the siren than her sharp talons? Why then, you may rightly ask, does the incel embrace the truth of blackpills, sampling them and even greedily gobbling them up as though he delights in their taste?
In the very term “blackpill” the explanation can be found. It is, in essence, a medicine. In fashioning his futility into an articulate form he makes it canonical. The incel, in an act of self-anesthetization, soothes his frustrated will by giving it rest. “You need not act, for it is hopeless no matter what you do! It is best to lay down and rot!” This is how he comforts and assures himself with the mother of all copes: the blackpill.