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- May 19, 2026
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- 244
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- #1
There was a season in my youth, beneath the cold lamps of the university halls, when I walked as one exiled from the normielands. I had cast away the copes of my childhood seeking knowledge in academia, yet found instead a world full of maya stone facemasks.
It was at that time I was reading "red pill" on digital forums and told of the masks I had to wear while among the normies.
And I, being lonely and bitter, listened.
At the gates of university there stood the normie smokers, bunch of little circle-jerks and they looked like soldiers do the talk at the fire. I noticed all their rhythm, and the pause of hand and also idle speech and they way they positioned their feet.
Since all ideas at the same time entered in my mind, in that moment I thought they were a secret order of templars into which every other ordinary person had been initiated and I didnt belong to them.
So in the twentieth year of my life, though many boys begin such folly in childhood, I went and purchased my first pack of cigarettes. Shame walked beside me. I remember standing before a mirror like a poor actor copypasting the gestures of another man. I practiced poses.
The smoke burned my throat. I coughed until tears came, and the taste was bitter, one time almost puked it tastes all like shit, tastes like normie spirit. I wondered then why anyone endured such misery willingly. Life sucks.
Yet pride is a stubborn servant of despair.
For several nights I persisted, pacing before the mirror while my roommate laughed at my theatrics. I spoke loudly, half was true half was me trying to be a clown, declaring that I was "training to lead the normies". But honestly I dont remember what I said precisely, I must have repeated some redpill mantra. I done that BS as if by mastering their customs I might finally breach the walls that separated me from the living world. I didnt believe it would work, but it magically did.
When came the day of trial. I stepped into the gathering at the university entrance. I carried the ciggies like one of them. And suddenly the invisible barrier opened. Conversation came. A foid one day asked a lighter and I had one. Another offered tobacco and I knew how to roll it to perfection. I learned also the marijuana normie rituals, executed flawlessly.
In that moment I felt I had discovered some hidden mechanism beneath society itself. Not through theories, nor through the bullshit redpill of the internet, but simply through daring to step forward. Gave me also power, and confidence in myself, awareness. I was able to correctly analyze the normie. Im not crazy I thought, all of this is working, had all of a sudden gained access to foids and their circle jerk romantics and assorted BS.
Yet all bargains with false belonging demand tribute.
Soon I no longer smoked to belong; I belonged so that I might smoke. I chased stronger tobacco, had ciggie favorites like Camel without filters, sobranie black, the imports from england. My body bent beneath the burden. Breath shortened. Skin faded. Clothes and fingers carried the shit stench smell. Breath sucks. Became a serf.
The conformity I sought had granted me no salvation. Not love. Not peace. Not even friendship worthy of the name. No pussy. No nothing. Beneath all of this remained the same contempt for normies, but I added more now I also hated myself. So I learned its not for me, and I can wear that mask to belong but will hate myself for having done it.
So I cast cigarettes aside.
And once I tried again to return to them, simply because I was doing another pointless marijuana ritual. But I coughed as though I had never smoked before. My lungs had forgotten the poison. What once seemed mastery of the normieland now makes me think I never achieved anything. Im at the same level of a beginner now.
My personal lesson is that Im not going to be doomed by inceldom, im not going to be saved by normies. Whats tragic is when you abandon your own nature, and stop doing hentai porn to escape a cope you had in your mind. So I loo back at that younger self, and I dont hate nor I feel any pride, except I think all was very funny and my roommate had fun.
It was at that time I was reading "red pill" on digital forums and told of the masks I had to wear while among the normies.
And I, being lonely and bitter, listened.
At the gates of university there stood the normie smokers, bunch of little circle-jerks and they looked like soldiers do the talk at the fire. I noticed all their rhythm, and the pause of hand and also idle speech and they way they positioned their feet.
Since all ideas at the same time entered in my mind, in that moment I thought they were a secret order of templars into which every other ordinary person had been initiated and I didnt belong to them.
So in the twentieth year of my life, though many boys begin such folly in childhood, I went and purchased my first pack of cigarettes. Shame walked beside me. I remember standing before a mirror like a poor actor copypasting the gestures of another man. I practiced poses.
The smoke burned my throat. I coughed until tears came, and the taste was bitter, one time almost puked it tastes all like shit, tastes like normie spirit. I wondered then why anyone endured such misery willingly. Life sucks.
Yet pride is a stubborn servant of despair.
For several nights I persisted, pacing before the mirror while my roommate laughed at my theatrics. I spoke loudly, half was true half was me trying to be a clown, declaring that I was "training to lead the normies". But honestly I dont remember what I said precisely, I must have repeated some redpill mantra. I done that BS as if by mastering their customs I might finally breach the walls that separated me from the living world. I didnt believe it would work, but it magically did.
When came the day of trial. I stepped into the gathering at the university entrance. I carried the ciggies like one of them. And suddenly the invisible barrier opened. Conversation came. A foid one day asked a lighter and I had one. Another offered tobacco and I knew how to roll it to perfection. I learned also the marijuana normie rituals, executed flawlessly.
In that moment I felt I had discovered some hidden mechanism beneath society itself. Not through theories, nor through the bullshit redpill of the internet, but simply through daring to step forward. Gave me also power, and confidence in myself, awareness. I was able to correctly analyze the normie. Im not crazy I thought, all of this is working, had all of a sudden gained access to foids and their circle jerk romantics and assorted BS.
Yet all bargains with false belonging demand tribute.
Soon I no longer smoked to belong; I belonged so that I might smoke. I chased stronger tobacco, had ciggie favorites like Camel without filters, sobranie black, the imports from england. My body bent beneath the burden. Breath shortened. Skin faded. Clothes and fingers carried the shit stench smell. Breath sucks. Became a serf.
The conformity I sought had granted me no salvation. Not love. Not peace. Not even friendship worthy of the name. No pussy. No nothing. Beneath all of this remained the same contempt for normies, but I added more now I also hated myself. So I learned its not for me, and I can wear that mask to belong but will hate myself for having done it.
So I cast cigarettes aside.
And once I tried again to return to them, simply because I was doing another pointless marijuana ritual. But I coughed as though I had never smoked before. My lungs had forgotten the poison. What once seemed mastery of the normieland now makes me think I never achieved anything. Im at the same level of a beginner now.
My personal lesson is that Im not going to be doomed by inceldom, im not going to be saved by normies. Whats tragic is when you abandon your own nature, and stop doing hentai porn to escape a cope you had in your mind. So I loo back at that younger self, and I dont hate nor I feel any pride, except I think all was very funny and my roommate had fun.
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