I think there is such a thing as being blackpilled, but still wanting to be a player in the game - or having professional boundaries that make it to where your thoughts rarely drift to the real discomforts. The knowing that all of your peers, even your family, the woman you love, your family, your friends, they would all drop you in a heartbeat if they heard the real truth of what you really think.

Your life would be destroyed so what you really think hardly ever makes it past the cognitive barriers of what allows you to justify staying afloat in this veritable hellscape relatively unmolested and employable, but again these pervasive thoughts are still there chewing at your psyche, so you settle for the next best thing wherein you hope that by fixing young men they might come to their own conclusions; all the better they hate you in the end because you hate yourself for being so weak. You get addicted to benzos and shut off until the narrative moves forward, and you let a little more slip. Hoping, dreaming of the day that you can finally be free of being utterly tongue-tied and hopelessly cuck-caged. I think there are a lot of people exactly like this.

I think people should pay attention to him with maybe a bit of a queer eye, but we often try to make heroes of people who even so much as wink at the "alt-right". As a result you have people who are very disappointed in any attempt at self-preservation or having pieces on the board. You'd think by now hero worship would be dead, but for some reason that optimism still exists. I think the pessimism is equally unwarranted.

There are no more heroes, simply, players in the game.