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Some people have asked about the story of how I turned my fortunes ...
Some people have asked about the story of how I turned my fortunes with women around. Hm.
Ok, well here's what happened.
Just over a year ago now I broke up with a girl called Charlotte. She was a 10 in looks. Easily. A perfect 10. She was also an amazing person, full of life and hope, drive and passion. Amazing in bed. Just incredible. Very well travelled. She was also an athlete, and had set world records and run marathons. Her father was a millionaire industrialist, but she was amazingly down to earth. I could go on at length, but I think you get the point. She just ticked every single box there was to tick. She ticked them all. She ticked them all twice.
I dumped her because I knew the relationship was dead. It didn't fuck me up emotionally, not in a normal way. I just reached a point inside myself, as I walked away from the Starbucks on Tottenham Court Road where we broke up where I reaised I could no longer accept the fact that the women in my life that meant the most to me were the only ones I couldn't keep. And that's not an academic issue - it means walking away from a woman you'd have happily married, which is what I did. I loved her, dude. All my heart, all my soul and all the other cliches you can think of. I loved her.
About two months after that, I was sitting in a Starbucks in Angel in London. I was outside reading a book on history - strangely enough it was the exact book where I discovered the concept of Paradiastole, which I wrote my first Advanced thread about on mASF.
A girl sat down next to me. Beautiful. Model-hot. Really. I wanted to speak with her, but I didn't know how. She was reading something, and I kept thinking - should I ask her what it is? Would that be too obvious? What would I say to her? Would I come across as awkward? Would it be humiliating? How would I do it?
All that shit. I know you understand. Anyway, I sat next to her for something like two hours, not saying a word, just pretending that I didn't notice her. She never looked at me, not that I could see. I didn't look at her.
Anyway, at 7pm, the barista came out of the shop and told us to finish our drinks. I turned to her and said -
"Shit. Looks like we're in trouble."
She practically exploded into conversation. She held it up for me. She talked and talked, and the asked me out to get a glass of wine with her.
As we were off I learned that she was from Croatia, but she'd been raised in Australia. She was more beautiful than I'd realised at first - incredibly fine bone structure. Very beautiful in a classical, greek statue kind of way. Just awesome.
We walked for a time and she mentioned it was her last night in London, her last night in the UK. I found myself jabbering shit at her. She was starting to get uncomfortable. Fuck.
We got to the pub and ordered drinks. She was hot. We started chatting. She chilled out, and started putting her hand on my leg but I didn't know what to do. I tried to be cool. I tried to break the distance between us but every time she'd show interest in me I froze, and when I tried to reciprocate it all just seemed so forced, so fake.
As we chatted, and I fucked it all up, I could see that she was losing interest. I couldn't stop it. I tried, but it was like trying to catch water in a sieve. Eventually, she made her excuses and left.
Walking home that night, I felt so down on myself it was unbelievable. It was obvious that she had wanted me. She'd sat next to me for two fucking hours waiting for me to open a conversation with her. She'd asked me out for wine. It was her last night in London. She wanted me, and she wanted me for sex. I'd taken a gift, and fucked it up. I'd fucked it completely. I was in the kind of mood where a person does something stupid. They say that prayer is the last refuge of a scoundrel, and as a scoundrel at the end of my tether, I began to pray to a God I'd ignored all my life. "Please," I said, "please, please help me. I don't have a clue what is going on here. I don't know how to change this. I hate this. I hate my life like this. I hate myself. I feel so worthless, so pitiful and powerless. If there is anyone up there, anyone at all, be you Jesus, Allah or fucking Zeus, please fucking help me. I can't take this shit anymore."
The next day I walked down into the tube on my way to work, and there in front of me was a massive poster for a book by a guy called Neil Strauss. I'd read something he'd written once, Marilyn Manson's autobiography, but this was something else. I stared at the poster for long enough to memorise the title - my memory is appalling - and the author. That lunchtime I grabbed a copy of The Game from a Waterstones near Liverpool Street Station in London. I bagged a copy of the Layguide as well. Sneaky bastard that I am.
They blew my mind. I'd never thought about it like this before. I look back now at the Layguide and see it as, technically speaking, a pile of shit - it's all so simplistic, condescending and opinionated - but at the time it put me on a new course. It gave me a new universe of knowledge and ideas to number-crunch, and a promise: if I just put in the time and effort to make this happen, I really could actually become better with women in a real and lasting way. Fair fucking play. For all its faults, it was and remains a powerful book.
Fuck. Cool. This was it. And every day from that day till this, I threw all the emotional frustration of 25 years of being shit with chicks into this project. I was a man possessed. A man obsessed. I ditched all of my work on philosophy and the mind, humanity, good and evil - everything. I just worked at game. I got out there.
I remember the first time I used Style's Jealous Girlfriend opener. I was shitting my pants. It was on a random chick who asked me for a lighter - in all fairness she was probably opening me - but it worked. She was pretty. Not amazing, but pretty enough to scare the shit out of me. And yet we chatted. She was really interested. Awesome. Fucking awesome. It worked. I could do it - I could talk to girls.
Ha - not quite. It was fucking scary. I used to go out alone. I had no friends I could trust to wing me at the time. My flatmates were a combination of saps and chicks. Because I'd worked in finance (12 hours of cutthroat shittiness a day) for the last two years or so, I had no friends outside of work, and no friends inside of work wanted to go out picking up chicks. So yeah - all alone in London, the least friendly city in Europe - the least friendly continent in the world.
I set myself a goal of 5 approaches a night. That doesn't sound like much, but to me it was huge. The first one was always intense. The second, always worse. The third was always slightly better. By the time I got to the fourth, it was weird. I'd seem to chill out a little. After 5 it was no big deal. And yes, I got blown out. Not usually in a nasty way, but sometimes some bitch would take pleasure in making me feel like shit. I'd take the pain. I'd grit my teeth. I'd keep punching. That's the best advice I can give you if you want to defeat the demons you have with women, or anything else. Just keep punching.
That's the thing about fighting. Sure, skill is important. Sure strength matters. But endurance can overcome anything. It doesn't matter what it is - as long as you're throwing punches after the other guy has stopped throwing punches, you've won the fight. Take Britain during WW2 - in 1941, Hitler had
a) Beaten France in 6 weeks.
b) Conquered the entirety of Eastern Europe
c) Invaded Russia and annihilated massive swathes of the Red Army in every engagement.
d) Forced the British into a humiliating retreat at Dunkirk where we'd lost something in the region of 100 000 men killed or captured (out of a 400 000 strong army which was all we had), and forced us to abandon practically every single tank, artillery piece, APC, jeep, truck rifle and bullet that we had on the beaches of Northern France.
So what did Churchill do? What was his grand strategy? What was his masterplan?
He kept punching. He just did not give in. That was it. The British Cabinet were practically unanimous in wanting to discuss peace terms. He just said no. He just refused to give in, in the face of all logic and reason.
Don't give up. That is the first thing. Just keep punching.
Secondly - the more I learned, the more I realised how shit I had been. The more all the girls who'd left me for reasons I could not see stopped being mysterious sources of pain in my life, and spurs to my efforts. I could see now where my mistakes lay - not all of them, but enough of them to know that the problems I had with chicks went much, much deeper than I'd ever imagined. So what was I supposed to do? How could I give up? If I did, it would mean giving up on ever being any good at this, because if the last 25 years of my life proved nothing else they proved beyond doubt that just being blown around like a leaf in a hurricane hoping that luck would throw me a bone had taught me nothing. No. No longer would I be that leaf. I would be the hurricane.
I would be the fucking hurricane.
It took me three months of this to get laid. I am a good looking guy. Next to me, David DeAngelo looks like Stephen Hawking. Haha. Not really, but I'm a better looking guy than him, and he's probably the most classically good-looking guy in the seduction community. Every available night. 5 approaches at least. Sometimes as many as ten. It took three months for me to pull one girl.
Three months is a long fucking time. It is a long time to face rejection, relentless rejection, and keep punching. I did. How? How did I square it with myself? How did I keep myself sane? And how did Captain Jack escape from that island?
Aye, well I'll tell ye.
Two things. Firstly - by any means necessary. Malcolm X. Malcolm X once said that racial equality should be achieved by any means necessary. That is how you need to keep your spirits alive. By any means necessary. Just so you know - DeAngelo really helps, his seminars are great at building up your resolve to win, and your belief in ultimate victory. He tells you that it can be done - in fact, he shows you that it can be done. He did it himself. So did loads of the guys he interviews. He gives good advice too - I really rate him. He's like the big brother you always needed. Stop being a wuss, he says. That's good advice. Very good advice. Hard to implement, but fundamentally important. I rate DeAngelo. I'd recommend his stuff to anyone.
Secondly, you can look at a tricky approach in two ways. As massively negative, or just really positive no matter what the outsome because you are facing your terror head on and saying to it "Fuck you, terror. Fuck you till you die."
The most extreme example of this I can think of was one time in a bar called The Village in Muswell Hill. There were a group of... oooooooooooo... about ten honeys all sitting down. A seated 10-set. That is a hard approach. I sat across the room from them, sizing it up. Psyching myself up. Fuck it. I knew I was going to do it. I knew I was.
And yes, I approached. And yes, I held in there through a withering hail of shit-tests, bitch-shields and flak. And yes, I got blown out. And yes I walked away. But I held my head high, because fuck it - that took balls. It took balls just to attempt. I felt like a hero. In retrospect, the hottest one there could have been mine, because even though her friends butchered me, I stood my ground and had the strength of character to approach in the first place. I saw her across the street a few weeks later, and she gave me a megawatt smile.
And yes, I bottled it and didn't talk to her. But I went out that night, and approached till it felt like my heart would break.
Strength of character is a choice. It doesn't come down to a choice, it doesn't contain a choice. It IS a choice. Get busy living, or get busy dying. This is the only choice we monkeys ever face in any situation. Get busy living, or get busy dying. You face that choice in every situation. It is the only choice you'll ever really make - everything else is just the specifics of how that fundamental choice plays itself out in context. It is the beating heart of free will. Go on or give up. Fight or fold. Live or die.
And yes - I wanted to surrender. I wanted to fold. There were times when I came close, but always I knew that giving up on this meant giving up on myself. Because you see, although I wanted to surrender, to give up, to fold - I never wanted to die. I refused. I'd faced down death before, more times than most people alive today, certainly in the western world. There have been times in my past when I stood twice a day for month after month, just staring at the twin silver streaks of the tube rails on my way to and from work, knowing that I was just one step away from ending the terrible and ceaseless horrors that filled my mind. But I never did. I came close. Very close. A random man saved my life once by literally pulling me back from the brink. But I never took that step.
I have always wanted to live.
And so I took the only option I had. And when I choose to do something, I do it. I do it with every atom of strength at my disposal. If my chest were a cannon, I would have shot my heart upon it. Why? Because it seemed obvious to me that this was the only possible exit. This was the only possible escape. Nothing else had any real promise. It was this, or nothing. This or unhappiness for the rest of my life and whatever fate awaited me afterward. That is the choice which I believe we all face. I did not fight as hard as I did because I am intrinsically more passionate than others. I fought so hard because I saw the choice so clearly. I am fighting still. I will never stop.
My abilities with women, as I believe all the abilities of anyone who seriously tries to master anything does, progressed in fits and starts. Mainly I was just punching. Just punching and seeing no obvious results. Maybe I'd have a good night and the groups of girls would open easily. The next night I would face an impenetrable shield of disinterest whoever I approached. I just kept punching. Then every now and then, I'd learn something new, notice something new, do something differently or whatever, and I'd be at a new level.
Firstly it was approaching. Mystery and Style were my mentors in this. I used their lines, their stories. But I couldn't do anything with the interaction once it had happened.
Then I found DeAngelo. All of a sudden I could get girls attracted to me, but I couldn't do anything with the attraction.
Then I found Juggler. And things started to swim into focus.
Then I found Gunwitch. And Gunwitch set me free.
And that, in a nutshell, is the story of my last year.
Amazing writing style. I approve.
Fantastic! I've just read 2 or your posts and I have to say they are the 2 most important posts I've read in my short time here. You bring things to a HUMAN level with your writing. thx for that.
Originally Posted by drjekyll
I can understand what you have been through & where you must be at with your journey now. God there have been some beautiful people in my life & I too have walked away & later rationalized it to myself. You wouldn't change anything in your past.
It's a beautiful place, this junction ahead of you.
What we are all working for here is understanding. We only appreciate what we earn. Cedar once said, "You deserve nothing: you earn everything."
And we appreciate what we work for. Hence we price the girl so much that we'll bust our balls with emotional overhaul to be an equal prize which they too must work for.
Working for each other means we will value what we have earned.
All this learning & the wisdom of knowledge applied, brings understanding. Understanding is a warrior that has never lost a battle or defeated an opponent.
Some love to fight each other & some fight to love each other... Like you said: the best of people are relentless with their intention. Keep punching, yeah, I'm with you on that.
Hey, I put the FIST in pacifist.
Harlequin: Weapon of mass seduction
When you refuse to accept what you cannot change: this is trauma.
When you decide to change what you cannot accept: this is revolution.
Dude, you should quit your job and be a writer, seriously...You have a talent, well done for the journey man
Got directed here from the contest/competition thread. You write very well. Respect.
First of all validation is a fake. This is life. You can't win or lose, its a high score game. So hush your neediness and play. Validation is worth 10 points. Putting it in her butt is worth 200. Focus. - Basket
They're right about being a writer.
You should do The Game 2: Style Strikes Back, Or Style Returns.
Nice post ....its one of your few short ones.
But I enjoy it cause theyre great.
While reading this I started to visualize what was going on.
And thats the great writing that does that to me.
I've read a lot of information and such on here and its great, but I just feel limited since I haven't used any of it while being here.
I've wanted to quit......quit since I didn't think I could do any better for myself.
You know, just let life take its course, just let it flow. But if I do that, I would still have the same boring life and nothing much would change, so like you, I'm going to have to start punching and keep punching till I get the decision. If I don't throw my first punch, then the journey will never start.
But, how did Captain Jack escape the island?!?
Hey Jeks, thats me back on MM now, thanks. Seems like some guys wish for a book? Something similar to the game......interesting lol
A man has only one escape from his old self: To see a new self in the mirror of the eyes of some woman
That was an inspiring tale you spin, I feel like I know you, great writing, thanks for sharing. Definitely nominate for best intro.
"Humility is often but a trick whereby pride abases itself only to exalt itself later."
"Half of every second is half your life"