The American and the European Method on Solving Problems

I often wonder whether I should consider myself American, or European. I’m American by birth but European by upbringing and general attitudes. Generally, when I’m in the U.S, I feel European and when I am in Europe I feel American. The difference between me and most Americans? I have different political views, I have different views on sex, religion, alcohol, relationships. Damn near everything. The difference between me and most Europeans? I love guns and distrust government. There’s a smaller difference there.

My thought process moved to problem solving. That is, how do I solve problems? American? Or European?

But first I must decide in my mind how Americans and Europeans solve different problems.

To my mind, Americans solve problems in a simple manner. If ain’t broke, don’t fix it. It seems to be very trial and error, with simple fixes preferred. The old joke goes, in school, you learn a lesson and then take a test. In life you take a test and learn a lesson. To me, it seems as if the American way is to try something, learn something from the results, and try something else. Rinse, wash, repeat, ad infinitum until goal is achieved or resources are depleted.

The European method, is a little different. It appears as if they wish to learn everything they can about a subject or endeavor,  develop a theory about it and then attempt to go about accomplishing the goal. When they do not accomplish what they wish, they go back to the drawing board and tweak the theory. Rinse, wash, repeat ad infinitum until desired result achieved.

I feel like the way I go about problems can be either way. In terms of game, when I first learned about it, I was a voracious reader and read everything I could on the subject. I poured through the entirety of [redacted] and Roissy and any other blog that piqued my interest. I was just in high school and internalizing some of the themes I read already started noticeably improving my life. But not only did I have my theories, or ideas in my head from what I read, I actively experimented. I experimented with my smell and with growing a pair. I did a series of “Red Pill Experiments“.

I recognize that there are some things you can not just theorize about. You have to go out and try things out for yourself. Cold approaching for one. I’ve never done much of it. When I do it’s not intentional, it’s an afterthought when I see a pretty girl who enters my space. I still have approach anxiety. I can theorize about it as much as I want, but I’ll never conquer it until I approach until it hurts. And then approach some more.

Until I got to Germany, I was encapsulated within military university. Not only were there not a lot of girls to approach, but they weren’t  even worth the learning experience. Most of the girls are not that good looking and the ones who are, are potential career/cadetship enders. No thanks. I primarily kept my sanity through messaging Au Pairs on POF, in the DC area. Turns out my efforts were worth it. I’ll write more about that in the coming days.

But how did I go about it? I didn’t read up on a whole bunch of blog posts on how to do online game deliberately. I had some knowledge in my head stored from reading random posts. But I thought of the “openers” myself. I messaged hundreds of girls. I edited the message ever so slightly, adding a space here or comma there to avoid the copy-paste sensors. I found out what opener worked for me and what got the most amount of replies up to 70%. Did I figure that out by reading a blog post? Nope. I figured it out by repeatedly messaging girls with different stuff until I found out what stuck. I’ve read some online dating tips or read some tricks of the trade from other guys in the manosphere. I never made a really hot girl account or two to draw the guys away from other girls. I never made a second account just to test out openers. I got to where I did by good old trial and error.

Going back to the American or European bit, I’m not sure to if I can categorize myself either way. I can use both methods and they both have their uses, like direct or indirect game. I’ve never really been able to label myself nor have I ever really cared to, though I am always curious about what I think I am or what others think I am. Most of my life, I’ve never had a label and have therefore been able to hang out with any group as I pleased.

There’s a lesson in here somewhere, but I have to catch a plane.


A Small Thought On Facebook

I remember reading a post at Roissy’s last year about an alpha facebook comment:

Here is decent Facebook game:

There was a very attractive girl, a verbatim 9, who had self-shot herself. She was smiling with even white teeth, managing to angle the shot just right so that you could see her sitting with shorts, her legs revealed.

Five people liked it.

White Beta Male with his name written in katakana: Radiant.

Beta Male twice her age: Your always so beautiful!!

Grrlfriend: so pretty~!

Chick with a mirror shot: Man I wanna pierce my nose soooo bad! I like the hoop on you :)

AzN Beta: Bang’n

Duckfaced Douchebag: holy sheeet

Me: I like your left eye better.

She immediately responded to me, and to me alone: “Hahaha!”

I’ve tested this out. I’ve always gotten a like or some sort of response. I also tried another thing, for shits and giggles:

Me: Yikes! I didn’t know you were part Bulgarian

Her: Huh bulgarian ? how

I’ve always gotten a response to that too. I’ve never liked any of these pictures. Or comment with anything else (anymore). I rarely add pictures (people add pictures of me) and don’t add any information anymore. I don’t have my full name on it. I have an email on there that I never use except to log-on. I have a hard time deleting my facebook for good, because it’s hard to keep in touch with my friends otherwise. Perhaps that will change soon. When I do, I’ll change the name, falsify all the information, change all the contact information to fake emails, take down the photos, un-tag myself from my friends’ pictures and let my friends who matter know what I’m up to and how they can keep in touch. Maybe I’ll just get a twitter and friend everybody I know on there.


My First Salsa Lesson

Two weeks ago Sunday, I went to a club in Berlin that offers Salsa lessons, for 5 euro entrance fee.

I walked upstairs and saw that the group had already started, doing some sort of turns around their partner. I was confused for a minute because I was an absolute beginner. I thought maybe I had misread the German on the website. I continued to watch when I noticed a hispanic woman come close to me. I looked her briefly up and down and then shifted my gaze back to the instructors. The girl walked past me to the bar nearby. Eventually, the instructors told everyone to try the move and see how it works. The aforementioned girl walks next to me. And she then confirmed my suspicions that she wanted to dance or practice with me.

“Willst du mal probieren?” 

(Do you want to try?)

“Ich habe doch nie Salsa getanzt. Ich bin gar nicht mit Salsa erfahren.”

(I have never danced Salsa. I have absolutely no experience with Salsa)

“Ah okay. Die Anfänger sind im nächsten Zimmer.”

(Ah okay. The beginners are in the next room)

Sure enough she was right. I walked into the room next door and saw that the men and woman were arranged in opposing lines, with the instructor and her demonstrator in the middle.

At first I was completely lost. But eventually I got the hang of the the front to back moves. Then the instructor started doing side to side moves. I figured out how to do those as well. Then she lost me when she started transitioning between the two. I had no idea which foot to transition off of.

It was time to pair dance. I got the teacher’s demonstrator. She was large and obtuse. But if I stared at our feet, and our legs, I could reasonably pretend I wasn’t dancing with a blimp. I’ll admit it made it easier to pay attention to my dance moves.. After first I was nervous and had no idea what I was doing. But my partner was helpful and explained what I had to do in German. I learned that the man transitions on the left foot. On her insistence, I stopped announcing transitions and started just doing them. Suddenly I was dancing Salsa!

Back to the lines.

We practiced transitioning again and this time we learned how to let the girl do a turn, with a raised arm after a left step on the man’s part as the signal. At first I was completely clueless on how to execute this maneuver  Now I am just mostly clueless. I managed to twirl her around.

Back to the lines.

We practiced some more and then the lesson was over. It was time try out my new found skills. Unfortunately, most of the girls my age were taken. They had come with a date. Or they found a better salsa dancer. So I decided to dance with the older ladies. That way I could focus on my dancing anyway.

I simply walked up to a lady who was not offensive to my eyes and offered my hand. I wasn’t turned away once, if I recall correctly. They were very patient with me, even when I would stop after making a mistake. They’d say it’s fine and just to keep moving. Even for older women, these ladies knew how to move. Note to self – find cougars who are good at salsa.

Eventually, I believe my frustration would bleed through (or boredom with simple moves) and the woman would say thanks for the dance and I’d find the next lucky woman. The hardest part for me was to keep up with the rhythm  When I was dancing with these ladies, they kept wanting to ask my name and where I was from, distracting from my dancing. We’d have a conversation and the further the conversation progressed, the worse my dancing would become.

Something was afoot though. The last woman, presumably in her forties started closing her eyes as we danced. As if to go with the flow. Then every now and then she would stare in my eyes smiling. Of course I’d smile back, but in my head, I’d wonder, “What the hell is she looking at?”

Then I realized.

I shall try this Salsa thing again and keep up with it.

I leave you with a video of Brazilian kids from the 90’s. Damn can they move.


(H/T Vanancier Permanent for the video)

How I Define my Life

I was reflecting on things the other day in how I saw my life, or rather, how I organized were I to explain the story of my life. You know, I have my life in country A, B, C or life in various schools.

In high school and shortly afterward I organized my life in terms of women. My ninth grade year I was infatuated with  Turkish Delight. I spent the first half of tenth grade getting over it, where I learned that I had absolutely no game whatsoever at a party and striking myself out with the Latvian. Then, in the second half I took the path of least resistance, and instead of dating the camera whore like I wanted to, I ended up letting her friend seduce me. She was also the first girl I ever kissed that I could remember. I’ll include more details soon. Then she dumped me but I had already been cheating on her with another girl, who I could have fucked (and got a Puerto Rican flag) but was too chicken shit to disobey my parents. Then in eleventh grade I flirted with an Austrian girl but never escalated, even though I should have because she would have advanced my skills considerably, then I failed with the Ecuadorian girl. Then in twelfth grade I escalated but did not fuck an Indian chick with a nice ass and then got into the longest relationship of my life.

I hope that was painful to read. It was painful to write. The point is, I defined my life by the women I was with, chasing, or pining after. Now I am starting to change my view-point.

I am thinking of my life in terms, year one, two, or three in the game. I think of it in terms of year one with the red pill. I the last three months of 2012 I fucked three women. They are but blips on the radar of my life. I think of myself as a work in progress and am starting think of my life in terms of what goal I am working on next. Or maybe I see my life as in different versions of myself, and I am undergoing a new transformation.

No longer are women central to my life.

That does not mean I that I will not seek to fuck as many women as I can or continually develop my game. It’s just that now I know my purpose. I know my dream and I am working on it a little bit every day. Women may or may not be a part of my dream. But my dream is no mere woman or gaggle of women. It is to rid the world of the blue pill and those who would propagate it upon an unwilling, unknowing population. It is to stop humanity from merely looking into the stars, and have him use his technology to be among them.

Even if I were to die on my path to greatness, I would not lament fate in my last breaths. While I would wish I had more time to do great things, I would be content in that I died on the path that I chose for myself. If I am to be a martyr, the idea I will die for is my own. Myself. Deus ex Walderschmidt.

There are those who would call me selfish. I would call them too foolish to realize they are wasting their lives at someone else’s behest.

To me, living the dream is accomplishing the dream.

Are you living the life you want?


The Commander On The Ground

The Commander on the ground makes the final decision, or why older men and established communities think younger men and new comers are stupid and haven’t a clue of what they are talking about.

In World War One but especially World War Two, one of the things the German army did that was revolutionary was that high command would make a mission with certain objectives and then assign this mission to a unit. The commander of the unit, the subordinate to the high command was then free to accomplish the mission in any way he felt necessary. The rationale was that the commander on the ground had superior tactical knowledge of a mission than high command and therefore was well equipped to make changes in the plan in response to the change conditions on the ground. The high command accepted the fact that the best laid plans often fall apart and the best way to work around that was to let the commander on the ground change the modus operandi to fit the current tactical situation instead of rigidly following a plan and guide lines set by higher.

Other armies that were slow to adopt this line of thinking and operating had trouble reacting to the ever changing conditions of the battlefield. Commanders who were competent but did not always follow orders to accomplish missions often got court martialed and their careers stalled, hampering their ability to positively affect the war effort on their nation’s behalf. Commanders who were known for rigidly following rules often got their men killed when they could adapt to the ever changing tactics and strategy of the enemy.

Sometimes older men, jaded through experience, are quick to dismiss the ideas of younger men who seek their guidance because they feel like they know the answer already and that there is no other way to arrive at the same answer. Sometimes they dismiss the younger men as stupid for not seeing the answer like they do, because it is so blindingly obvious and “How can you not see what the answer is?”

Often the same issue is parallel in established communities where new comers are trying to break ground. One of the examples that most comes to my mind are scientific communities like the ones that revolve around physics or anthropology. Often they dismiss newcomers as too inexperienced to make any observation worth a damn or just plain crazy.

Usually the issue is that the older party or established community, having so much knowledge and experience in store, comes to conclusions pretty fast. Just like a boxer who can perform his combos faster and faster due to practice or can recognize the moves his opponent is using, fast enough to counter them, an older man or established organization uses all of their data points to come to conclusions and find answers pretty fast. Most of the time, this is a good thing. Sometimes, though, it prevents the older party or community from learning something new. Maybe the kid actually has something worthwhile to say. Maybe the up and coming anthropologist’s new theory actually has a lot going for it. Of course nobody would know unless they stopped to think that maybe they don’t have all of the data points and maybe they might learn something. It certainly doesn’t hurt to listen to all of new idea’s arguments, if not to only be surer of its usefulness or lack of it as opposed to making a snap judgment. It is important to keep your mind open so that you do not discourage younger people or new comers from forming their own opinions and bringing them to you.

The worst case is that they’ll tell you you’re full of shit and take their ideas elsewhere and learn things the hard way.

My father, despite his abundance of experience, does not belittle any ideas or suggestions I make and does not answer any stupid questions of mine as if it were a burden to do so. Sometimes he may think he’s a little forceful in debate, but he’s usually good about acknowledging the fact and apologizing if he thinks he has gone too far (he’s never actually apologized, but I did catch him explaining how he was tired and therefore his method of debate was little less diplomatic than usual and that he was not mad at me). Consequently, I seek out his advice often and pay attention even when I think his answer is off the mark.

My brother on the other hand does not do the same. He has gained lots of experience like my father and has done relatively well for himself. However, his attitude is different when offering answers to questions or advice. While he’s nice enough over the phone or through email, in person, his arrogance is corrosive. Every now and then I ask him questions and he’ll oftentimes sigh as if he is carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. Then he answers my questions as if I’m the stupidest person in the world for asking those questions. Or he’ll ask me to do so something for him and when I do it wrong or don’t understand what is asked of me, he’ll look at me as if I’m a retarded monkey capable of little more than eating bananas and slinging poop. And then he’ll tell me how I’m stupid and doing it wrong in a disappointed tone. This makes me dislike asking him questions. He just sounds like a pri-madonna douche bag who gets annoyed that he has to help me out or explain things to me. Sure he has more experience living life than I do, but not nearly enough like my Dad to warrant his attitude.

One time when I drove with him over 1,000 miles to keep him company on the way to see the birth of his first born son, I talked with him about a girl I was involved with. At the time I was started develop heavy feelings for her as she had already told me “I love you” plenty of times and I thought that maybe she might be sincere after all. My brother tore that idea apart with how it would end miserably because I wouldn’t see her for 18 months if I went to the service academy that I desired. When I told him about how I made her make me a sandwich and blow me while I ate it because she was “being too much of a woman” he told me that I was abusing her. He thought I hated women. I was appalled. How could he say I was abusing her? It’s one thing if beat her and forced her to make the sandwich, but to come to that conclusion? Just like that? He didn’t even stop to be on my side for a minute because I’m his brother? Or congratulate me on it? What? I hate women now?

The irony is that my brother once taught me that I should let what people say about or to me get to me. If some drunkard on the street told me, “I fucked your mom last night” I wouldn’t care. He doesn’t know me, or my mom, and probably didn’t fuck her. But to hear these sorts of comments from my brother blew me away. In ninth grade my brother once told me that I could ask him anything about girls, especially about how to have sex because he had no shame in discussing such matters and I was his little brother, dammit. Now the thought of asking my brother for any advice towards girls repulses me.

Later I learned that my brother acted the way he did as he was feeling guilty of some his own personal demons. I still don’t think he should have projected his bad behavior and morals regarding such on me but I largely forgive him for it. When I brought up the issue to my Dad, he explained to me that my brother had a hard time imagining that when I think of wrong answer, I come up with it, because at my age it makes sense and I don’t know any better. He will learn in time with his son that young people ask a ton of stupid questions and he’ll mellow out on giving advice. I certainly hope so.


A Little Knowledge Is A Dangerous Thing

A little knowledge is a dangerous thing, or why younger men sometimes totally disregard the advice of their older peers.

I’ve known this cliché for a long time, even at a younger age. For the longest time I thought that this cliché was one of empowerment in that, if you have even a little knowledge you could be capable or dangerous to others. Through conversation with my father I learned that I didn’t have the complete answer.

A little knowledge is a dangerous thing means that though one may know something, one does not know what one doesn’t know and make faulty decisions based on a the three data points when one should make a decision based on twenty. That is to say, if someone has a small knowledge of martial arts, he should not assume that he is therefore a kung fu master and start getting into fights. Sure, he might beat up a few guys who don’t know anything about fighting, but should he come up against someone with medium experience he’ll lose bad.

This cliché is especially applicable to younger men like myself. Often we learn a few things in a field of interest and we jump to many conclusions. Maybe we even accrue some experience that supports our grand total of five data points in head. Often we get to the point where we’re so confident in our expertise that we ignore the advice of our older peers who are trying to help because we think what we’re doing “makes sense” and “it’s worked before”. Of course, the guy trying to help us out is working with fifty data points and sees exactly where we’re going wrong and even explains it to us and still we ignore him only to learn the hard way that he was right all along.

This has happened to me plenty of times concerning advice with my Dad. This happens to plenty of younger guys just starting out in the game when their culturally ingrained beta advice wins out against the advice they get from their player friends or experienced mentors. This has also happened to me more times than I’d like to admit. It is all well and fine to learn by trial and error, and young men certainly have the time to learn from their mistakes. Often being young is the perfect time to learn from your mistakes because the consequences are relatively small. I mean, compare heart-break, writing love poems, and whining to anyone who will listen about how you fucked up to getting raped in divorce court, losing your kids, your lover, and tons of money in asset division; child support payments, and alimony. Learning from your mistakes at a young age beats the shit out of doing the same when you’re older.

But there’s another way to learn that’s faster and less painful. It’s called learning from the mistakes of others and taking the advice of others. I’ve had good relations with my parents and have stayed out of a lot of trouble because I saw, or rather, heard what happened to my siblings when they misbehaved. The screams that echoed through the walls and throughout the house were effective in convincing me to pay attention to what they did and not repeat it! My siblings often thought I didn’t get spanked enough. I laughed and thanked them for being stupid for me. For the longest time I didn’t learn from other people’s mistakes regarding girls. But when I started to, I avoided a lot of pitfalls. Sure, I occasionally have an episode where I’m headstrong or my feelings get the best of me, but I learn so much more this way than just learning from my mistakes. This is not say that I don’t also learn from trial and error, I do both. I attribute following my father’s advice to a lot of success in my life.

How do I do this? I accept that my Dad has seen and done a hell of lot more than I have and pay attention to his advice. It helps that I’ve naturally preferred his company to my mom’s since around fourteen years of age and have had plenty of time to pick his brain when we’d go shoot sporting clays for the last four years. I learned what Emotional Quotient or EQ is, when to recognize that mine was low, and how to deal with it so that my emotions don’t control my life (or affect my shooting!). All I have to do is look at how successful my Dad is, what good health he is for his age and then the quality of his advice is self-evident.

I don’t only take advice from my Dad. I take advice from what I read on various blogs in the manosphere. Somethings I have to take with a grain of salt of course, because it’s the internet. Usually I read something, keep it at the back of my head, and quietly evaluate whether it is true or useful or not based on my own experiences. I don’t take advice from just anyone, however, I take advice from people who I have reason to think know more about a subject than I do. And I keep taking their advice until they prove otherwise.


The Miller’s Tale

As it turns out, Game is not a new concept. It’s quite old, though the name has changed from time to time. I do not refer to the PUA movement that arose in the early 2000s. I am talking about the fact that people back as far the 1600s knew how to woo the women, if not even earlier (Ovid anyone?). While in an English literature class, I was assigned to read The Miller’s Tale, from Chaucer’s ‘The Canterbury Tales’.

Here is the story as summarized by Spark Notes:

The Miller begins his story: there was once an Oxford student named Nicholas, who studied astrology and was well acquainted with the art of love. Nicholas boarded with a wealthy but ignorant old carpenter named John, who was jealous and highly possessive of his sexy eighteen-year-old wife, Alisoun. One day, the carpenter leaves, and Nicholas and Alisoun begin flirting. Nicholas grabs Alisoun, and she threatens to cry for help. He then begins to cry, and after a few sweet words, she agrees to sleep with him when it is safe to do so. She is worried that John will find out, but Nicholas is confident he can outwit the carpenter.

Nicholas is not alone in desiring Alisoun. A merry, vain parish clerk named Absolon also fancies Alisoun. He serenades her every night, buys her gifts, and gives her money, but to no avail—Alisoun loves Nicholas. Nicholas devises a plan that will allow him and Alisoun to spend an entire night together. He has Alisoun tell John that Nicholas is ill. John sends a servant to check on his boarder, who arrives to find Nicholas immobile, staring at the ceiling. When the servant reports back to John, John is not surprised, saying that madness is what one gets for inquiring into “Goddes pryvetee,” which is what he believes Nicholas’s astronomy studies amount to. Nevertheless, he feels sorry for the student and goes to check on him.

Nicholas tells John he has had a vision from God and offers to tell John about it. He explains that he has foreseen a terrible event. The next Monday, waters twice as great as Noah’s flood will cover the land, exterminating all life. The carpenter believes him and fears for his wife, just what Nicholas had hoped would occur. Nicholas instructs John to fasten three tubs, each loaded with provisions and an ax, to the roof of the barn. On Monday night, they will sleep in the tubs, so that when the flood comes, they can release the tubs, hack through the roof, and float until the water subsides. Nicholas also warns John that it is God’s commandment that they may do nothing but pray once they are in the tubs—no one is to speak a word.

Monday night arrives, and Nicholas, John, and Alisoun ascend by ladder into the hanging tubs. As soon as the carpenter begins to snore, Nicholas and Alisoun climb down, run back to the house, and sleep together in the carpenter’s bed. In the early dawn, Absolon passes by. Hoping to stop in for a kiss, or perhaps more, from Alisoun, Absalon sidles up to the window and calls to her. She harshly replies that she loves another. Absolon persists, and Alisoun offers him one quick kiss in the dark.

Absolon leaps forward eagerly, offering a lingering kiss. But it is not her lips he finds at the window, but her “naked ers [arse]” (3734). She and Nicholas collapse with laughter, while Absolon blindly tries to wipe his mouth. Determined to avenge Alisoun’s prank, Absolon hurries back into town to the blacksmith and obtains a red-hot iron poker. He returns with it to the window and knocks again, asking for a kiss and promising Alisoun a golden ring. This time, Nicholas, having gotten up to relieve himself anyway, sticks his rear out the window and farts thunderously in Absolon’s face. Absolon brands Nicholas’s buttocks with the poker. Nicholas leaps up and cries out, “Help! Water! Water!” (3815). John, still hanging from the roof, wakes up and assumes Nicholas’s cries mean that the flood has come. He grabs the ax, cuts free the tub, and comes crashing to the ground, breaking his arm. The noise and commotion attract many of the townspeople. The carpenter tells the story of the predicted flood, but Nicholas and Alisoun pretend ignorance, telling everyone that the carpenter is mad. The townspeople laugh that all have received their dues, and the Miller merrily asks that God save the company.

Take from it what you will.


Reflections: My Past, My Present, and My Future

(Go ahead, I dare you. Read the post with the song playing)

I was discussing from one of my friends who I have helped unplug from matrix and get exposed to the manosphere things I’ve noticed about myself and others. I discussed some of my past how I’ve gone from socially maladjusted to socially competent to the point where I game nearly everyone.

We talked about several topics and I could not help but notice patterns, patterns that we both notice or share. In the interest of keeping him anonymous and exploring my own thoughts because I want to, I’ll withhold the patterns he shares.

I often feel like I’m on a different level than most people I know. I have a purpose in life and I have plan that gets fleshed out more and more as time passes and I come upon new opportunities. I have always felt that school was relatively easy or that there was someway to game it. When I was middle school in military school, I made straight As with three-year average GPA of 96.7 which made me the middle school Valedictorian. I was concerned that school was too easy and I missing something that would inevitably lower my grades by several degrees. Before military school, I never did homework but always did well on tests.

Throughout middle school, high school, and university I’ve never felt truly a part of any group. At most I have a group of friends who I am very close to with similar interests, but they are a level removed from my highest ambitions. I hope to bring them into the fold in the future, but they are doing just fine as it is. Accompanying these outsider feelings is my ability to hang out with almost any group of people and make friends with everyone. I frequently get along with a wide variety of people such that when hanging out with one group, they’ll denounce another group people I hang out with as douche bags or losers. Sometimes I play along and agree. Mostly I keep quiet or just laugh. I’ve got different levels of friends and I tell varying amounts of information to different friends. I rarely tell everything to any one friend, but spread my news, and if I may be so human as to complain, my complaints between my friends. A lot of the time I direct most of the controversial stuff towards my parents so my friends neither worry for me or think I complain much if at all.

I also noticed with my friend that I could help but notice that I felt some people were incredibly stupid. Accompanying these thoughts are feelings of superiority. I almost feel superior in intelligence, drive, and ambition to most people. I say almost because I dislike feeling superior to the point of being arrogant as I feel I am just waiting for hubris to derail my plans or my life, as it has many a great man or nation before me. I also recognize that people are not on the same level because they do not know, cannot see, and I better use my breath helping them see than mocking them from afar. I want to be the man with whom people rise up, not just one to take people down.

I used to have problems in my past due to bullying from different people at school to being belittled as oblivious, retarded, and unfunny as the youngest in my family. Parts of my Thal nature manifested themselves in how I viewed the world, confused with how it worked, and how I dealt with it. As my social competence increased and my natural understanding on how to manipulate my environment around me increased, these symptoms I experienced decreased and decreased until they faded from memory. I wondered last night why I couldn’t remember much of my childhood before sixth grade, before eight grade and I now think I know why. Somehow my new identity has repressed my old memories and feelings so that I do not regress to my old self. I almost refuse to read old poems I wrote for girls I liked because when I read those poems I feel the exact same feelings I felt when I wrote the poems.

In high school I went through a rebirth and transformed myself into a different version of me. I wore contacts in ninth grade and played contact sports. I was no longer self-conscious about my looks or my physical capabilities as I became know as the best tackler on the school’s JV and later Varsity Rugby team. I realized I could mold the world around me to my desires or benefit when I learned how to act towards teachers, faculty, and staff so that I got in little to no trouble when I got caught breaking the rules. I could walk around the dormitory drunk and the house parents never did anything because they either couldn’t distinguish whether I was drunk or being myself or didn’t care because I made good grades, stayed out of trouble, and was friendly with everyone. My last year, a girl who I got heavily involved with and I silently became the star couple of the dorm while it lasted.

I’ve gone beyond making my parents proud with my grades and my personal growth. I’ve never really been a problem child due to my innate nature and learning quickly from the mistakes of my siblings. And when I have been in some sort of boarding school environment since middle school, my parents are always happy to see me when I come home. Because I’ve never had to stay home for long periods of time (excluding some summers), I realize that I’ve never had to come to terms with any of the dysfunction in my family. When I do come home and see pieces of it, more obvious now that I have gotten older and can recognize it, I am at liberty to let it pass or deal with it as I please. I also realize that while I have an ability to fix some things, I cannot fix them all and I won’t try. I have come so far since my younger days that to deal with some older things would be to regress to my old self again. Today I realize that my family is not perfect, but I am happy with it. I enjoy the parts I like, avoid the parts I don’t like and know that with time, some things will get better.

Now I’m going through another transformation. I’m becoming more aware of the world around me and more comfortable in my ability to assess it for what it is and navigate it. My vision of my ultimate dream in life, to live on forever in human memory, is going from the abstract to reality and gets more tangible everyday. I am just starting on the precipice of getting where I want with women and getting where I want go further. Though I have much to learn and a huge journey in front of me, I look forward to it all. My transformation will not only be about women, though I will undoubtedly have large focus on them due to my libido. With a few new topics coming to the fore of my mind, ideas and opportunities that blow my mind, my development will be quite multifaceted.

With the state of my development and the development in the state of the world I both look forward to the future and dread it. I feel like I am in a race to realize my true potential and implement my designs before the world as I know it ceases to exist, and the rules change once more. The old Chinese saying, “May you live in interesting times” rings truer than John Donne’s Bell, which tolls for us all.


On the Split between Game and MRA in the Manosphere

I’ve been talking about various topics from the Manosphere with my Dad for almost the entirety of the time I’ve been exposed to it. If an article or idea interests me, I send him an email with the link or even bring it up in conversation. Sometimes I even talk to my mom about things. While my parents don’t agree with everything I read or necessarily like all of it, they willingly engage in cross-examination conversation and genuinely discuss issues I am curious about.

For that I am infinitely thankful.

I recently reflected on a conversation I had with my Dad about the apparent split in the Manosphere between Game and MRA. I explained to my Dad what the two camps focus on and why I thought they split.

He took the time to explain to me his story of a previous divorce of his, before he married my mother. Out of respect for him, I dare not go into too much detail – so I will summarize. He got the best female lawyer he could. He took extra steps like recording conversations and doing his due diligence and got to the point where he made his ex-wife look bad in court. So bad, that, despite the judge’s reputation of automatically awarding custody of children to the mother, my dad’s ex-wife’s lawyer came to him with an out of court settlement. He got custody of one child, she got custody of the other. No alimony or child support.

What was his point? He doubted that things are much worse today like from the horror stories I’d recount from the MRA articles I read or the stories I heard about soldiers getting divorce raped by their wives. But even so, he said, he didn’t just let things happen, or watch in horror as the world acted as it is and not how it should. He acted and did what he could to rectify his situation.

It came to me. The biggest split I see between the MRA and the Game is that the MRA adopts the victim position while the Game adopts the aggressor position. It looks like the MRA is trying to follow the same tactics that Feminists use and the Game uses the tactics of Feminists against them. “You think I’m a barbarian Patriarch who beats women? I’ll show you a barbarian!”

For whatever reason it looks like MRAs do not advocate action. There is a lot of “All women are evil, stay away from them.” There is alot of clamour to use the political system to fix things. There is a lot of, there is no such thing as game, just talk to them.  In counterpoint, the Game advocates improving your health, fitness, state of mind, and gives you the tools to deal with vapid western women and tells you where to find women aren’t. The MRAs sound like the Turkey who runs around screaming, “The sky is falling! We’re all gonna die!” The Game gives men hope.

This is not to say that MRA side is useless. I believe they are still important in bringing about awareness so that one is not completely oblivious to the nature of women and how they can screw you over in today’s society. When they recounted hundreds of False Rape Accusations, the Game came up with methods on how to combat buyer’s remorse and use texting to create evidence that would help you in court. When the MRAs tell us about the ‘Male Rape’ whereby a woman cuckholds a man or claims she got pregnant by you, Game tells you how to find your ballsack and get DNA testing and to call that dumb bitch’s bluff and/or how to be conservative with personal information so that the girl cannot track you down and trap you. When the MRA recounts horror stories of women beating their husbands Game tells you to give them the equality they asked for. When MRA gets everyone in tears with a heart rendering story about an honest man destroyed by a vindictive eat, pray, love wife, Game tells you how to spot the women more likely to do that so you can pump and dump and how to spot the women who won’t, should you be crazy enough to still want to get married despite all you’ve learned about today’s state of affairs.

I am of the opinion that while both sides have their disagreements and pick at each other, they are two sides of the same coin. Yin and yang. In fact, I think a lot of men start in the MRA side and go onto the Game side. Some men don’t leave. Other men start in the Game side and never find need to visit the MRA.

I myself got into both sides and watched them parallel. I now no longer visit any MRA sites because I have a general idea of what’s out there and how to avoid it. I will never forget what I learned, but I am focusing on other things now. Every now and then a particular story grabs my attention, especially if the mainstream media accidentally concedes what we all knew all along. But at the end of the day, I have outgrown the MRA.

As for the future of the MRA, I cannot comment. I only hope that they continue to persist by opening the eyes of young and old men alike, to the pitfalls of the blue pill today, that those men may do something about it.

The common cliche goes, “The first step to solving a problem is knowing what it is.” In terms of solving today’s problem, the MRA section is step one. The Game section is step two.


Enjoy the Silence – Or Not

A thing I have noticed upon reflection (and have seen in the manosphere) is that foreign girls don’t talk so much or feel a need to fill a silence with words.

I was hanging out with a Columbian Au Pair, eating lunch somewhere (she paid) and there were many moments where she was completely silent or content to just think or look around. It might have been the fact that she has only been in the U.S. for a month and doesn’t want to look bad with her English, but she seemed perfectly fine. I found myself wanting the fill the silences I usually long for in conversation with ‘native’ Americans.

I’ve noticed this in girls in England as well.

Has anybody else noticed this? American girls are not comfortable with silences and feel the need to chatter about anything and everything because they can’t enjoy the silence?

Food for thought.

Music for the soul.