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.

Love as a mean

One of the thing that I am realising, in this autumn of my spring, is that I am not looking for a girlfriend, a companion, a femme, as an end, but as a mean. I don’t like it either, but I rather admit it than live in denial. But what do I mean, exactly. It means that I am looking for a companion to have a family. To build a family. Not to be lonely. To be able, more easily, to transform my rough sexuality into daily affection. I am not… finding a woman, and then wanting to have a relationship because I like her so much, and then wanting to deepen my relationship because I am curious, and then wanting to have kids to make our relationship immortal. No, no, no. I am putting the cart before the horse.

You might say, and you have reached half thirty to discover this truth. What have you been doing the rest of your life? Sleeping? Dreaming. Indeed I was, but I was dreaming that although I was putting the cart before the horse, I was actually able to change this. This was my dream.

back ‘home’

I received on short notice an invitation to a workshop in my hometown. I changed my plans to go, waiting to be back home.

It’s hard to say it, but home is not here anymore. I went to the workshop, saw my parents, and contacted my friends. But: my father just moved from his ‘work house’ to a smaller house in the periphery. It’s so far away that if I meet my friends in the afternoon, and the invite me to join them in the evening, I just tell them:”right now I live …”. And they immediatly realise that it is really impossible for me to come back later.

My friends, for the most part, where not there anymore. Summer, week end, in a hot city, and they have all planned to go somwhere for the week end.
The relation with my friends have changed. I still have a couple of good friends, but the rich network of friends I use to have is mostly dead. Life catched up. Some of them are married, some left (like me), to other cities or other countries, or even other continents. I also lost contact with most of my ex girlfriends. Some girls I also lost contact long time ago, when it was clear they just wanted a friendship. And there is even one I am seriously wondering if she is still alive. Last time I heard from her she was in bed, with a pregnancy that she was not supposed to take over. No news from her from that moment.

The girl I use to be with, for many years is now with someone else, and when I phone her she is very busy setting up the house with her new (but actually 1 year old) fiance’. She sais she really wants to see me, but cannot because she has promised him to work int he house, and he took off a day from work. What importance could an old friend that comes back in town have.

The group of people I use to meditate with have dissolved too. I kept in touch with one or two, but mostly they are gone. And hard to recover. I was invited to the marriage of one of those friends of mine. In that occasion I ended up friending the wife of his best friend. And we had an affair the next winter. My friend’s wife realised it. And of course my ex gf too. But my friend probably didn’t. In any case in that ooccasion I realised that love stories with married women are just not for me. I also felt so bad about it I never called my friend again. I am the kind of person who have a real hard time in keeping secrets.

Life catches up. And things happen. And somehow those things tend to make keeping in contact harder. When you live in a place new relationship spring up, and the old ones gets constantly renewed. If I take all the hours I have been with, with my friend (ex gf), from when I left my hometown, not being together was the central theme. Even those hours were spread through many years. Of course I have new friends, mostly in other countries. And not all in the same place.

Amsterdam, London, Paris, and the small towns I lived in. But not here anymore. Few here. My home is not here. But my home is nowhere to be found. My home is the whole Europe. And Thailand too. And Indonesia, and Japan. And a bit also the US. My home is the collection of all those places where I felt home. Where I befriended someone. Where the smell makes me fall in a stupor of, where did I smelled this before.

And so when I come here, I unconsciously enter in some sort of old pattern. Here I am, back home, let me phone to all my friends. I take my agenda, start to go through the names: not this one, she does not live here anymore, wrong phone number (also the parent’s number changed),… and half an hour later I only did 3 phone calls.

I really need to stop considering this place my home town. I really need to stop considering I have a home town. My home town is my belly, or the whole earth.

I came here for a workshop. The workshop went well. I also saw my parents and a couple of my ancient friends. And this is all. This is the mature position on the topic. Being here is no big deal anymore. I can pass saturday evening working on my computer, as if I was anywhere else. Those expectations to always have something to do because I am here, are just irrealistic. It is not like this anymore.

Maybe if I repeat it long enough I might actually start believe in it, too. Let’s hope so.