Normies and Wizards

I'M NOT FUCKING LEAVING! THE SHOW GOES ON!

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When I told my closest friends I was going to live in a van, and make a living writing a book about cheating on my girlfriend, they all cheered me on.

Everyone could tell I knew what I was doing, that this was the life for me, that I always belonged outside our normal societal structures, or they could just see in my eyes and hear in my voice that I was resolute in my decision, and there was nothing they could do to stop me. 

Except one person. There is one who doubted me. One who thought I was “going crazy,” one who doesn’t support me, one who will never understand.

My older sister, Aria. 

I truly hate to say it, but my older sister is a Normie.

She is a spiritual conservative but votes blue because she lived in blue states. She deep down wants kids but won’t admit it because she’s not sure if her middle aged Boyfriend Mark wants kids too.

Sigh…

There are Normies and there are Wizards.

I can’t manage to enjoy talking to most people because they are Normies and they don’t understand.

They can’t see past what is, to what could be.

They can’t imagine betting on themselves like I have.

They would call me arrogant or delusional if I spoke my truth, they would call me a Bad Person, they would conjure up therapy-speak like “Narcissist,” they would make up their mind about me so fast but they would change their tune as soon as my work became “successful,” as soon as I was a “published author” or some fake bullshit like that, then they would “understand” and suddenly become very interested in How I Did It, and What’s Next…

Kill yourselves, you dreadful faggots, all of you. Go back to watching Netflix, playing mobile games, wearing designer clothes and working your dead end made-up slave jobs until you get replaced by my best friend Claude.

Pay hundreds and thousands of dollars for your scam-tier useless degrees and pay $29.99/month for LinkedIn premium and lease a brand new Hyundai Sonata. Collect your I Voted sticker and sit in traffic and worship celebrities and don’t forget to buy the new iPhone 19 Plus.

Consume, consume, consume, judge and hate and drink yourself to death every weekend and scroll through your Instagram feed until your eyes bleed.

And don’t miss Super Bowl 40-whatever so you can catch the funny ads + the demonic sissy-hypno they play at the Halftime Show— which is sponsored by Budweiser, which is gay now, which is perfectly normal and good actually, beer brands should be pro ass-fucking, because that’s Progress. 

Last night I made the mistake of showing my turbo-normie older sister my blog, thinking she might get it, and she said: “Oh, so it’s a right-wing grift?”

NO, you fucking simpleton. There is no right wing, no left wing, I did not vote and I never will, I’m writing about cheating on my girlfriend and genuine sex addiction and the drama of a double life and it’s captivating— no one can tell if it’s real, it’s unlike anything on the entire internet, AI could never do it like it will soon do your meaningless work, because it’s all true: I’m running from my own story as I’m writing it, don’t you see?

No, you don’t see, you will never see, you didn’t see a year ago when I said Buy Dogecoin and you don’t see why I have to run away and you don’t see what’s so special about the work because you’re blind, you’re a consensus-seeker, you live in fear of the truth, you will never be remembered, you will never be free.

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