Glancing down at N yestersay, I saw a rare glimpse of her character without her mask on. Pure cunning maleavolence. Spooky.  As soon as she realized there was attention on her she snapped on her puppy dog eyes.

Yesterday I had accused her of not having an identity that could utter even one sentence from an “I’m OK, you’re OK” stance.” She can speak in narratives that are not passive aggressive, but if she’s forced into a direct person to person communication where recognizing other’s feelings and her own is implicit, she simply doesn’t have the wiring to utter even one sentence – not one – that is not passive aggressive.

A picture would tell the tale better, so I plugged “evil brooding girl face” into google images.  No search terms could come up with that unguarded moment.  And it’s not a face even a good actor could put on.

So I had to include artists and actors interpretations.  Not close, but less far.




And here is one that could represent the emptiness inside cluster-B girls. They have a shell for a core, that to them is unlovable, and therefore can not give love. The self esteem is so low that they can’t esteem others. The way cluster-B’s give love is to yearn for affection and attention, while idealizing the other. The same as how social conservatives love – they don’t love the actual person, they love the rules that the person is supposed to follow.

Many cluster-Bs rage when their rules are not followed,.

The aggressive ones are a hornets nest, with their troops ever vigilant circling around the nest and out into the forest, little hornet eyebrows furrowed as they scour for signs of any eggshells that have been stepped on.

However there are cluster-B’s who are expert at avoiding radar. The passive agressive Bs.

Cluster-Bs can’t develop an identity because of extreme heightened anxiety that happens when being interpersonal – anxiety over being abandoned, or seen to be insufficient.  So they develop and live in a mask.  They can’t take their mask off and relax and be themselves, because they don’t have one.  I know many people can’t imagine the reality of this, but it is the reality of this.  Cluster-Bs don’t have a self – they have masks with nothing behind the masks, other than an undifferentiated mess of fear and hollowness.

I’ve been pushing N for years – ever since I met her when she was at the tail end of her 17th year – to go to school or take classes or put herself into any social environments where she’d be forced to interact and be social.  So that she could grow her social muscles.

Now I realize that she’s not going to be able to develop a self without being on meds.  She needs to cut down the anxiety before she’ll be relaxed enough to have a self.  People with extremely low self esteem can’t even get close to having a self – it’s just too painful – a self can be judged lacking.  All they know, and all they are comfortable with, are masks.

Which could be fine if the mask was a persona that mimicked closely enough a self.  But for cluster B’s the masks are no such mimicry – they are a cruel and twisted agenda, with the purpose to undermine everyone else’s comfort in their own skin.  To make everyone else feel as hollow and ungrounded and hopeless and anxious and on edge as they do – as they always do, every moment.  Through this sadism their feelings of low self worth and anxiety are turned, in brief injections, into the thrill of power.

Revenge is their version of intimacy.


Nobody else is going to say it, so I’ll have to say it myself.  There was a time when RoissyinDC was the peerless writer in the men’s game movement.  It was shocking the level of insight as poetry that paragraph after post consistently maintained.  Whoever is writing now is a not a good writer, and I’m much better.

My theory is that the orignal Roissy was a composite of a writer and editor, and all that remains today is the editor.  I had posted that theory in the comments section, years ago in the form that the writer of the political posts was purely the editor, and it got deleted.  “Shitlib/Cucks”?   That’s not the mind of a lover of women master theoretician with advanced theory of mind skills.  That’s the mind of an in-group out-group freak preaching on high to a cultivated in-group of suck-ups.  No one but a suck up could make it through a post strewn with so much jargon garbage.
D said:

I looked up Roissy’s old blog using google and the waybackmachine (internet archive.). I share your opinion on the dead poet. But I expect that you will find that the current author inhabits the aged body of the young poet. There are some themes and writing quirks that run throughout. I don’t wonder that decades of couplings with an unending stream of courtesans, amateur (as in un paid) porn stars, and actresses of all sorts can lead to a sort of coarsening of a man’s nature. It certainly has coarsened my own. Roosh calls it the black pill – the desire to tear it all down.

Yes, there are threads in his writing that continue unbroken, which is why my theory is that the original writer was a duo. The original writer admited as much – he said that he did work with an editor – that his writing was not a solo effort. It’s in one of his posts, somewhere.

So either the editor, or the poet, from the duo, is gone. But that the original writer was a duo is what the original itself claimed. I don’t know why I’m the only one who seemed to notice him saying that – it’s right in one of his posts, talking openly about how it’s common for writers to use editors, and how good writing is basically impossible without an editor, and how he uses one.

Many people have seen the quality decline and assumed, partly correctly, that the writer is now a different person. Forgetting that the writer already admitted that he was a duo.

If it’s the editor who is gone, and the poet-seducer who remains, and the poet became corrupted by the black pill, it’s a corruption deeper than I can understand. I’ve often wondered if some substance abuse would be required for a corruption that deep. Meth?