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Antisocial Norm โ
@antisocialnorm
@NeonJester
A melancholic part time poet and philosopher used to write and share his fantasies here.
@AbolBookStore
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Antisocial Norm โ (English)
Are you tired of conforming to societal norms? Do you find yourself drawn to the unconventional? Then look no further than Antisocial Norm โ, a Telegram channel curated by the enigmatic user @antisocialnorm. This channel is a refuge for those who march to the beat of their own drum, where creativity and individuality are celebrated.
Venture into the mind of @NeonJester, a melancholic part-time poet and philosopher who shares his fantastical creations with the world. Let his words transport you to a realm where imagination knows no bounds.
In addition to poetic musings, Antisocial Norm โ also collaborates with @AbolBookStore, offering a glimpse into a world of literary treasures waiting to be discovered. Join us on this journey of self-expression and exploration, where the norm is anything but ordinary. Embrace your uniqueness and join the conversation at Antisocial Norm โ today!
Antisocial Norm โ
03 Nov, 07:02
Rophnan is an overrated cringe artist and he doesn't deserve all these glaze, but who am I to judge? Hulum gize alew
Antisocial Norm โ
02 Nov, 05:15
I keep saying แฅแแแ แฅแแญ แญแแตแแ in my head everytime, every second something bad happens or something bad is in my head, idk why.. sure we should be grateful and all but
Antisocial Norm โ
30 Oct, 04:50
To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep
No more and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.--Soft you now!
The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember'd!
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep
No more and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.--Soft you now!
The fair Ophelia! Nymph, in thy orisons
Be all my sins remember'd!
Antisocial Norm โ
24 Oct, 12:58
Therefore was I created with a stubborn outside, with an aspect of iron, that when I come to woo ladies, I fright them. But, in faith, Kate, the elder I wax, the better I shall appear. My comfort is that old age, that ill layer-up of beauty, can do no more spoil upon my face. Thou hast me, if thou hast me, at the worst, and thou shalt wear me, if thou wear me, better and better
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