@Approximation said in #10:
> Beauty is in the marketing, advertisement, packaging, and is the makeup you put over the real product to make it look good.
>
> The truth is, without any of that beauty above, would you even walk into the store, buying a brandless generic tube of toothpaste, without the flashy cardboard around it, without being at the eye level shelf, without television ads describing everything good about it?
>
> The truth is we gravitate towards beauty, the sizzle of advertisement, trusting its truth and marketing on the cardboard box, at the eye level shelf, being a major brand name. (Kind of like the hot girl who always gets hit on, and all she bought was the beautiful cosmetics to draw you towards her).
>
> And, the truth of it is, it works best when they can barely tell she has it on. But, you always get what you pay for. Would she have been hit on as much, without having cosmetics, being undifferentiated among other average beauties to take out on a date?
>
> That goes back to the generic tube of toothpaste, at the store losing out to the brand names, the competition. Would you buy the truth, if it wasn't so beautiful? What if it packaging looked actually harsh? People generally don't buy ugly packaging! That's the truth.
I made a poem just for you this time, a pastiche of the full poem by Keats whomst had ended with the couplet I wrote above. Sorry I can't make it do the indentation to match the original one. I'm bad at formatting the forum posts.
Ode to the Blackpilled
Thou still unlov'd bride of loneliness,
Thou foster-child of rejection and despair,
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express
A woeful tale more bitter than our share:
What painful legend haunts about thy shape
Of failed dates or endless friendzones,
In our bedrooms or the internet?
What men or women are these? What hopeless moans?
What sad pursuit? What struggle to escape?
What porn and memes? What bitter alchemy?
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter; therefore, ye mute screens, play on;
Not to the physical senses, but more absurd,
Play to the spirit of nihilism, the only dawn:
Fair youth, trapped by society's decree,
Thou canst not love, nor ever can those prospects be fair;
Bold Lover, never, never canst thou win,
Though swiping right and left, yet, do not flee;
She cannot love, though thou hast not thy sin,
For ever wilt thou hate, and she be with him.
Ah, sad, sad thoughts! that cannot flee,
Your thoughts, nor ever bid the pain adieu;
And, sad observer, unwearied,
For ever scrolling, for ever blue;
More sad love! more sad, sad love!
For ever cold and still to be endured,
For ever lonely, and for ever old;
All breathing human passion far above,
That leaves a soul high-desperate and ignored,
A heavy heart, and a shattered mold.
Who are these women with Chad by their side?
To what Tinder altar, O mysterious priest,
Lead'st thou that virgin lowing at the skies,
And all her silken hair with smiles drest?
What little hope by virtual screen or online store,
Or basement-built with peaceful wojak dwellings,
Is emptied of all faith, all hope, this day?
And, little psyche, thy dreams for evermore
Will silent be; and not a soul to say
Why thou art desolate, can e'er make way.
O tragic shape! Sad attitude! with ratio
Of blackpills and incel memes overwrought,
With empty promises and the broken ego;
Thou, silent form, dost prove us out of thought
As doth eternity: Cold Reality!
When young age shall this generation fade,
Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woes
Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st,
"Beauty is overrated, truth is misery,
That is all ye know on earth, and all ye need to know."
> Beauty is in the marketing, advertisement, packaging, and is the makeup you put over the real product to make it look good.
>
> The truth is, without any of that beauty above, would you even walk into the store, buying a brandless generic tube of toothpaste, without the flashy cardboard around it, without being at the eye level shelf, without television ads describing everything good about it?
>
> The truth is we gravitate towards beauty, the sizzle of advertisement, trusting its truth and marketing on the cardboard box, at the eye level shelf, being a major brand name. (Kind of like the hot girl who always gets hit on, and all she bought was the beautiful cosmetics to draw you towards her).
>
> And, the truth of it is, it works best when they can barely tell she has it on. But, you always get what you pay for. Would she have been hit on as much, without having cosmetics, being undifferentiated among other average beauties to take out on a date?
>
> That goes back to the generic tube of toothpaste, at the store losing out to the brand names, the competition. Would you buy the truth, if it wasn't so beautiful? What if it packaging looked actually harsh? People generally don't buy ugly packaging! That's the truth.
I made a poem just for you this time, a pastiche of the full poem by Keats whomst had ended with the couplet I wrote above. Sorry I can't make it do the indentation to match the original one. I'm bad at formatting the forum posts.
Ode to the Blackpilled
Thou still unlov'd bride of loneliness,
Thou foster-child of rejection and despair,
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express
A woeful tale more bitter than our share:
What painful legend haunts about thy shape
Of failed dates or endless friendzones,
In our bedrooms or the internet?
What men or women are these? What hopeless moans?
What sad pursuit? What struggle to escape?
What porn and memes? What bitter alchemy?
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
Are sweeter; therefore, ye mute screens, play on;
Not to the physical senses, but more absurd,
Play to the spirit of nihilism, the only dawn:
Fair youth, trapped by society's decree,
Thou canst not love, nor ever can those prospects be fair;
Bold Lover, never, never canst thou win,
Though swiping right and left, yet, do not flee;
She cannot love, though thou hast not thy sin,
For ever wilt thou hate, and she be with him.
Ah, sad, sad thoughts! that cannot flee,
Your thoughts, nor ever bid the pain adieu;
And, sad observer, unwearied,
For ever scrolling, for ever blue;
More sad love! more sad, sad love!
For ever cold and still to be endured,
For ever lonely, and for ever old;
All breathing human passion far above,
That leaves a soul high-desperate and ignored,
A heavy heart, and a shattered mold.
Who are these women with Chad by their side?
To what Tinder altar, O mysterious priest,
Lead'st thou that virgin lowing at the skies,
And all her silken hair with smiles drest?
What little hope by virtual screen or online store,
Or basement-built with peaceful wojak dwellings,
Is emptied of all faith, all hope, this day?
And, little psyche, thy dreams for evermore
Will silent be; and not a soul to say
Why thou art desolate, can e'er make way.
O tragic shape! Sad attitude! with ratio
Of blackpills and incel memes overwrought,
With empty promises and the broken ego;
Thou, silent form, dost prove us out of thought
As doth eternity: Cold Reality!
When young age shall this generation fade,
Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woes
Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st,
"Beauty is overrated, truth is misery,
That is all ye know on earth, and all ye need to know."
