the ill king

…
But something happened today.

I said I had sex less than one week ago. In fact I think it was exactly one week ago. And we kept in touch. And I told her I was not in love with her. Which is true.

But, you see, my father would not have acted like this. If he was alone and a woman fell in love for him, and this girl, ehm, woman, really have fallen in love for me, poor soul. He would take her. I never saw my father saying no to a woman if he was single.

Should I refuse a woman just because she is a decade older than me, has a kid and an unhealable illness. The kind that makes you die a slow and painful death. Does not attract me physically and has no language in common with me?

Yes her eyes sparkle, her smell is nice to my nose, and my energy has a nice time in exploring her body. But can the energy, the smell, and the eyes balance the age, the beauty, the language, the illness, and the kid. Yet my father would have realistically said, “Yes, go for it!” And this is why he is always in a relationship, and I am always alone.

While I was considering how to answer her last email. The desperate type of email, the one that is sent 5 days after the probing one. 5 days in which she was probably on the torture table, while I lousily considered how to answer her without harming her too much. I went to practice meditation, and I did an exercise that my teacher taught me personally. I shall not bore you with the details, just with the result. As I was moving the energy and my body as I was told, if I were to think of this issue… then the answer was clear to me:
Yes, go for it.

But as soon as I were to stop the exercise I would go back believing that ‘NO’ was the only honest, true answer that I could say and hold with integrity.

There is no right answer, we can just chose between different type of pain.

The wise man only sleeps one night in the inn of truth

or similar.

And:

There once was an old king. The king was old and with a very big illness. All the doctors have run away, fearing to be put to death for not being able to heal the king. Only an old magician have remained. He was old, and everybody believed he was half crazy. The king went to the magician and asked for a solution that would cure him of his terrible illness. The magician explained him that he had to find a man that was similar to him in all details. Exchange clothes with the man and make him king for one day. After that one day the man would die, and the king would once again be whole (healed). A request was sent through all the kingdom:
-all the men similar to the king were to go to the palace for a checkup. Failure to meet this request would bring sudden death to the men and all his family.
Male of all ages start swarming the palace. One by one they would be checked by the doctor, and he would dismiss them all. This one was too short, this was too tall, this too fat, and this had a skin dot that the king did not have. Not one met the prerequisite of the doctor. The king protested, said: you are never satisfied. And the magician explained: the man has to be absolutely like you for the cure to take place.
Not one person was chosen.
Some weeks later the kind and the magician, were walking along the banks of the river, when they saw an old man. His skin was wrinkled, his body lean. He was dressed in rugs, he was maybe the poorest man in the country. Living of rubbish, thrown away by others. And the magician said: Here! That’s him. Quick change your clothes with him, make him king and he will die at your place and you will be again healed.
-Me? What have I in common with that bum? He is of a different age, size, and height. He is also poor while I am rich, he has no family either nor friends. How can I compare with him.
-Quick, quick do it. Said the magician, for an old ill king can only be compare with the poorest man of the country.
The king refused and that very night he died.

What has I in common with an old, ill, divorced mother?

News from the jail: becoming a womanizer

At least I had the pleasure of being my own oracle, which is one of the few pleasures you can give yourself, alone. Since my believe system bars the way to the mountain. The direct way toward self fulfilment; I shall take the indirect road. The one that goes down the side, through the swamp and the dirt.

I suppose when I have validated myself as a male, it shall be easier to let it all go. It is the woman who you never fucked that will hunt your dreams when you are old. Not the one you fully took. In other words, I am committing myself to become really a womanizer. Enough of this wishy-washy. Half saint, half sinner.

I know your deeds, that you are neither cold nor hot. I wish you were either one or the other! So, because you are lukewarm—neither hot nor cold—I am about to spit you out of my mouth.

Neither fully. Neither deeply, neither totally. And since:

If you want to go to the left you need to go to the right,
if you want to go up you first need to go down

Then I am going bastard inside, and learn the Game. Study it in details; join a lair; go to workshops; practice; find wingmen; learn lines; and apply all the concentration, chi, energy, focus, power I have been able to pull off for my meditation for the questionable aim of picking up girls and making them happy… or at least sexually satisfied. I also might need to learn NLP, although I have moral issues in becoming an hypnotist for a laid.

I am starting by working on my clothing style. I am used to go around dressed like a bum. Which was ok for me, since I use to see myself as the incarnation of the natural-man. Spontaneity. The son of a cavewoman and Albert Einstein. Plus it made my inner game tighter. If you can be at ease covered and not dressed you can really be at ease everywhere, anyhow. But the fact of being at ease with rags, does not make your Game easier, just yourself more secure. You still need to take off the rags to Game well.¹ And now is the time.

I shall also make a list of books to read. Start to reframe myself for this topic. Understand when to push and when to pull. When am I getting an IOI, when an IOD and when a neg or a bitch-shield². I use to know a lot. I was not very succesful, but I would try hard. And I had discovered some of the principles that seem to be fundamental in the game. For example I used a fake time constraint all the time opening girls on the street. I would convey it by my body gesture, by the direction my feet where pointing, by the tome of my voice. But although I did some practice it was abviously not enough as I manage to f-close only few times… if we ignore the ones in which the woman just wanted me and took me regardless of all my social errors.

I need to learn to control the frame, and generally the martial art of social situation. Also note that I am already very good in doing all this in the academic world. I know I have value, and thus I am uninterested in everything-everyboody, while being also brilliant. This brought me to the point that I don’t need to search for jobs. Jobs, like trouble, hunt me. Well, I need to learn to do this also with the “gentle” sex.

In other words I need to transform myself from an AFC to a PUA³. And I want to do it without killing my naturality, but by enhancing.

It’s hard to meditate when you have no money to eat. Not just because you need to eat, but because you need to get your hands dirty with the world before leaving it. A similar principle is at work here. I can’t leave the game before having really faced, and mastered, the Game. It’s a compulsion, an genetic necessity, a morally reprovable act I just need to do to feel I have completely lived my life.

So, please, …

…tell my mother I am not coming back

——

1) Take off the rags and put on some clothes!

2) IOI=indicator of interest
IOD=indicator of disinterest
push=pushing a girl away, feigning disinteress, usually through a IOD.
pull=giving IOI to a woman, making her understand that she can still win you, if she tries.
The whole thing follows the cat string theory, and uses her attraction for the barely attainable to get her into building compliance momentum. This momentum is then used to escalate physically. It’s an art, and it can be mastered. It has been mastered plenty of times by people much more socially inept than me.

3) AFC= Average Frustrated Chump,
PUA= pick up artist.

Nothing fundamental has changed

Lacking real material to post, I decided to repeat a quote that is sounding unpleasently precise.

It is from David Deida’s book, Intimate Communion:

The second stage man is also singularly deluded. At least the first stage man is up front with his wants: He wants big bucks and big breasts. The second stage man often hides his own emptiness and his own needs, even from himself. He has practiced meditation for 10 years, travelled all over Asia and india, he is a certified aikido master and psychotherapist, and, essentially, nothing fundamental has changed. He still feels unfinished.
…
Furthemore, he is older now, and he doesn’t have the energy and determination he once had.

Wow! I couldn’t have expressed it better. It only makes me wonder: how come I resonate so much with the second stage man, while I still desire to have sex, to have chicks, to have breasts (actually my specific is the female ass, you can’t get more dominant than that!)?

This is where I think I am stuck!

I had girls, and I had them so much, and I refused them so much that it is my responsability my loneliness. Remember my father:

I won’t feel bad for you,
you are lonely because you choose so.
You had wonderful girls,
and you always left them.

The decisions I took were inspired. Looking for better. For more. Or just for more in a different direction: inside instead than outside. But then I got hit by life. I got distracted. And I ended up nailed to the cross of my own decisions, while crying: “Goddes, oh Goddes, why have you abandoned me.”

There is no turning back. That’s why I need to develop authenthicity, integrity and death. My inside knows that it is not by having more chicks that I shall find my salvation. This is why I always fail. Because I did play, and I suceeded. And then I went on!

…still the doubt remains…

…eroding me.