Going toward the next subreddit on my itinerary, knowing that
inevitably the normies would also been there, I found my emotions
swinging between fuming rage and suffocating despair at the indignity of
the degeneration of society, the pessimism of the young men, the loss of
culture and identity and the farce of the political solutions offered.
I came upon a incel cemetery, one of the many online cemeteries created to memorize
the incels lost to roping.
I had seen many pictures and heard many people discuss the cemeteries,
but even knowing about these cemeteries in advance, I was still not
prepared for the sight.
Simple, templated, threads stretching from the forum beside the
subsections, seemingly without end, into the horizon. Their number
uncountable, the representation of their loss unfathomable. I pulled my
Google Chrome over, and sat, staring at these threads and contemplating how it
was that despite these mens sacrifice, despite their bravery,
we had still fallen so far. I broke into tears, sobbing alone in the seat,
staring at the threads, at the forgotten dead.
Why were we allowing these incels deaths to be in vain? Why were we
allowing the normies to degenerate us? Overcome us? Without a single shitpost fired in response?
WHY WON’T SOMEBODY DO SOMETHING?
In front of those endless threads, in front of those dead incels lost in
forgotten bullying, my despair turned to shame,my shame to guilt,my guilt to
anger and my anger to rage.
WHY WON’T SOMEBODY DO SOMETHING?
WHY WON’T SOMEBODY DO SOMETHING?
WHY DON’T I DO SOMETHING?
The spell broke, why don’t I do something?
Why not me?
If not me, then who?
Why them when I could do it myself?
It was there I decided to do something, it was there I decided to take
action, to commit to shitposting.To commit to drawing.
To take the propaganda to the normies myself.
inevitably the normies would also been there, I found my emotions
swinging between fuming rage and suffocating despair at the indignity of
the degeneration of society, the pessimism of the young men, the loss of
culture and identity and the farce of the political solutions offered.
I came upon a incel cemetery, one of the many online cemeteries created to memorize
the incels lost to roping.
I had seen many pictures and heard many people discuss the cemeteries,
but even knowing about these cemeteries in advance, I was still not
prepared for the sight.
Simple, templated, threads stretching from the forum beside the
subsections, seemingly without end, into the horizon. Their number
uncountable, the representation of their loss unfathomable. I pulled my
Google Chrome over, and sat, staring at these threads and contemplating how it
was that despite these mens sacrifice, despite their bravery,
we had still fallen so far. I broke into tears, sobbing alone in the seat,
staring at the threads, at the forgotten dead.
Why were we allowing these incels deaths to be in vain? Why were we
allowing the normies to degenerate us? Overcome us? Without a single shitpost fired in response?
WHY WON’T SOMEBODY DO SOMETHING?
In front of those endless threads, in front of those dead incels lost in
forgotten bullying, my despair turned to shame,my shame to guilt,my guilt to
anger and my anger to rage.
WHY WON’T SOMEBODY DO SOMETHING?
WHY WON’T SOMEBODY DO SOMETHING?
WHY DON’T I DO SOMETHING?
The spell broke, why don’t I do something?
Why not me?
If not me, then who?
Why them when I could do it myself?
It was there I decided to do something, it was there I decided to take
action, to commit to shitposting.To commit to drawing.
To take the propaganda to the normies myself.
