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Greasy Pig

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"We must be ever vigilant...."
True, so goddamn true.
Never let your guard down and always reassess yourself, your relationships and your goals. The minute you stop is when the shovel first breaks the ground on your grave.
"He who desires peace should prepare for war."
This means, even when things are looking calm, controlled and rosy, never leave your fortress undefended.
Great post. Words to live by.
 

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Victory Unlimited

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Thanks for your comments on this thread ALPHAWHISKEY, WAIT_OUT, and GREASY PIG. Glad you were able to get something out of this classic V.U. post from back in the day.

BETHEMAN wrote:

betheman said:
First Time Ive seen this thread, the analogies used look familiar, Im sure they do to the majority of guys. its ironic its easter when I see this, I was in one of those graves.
Ive changed, people notice Ive changed, Im not sure they approve of me now, Im not hated, Im still popular with the same people but feels lonely and an isolated position. I dont conform to societies regulations re dating women, marriage and settling down because of the pressure of others. its my life not theirs.
Im not a serial dater, I dont have plates spinning, I havent got time or could be bothered, I have women in my life on my terms.

I have a good job, stressful at times and when it goes T!ts up, its me they come to so I have a lot of respect at work.

another irony is that I dont feel as happy as I used to in the afc days and Im not sure how to dealwith this or if it can be, I refuse to go back though.
thanks for this thread VU, valuable lessons and a timely reminder
Here are a few comments I'd like to share in regards to what you just wrote:

1. All the case studies I mentioned in this thread are REAL friends of mine. I just changed the names to protect the "not-so" innocent.

2. Sometimes, it's only WHEN you rise up out of your own "grave" that you realize what kind of LIE or lower-level life you've been living all along. That fact alone can be jarring as hell to all of us.

3. Whenever YOU change, it tends to make some people uncomfortable because it shakes them out of their own comfort zone when they notice YOU going through a metamorphosis. If you stayed exactly the same, then they'd always have YOUR lack of self-improvement to point to in order to justify NEVER making any changes in their own lives either.

4. In regards to not wanting multiple female options always PHYSICALLY taking up space in your life: There's an undeniable amount of wisdom in guys keeping a bunch of women at their beck and call to be sure. However, it's also my opinion that there's a level of emotional balance and autonomy that can only be achieved by knowing from experience that you can ALWAYS get a woman WHENEVER you happen to want one. When you think about it, you'll see that both methods of managing your female interactions can work---------but they're actually VERY different ways of exploiting your masculine power. Continue to choose the strategy that works best for you.

5. In regards to "not being as happy" as you were in your "AFC days": Labels and analogies that originate from the PUA world like "AFC" do serve a purpose in defining things that were beforehand "undefinable", but remember to not take these terminologies too close to hear. As you can see already, being an Average Frustrated Chump and being an Average Frustrated ****ssman both have something in common-----being frustrated on average.

The downside to seeing the male/female relationships the way they really are, is that it can depress you. But the upside to seeing male/female relationships the way they really are is that you can also use this to FREE you. Now that we no longer see relationships as UNREALISTICALLY wonderful, we can now appreciate the WONDERS that we're able to find in REALISTIC relationships----and there are still many.

Being willing to dismiss with fantasies, and instead, use our knowledge to make our everyday relationships as fantastic as possible is an ability that FEW MEN have. So I would say to EMBRACE this fact and make it work FOR you and the people you care about. The faster you can let go of the fantasies the faster you'll be able to find the happiness that's been HIDDEN from you in reality.

In a sense, I look at the ability to do this as a sign that I've reached a level of MANHOOD that I never would have known WITHOUT having experienced the things in life that I have. In other words, I think we should recognize that we actually CAN'T be men until we're willing to first accept GROWING UP----and then...LIKE IT.
 

betheman

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Victory Unlimited said:
Thanks for your comments on this thread ALPHAWHISKEY, WAIT_OUT, and GREASY PIG. Glad you were able to get something out of this classic V.U. post from back in the day.

BETHEMAN wrote:


Here are a few comments I'd like to share in regards to what you just wrote:

1. All the case studies I mentioned in this thread are REAL friends of mine. I just changed the names to protect the "not-so" innocent.

2. Sometimes, it's only WHEN you rise up out of your own "grave" that you realize what kind of LIE or lower-level life you've been living all along. That fact alone can be jarring as hell to all of us.

3. Whenever YOU change, it tends to make some people uncomfortable because it shakes them out of their own comfort zone when they notice YOU going through a metamorphosis. If you stayed exactly the same, then they'd always have YOUR lack of self-improvement to point to in order to justify NEVER making any changes in their own lives either.

4. In regards to not wanting multiple female options always PHYSICALLY taking up space in your life: There's an undeniable amount of wisdom in guys keeping a bunch of women at their beck and call to be sure. However, it's also my opinion that there's a level of emotional balance and autonomy that can only be achieved by knowing from experience that you can ALWAYS get a woman WHENEVER you happen to want one. When you think about it, you'll see that both methods of managing your female interactions can work---------but they're actually VERY different ways of exploiting your masculine power. Continue to choose the strategy that works best for you.

5. In regards to "not being as happy" as you were in your "AFC days": Labels and analogies that originate from the PUA world like "AFC" do serve a purpose in defining things that were beforehand "undefinable", but remember to not take these terminologies too close to hear. As you can see already, being an Average Frustrated Chump and being an Average Frustrated ****ssman both have something in common-----being frustrated on average.

The downside to seeing the male/female relationships the way they really are, is that it can depress you. But the upside to seeing male/female relationships the way they really are is that you can also use this to FREE you. Now that we no longer see relationships as UNREALISTICALLY wonderful, we can now appreciate the WONDERS that we're able to find in REALISTIC relationships----and there are still many.

Being willing to dismiss with fantasies, and instead, use our knowledge to make our everyday relationships as fantastic as possible is an ability that FEW MEN have. So I would say to EMBRACE this fact and make it work FOR you and the people you care about. The faster you can let go of the fantasies the faster you'll be able to find the happiness that's been HIDDEN from you in reality.

In a sense, I look at the ability to do this as a sign that I've reached a level of MANHOOD that I never would have known WITHOUT having experienced the things in life that I have. In other words, I think we should recognize that we actually CAN'T be men until we're willing to first accept GROWING UP----and then...LIKE IT.
Rising up is jarring, Im still feeling it, decades of societal and media conditioning takes some undoing having come to this late on in life.

Id like to reach a point where I can get a woman whenever required, I’m improving but not there yet.

“The downside to seeing the male/female relationships the way they really are, is that it can depress you. But the upside to seeing male/female relationships the way they really are is that you can also use this to FREE you. Now that we no longer see relationships as UNREALISTICALLY wonderful, we can now appreciate the WONDERS that we're able to find in REALISTIC relationships----and there are still many. “ VU

This is very real, had the depression but as you say, this knowledge does promote freedom and clarity, also dismissing the fantasies re relationships has been key, women will only ever be part of my life if they can add to it, enhance it, I’m certain on that issue.
 

bmxcetera

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Was going to shoot you a PM, but no need to. This post nailed it. I'll consider myself as working towards resurrection. I've already enlisted.
 

wait_out

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Inspired by VU, of course. Much respect.

Part 1.

A cold, grey dawn broke over a lonely horizon. A noiseless wind drifted to the east, too soft to rustle the rotting leaves littering the ground beneath the empty branches. Warmth was returning to the world, and with it, to an unmoving figure began to stir, sitting next to a shallow, rocky grave he took no notice of. It was a man, too young to show the mark of the years upon him, but too grim to show any innocence in his face. Fingers, clenched painfully from the cold, uncurled painfully as blood coursed through them. He was dressed in military fatigues, yet no rank, no name, no nation adorned his clothing. Shivering, for the first time in an eternity, he brought a hand to his throat, to clumsily grasp a dog tag and rediscover his name. “Wait Out”, it said. But that made no sense. It was simply radio protocol. And there was only one.

Answers were needed, and there were none here. The only sure possibility, is that something, somewhere, had gone terribly wrong. Though the figure walked steadily onwards, time refused to pass. The dawn had stalled, sunlight refusing to return to the world. And what seemed like hours later, as he struggled over a final rise, he looked towards the valley, and stood completely still in amazement.

It was a home. Yet not. Where once had stood a small, proud house, this one leaned at a crazy angle, half-sunken into a swamp. A brick wall had fallen outwards, leaving an obscene, gaping hole at the base through which water flowed. Weeds grew on the balconies and landings. And finally, the roof had completely caved in, daylight visible through what was left of the framing for the shingles.

A voice spoke. “Go inside.”

Memories flooded back. Dishes sat collecting dust in the cupboards, paint they had chosen together peeling off the kitchen walls. Two snow shovels for clearing the now non-existent driveway sat together in a closet, the blades smothered in cobwebs. He drew his fingers over the plastic handles, thinking of how she’d insist on helping him with her ridiculously small shovel, protesting she didn’t want to feel like a princess. He closed his eyes and exhaled, concentrating on breathing slowly. Then, composing himself, he walked into the bedroom.

The futon frame had given way at the sides, now forming a low A-frame. The mattress was rotting. The stuffing had collapsed onto opposing sides, while the fabric slowly tore into two at the middle. A corner of the room had caved in, through which light entered. They had made a lot of love here. At first truly, openly. Then passionately, hungrily. Imploringly, desperately. And finally, despairingly and lost, not understanding what had happened to the other and unable to be close.

The other rooms held little meaning, aside from the scattered possessions inside them, meant for domestic dreams which had never survived their stressful lives and turbulent relationship. In the very corridor where he stood, as a young man he sat on the floor in despair, staring bleakly ahead while he told her it was his fate to be alone, her afraid and now uncertain of herself, no longer able to reach him. He’d told himself at that time it was simply melodrama, self-pity borne of weakness and fatigue. But standing here now thinking back, he realized he’d meant it, and he’d kept to his statement as faithfully as a promise. Without ever consciously deciding on it, he resolved never to open his heart to women again, passing off his deepest wounds and immaturity that was beneath him to acknowledge. After that night, they met once more to return her possessions, neither truly speaking to the other. Afterwards, they never saw each other again.

He left the crumbling house, a tightness around his chest. As he stepped on firm ground away from the sinking house, he noticed a presence before him.

She was willow thin, a gauzy white dress hanging off her shoulders from her breasts to her ankles. She was perfect, young. Her posture betrayed no fear, discomfort, or malice. He made eye contact, held it defiantly, keenly aware of his own pitiful physical state – until he saw the kindness in her eyes. Ashamed of his own suspicion, he broke his gaze to the side, and then returned it.

“Ask me what this is,” she said.

“I know what it is,” he said, unhappy with her line of questioning, and how she saw through him.

“It is a ghost, my love.” She spoke softly.

He said nothing, silence weighing on them like a solid object. Wishing to distract himself, he turned to her. “Who are you?”

Without emotion, she replied “I am death.”

He looked at her. “Can you give me peace?”

“I can give you nothingness, if you so desire.” He looked again at the sad, pitiful house, and then towards her.

“Not yet.”

Death stood, watching the man at work. He moved through the house methodically, wetting the floors and counters with gasoline. When the house was ablaze, they stood together, watching unmoving for hours, perhaps, until the flames consumed it, the skeleton of the framing collapsing on itself, the marsh swallowing everything.

All that remained was the quiet landscape. “I feel empty,” he said.

“If you dwell here, it will come back,” said Death, quietly.

“What about her?” he said. “Will she be alright?”

Death turned towards him with a look of sadness. And all at once, the insanity of a man tending to a ghost struck him, and he would have laughed out loud but for the tragedy of it. How much of his life had he wasted? And seeing the realization in his eyes, Death smiled, and the man grinned back. He took the single dog tag from his neck and kissed it, then threw it in a long, slow arc towards the memory of his first true love… but a love that had ended. He then walked away from the trap, being very careful not to look back or tarry.
 
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wait_out

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Part 2.

Though it seemed to be getting brighter, they soon plunged into a primal forest, massive old growth blotting out the sky hundreds of feet above them. Ascending upwards, at last they reached a kind of plateau. Three trees had grown into one, the massive lower trunk then splitting into several smaller ones. A clear pool was here, a small island at its center. Moss covered everything. Though never having walked here in his life, for some reason it was oddly familiar.

Realization dawned on him slowly. He looked down, half-hoping not to see it, but instead confirmed a canine print the size of a grizzly paw. Death, predictably, offered no reaction.

“This isn’t a real place. This is fiction. This is the pool of the forest god, in the film Princess Mononoke.”

Death remained silent.

“I don’t understand.”

The man stared dumbly at Death for several seconds, then scowling in frustration, plunged into the pool, swimming towards the island in his clothes. Upon it, was a mound of soft green plants, cut and piled together gently. Sensing something odd, he brushed away the green to reveal a pale, unmoving face. Faster now, he tore away the plants. The youth had quite obviously died of exsanguination; an exit wound the size of baseball was visible in his abdomen. The man stood in horror, shaking. It was the film's protagonist, who in the film had gone onto save the girl and the world. This is not what expected. The ramifications for his world, of course, would now be quite bad -- dead girl, dead forest, and no hope for those caught within the warfare soon to come.

Death stood behind him, silent and respectful. The man turned to her.

“Bring him back. It’s my fault.”

Death smiled sadly, “My love, you misunderstand. Death did not claim him… disillusionment did.”

Thoughts violently flooded his mind, so much that he nearly lost his balance. After all, wasn’t it true he had been inspired by the young prince, to be the kind of man that was prepared to kill, to risk death, to subordinate his emotions, and remain essentially human through the madness of others? Hadn’t he made a vow even younger, when he only dimly understood human predation, to fight it rather than harness it, submit and conform… yet never in more than 20 years, found a role model who exemplified that courage? Hadn’t he once seen death as a cheap price to pay for moral integrity?

But Death had spoken truly. In the end, he had buried the young prince. In Afghanistan, he had seen many noble acts and acted with courage himself. Goodness, however, was inevitably crushed. Good friends had been disavowed, by the same system that pushed them into impossible situations with minimal resources and no acceptable choices, and then held itself blameless. The best men he saw in Afghanistan, fighting to support their families and bring hope to their country's dismal future, died far from home to suicidal teenagers, themselves only puppets of evil in their short unhappy lives. He’d seen friends and families suffer, lives changed forever by circumstance. And himself, so at home with a gun, risk, and the volition to help others, powerless and lost against the bureaucratic and political systems where the lives of so many are ultimately decided… what had his courage been but self-delusion? What had he been but a false promise of humanity able to overcome uncaring and unresponsive systems? Wouldn’t if have been better if he’d never dreamed at all?

Something stirred within him. Once, he was filled with passion. He dreamed of changing the world, the nature of humanity. He had been proud, he had been driven, he had been hopelessly naïve. Now, he was wise – but apathetic, and unhappy. And he would have traded it in a heartbeat.

“My god,” he said. “Forgive me. What have I done?”

He looked at the youth, filled with sorrow and regret. He then stood to his feet, looking solemnly towards him. “I will heal you. I promise.”

Wrapped up in his own thoughts, he continued, on looking back at the peaceful isle where Death stood with the boy. Death, glancing down, might have seen the first stirrings of life on the boy’s pale lips. If so, she offered no reaction, before turning to follow the man, ever his faithful follower.
 

wait_out

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Part 3.

The sun arose. The man still walked through an empty world. As he descended the plateau, the forest slowly gave way to a verdant tropical jungle. He stepped through broad leaves and flowers onto a beach of fine, white sand. Waves peeled gracefully off a rocky point some 50 meters offshore, before gently lapping the sandy shore.

“This is Indonesia,” he said. “I always imagine being here when I feel hopeless.”

Death replied, unmoving, “this is not Indonesia.”

The man, heedless of Death’s statement, stripped off his boots and socks, wading into the weak shorebreak up to his ribcage, finally diving in. Immersed in happy memories, he felt warm for the first time since he arose from beside his rocky grave. Emerging from the water, he shivered happily, his fatigues already drying in the morning sun. He collected his boots, holding them both in one hand, and set off down the coast, his feet lightly sinking into the wet sand.

At last, he saw a well-maintained white fence, in which a small garden was enclosed. It was clearly decorative, not meant for security – harmless, domestic, and happy. Respecting the wishes of whoever the owner was, he opened the small gate and went inside.

It was a cemetery. There were no pathways, but rather large flat rocks in the manner of stepping stones. Tiny headstones were arranged in neat rows. The first read “N,” a kind, shy, and delicate woman he had met on his R&R in Indonesia. She’d wanted him to kiss her, and he didn’t, not daring to believe how much she liked him. She withdrew afterwards, hurt, and left him in confusion. He’d later realized and apologized for his dawdling, telling her it didn’t reflect his feelings for her, to which she immediately confessed her own feelings and fears she was inadequate for him – too late, though everyone assumed they’d slept together all the same due to the intensity of their parting. He felt a pang in his heart.

Death, sensing his distress, kindly warned him, “this is not the grave of a human soul.”

The man composed himself. More names were there. Names of girls he’d wanted when he was young, lonely, and desperate. Girls who’d wanted him back, but he’d been too paralysed or self-hateful to expose his imperfections to. He saw names that warmed his heart, girls who he had conquered and then loved. He saw names he’d lusted after hopelessly, too foolish to realize the strength of his own projections. And oddly, many names were missing – girls he’d slept with out of ease or convenience, feeling nothing at all.

He left, only half-understanding the small plot. This graveyard was tied to emotions, not sexuality. Both love and rejection were there, women he’d not thought of for years until seeing their names reminded him of how intensely he’d felt at the time. He returned to the beach, where Death stood waiting.

“I don’t understand,” he said. “There’s no logic to the graves. Some of my happiest memories are there.”

“There may be no logic to it. Yet, it is.”

The man thought about the cemetery. His entire life was there, every girl he’d ever loved, who had loved him back, or not. But why couldn’t it have been different? Why couldn’t it have been full of happy memories, instead of bittersweet ones? Why couldn’t he have kept filling it up, until it became a monument to the joy of life, rather than a testament to how often he’d struggled? Why hadn’t he tried harder, risked more, found love more often? Why hadn't he ever recognized what was truly important to him?

He turned to Death. “I don’t want to be here. I want to be alive again.”

“That is my gift to you, my love.” They were standing very close together.

“Life?”

“No,” replied Death. “That you understand its value.”

Looking into her eyes, the man was overcome by something he could not explain. He leaned in gently to kiss her, and far from drawing away, she closed her eyes and waited in expectation, almost like a human girl. And she was not cold, but warm, and tasted sweet. The man immediately wanted more, but Death, sensing this pulled away before the man’s emotions overcame him.

She looked at him with longing, and compassion, and sympathy for the billions of human lives that had terminated in failure. And he looked deep within himself, finding there something unexplainably equal to her, or greater, something which she loved and desperately wanted, yet she lacked the power to bestow upon him.

He gazed upon her, understanding at last.

“How will I remember to treasure my own life and its possibility? Won’t I just forget you?”

“I will always be there to remind you,” spoke Death.

“Be worthy of me.”

He turned away, slowly disappearing down the beach, each step taking him towards the land of the living. Death had vanished. But she would be there too, of course.
 

wait_out

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Part 4.

On the long road back, his tools slowly returned to him. Body armor, to withstand the unpredictable splinters of self-doubt. Medical kit, to quickly staunch the bleeding of whatever wounds might inevitably occur. Navigational equipment, to move steadily forward and not wander into danger unawares. His radio, a lifeline to the support of true friends and allies. Weapons, a physical reminder of the high cost of inattention. And finally, his name and rank, a token of the respect he outwardly wore.

Yet, he reflected, none of these would matter if the man who carried them lacked conviction.

Night had fallen, and as he tramped down a quiet road under the moonlight, he spotted a military encampment. The gate was open, the guard towers unmanned. Trash littered the interior of the compound. He stepped towards a tent, the sound of conversation audible from far outside. The soldiers inside were unshaven and drunk. One arose unsteadily, holding out a hand to him. “Captain!!” Furious, the man stepped forward, grabbing the soldier to force him back into his chair. The others laughed uproariously.

“You left me to die out there,” the man said hotly.

Rationalization spoke first. “We had a difficult choice to make, we didn’t want to – “ He droned on, the man not listening. Indecisiveness and Hesitation, sitting together, both looked uncomfortably at the ground. Insecurity looked at him contemptuously, as if he’d made the wrong choice. Cowardice promised he’d stay next time, and that the man was overreacting, and that he could not be held accountable. And amid this motley assortment of false soldiers and faithless companions, Temptation whispered sagely in his ear, “It’s true they’re a bad lot… but you’ve been on a hard road, my friend. You could simply rest your feet for a minute among us, then leave.”

For a horrible second, he hesitated. Then, pushing Temptation to the side, he ducked outside, cursing himself for listening to his own weakness. As he stormed past the gate, he was startled to see three soldiers in his path. But these were fit, disciplined, alert. NVG monocles were already attached to their helmets. They had been waiting for him.

“Sir,” one said. He could see their names and blood types written on their helmet bands. Valor, said one. Preserverance, said another. And the third, he realized, he’d once known as Innocence… but now he wore no name, though humanity shined through his eyes, as well as sorrow, hope, pain, and redemption.

“You’ve been missed,” the first said.

“Let me be worthy of you,” the man said softly, almost as if to himself, though the soldiers nodded in recognition. He then turned his back on safety, on comfort, on mediocrity, on the betrayal of compromise, and with his hand, he motioned them to move out in single file. Their shadows were visible under the light of the moon, the encampment disappearing into silence behind them.

And if the man had looked down, as they traversed a cliff that plunged far below them, he would have seen the graves of others below… men who succumbed to regret and lived with ghosts, men who allowed their dreams to die long before their bodies, men who sought to deny their true emotions rather than master their circumstances, men who took solace in mediocrity and excuses instead of struggling through their own imperfections.

How many men, when death returns to claim their fragile souls, will scream “Not Yet!” after living lives of disgrace? How many men will blame her for their own failures, and claim they didn’t have enough time – when death tries to tell us every day – be worthy of the life you've been given.

But some men remember, and flourish. For among the 4 unnoticed graves below, now almost invisible as nature slowly reclaimed them, one was empty. He was not unique, and he was not alone. So it is with all men who come to understand the true value of life -- the kiss of death a memory upon their lips, resolve in their hearts, and around them, the breath of life flowing through every beautiful woman that walks our impermanent world with us.
 

Victory Unlimited

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Yo WAIT_OUT,

Two Thumbs UP, Bro'. Way to get your "prose on".

I liked it. it's a mixture of many of my favorite movies/stories/books:

It's like a militarized version of A CHRISTMAS CAROL and IT'S A WONDERFUL LIFE----------with a little bit of the underlying theme of SAVING PRIVATE RYAN thrown in to boot. It's about a guy who gets a second chance and realizes that it might be his LAST chance to "get it right".

I especially like the part about the soldier's newly-made commitment to embrace life with a passion that he probably never did before. Also, something else that came to mind after reading this was one of my favorite Shakespeare quotes:

"A COWARD dies a thousand deaths...a BRAVE man only one."



RESPECT.:rockon:


V.U.
 

Victory Unlimited

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Troops,

This is the annual "Resurrection Day" for this thread. I alway drop in and revive this one so that NEW eyes may be opened, NEW paths may be taken, and that NEW lives...may begin.


RESPECT.


V.U.
 
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Purefilth

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Good bump. Soldier on.
 

twentee

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As Ayn Rand said:"Never give up on your dreams. Whatever the cost, they are WORTH it" (emphasis mine).
 

Augustus_McCrae

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V.U. / wait_out,

Thanks for this wise thread. Reading this gives a man much to think about and reflect on.

This type of post represents the best of what S.S. can be.

Thank you and much respect.

- Augustus -
 
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btownbuck2012

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The yearly "Bump" for every man who needs to "Resurrect" himself.

RESPECT.

V.U.
I have no idea how I hadn't read this yet but this is one of the best things I've ever read on this forum. VU, you've gotta start posting regularly again Brother. This forum needs you now more than ever!
 

Victory Unlimited

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Yo Troops,

This is my yearly reminder to everyone that as long as you've got a heartbeat inside your chest---you still have time to "Resurrect" the rest of your life!

And I implore you...Do it TODAY.

V.U.
 

Victory Unlimited

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Yo Troops,

This is the annual "BUMP" for this thread.

Why?

Because something tells me that many of you here (just like ME), have also taken some brutal "hits" over this past year that were designed KILL you---AND your hopes and dreams.

But guess what?

It might have knocked you down, but it did NOT take you out! Every day alive is another day to get it right. As long as your heart is still beating---the clock is still ticking.

The fight continues. The WAR goes on. But the Victory unlimited Show Army's "Rules of Engagement" still remain the same:

No retreat.

No surrender.

Nobody runs.

Everybody fights!

Make TODAY the day that history records that YOU TOO cheated death---that YOU TOO rose again!

The WORLD is waiting...

V.U.
 
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