Very good question. What could possibly compel normal person who has enjoyed the pleasures the vast majority of people take for granted to pretend, if only for a moment, to belong to the tribe of monsters for whom such joys are impossibilities? Who, having been born promised to the light the moment he took his breath waste a single of his subsequent ones choking in the darkness reserved for things like us?
I'll concede there'll be the opportunists who, for whatever reason, aspire to defame us by flying our banner while uttering the most reprehensible things possible. Perhaps they have some Youtube channel they're attempting to promote. A handful of silver coins makes betraying one's fellow man surprisingly easy, and such an act of treachery becomes infinitely easier to justify when the brother one is betraying is repulsive and would have been despised regardless. The ugly have always been hated, haven't they? If some deformed dwarf can be exploited for the laughter of the masses, well, perhaps his ugliness has served some greater purpose after all, hasn't it? The repulsive creature would have died unloved and miserable regardless of whether it was subjected to mockery. So if others can derive just a little bit of joy from that pain, the greater good has been served and the disgusting jester is ultimately no worse for it. The cosmos is good and its Creator kind; the latter wouldn't have permitted the tears of His monsters to pollute the former were it not for the fact they provided His actual children, the well-formed who embody the beauty of His perfect design, so much laughter.
Having said that, the carnival barkers who trespass the world of freaks and outcasts for the sake of conscripting deformed clowns for their sordid shows are in the minority. Women pretend to be men for the sake of participating in forums such as this and throw tantrums when they're discovered and cast out. Handsome men write posts describing fictional deformities hoping to ingratiate themselves to proper monsters. Living men harrow Hell, smear their faces with its soot, and wail louder than the damned they've attempted to impersonate when their masquerade is discovered and they're exiled from Gehenna and driven back into the Garden.
Mystifying, isn't it? Well, perhaps not.
Halloween is nearly upon us. What a strange tradition! Little girls with their entire lives before them dress like decrepit old hags, paint their faces with the green of foxfire and rot and, for one night, take a break from praying to God and his angels for the sake of pretending to be the Devil's whores. Boys who've taken nothing more than a couple of cautious steps toward the path leading to adulthood dress like zombies: things who've already exhausted their allotted time and whose only remaining claim to life is a grotesque, rotting caricature of it.
Days are growing shorter and nights longer. November's cold chains have bound the romantic glow of summer twilight and dragged it beneath the horizon to drown in a frigid gunmetal sea. The warmth and light that serve as the glory of the young are surrendering their place to the cold and darkness promised to the old, decrepit and despised. The monster under the bed is real and eventually every man, regardless of how lovely, will fall prey to it because he will inevitably become it. What solace will the grandfather's progeny be when said offspring commend him to some sanitarium to die alone, when all of his spawn regard him with resentment and horror? He may have some morphia-soaked dream recalling the embrace he shared with an attractive woman half a century ago, only to wake in some shit-stained bed to his own screams as disease consumes his body.
Some people pretend to be incels because they can't help but recognize that we were born speaking the Language of the Dead and frantically hope to learn a couple of words of it before joining the ranks of the Living Dead themselves. We proper abominations will never know what it feels like to be kissed, to be embraced, to see a woman smile at us authentically but, unlike the vast majority, we've spent our entire lives acclimating ourselves to the emptiness between the stars that pretend to illumine the freezing winter sky.
Nature may have refused us permission to live us as most people do but, as a tiny compensation, uniquely prepared us to die as all people inevitably will: alone.
