What do you want? What do you admire? Why are you here, and why are you doing this?
Is it the sex? Is that why? Is that why you face the terror you face? Why you struggle to master pickup lines and pickup theory? Why you embrace humiliation like a prodigal son? Is it really? Just the sex? Really?
Is it the beauty? Is that it? Is it the rapture of a finely chiselled skull overlaid with perfect skin? Are you enthralled by image alone? By patterns of reflected light? Is this you? Is that why you spend nights out alone fighting the urge to cower and cry? Is that really all it is?
Is it the glory? Is that it? To have other men look upon you with awe? To be the man who is always deferred to, the man in command? Is that why you do this? Is that why you layer pressure over guilt on yourself for each night you spend alone? For glory? Is that why you hate to sleep in your immaculate bed in your perfect room that you crafted as a Venus fly trap for the ladies you relentlessly fail to bring back? Is that why? For glory? Really?
Is it power? Is that what you want? Power? To know all the words? To know the rules and all the skills? To develop technique to a transcendent level of mastery? Is that why you approach and approach until you look around a crowded bar and know for sure that every single woman in there has heard your ****, and shrugged it off? So that one day you will have power? Is it just about power for you? Honestly?
Is it revenge? Is it vengeance you seek for all the women who ever ignored you? Do you want to silence the sneering you've seen for so long in the faces of those girls who believed themselves too good for you? Do you want to **** them to prove them wrong? Honestly? Do you wish to return to them in full the gift they gave you? That relentless gift of abundant contempt? Is that it? Really?
Or is it something else entirely?
Is it freedom? Is that what you seek? Do you fight so that one day, finally, you will be free? That you will feel worthy and redeemed? That you'll no longer be that lonely geek, crunching numbers in desperate isolation to find the answer that others less than you seem simply to know? Is that why you read page after page of type, sifting field reports and testing tactics? Is that why you fight?
Is it defiance? Is that why you don't give in? Is it the simple, bloody-minded refusal to surrender? Is it that you refuse to accept, in the face of all reason, that your fear is stronger than your will? Is it your defiance of your own doubt itself that keeps you on your feet and moving forward, bruised, battered, but resolute? Is it the rage you feel against all the things that hold you back that drives you to take arms against them, to take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing end them? Is that closer to the mark?
Is it weariness? Is that why you can't let the dream die? Is it that you have grown sick and tired, bored to your hind teeth, of hurting inside? Has something, some situation, some girl, some heartbreak made it abundantly clear to you that something inside you was rotten and weak? Did you decide to change? Did you decide that whatever happened from this day on you were not prepared to follow the same old patterns of pain? Were you sick of watching the back of a different girl's head walk away from you over and over? Did you just get tired? Did you want to see something else? See a new path? Just for the sake of novelty?
Is it hope? Is that what bears you up inside? Has a wild and desperate hope risen within you? Is that it? That for the first time in your life you've found a whole new path to tread? Is it that you are willing to brave the cruel and unforgiving road you see ahead because you see something glimmering in the distance? Can you see something far away that is as yet indistinct, but which sings to your very heart like the promise of home?
Is it love? Is it that you want so much just to be loved? Do you want with every atom of your being to look into the eyes of an amazing woman who takes your breath from your chest, and see love, see real love shining back at you? Do you want someone to give a **** when you feel sad? To be happy for you when you feel happy? To be proud of you when you excel, and to catch you when you fall? To wrap their arms around you late at night, and rest their beautiful head on your chest like they trust you more than they trust themselves? Do you want someone tremendous to see you clearly, and with all your faults still see you as a hero? Do you want someone incredible to see you as a man? Someone miraculous to see you as her miracle? Is it love that makes you fight so hard for this? Is it love that brought you here?
Is it love?
Is it love, you crazy bastard? Is that what this is about?
For the longest time, I felt justified in working to better my 'game'. I felt that it was a valid thing for a man to pursue. I felt there were pitfalls and traps, but that it was something that was, fundamentally, okay.
I no longer feel that way. I think there are two kinds of people in this community.
There are heroes, and there are the rest.
When I talk of the rest, I'm not condemning anyone. There was a long, long time when sex, beauty, glory, power and revenge were the palette from which I coloured my vision of the future. They are stark colours. Primary colours. Vivid. Entrancing. Larger than life. Too good to be true.
But the heroes are the ones who fight for their freedom. They are armoured by their defiance. They are seasoned and weathered by weariness. They are driven by hope. They are inspired by love.
What we are doing here is ****ing noble. Not just okay. ****ing noble. I think it's time someone said that. It is a noble thing to do, to pit your own strength against the fear that controls you. It is a noble thing to try to change your life. It is a noble thing to defy the patterns fate has set for you. It is a noble thing to forge your destiny. It is a noble thing to forge yourself. It is noble to face pain and fear and humiliation in the name of love.
But this thing we are attempting is extreme. There are so many powerful and negative emotions that we each have built up inside of us for so long that facing them can be ****ing dangerous. There are so many things here in this internal world we have set ourselves to conquering that will fight us every inch of the way, distract us with awesome displays of light and colour, test our resolve and challenge our morality, twist and warp the deepest parts of who we are.
Focusing your mind on sex, beauty, glory, power and revenge will destroy you. I really believe this. All the experience of my life has shown me that this is true. There's no limit to the damage these hungers can do if left unchecked. But I'm not moralising, I swear it. It's really hard to tear yourself away from all the visions of glory and wild abandon that seem so real you could reach out and touch them.
But those who are able to tear themselves away from dreams, those who even attempt to master the art of self-possession, those who fight - regardless of the level of their skill - without let or hindrance, those who throw their heart into each approach, each phone number, each kiss - each woman - they are heroes to me. They are heroes. They fight. They fight fear. They fight it all the time. They fight it every day.
They fight it.
They fight it and they win.
What they do is ****ing noble.
Fair ****ing play.
Ever Yours
Jekyll
Is it the sex? Is that why? Is that why you face the terror you face? Why you struggle to master pickup lines and pickup theory? Why you embrace humiliation like a prodigal son? Is it really? Just the sex? Really?
Is it the beauty? Is that it? Is it the rapture of a finely chiselled skull overlaid with perfect skin? Are you enthralled by image alone? By patterns of reflected light? Is this you? Is that why you spend nights out alone fighting the urge to cower and cry? Is that really all it is?
Is it the glory? Is that it? To have other men look upon you with awe? To be the man who is always deferred to, the man in command? Is that why you do this? Is that why you layer pressure over guilt on yourself for each night you spend alone? For glory? Is that why you hate to sleep in your immaculate bed in your perfect room that you crafted as a Venus fly trap for the ladies you relentlessly fail to bring back? Is that why? For glory? Really?
Is it power? Is that what you want? Power? To know all the words? To know the rules and all the skills? To develop technique to a transcendent level of mastery? Is that why you approach and approach until you look around a crowded bar and know for sure that every single woman in there has heard your ****, and shrugged it off? So that one day you will have power? Is it just about power for you? Honestly?
Is it revenge? Is it vengeance you seek for all the women who ever ignored you? Do you want to silence the sneering you've seen for so long in the faces of those girls who believed themselves too good for you? Do you want to **** them to prove them wrong? Honestly? Do you wish to return to them in full the gift they gave you? That relentless gift of abundant contempt? Is that it? Really?
Or is it something else entirely?
Is it freedom? Is that what you seek? Do you fight so that one day, finally, you will be free? That you will feel worthy and redeemed? That you'll no longer be that lonely geek, crunching numbers in desperate isolation to find the answer that others less than you seem simply to know? Is that why you read page after page of type, sifting field reports and testing tactics? Is that why you fight?
Is it defiance? Is that why you don't give in? Is it the simple, bloody-minded refusal to surrender? Is it that you refuse to accept, in the face of all reason, that your fear is stronger than your will? Is it your defiance of your own doubt itself that keeps you on your feet and moving forward, bruised, battered, but resolute? Is it the rage you feel against all the things that hold you back that drives you to take arms against them, to take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing end them? Is that closer to the mark?
Is it weariness? Is that why you can't let the dream die? Is it that you have grown sick and tired, bored to your hind teeth, of hurting inside? Has something, some situation, some girl, some heartbreak made it abundantly clear to you that something inside you was rotten and weak? Did you decide to change? Did you decide that whatever happened from this day on you were not prepared to follow the same old patterns of pain? Were you sick of watching the back of a different girl's head walk away from you over and over? Did you just get tired? Did you want to see something else? See a new path? Just for the sake of novelty?
Is it hope? Is that what bears you up inside? Has a wild and desperate hope risen within you? Is that it? That for the first time in your life you've found a whole new path to tread? Is it that you are willing to brave the cruel and unforgiving road you see ahead because you see something glimmering in the distance? Can you see something far away that is as yet indistinct, but which sings to your very heart like the promise of home?
Is it love? Is it that you want so much just to be loved? Do you want with every atom of your being to look into the eyes of an amazing woman who takes your breath from your chest, and see love, see real love shining back at you? Do you want someone to give a **** when you feel sad? To be happy for you when you feel happy? To be proud of you when you excel, and to catch you when you fall? To wrap their arms around you late at night, and rest their beautiful head on your chest like they trust you more than they trust themselves? Do you want someone tremendous to see you clearly, and with all your faults still see you as a hero? Do you want someone incredible to see you as a man? Someone miraculous to see you as her miracle? Is it love that makes you fight so hard for this? Is it love that brought you here?
Is it love?
Is it love, you crazy bastard? Is that what this is about?
For the longest time, I felt justified in working to better my 'game'. I felt that it was a valid thing for a man to pursue. I felt there were pitfalls and traps, but that it was something that was, fundamentally, okay.
I no longer feel that way. I think there are two kinds of people in this community.
There are heroes, and there are the rest.
When I talk of the rest, I'm not condemning anyone. There was a long, long time when sex, beauty, glory, power and revenge were the palette from which I coloured my vision of the future. They are stark colours. Primary colours. Vivid. Entrancing. Larger than life. Too good to be true.
But the heroes are the ones who fight for their freedom. They are armoured by their defiance. They are seasoned and weathered by weariness. They are driven by hope. They are inspired by love.
What we are doing here is ****ing noble. Not just okay. ****ing noble. I think it's time someone said that. It is a noble thing to do, to pit your own strength against the fear that controls you. It is a noble thing to try to change your life. It is a noble thing to defy the patterns fate has set for you. It is a noble thing to forge your destiny. It is a noble thing to forge yourself. It is noble to face pain and fear and humiliation in the name of love.
But this thing we are attempting is extreme. There are so many powerful and negative emotions that we each have built up inside of us for so long that facing them can be ****ing dangerous. There are so many things here in this internal world we have set ourselves to conquering that will fight us every inch of the way, distract us with awesome displays of light and colour, test our resolve and challenge our morality, twist and warp the deepest parts of who we are.
Focusing your mind on sex, beauty, glory, power and revenge will destroy you. I really believe this. All the experience of my life has shown me that this is true. There's no limit to the damage these hungers can do if left unchecked. But I'm not moralising, I swear it. It's really hard to tear yourself away from all the visions of glory and wild abandon that seem so real you could reach out and touch them.
But those who are able to tear themselves away from dreams, those who even attempt to master the art of self-possession, those who fight - regardless of the level of their skill - without let or hindrance, those who throw their heart into each approach, each phone number, each kiss - each woman - they are heroes to me. They are heroes. They fight. They fight fear. They fight it all the time. They fight it every day.
They fight it.
They fight it and they win.
What they do is ****ing noble.
Fair ****ing play.
Ever Yours
Jekyll