/lit/ - Literature

>when you move to a new city for a new job and rent a flat and start off optimistic and end up realising after one day that there's no chance of you ever fitting in with normies (as is obvious from your lack of any smalltalk with any workplace people, newer employees fitting in effortlessly, you skipping the Christmas and summer social events due to being an ugly loser, being treated with open disgust by all female employees, being openly disrespected in front of others) and you work there for just over a year and gradually realise you're the fall guy for other people to walk all over and then you desperately look for other jobs and then manage to get a better, more senior one in another city in a way that feels like you've been saved so you hand in your notice and then your job becomes pointless as your responsibilities are taken away and a few days before you move away you throw tonnes of stuff in the bins outside from your flat, including uneaten food (because you decided to move away at short notice) and all sorts of cutlery and plates you had to buy almost a year ago during much more cautiously optimistic times, when you thought you may have found a place that you'd work at for longer, and the large home office table you assembled while sitting on the floor has to stay put because you can't be bothered moving it and the bags of rubbish filled with big blocky items feels metaphorical somehow and you realise that you barely explored the city you'd lived in and had done all of your exploring in the first few months of living there and then found it totally not worth doing any more of it and stuck to your regular walking routes and had literally zero social life and the city centre always felt like some copy-paste normie haven and you think back to that late afternoon in autumn when you heard those normie Beckys at your job discussing the organisation of some Christmas after-party and you realise right there that there was no way you'd be at the company for long

>when you realise all that "le lmao so le heckin subversive" 20th century modernist and post-modernist literature was total phoney bullshit
>when you lose every last shred of patience for esoterica, continental philosophy, mysticism, religion, metaphysics, "theory", hermeneutics, and linguistic analysis
>when you see the voluminous damp squib of modern "literary fiction" such as Franzen etc and have developed enough taste to see it as industrial gruel
>when every single person working in the publishing industry is a libtard midwit woman

Please, only intelligent people reply: What the fuck is left?

I get told I have bad communication skills at every job I've ever had but it's not true. Normies hate intelligent free thinkers such as myself. All of those managers have it in for me. Any criticism I get is for not adopting meaningless managerial verbiage.

I never talk to anyone socially at work. I'm too much of a non-NPC to be accepted anywhere. People can sense my non-normieness and get confused and scared because they all get their opinions from tv.

Everybody fits in immediately in to every environment except for me. People don't like me because I'm not a normie.

I particularly try not to make eye contact or talk to women at work because they'd just call me creepy. I message them only on work from home days because messaging them while in the office would underline how I'm avoiding them in-person.

Everybody but me lives life on easy mode and has iron-clad job security because they fit in so easily. A day in my life takes more willpower and courage to live than 1,000 normie lifetimes.

"Mental illness" is an unfalsifiable construct used by weak-willed normies who want to get free stuff. It's also used by women who want to seem unique and get special privileges and attention.

I am mentally tougher than all soldiers put together because they follow the path that more intelligent men put in front of them. It's easy to torture yourself in someone else's pre-set room while doing it with others. Going against the herd is what the real great men do.

I haven't done anything with my life but I will keep my sense of superiority over everyone else and I am sure something will happen, and I will one day start doing something at all, to more than retroactively justify my judgements.

No, I have no friends or social life either.

I've been reading all these recent Oxbridge topics, along with that Oxford copypasta, with some bemusement. I went to Oxford and did a PPE degree. I have also read a lot of bitter posts about poshness but I did see a grain of truth: that the public school upbringing shielded you from feeling offence. It's true. It's always jarring when I come across a /lit/ type in real life, one of those fiercely attempting to climb the class ladder through erudition and intellect alone. It is embarrassing on both sides.

On the one hand, this person, so used to being the towering intellect in their Durham-LSE-UCL (oh spare me about English Literature rankings!)-Warwick social circle (Bristol, Edinburgh, and St. Andrews seem to produce only jolly clowns, not these types), is visibly mortified while realising how much the Oxbridge natural brilliance shines through. What's funny is that they are invariably better read than me. Tolstoy's lesser known works and so on. But they are still visibly insecure, in many cases shaking. Sometimes I use my 3-to-1 tutorial hewn bullshitting technique to pretend that I have read as much as them but I always reveal that I am joking and this terrifies them, as if realising I have been boxing with both hands behind my back. Please, you guys, DON'T come across so try hard.

I now float in and out of fashionable South Kensington, Russel Square, and, when I feel like knobbing that hipsterish girl you cooed over in your 30 person English tutorials as a Chinese teaching assistant failed to draw ANY original thoughts from the class, Camden mileus on these autumnal and winter Friday and Saturday nights. It's quite funny really, my friends and I were academically brilliant, on many occasions being invited for individual wine sessions with multiple tutors from Economics, Law, and English Literature, and being begged to continue on with further study- on one occasion my tutor postponed his meeting with the Presidents of the World Bank and IMF where he would advise them of the Venezuela situation, in order to plead with me to develop a Hegelian line of attack on the similarities of English common law and Constantinople law that I had mentioned in a throwaway comment- and yet, in these fashionable parties, the most easily brilliant and witty people were the Oxbridge colleagues among us who had done so academically badly. Lowly Atillas, lazy Desmonds, narcoleptic Douglases: who knew they were so brilliant? But I guess that's Oxbridge for you!