Archive for the ‘Stupid PUAs’ Category

Hypnosis Services – Prices Updated

Due to an increase in demand for my Hypnosis Services, I have had to up my rate, which is still lower than most Hypnotists by far, and that’s because I don’t do hypnosis as my main income, or even a very relevant part of my income at all.

This is fortunate for those who do use my services, because since hypnosis cures most issues far faster than psychotherapy, any hypnotist that is any good, will have to charge quite high fees.

Most people are not aware that both Freud and Jung were hypnotists before the practice of psychotherapy was “invented” primarily by Freud. And Freud admitted in his private diaries that the whole point of psychology and his brand of psychotherapy was for it to take a long time so he could fleece his victims patients and become wealthy.

Freud was not a very good hypnotists, and this is why he invented an alternate method that would result is more income as well as a level of (largely undeserved) fame, which was his other primary purpose in life. Freud was obsessed with leaving his mark, being famous, and thought of as a great man. These thoughts too, he admitted in his writings.

In any case, the point is that hypnosis, when done properly, tends to be a much faster way of dealing with any issue a person may be trying to resolve.

The unfortunate situation with regard to hypnosis is that since it is impossible to regulate, because ultimately it is done via talking, and you can’t prevent people from speaking to each other, the level and quality of hypnotist you encounter can vary a great deal, and, as with psychotherapists, unfortunately, most are not ideal.

Most hypnotists are “qualified” by a simple week-end course and have few or no clients to speak of. And in great part, their initial reasons for doing hypnosis have often to do with their imagining that they will be able to mind-control everyone from their friends, to their enemies, and random hot girls they bump into at the local supermarket. This aspect too was fuelled by the mostly nonsensical PUA attitudes that I have been essentially exposing for more than a decade now.

Partly this is due to the fact that I had already mastered hypnosis before I came across the PUA stuff, as I have explained before. And my interest in hypnosis was purely personal to begin with and I in fact spent at least a year and mostly more like two of them, doing hypnosis only on myself. It is only after I experienced very deep levels of self-hypnosis that I began to do it for others. At first it was just for friends and work colleagues who asked me unprompted, but after about a hundred people or so I decided that if people were finding it useful (which they were) and kept asking me, I needed to charge at least a nominal fee to cover my time. I have now done dozens of sessions online via Skype and I have seen no appreciable difference in quality or effects for my clients, so I have moved my prices back “up” to what I had them at in 2008. I had halved them because I had not done hypnosis via remote Skype sessions before, but after a year or more of doing them, I can tell that there is no drop in effectiveness, so I have returned my prices to the ones that were still about half of what more mainstream hypnotists charged back in 2008.

I also need to point out that although I don’t like making aggrandising claims wherever fees are concerned, having worked with, and met, and seen, and tested many hypnotists over the years, my reduced prices are not in any way a reflection of my abilities, since in general, I would classify my ability in this regard, without a doubt in the top 5% of professional hypnotists, (that is people who do it as their primary means of making a living) and in all fairness I am certain I would be within the top 1% of them.

But as I said, I am not really interested in making my living from hypnosis. It is something I enjoy doing on a limited basis. And that mostly because it produces good to excellent results for those who have at times failed to resolve life-long issues by any other means.

As I am not good at self-marketing, I have not bothered to update many of the testimonials with more recent ones, but I will begin to perhaps ask new clients to leave me one if they are happy with the results they achieved.

In any case, if you want to have a hypnosis session, I suggest you get one before the inevitable increase in requests over time prompts me to raise the prices again, and to levels more in line with those of people who live off of this skill.

The Male Quest for Woman

And the Incidendal Drawing and Quartering of Rollo Tommasi.

Adam has recently posted a couple of somewhat interesting articles that consider the prospect of sex before marriage, fornication, and the PUA mindset in general.

The key message I personally see as most relevant in the first one is the partial quote that derives from the reading of Goldwin Smith (a 19th Century historian) by the author of the piece Adam links to, JM Smith, which he however presents only in part, and I think deserves a fuller version of it:

He [Goldwin Smith] was appalled by the prospect of women’s suffrage, correctly foreseeing that it would make democratic politics even more emotional, and that Anglo Saxon men would be to soft, silly and spineless to stop it.  He explained this as the dolorous result of gynæmania, a “disease” of the Anglo Saxon male that was characterized by a morbidly excessive craving for the good opinion of women.   The word gynæmania was first coined as a scientific name for satyriasis, or a morbidly excessive craving for carnal knowledge of women, but Smith saw that slavery to sex was becoming slavery to the female sex.

The emphasis on Anglo-Saxon is mine, and I maintain it remains the key point of the article, as it was indeed in the post by JM Smith, and indeed Golden Smith’s original work, even if Adam did not seem to focus on it particularly. So keep this point about the Anglos in mind for later, we shall return to it.

The second article can be summed up as a strong and unequivocal advice —almost an order, really— to men, to not indulge in sex before marriage; and he takes a post by Rollo Tommasi as his jumping off point. Tommasi is somewhat “revered” in PUA circles as being one of the grandfathers of the PUA movement. Personally, though I have weird hobbies, and looking at PUAs and their thirst for raping incels’ wallets was one of many such entertainments, I have never found Tommasi to be especially insightful of much of anything. And the article Adam links to is definitely of the stupidly degenerate category, although my take on things is considerably different from Adam’s in many respects.

Rollo’s post is a car-crash of bullshit and lies and simply illogical nonsense and deserves a point by point take-down even just on its own (non-existent) supposed merits. And… because… you know how I said I have weird hobbies? And typing doesn’t hurt me, I’m going to do just that right here below, between the fancy page breaks. If you don’t care (which is absolutely fine), or if you can’t hold a key point in your mind for more than 3 minutes, or are particularly pious and find vulgarity distatesful, then avert your eyes and skip the Rollo Tommasi take-down below, and scroll to the second fancy page break.

The key points by the way, so far are:

  • Anglos are weird about caring about what women think of them, and,
  • Rollo is full of shit. The detailed takedown below is for those not experienced/logical/clear-headed enough to see why Rollo is full of shit, and I am here to help! [insert sociopath smile here].

Rollo in fog-fart grey background your friendly host in standard text.

Rollo, do you think “Body Count” matters?

Absolutely. And the higher, the better. I need a girl who’s DTF (down to fuck) from the jump. For guys after 50, all that pretentious bullshit about long-term commitment should melt away to sexual expediency. It’s not about experience or some contrived want for a virgin bride. It all comes down to guys who fuck and guys who don’t. If we’re talking from the perspective of evolutionary effectiveness, women (and men) with higher body counts are effectively proven commodities in a sexual economy.

The sexually unfulfilled and deprived Rollo tells us several things right in the first paragraph:

  • He is over 50 and not married or settled down, still chasing the ever elusive “high” of some sex with a random “hottie” (but at over 50 I am fairly sure he’ll take whatever bone is thrown at him).
  • He in fact has given up on being “pair-bonded” as the PUAs call it, to one woman. He tries to cover it up with absolutely false bravado and machismo, but it is painfully obvious he is in pain from this. Whether his pain is always conscious or not is not clear yet, self-deception in people like Rollo is over 9,000 and also eleventy.

  • UPDATE: I stand corrected! He’s been married since he was 28, which means I was completely correct about his being a fraud with regard to his “experience” with bedding women, it’s literally all made up theory. And since I did not “correct” any of the subsequent points after this point, you can verify immediately that I really did not know anything about this guy besides read maybe 10 lines of his stuff over the last decade and concluding he was irrelevant, and secondly, that my dissection of his nonsense post is spot on, despite this.

  • He talks absolute nonsense with regard to “evolutionary effectiveness” because banging as many random women as possible, or, for a woman, even worse, as many guys as possible, throughout human history was only a recipe for absolute disaster and death, and the end of your genetic line. Staying together, regardless of the difficulties, and ensuring the survival of your plentiful children was the only successful strategy, and it still is. The obvious idiocy of his thinly veiled self-justification/rationalisation is clear to anyone with a functioning neurone or two.

“Oh, oh! but you say he is sexually unfulfilled and deprived, when he clearly has (or had) sex with a lot of women, you’re just bitter!”

No, young Padawan, pay attention now:

Firstly: PUAs LIE. And Lie spectacularly about their “body count” trust me on this, I looked into the subspecies of “male” that labels themselves as PUAs in some depth. Feel free to use the Search Me button on the right there. (heh… in light of my not bothering to research Rollo at all and then it turns out he was married the whole time he pretended to be a “player” this is kind of hilarious.)

Secondly: Let’s in any case ass-u-me Rollo does indeed still have regular sex with random hotties every week. Even if that were the case, considering by his own supposed “reality” he has been doing that for 30 years or so, you have to wonder… what can he possibly still be chasing? As regular readers of this blog will know, I am no stranger to the female form myself, and went through a lot of women in a short period of time after I gave up essentially on long-term relationships. And after a few years of it, I tell you, I was essentially bored of it. And no, I am not a guy with low T or lack of energy or any difficulty in securing a regular flow of pretty, usually above average intelligence, women to my bed. I assure you, my pointing this out comes from having lived that way and not any kind of misplaced envy, lack of understanding, or inexperience at the “thrill” of a new woman under me. The fact is that only a man that has yet to fill the hole in his soul can continue to behave this way, in the erroneous belief that if he just beds enough women, somehow, at some point, he will feel fulfilled. Don’t get me wrong, there is some truth to the fact that if you become able to essentially pick up women for sex almost at will, it does give you a certain… I am not even sure what to call it, but I guess… level of general life confidence would be it. But in reality it has little to do with how many women you take to bed and more with your attitude when with a woman. There are men that have this sense of confidence innate to them and only marry and stay with one woman for their entire lives, and there are men that may go through some women to realise they have it already. It’s a little like martial arts. There are guys who never take a class but in a certain circumstance will not hesitate to fight back, and there are guys who need to go training for a while to feel strong in their sense of justice, or whatever. The reality is that a man who forever chases sex with an ever growing number of women, is simply a malformed man. He is not, I assure you a self-actualised man, to borrow a Maslowian term. He is like the perennial teenager, still trying to be “cool” at 70. Or if you prefer, he’s like the Boomers, who keep insisting 80 is the new 40, or whatever. And that is no way for a grown man to be.

Third: Remember that point about the Anglos being far more desperate in general for female approval than say, well, your average dago, spic, South American, Greek… oh look… it’s a divide between Protestant and Catholic or Orthodox religions… again. Things that make you go hmmmm, eh?

Are you starting to understand what I mean by deprived and unfulfilled yet? (It seems clear he wishes he was a “player” which he clearly is not, and never was so…)

Guys who don’t fuck spend lifetimes consoling themselves with moral high-ground narratives to explain why they don’t fuck. At least 80% of guys don’t fuck, so there’s a lot of narrative inbreeding and self-congratulatory bullshit passed around among them. This bullshit has been de rigueur for millennia, but in the social media age, it’s an obvious cope. We’re just more aware of it now.

Of course, the best narratives are the ones that make guys who don’t fuck feel good about not fucking while simultaneously making guys who do fuck feel bad about fucking. This disqualification tactic is one of the many forms of bloodless intrasexual competition tactics that 80%er men have consoled themselves with since the Middle Ages. If you can make your intrasexual rival feel guilty about fucking – because God hates fucking for any reason besides making babies – then you have a tactical advantage in the sexual economy. It works even better if you can gaslight a superior sexual rival to believe he (or she) is going to Hell if he pursues his biological imperative to his fullest potential.

Good God. Talk about gaslighting. If you take him at his word, Rollo is saying that fucking, just that, fucking, not procreating, not making children, just fucking, as many women as possible, is what makes life worthwhile. I have met men like this. Several PUAs are like this, and let me tell you, they are absolutely pathetic. They are a kind of Gollum about pussy in general. My Preciousssss they say, obsessed, salivating, masturbating furiously, whether alone or inside someone else, and that is all that their lives revolve around.

He also further blurts out obvious absolute lies, imputing 80% of men in the Middle Ages did this thing: which was about telling you that way to live (that he thinks is the epitome of existence) is a shallow, discivilisational, unfulfilling, unhealthy way to exist, and not live at all, and they did it to prevent other men from having sex with lots of women. This is complete nonsense, since most men in the middle ages got married, did not have lots of partners, and raised children with their wives, and in the Catholic world at least (which was the ONLY Christianity), most marriages lasted literally until death parted them.

According to him, the entire structure of the Catholic Church was set up so the celibate priests could get all the poonani. It’s ridiculous on its face, ahistorical, and frankly smacks of Gollum-like backward rationalisation that would make a crack whore trying to justify her habit blush with shame.

Generally, lesser men cannot openly challenge greater men (men who fuck) in physical prowess. So, more intelligent men who don’t fuck contrived forms of social gaslighting to improve their chances of reproducing. Smarter lesser men have always devised workarounds to solve their reproductive problems. It’s actually one of the strengths of our species. Nothing sparks innovation quite like a man solving his proximate need for sex and his ultimate need to reproduce. And nothing has been more expedient a tactic than convincing a greater man that he ought to disqualify himself from the sexual economy.

According to Rollo, the Gammas have been “successful” throughout the ages at getting Alpha men to not reproduce. Oh, no, sorry, to fuck, for the sake of fucking alone; reproduction be damned. Once again, anyone who has actually been successful with women over a period of some years, can tell you this is absolute bullshit, and it makes me suspect Rollo, like so many PUAs after him, is likely also full of shit about his supposed sexual prowess with women. It doesn’t matter what the Gammas do. Alphas and Sigmas (that are that way inclined, some Sigmas are not) will be with women sexually even if you imposed the death penalty for doing so. And they would still find ways to get away with it. Gammas have never been very successful at anything really, except being annoying, redundant, and getting women to avoid them like radioactive plague. And notice also that for Rollo the sole qualifier of what makes a man “great” is how high his body count is. Truly it is so pathetically ridiculous that it makes me laugh at both the stupidity of it, and Rollo’s own intrinsic amoeba-like existence. And while he wants very much to paint my view of this as some sort of “envy”, there really is absolutely zero of any such intent or reality in my perspective. It is genuinely the somewhat ironic mild amusement one gets from watching a complete fuckwit trying to be clever and spectacularly showing his ass to the world for the fuckwit he really is.

The problem is, guys who fuck are usually too preoccupied with the logistics of fucking to be bothered by the self-loathing moralism of guys who don’t fuck. At least, that’s how it’s been in a post-Sexual Revolution sexual economy. If it ain’t broke, fixing it isn’t even an afterthought. When you watched the now infamous AMOGing scene in The Wolf Of Wall Street where Leonardo Di Caprio swoops Margot Robbie from a trust fund yuppie, you’re really watching the intrasexual combat between a guy who fucks and a guy who doesn’t. It’s how human males lock horns over sexual access in rutting season. The only thing a guy who doesn’t fuck has in his arsenal is his cunning and nerve.

The emphasis is added by me to point out yet again another logical fallacy. The men who are successful with women do not preoccupy themselves with the logistics of fucking at all, beyond possibly getting their maid, sister, or slutty FWB, to change their semen-stained bedsheets from the night before, because they have a new girl coming over. Literally every man I have known that was… well… a “guy who fucks” like Rollo wants to put it, gave his interactions with women less consideration than he did his enjoyment of a film with a good friend, or his sport of choice, or reading a book he was into. The fact Rollo does not know this, again, makes me suspect he is not quite the lady-killer he presents himself as.

This is why body count only matters to guys who don’t fuck. Their moral crisis isn’t about their inability to find a virgin bride. Guys who don’t fuck couldn’t give two shits about whether a woman’s ability to pair bond with him is impaired by her body count. All they really want is the kind of sex women give to guys who do fuck but never need the ‘value added’ benefits he had to qualify for to get her to fuck him. You see, the gaslighting goes both ways – outwardly towards a sexual rival and inwardly to convince himself that his purpose is righteous. Moralizing over body count is as much about the guy wagging his finger at women as it is about their indiscriminate fucking. There’s actually nothing indiscriminate about it, but sour grapes and making your necessity a virtue are necessary to make Strategic Pluralism an unfalsifiable sexual strategy.

There is a hint of truth to this paragraph, but it is presented as the only absolute, which, as usual, is nonsense. Most men in general actually do care about body-count for any woman they would consider as a long term partner, and at times even for ones they would consider only for a temporary fling. The fact Rollo does not know this, is a clear indication that he is still at the teenager level of sexual immaturity.

Strategic Pluralism Theory

According to strategic pluralism theory (Gangestad & Simpson, 2000), men have evolved to pursue reproductive strategies that are contingent on their value in the mating market. More attractive men accrue reproductive benefits from spending more time seeking multiple mating partners and relatively less time investing in offspring (guys who fuck).

In contrast, the reproductive effort of less attractive men, who do not have the same mating opportunities (guys who don’t fuck), is better allocated to investing heavily in their mates and offspring and spending relatively less time seeking additional mates.

From a woman’s perspective, the ideal is to attract a partner who confers both long-term investment benefits and genetic benefits (true hypergamy). Not all women, however, will be able to attract long-term investing mates who also display heritable fitness cues (guys who fuck). Consequently, women face trade-offs in choosing mates because they may be forced to choose between males displaying fitness indicators or those who will assist in offspring care and be good long-term mates (Gangestad & Simpson, 2000). 

The most straightforward prediction that follows is that women seeking short-term mates when the man’s only contribution to offspring is genetic should prefer muscularity more than women seeking long-term mates.

from Why Is Muscularity Sexy? Tests of the Fitness Indicator Hypothesis

Guys who fuck are usually typified by physique. Usually. 

All that theory says is what has been known since the dawn of time. Women want the fittest and most successful male to breed with, and those types of men have unlimited options so tend to make use of them. Also, water is wet.

Much as I despise Destiny, the guy DOES fuck. Maybe not like Justin WallerJason Momoa, or Mike Sartain, but he certainly ruts like a feral animal compared to Ben Shapiro. Guys who fuck don’t sit around comparing dick sizes or bask in the glow of the imaginings of the third-party validation they get from filling a void in their souls/egos by fucking. These are tropes that guys who don’t fuck tell themselves to explain why guys who do fuck are fucking the women they’ll eventually fuck because those women ran out of options. The concept of fucking for some ephemeral form of validation is part of that gaslighting I mentioned above. 

Here we see a rather convoluted bit of chaff-firing, self-delusion and gaslighting in order to justify and rationalise both to himself and the world, his ultimately meaningless way of existing.

He says guys who have his (supposed) lifestyle do not worry about their image which can be “true” to the extent that some men do not care how their womanising makes them look to other men (or in some cases to women too) or society in general, but they tend to be the exceptions, most Alpha types do care about the way they are perceived, and in any case, they all care at least about what women, or at least any given woman in particular, at a point in time, thinks of them, if only to get them in bed. It is also generally true that men who are successful with women do not tend to over-analyse themselves (unless they are PUAs) but the fact remains there is a deeply unfulfilled part of them, whether they realise it or not consciously, that has quite a lot to do with needing to feel loved, and paradoxically, their womanising tends to almost ensure they are ostracised from that very sensation they crave (consciously or not).

But ultimately he ends with yet another nihilist absolute. According to him, such men (as he presents himself to supposedly be) fuck for… just the orgasm I guess. They don’t do it for any self-validation, they don’t do it for love, they don’t do it for procreation, they don’t do it for long term companionship… right Rollo, nice of you to finally admit (if passively aggressively like a whiny bitch) that all people like you do, is really masturbate themselves to death, and it really makes little difference if you do it alone or with a human you empathise with about the same as you do with your no-doubt well-used fleshlight.

It’s intended to get your genetic superior to disqualify himself by contemplating his filling the void of existence with meaningless sex. Meaning plays another big role in the game of guys who don’t fuck. “Meaning” is a container word. It’s a term you can subjectively fill with anything you like. Even fucking if you’re clever about it. Meaning is intentionally ambiguous, and that’s what makes it so effective in being unfalsifiable. As a rule, gaslighting depends on unfalsifiable concepts, but meaning is one of the capstones. Any time you listen to some child on the Fresh & Fit podcast prattle on about how she’s living her truth, you’re listening to a variation of the meaningfulness horseshit.

And here Rollo doubles down on the idea that his life has no meaning. None whatsoever. All there is, is the fuck, for the sake of the fuck, the ultimately masturbationary orgasm for the sake of the orgasm itself, not any other reason. Not self-validation, not self-improvement, not marriage, not reproduction, nope, nope, nope, just the ever omnipresent “fuck”.

Do you see why I compared him, and people like him, to Gollum?

Guys who don’t fuck, like Ben Shapiro and Jordan Peterson, are actually the ones who need validation. Because soul-void fulfillment means confronting the reality that they’ll never enjoy the uninhibited feral lust their wives reserved for the men in their past who fucked. Men who never had to prove their value-added bona fides to fuck the women who would become their wives. Men who don’t fuck live lives of ceaselessly qualifying for a desire they know their wives were capable of with other men but can’t seem to provoke themselves. This is why validation is a thing for guys who don’t fuck – and women who need a Jungian term to explain why guys who do fuck won’t fuck them.

And now he takes the doubled down absolute idiocy to truly stupefying levels. According to him, the men who “fuck” are the be-all and end-all of life, the utter epitome of manly manness. Yes, there is some truth to the self-soothing half-truths and lies men and women tell themselves for not being as successful in the sexual marketplace, but what Rollo tries desperately to shove under the carpet with his tracer-firing barrage at what he considers “inferior” men is the question: What, exactly, are the men who “fuck” better for, or at, in life? And the ONLY thing Rollo keeps coming up with is the purpose of “the fuck” itself. Which is, of course, either ridiculous or nihilistic and pathetic to a suicidal degree. And we know more than one PUA has gone the suicide route too. (And as it happens, Rollo himself turns out to be one of the guys who “does not fuck”, in his own terminology, which according to him, makes him the same as Ben Shapiro. Well… I got nothing, the man is entirely a fraud whichever way you look at it.)

Guys who don’t fuck are the dutiful, loyal, supportive, and nameless husband who Rosehad children and grandchildren with, yet pined for Jack (a guy who fucks) and dropped a priceless diamond to the bottom of the sea in the final moments of her life at the end of Titanic. Hypergamy doesn’t care about the moral crises and ethical concerns of guys who don’t fuck. Validation and body count are just two heads of a conjoined twin. They haven’t gotten the memo that their 20th-century moralism-as-strategy is meaningless in a 21st-century sexual marketplace. 

Ah yes. Using Titanic as the masterpiece of philosophy that it clearly was, and making the vapid, stupid, callous, utterly self-absorbed narcissist Rose, the “heroine” of the piece, because she throws away a fortune she could have given to her progeny, in quintessential, wicked, super-boomer format, is indeed, a bold strategy, Rollo! Not a good one, valid or sensible one, but certainly “bold”. As in the same kind of “bold” that would stick his dick in a bar-cutting industrial machinery to “prove his manliness”.

Body count only matters to nameless husbands who don’t fuck. It doesn’t matter to anywoman because they would rather fuck a lot of Jacks on a sinking ship than be bothered by the purity (paternity) concerns of guys who don’t fuck. Guys who fuck don’t care about body count because they know women hate guys who don’t fuck, and those guys care about body count.

Again, it is quite obvious that Rollo protesteth too much here, as he has throughout the entire vapid, ageing PUA post.

Rollo is the male equivalent of a post-wall woman who has ridden the cock-carousel so long she is now left on the shelf. And Rollo is the post-wall “bad-boy” (assuming he ever really actually was one at all) who is left with spent cigarettes, a ruggerised fleshlight, wrinkles, and increasingly creeping despair, at the beginning of the end of a life wasted on ephemera.

FINAL UPDATE: As I said right from the start, PUAs lie, and as it happens Rollo lied about pretty much everything concerning his supposed “ability” concerning women, and he advises men to do the exact opposite of what he himself has done, which is to stay married to one woman for 26 years. If he had been the ladykiller he presented himself as, the above vivisection would be absolutely correct, and as it happens, remains so, regarding the fictional would-be Rollo. And since he is an absolute fraud that advises others to go down a path he knows nothing about and leads to nothing good long term, one can hardly imagine anything he has to say is relevant or worthwhile. Even by his own (retarded) “measuring stick” Rollo himself is the exact guy who “does not fuck” that he so denigrates in his post. And yet he also advises against being married. So… what exactly is Rollo, what does he actually have to say that is relevant, or true, or valid?

Right, now after that vivisection, let us return to the original points, which are that:

  • Anglos are weird about caring about what women think of them, and,
  • Rollo is full of shit.

And seeing what that says about men who chase after women for sex and so on in general terms and in spiritual terms.

First of all, I think the point about Anglos being afflicted by gynæmania is a real thing. The English speaking world of the Anglos is indeed, culturally, regardless of whether British (though these are the epicentre of it) Australian, New Zealand, Canadian, or even the more Anglecised parts of America, tends to be irrelevant, as a people, they tend to be grossly united by the Protestant Zeitgeist and a kind of fear/intimidation/shyness of women in general.

Certainly none of the Catholic countries suffer from this to anywhere near the extent the English people do. And it has been this way for centuries. The writings of Italian travellers to England recounts the same view of things that we Southern European tend to have even today of the English men and the English women.

I believe in part it is due to the nefarious influence of Protestantism, as it is an invariably mechanising of humanity and the minute you do that, the first errors will be with your understanding/handling/appreciation of women, because human females are in a way the very embodiment of the chaos of humanity at its best and its worst, and any reduction at binarium pensierum (binary thinking) will invariably produce vast errors in your model of reality with respect to women. And as such they will become only more mystifying, unpredictable and dangerous for you. The other part is due to the fact that as a rule, the Anglos tend to be a logical and shy people, neither of which quality lends itself particularly well to being easy-going in relation to women, who as a rule are not logical and only pretend to be shy in the company of men, if at all.

For such men, the eventual “ability” to bed a lot of women does in fact begin to become a form of validation for them. It remains essentially a false one, but one they believe in and buy into as much as the people they try to convince around them.

These are the men that despite having slept with a hundred or even a few hundred women or more, remain nevertheless prey to their own desire for women and susceptible to how they are perceived by the women they are attracted to. They invariably appear as what the Zoomers call “cringe” to men who have the self-assuredness internally that these Anglo types seek perennially, and hardly ever find. I have known men that only had two women as sexual partners, the first was their wife and the second also their wife, after the first one died, and yet these men would have zero problem genuinely attracting almost any woman they set their eyes on, and they would do so free of the anxiety and self-doubt that plagues the supposed ladies men with hundreds of notches on their belts.

For me, discovering I was able to get women to have sex with me successfully, was not self-actualising in any way. It was more like discovering I had a natural aptitude for fencing, or skiing. A kind of pleasant surprise about something I never really gave much thought to one way or the other. And a good part of why I was successful has very much to do with the fact that that is pretty much how I treated it, not because I wanted to pose as such a person, but because I am such a person. And I cannot with certainty say what makes a man that way or not. I think at least some of it is genetic, but life experiences probably formed in childhood also has something to do with it.

And if I had to give it my best guess, I would say it is probably mostly due to whether your relationship with your parents, and primarily your father, was honest and direct and loving or not. The English sense of “logical detachment” I think is ultimately damaging to children, which is why the entire Anglosphere is a fucking mess of feral youfs with no sense, no honour, no dignity, or discipline to speak of, and increasingly illiterate at that.

The more instinctual and visceral love of an Italian father, who may well kick your ass, literally, for some small or even wrong reason, but who would unquestioningly jump into a harvesting combine to save you, is a far healthier way to be raised than the cold logic of the Anglo-Saxons. And instills in you a profound sense of self-assuredness that I think nothing else does. And that sense comes through to women like a lighthouse in the dark, whether they are aware of it or not consciously (mostly not).

I hope this explains the reason why some men, regardless of how many women they have slept with, ultimately remain on some level… uncertain. Doubtful. Unfinished. And women can in fact sense that.

Now, let us get to the concept of fornication in general and so on, which in fairness, was the topic that Adam was trying to cover, and to which, my extremely long preamble above is merely introduction to give you my context.

On Fornication

First of all, let me state unambiguously that yes, in an ideal world, the way that the Catholic Church says we should behave, both as men and women is indeed, the best and ideal way. No question. I unreseveredly agree.

That said, being as I am Catholic, and being as I lived like a heathen for at least 43 years of my time on Earth, and given that I made no attempt to resist temptations of the flesh in that time, I think I can say with some authority that:

  • We live on a world that is decidedly fallen and very far from ideal.
  • Every one of us is utterly flawed in many ways even after we see and realise and accept the truth of Catholicism.
  • Men who have yet even to see the truth of Catholicism cannot, in all likelihood, even begin to see why what are known as the sins of the flesh are even bad, never mind actual mortal sins.

So, if unmitigated fornication is the equivalent of a blind and deaf man walking towards a cliff-face, how can I possibly begin to even make him aware of this truth? The temptations of the flesh after all are not a fairy tale. They are very much real, and they certainly never felt bad or sinful to me when I indulged deeply in them, nor, do I expect they feel that way to the average 20-something or even 30-something year old male that is “finally getting some!”

And while Adam and people like him, including Catholic Priests and Bishops are absolutely correct that it is a damaging thing, it’s not as if I had not heard that sort of preaching when I was indulging deeply in fornication and then some.

And my reaction to it all was usually, something like, Eh, poor bastard isn’t getting any and he either doesn’t know what he’s missing, or maybe would like, much as the feminists, everyone to be as miserable as him.

And I expect any young man that has got this far (if any have) in this long post, is probably thinking the same thing, and they also do not have a counter-example as a reference frame. Not one they have lived certainly, because that counter example you only get once you are married, and fully committed to one woman, and she is to you too.

It sort of feels like a lie. Oh, don’t you have any fun now, boy, you just wait and just take the ONE sweet, and only that one, for the rest of your life, and trust us, it’s better this way. With all the bullshit you have ingested by age 20, and your at least seeing some of it (if you are not completely retarded) one can hardly be blamed for thinking this too is a massive lie.

And because I am Catholic, and because I have also the example of my own life, and the awesomeness of a real priest that Baptised, Confirmed and presided over my Marriage, and had the benefit of his wisdom and kindness, I also understand that fallen as we are, erroneous as we are, mistaken as we are, we are not necessarily evil or shunning God. We are just wrong. Badly, desperately, tragically, sadly, wrong, but mostly just wrong, not intentionally evil. And we are sad, weak, feel unloved and uncared for by anyone and we try, like drowning rats, to scrabble some sense of worth and love and kindness, wherever there is any illusion we might find some. And so we make mistakes.

And most of you reading this who are unmarried will be in the midst of those mistakes, and I am not here to chastise you, or rain thunder and fire and brimstone and judgement from God on your weighted and desperate heads. Far from it.

I was one of you. I walked your path deeper and longer in the swamp of godless life than most. So, young man, if you will, after this very long set of words, take a seat near my camp-fire and let me tell you a story and may it help you navigate your own swamp, and may it be shallow and brief.

So you are fornicating. So you may even like a girl you are with and be boyfriend and girlfriend, and you may even be thinking how it would be nice if it will last. Or maybe you’re so infatuated with the sensations of sex that a new girl every week or every day or two, or whatever, is intoxicating and draining all your thoughts and actions, wallet and testicles. Whatever the case may be, listen to this and think it over:

What do you want for your life? What do you want to think about your life when you are 99 years old and on your rocking chair and you can see the grim reaper finally walking towards you? And you’re fine with it and smile at him even, recognising that this supposedly terrible and fearful boogeyman is nothing more than a tired and misunderstood boatman, taking you across the veil (or the river Styx if you prefer).

Do you think you will be pleased reminiscing over your 287 sexual conquests, aided by your printed out spreadsheet in large letter format, because your eyes are no longer what they used to be? Playing out the sex tapes on the projector of your study to remember better what you did or felt or what they did? Or who they even were? Do you think that will warm your heart as you face the final journey?

Or your sporting achievements?

Or your financial ones, absent children and grandchildren to leave it to?

Tell me, young man, what do you think will make you able to face the final boatman with serenity and peace?

I’ll tell you what it is for me now and what I hope it will be for me at 105, but I say only 105 because I started late, otherwise 99 would be perfectly acceptable to me too. And yes, I know I’d be lucky to get there.

It is the idea of my children grown up and married and with children of their own, and doing well, and if God grants me the energy and the fortune to do so, the idea of leaving them as much as I possibly can, to make their lives and those of their children good ones.

It is the idea of watching my grandchildren and possibly even my great-grandchildren (hence 105!) running around nearby, screaming and making noise and playing joyfully and laughing full belly-laughs and thinking my sons and daughters and their wives and husbands are good women and men who will be with them to the end of their days and help them raise the next lot of joyous Crusaders for God, Truth and Justice, as my family line has done since the literal original First Crusade.

Now you may have a different religion from me (because you’re still young and stupid, heh, heh, heh) but I don’t think it changes the equation. I don’t think it changes it at all.

And here is what else I think. I think if what I just told you is NOT what inspires you, is abhorrent to you in some way, then I hope very much it’s only because, as I said, you’re young, and really fucking stupid, and you have bought in to a lot of Boomer-era lies, And I sincerely hope you grow out of your mental retardation.

And if not, if that is who you really are, then fuck you. I hope you die young and rid the world of another noxious creature that only spoils the Earth and everything on it. And I’m not talking about climate change, you fuckwit.

Now, if you get the impression that I am a kind of bastard for an old man, I would say, fuck you at the “old man” I can probably still kick your ass at 54 if you are in your twenties, depending on some factors, but that aside, yeah, I am not the most pleasant human being. I don’t like humans much because mostly they are weak, and because they are weak they lie. And they lie a lot. They lie to themselves first and then to everyone else around them. And the lies cause the harm. They cause ALL the harm. Which is as the god of this world wants it. Because this Earth is under the dominion of Satan. And no, young man, I don’t give a shit if you think “The Devil” is a superstition. He is more real than the heart-attack all the poor imbeciles that took the genetic serum are probably facing in the not too distant future.

Oh, and this is just a side note, but listen up: The Earth is NOT Flat!

And if you think it is you are a stupid bastard and I really don’t care what happens to you and with a level of stupidity that high it is definitely a better thing if you do not pass on those retarded genes at all.

Back to my story, now.

So, if you agree with me so far, then you also must realise that you get that kind of old-age satisfaction only if you make children and raise them well. And this means finding and marrying a woman that will also want to be with you until one or both of you die and raise children together. No matter what difficulties you will both face. No matter if you are so fucking stupid one day to fuck your secretary, or hire a prostitute, or become a heavy drinker, or make a bad business decision and lose your shirt. And conversely, no matter if she is so fucking stupid to spread her legs for the sexy postman, or her co-worker, or the neighbour, or she becomes a heavy drinker, or more worried about what the neighbours think of you and her than looking after her husband and children, or she splashes out on stupid shit and drives you to the brink of bankruptcy.

So is it easy to find such a woman? No.

Is it easy to stay married to such a woman, delightful as she might be? No.

Will you come across things in life that will hurt you in ways you never imagined, and that would seem to make leaving her a better option? Yes.

More than once? In all likelihood, yes.

And will she come across such things? Yes, without shadow of a doubt, and probably even more often than you.

And if you are thinking right now, Well Old Man, this is a really rosy picture you’re painting for me, what the fuck do you want me to do, and is the light at then of the tunnel also an oncoming train?

I say this to you:

Firstly fuck you twice for the Old Man again, you wet behind the ears know-nothing. Secondly, it’s not rosy. It’s just how it is, so you know what you’re facing. Forewarned is forearmed as they say. What I want you to do is immaterial. It’s what you want to do, or not do, that matters. Realise whether you pick something, or pick nothing, you’re still picking something. So choose, and choose consciously, because at least then you got no one to blame but yourself.

Oh, and yeah, in the end, the light at the end of the tunnel is always an oncoming train. Sometimes it’s got a boatman riding up front. Smile and run at it, because fuck the train. Live like a man and die like one too if need be.

So now you might be thinking, Ok Old Man, so how do I find such a woman?

And I say to you, firstly, fuck you three times for the Old man. Secondly, unless you have uncommon good luck, unless God for some reason decides to send you an Angel in disguise as a human woman, most likely, you cannot find such a woman walking the Earth today.

Young man stares blankly at me.

You have to build her.

Young man says: What?

You have to build her, boy. You find one that is as close as you can find to a finished product, and I sincerely advise you to find one that is in your category of looks. If you are a 7 don’t try and stay with a 9. You’ll be so worried about keeping her that you will fuck up a myriad things and she will end up fucking your “best friend”, the neighbour, your boss, her boss, and if you did marry her, she will take the kids and your house too when she inevitably divorces you.

Take your time in your courtship. Learn who she is and pay attention to what she does and how she acts in various situations and feel free to almost totally ignore whatever she says she is like. You can really only go badly wrong if you believe her when she describes all her good qualities. Pay her words no mind. Observe her actions instead.

If you feel you have enough to work with (at least 51% good is a minimum) then begin to go about leading by example. Do NOT request of her efforts or sacrifices you are not willing to exceed. And yes, some things are not comparable on a like for like basis, because she is a woman and you are a man, you can no more give birth or breastfeed your child than she can write the alphabet in the snow when urinating, and don’t think the one is equivalent in value to the other, but realise that as a general rule, women can provide three things to a man:

  • Enthusiastic sex
  • Loving, admiring, agreeable, respectful companionship
  • The easing of his life (cooking, cleaning, raising children)

And a man generally provides three things for a woman:

  • Financial betterment (home, comfort, security)
  • Protection (from everything ranging from a violent intruder to changing a tire, to reassuring her about her anxieties and worries)
  • Loving, protective, respectful, appreciative companionship

So do your part and gently show her the way, so she feels better about herself, as women invariably do when they begin to act in accordance with their God-given, biological imperatives, that have been subverted by lies for the last hundred plus years or so.

That’s about it, boy.

And if you are still wondering where this puts you in the fornication scale, well, to not put too fine a point on it, according to the Church, until you marry and commit, your fornication is going to send you to Hell. So I would hurry up and get to finding that woman as quick, yet also as careful, as you can. And try not to get hit by a bus until you get married to her and repent and foreswear your heathen and fornicating ways, you miserable sinner.

And if you have any brains at all, about now, young man, you might be having a little smile at the apparently hypocritical, arrogant, bastard, old man in front of you.

And fuck you four times for the Old Man.

As they say, a picture is worth a thousand words…

This is essentially the totality of the entire Andrew Tate story.

Except that he’s going to be in jail for some years, of course.

Whoever made the meme got it right.

Why PUAs suck. And always have sucked.

Bear with me a minute, (or 30, this is long. Impossibly so for most millennials) because in order to really drive this point home, it is necessary to understand the origins of the problem, which are far-removed enough from the rotting fruit that most never even have a clue about it.

Have you ever read any G.K. Chesterton? If you have, you’ll be familiar with his style of presenting some preposterous thing in one phrase, and then, go on in a few paragraphs to prove his point in an undeniable fashion. The man was absolutely brilliant at it and I often say that had I come across his writings in my twenties instead of after I was already a Catholic, I may have become one a lot sooner.

Now, I am no Chesterton, not by a very, very long shot, as anyone that has read my Believe! will be able to attest, nevertheless, that little book has resulted in over a hundred people converting to proper Catholicism (Sedevacantism), so, while I am but a butcher to Chesterton’s refined sushi preparations, I must serve a purpose too.

And the title of this post is going to be a bit of a “preposterous” or at least “well, you’re totally wrong” proposition for a lot of the people that might stumble across this.

Especially the zombie army of complete fuckwits like Andrew Tate. So. As I said: bear with me a minute. And no, this will not be some long, drawn out, moralistic diatribe with Bible verses scattered throughout. This is going to be as close to engineering as human social “science” gets. And as anyone who knows what engineering is will know, engineering is the only science that really matters or makes a difference in worldly matters. And much like a gun, it can be used in a destructive or mechanistic way, or guided by a higher intent of purpose and produce spiritually and humanly uplifting effects.

So let us begin.

The aim of every PUA (Pick-Up Artist — in case you have just come out of a cave in Afghanistan after hiding for 20 years) is essentially, at least initially, to be able to have sex with (in theory) as many beautiful women as possible. In reality, in many cases, those who try to learn from supposed PUAs, would be very happy to just get any sex at all. And in a few cases, the prospective “student” merely wants to be able to meet a girl he likes and be able to get her in bed and fall in love and live happily ever after.

Right. So let’s deal with the usual objections first.

1. Is it true that having sex with lots of women makes you a better man.

In order to know, we’d first have to define “better” so let’s do that by the usual and most common factors those interested in PUA activity would say “better” means.

  • Make you more able to communicate with everyone in general and women in particular.
  • Make you more likely or able to get any specific woman you are interested in to get intimate with you.
  • Make you generally more socially aware and raise your general status in the common parlance of the world as we generally find it today.
  • As a result of the above, generally increase your likelihood of being able to secure a better job, better prospects in general and so on.

The answer to the above is yes. Yes it does.

Reminder: Note I asked if having sex with lots of women does that. Not paying a bunch of money to a PUA. It’s a very important distinction, so remember it.

2. Can any of the things PUAs say/tell you/teach you/ increase your chances of having sex with some women.

Sure. It’s certainly possible anyway. They also could irretrievably damage your perception of reality in a way that is so fundamental it is akin to setting you up for a life of misery.

The reality is that most PUAs are wannabe tryhards. I have peculiar interests, one of which is cults and cults of personality, (remind me to tell you about my experiences with Dianetics, [scientology], Amma the hugging saint, Tony Robbins, a number of his wannabe clones, the Novus Orco “catholic church” and so on) which I enjoy breaking, making fun of and generally exposing for the fraudulent snake-oil sellers it involves. PUAs are borderline types in this realm, so I turned my baleful eye on them a long time ago. I will pick one PUAk as a relatively typical example. At one point, one of the most prolific producers of PUAs books, courses, and seminars was a guy who called himself Mehow. Which might have been his real name, as I think he was of Polish ancestry (I know, I know! If he’s Polish it’s no wonder he’s retarded right? But hey, chalk this up as another nail in the coffin of “all humans are just one race, human”, ok?).

Here is a glowing review of him apparently, though he seems to have disappeared in the last few years. Sounds great if you’re after that number 1 stuff above, right?

Well, I probably should have screen shotted it all way back when, in 2009 or so, because it was all information that he himself provided, on various of his own platforms, though no one had really taken the time to actually look at what he said and put it together. The facts are that by his own admission, he had spent 10 years partying hard with daddy’s money, to the tune of $500,000, been trained by supposedly the best Pick-Up Artists in the world, and become a PUA guru himself, in order to have sex with… drum roll please… “about 30-40 women” which probably means 25 or so.

Now, as I pointed out back then, if this is the level of “skill” of a top PUA, most women really have nothing to fear from them in terms of losing their virtue to these irresistible ladies men!

Wealthy fathers on the other hand, may want to teach basic economics to their incel sons.

Ok then, but still, if you find a “good” PUA, and do get good at having sex with lots of women, you too admit you get all that good stuff at point 1 above, right? So it’s all good!

Well, actually no. As I wrote a long time ago, I had been with a lot of women before anyone even mentioned PUAs or The Game to me. In fact, it was precisely because my friends, and people at the gym I trained with, saw me leaving with a different pretty woman each week, that they told me about it. A friend literally gave me a copy of the book and said: “You should have a chapter in here. Or maybe a whole book.”

So, my perspective of PUAs was from the top of the mountain, looking down on these peasants in the rice fields scrambling about to get some, and then scrambling about some more to try and sell their “skills” to each other.

As I wrote almost 15 years or so ago:

By the time that I discovered anything about PUAs I had developed quite happily on my own into a man more than capable to satisfy his curiosity of women. This was a fortunate thing because it allowed me a perspective on PUAs and their techniques that was free of being sucked into the promise of alluring women falling at my feet almost as if by magic. To a degree, I already had this power (insofar as it can be had let’s say) so I could look into and study and evaluate the information with eyes already filled of my own experiences. To sum up PUAs briefly is difficult, however I will try. Initially, most of these guys are frustrated geeks that have broken down social interactions between naturally successful ladies’ men and attractive women. They then practice these routines like social robots and begin to have some success at obtaining sex with these plastic techniques. As their confidence grows they refine the techniques and become more adept at luring an ever increasing series of women to their beds. The more daring then continue into experimenting with multiple partners at a time as well as multiple girlfriends at a time. Some openly, others secretly. By and large though, certain truths remain evident. Even if successful at having multiple sex partners most of these individuals are still what I would consider socially inept people. They may have achieved an ability at obtaining sex from women but that per se does not make them good people necessarily. Or likeable. Or happy. Furthermore, the level of hyperbole in this community is rather extreme; especially when you consider that many of the so called Pick-Up Gurus sell products that supposedly will increase a man’s ability to bed stunningly beautiful women.

 

Keep in mind this was my perspective long before I had any remote hint of Christianity in my world view.

My perception of PUAs has not improved over time either.

The key negative here is not even their wish or attempts at getting laid, but rather, the phrase “social robots”.

While it is understandable that when first attempting some intimidating social interaction one might rely on some repetitive approach, the fact is that a very large number of these would-be Casanovas, end up making “approach routines” and so on their way of relating to the world. Yes, the female world, but really the world at large. They read a Tim Ferris book and then assume all of life is about “hacks”. Then they get into NLP which is a “hack” of proper hypnosis created by a cocaine fiend that either shot and killed his then girlfriend at the time himself, or was responsible for it anyway.

That’s right, Richard Bandler is not quite the great guy you might have imagined.

So the really nefarious aspect of PUAs both those who “teach it”, and those who practice it, os the mechanisation of humanity.

It’s like the series upload. You just order your sex like you do deliveroo and that’s that.

Honestly, it is more dehumanising than actual prostitution. But the real issue, is that the problems this sort of interaction creates are far-reaching and affect pretty much everything in society in a negative way.

And this is where we now get to the crux of the PUAs suck statement.

The entire PUA phenomenon is not really the origin of what we might want to call social degradation, but rather, a reaction to it.

As, indeed, was my own exploring, and wading through different women in quick succession without any precise aim beyond that of “finding the right one” in the most general of terms. Again, quoting myself from early 2010:

 

The underground world of PUAs was first exposed by Neill Strauss’ book The Game. As someone interested in all aspects of hypnosis I did look into this community as I will look just about anywhere if it will increase my knowledge base and help me to be more effective in my work. Fortunately for me, somewhat contemporaneously to my study of hypnosis I was also undergoing some drastic life changes in all areas of my life. One of these was my intimate relationships. I had divorced and then had two relationships one after the other which were both extremely intense one very beautiful until its unfortunate and somewhat inevitable end, the other extremely stressful and painful yet coloured with flashes of beauty and power so intense they literally changed my views of radical aspects of my philosophies. As a result, after this, I gave myself to a sort of uninhibited search for some deeper meaning in intimate relationships.

 

I begun a period of my life that was almost scientific in its detachment and approach yet also extremely intimate and self-revealing. I had more intimate encounters in a few months than I had had in the previous 10 years. I also (counter-intuitively to what most men that behave this way do) was extremely direct and honest with the women involved. I never lied to any of them and I always made it clear how I felt (and more importantly didn’t feel) towards them. With only a few exceptions no one was really hurt emotionally and even when this occurred occasionally it was never anything very serious, merely a little bruised ego either for them or for me. Some of these women —all of whom I am grateful to by the way and for whom I did genuinely care though I may not have been in love with any of them— I only saw once. Some I spent a little time with; all were intelligent, capable women in their own right and they were from all walks of life. They ranged in age, cultures, backgrounds, languages they spoke and of course all other details, yet I could not help but notice that for the most part they were all quite beautiful not only to me but to most men. Every one of these women would be considered a great ‘catch’ by the very vast majority of men.

 

And to be honest it surprised me. I had never considered myself particularly good looking and certainly not a socially skilled person. I am extremely individualistic, never required much social approval and the very concept of peer pressure was as foreign to me throughout my formative years as was evident the absence of girlfriends.

 

On examining my past I realised for the first time that apparently through luck or chance or some factor I could not identify, though relatively few in number up to that point, I had always been with beautiful looking women. And those I had fallen in love with were without exception well above any kind of norm (in looks, character and mind). I began to actually experiment with this and became more and more selective. Pretty soon I discovered a sense of things that I think few men really achieve in their life. A sense of self-confidence that I didn’t even know I was missing to begin with that can really only come from being validated by women we value. Undoubtedly some people reading this will consider me a misogynist chauvinist pig. I do not consider myself so, and in fact I love women. Nor, unbelievably as it may sound to some, am I a polygamist by nature.

 

My nature is monogamous. As long as I find the one, and as long as she’s always earning it (and me for her obviously) I seek nothing more than one woman. This period of my life though helped me to realise that. And I am eternally grateful to every woman I have ever had the good fortune to spend any time with. Without women, truly life would have no purpose I think. If it were possible for men to exist without women we would still live in trees and caves.

 

Which man would do anything more than club some food to death and find a relatively warm place to sleep if it weren’t for women?

 

Everything that was ever created, invented, built, reached for, designed, fought for…as the French say (but perhaps differently than they mean!): Cherchéz la femme. Behind everything that man ever did…there is somewhere a woman or the thought of her.

 

My reaction was due to the eventual collapse of a relationship that had lasted 13 years, though I was never married, then the collapse of my first marriage, which lasted only 4 years and then 2 more relationships of even shorter duration. These four relationships were the only ones that had mattered to me on a rather deeper level, with whatever liaisons happened in between them being essentially distractions or errors.

In a society that values people, individuals and life in general, in short, in a properly Catholic society, it is extremely likely that I would have remained with my first serious relationship for life. At least in part, and probably a very large part of it, the reason that 13 year old relationship eventually collapsed was probably due to the subtle but persistent infiltration of unhealthy, worldly infiltrations into what would otherwise have been a lifelong relationship.

The destroyed concept of marriage and family created by my boomer generation parents was common to all of generation X. As was the “natural” idea of abortion rather than having a child at “too young” an age. The utter secularisation of life as a whole, with the total absence of any higher spiritual direction whatever, the only purpose of life seemingly to be exclusively the satanic idea of “being happy”, led to a life that you were being told in every possible way should limit itself to, having as much material possessions as you could, avoid having children altogether because they got in the way of you having “a life”. A life that was supposedly dedicated to essentially the constant pursuit of material distractions and hedonistic pleasures. Frankly, it is only my “noble pagan” ancestral roots that saved me in some ways. Having been raised in a family tradition that still respected concepts like honesty, honour, keeping your word, a sense of natural and simple justice, permitted me to completely sidestep many of the pitfalls that lay there for so many of my generation and perhaps even more so for those that followed.

I never touched any drugs, never even got drunk once in fact. And my being involved in the budo philosophy of Japanese Karate-do from an early age meant I had a peculiar mix of agnostic zen philosophy with aspects of Shintoist if not reverence, at least historical respect for my ancestors, despite not knowing very much about them until relatively later in life.

We were also the first generation that became exposed to pornography to a degree that was unprecedented since Roman orgy times, and went well beyond the dirty magazines and hippie “free-love” of the boomer generation. While they had couched perversion and degeneracy as some deluded fantasy of being free of “jealousy” and “possessiveness”, by the time we were coming of age, it had already devolved into the idea that having as much sex as possible with as many people as possible was the “normal” way of life.

But consider for a moment, what the “rewards” of such an existence would be.

  • The absence of children as the pivotal part of family, because they get in the way of your hedonistic lifestyle.
  • The absence of relationships that endure hardships together because united by any higher purpose beside each part “being happy” and that individualistically within the “relationship”. The very concept that any relationship that had that as foundation could last beyond a few years at most is absurd.
  • Sex as a point-scoring status badge of sorts.
  • Emphasis on the ephemeral aspects of materialism: travel for travel’s sake, with no real deep penetration of cultures or geography beyond the required status symbol passport stamp and digital photo album (later to be displayed publicly online); owning of property and vehicles as further status badges if your success; wealth as proof of your superior intellect and ability, regardless of any other moral considerations.

I mean, think about it, bombarded by this message constantly, your own parent’s generation committed to these very same “ideals” with the narcissistic compulsion only the boomer generation ever managed to have, even if you “achieved” all of the supposed benchmarks of “success” this lifestyle supposedly promised, what would you be left with?

At best a healthy property portfolio with no one to leave it to besides the lawyers and ex-wives, as you descended into unglamorous old age alone and spiritually hollow.

And despite this, as well as being the most aborted generation, many GenXers managed to raise some form of families. Of course the carnage was spectacular. Divorces, abortions, and the pursuit of narcissistic, degenerate, selfishly hedonistic “happiness”, absent of any spiritual or moral rudder, was what surrounded us as we raised ourselves mostly, and these were the “values” we were exposed to constantly. It’s a miracle any of us managed to reproduce and retain a semblance of family at all.

Of course divorce, and abortion, and chasing smoke dragons, and drugs to numb the existential void, caught almost all of us to some degree or other. And for a generation already drastically reduced by being killed before we were born, then mostly stomped down and limited by our own parent’s generation in multiple ways, we did pretty well at surviving and overcoming and even reversing a few of the trends here and there in individual cases and small pockets of guerrilla resistance. Particularly given how thoroughly the truth of the spiritual aspects of life were hidden from us.

The boomers were (and remain) so desperate to remain unaware of their own spiritual and moral abyss, that they ridiculed, destroyed, discarded, disgraced, devalued, hid, and avoided, any meaningful confrontation with the numinous. With the reality of existence that truly forms the foundation of any true purpose. With any aspect of catering to the soul instead of the flesh. The boomers rejected what the silents couldn’t hold on to, we GenXers were not even aware something had existed there, for the most part.

The idea of a True Catholic Mass being meaningful, true, beautiful or even merely useful, was as foreign to us as the idea that some quaint pagan ritual to long-dead Gods might serve any purpose other than historical curiosity of a people that was obviously primitively superstitious and disappeared long ago; probably precisely because they wasted time and energy on such meaningless rituals.

And yet. If you look around now, it is mostly GenXers rallying the flag of Sedevacantism, and already beginning to pass that torch to generation Zyklon, which are our historical continuation, much as the millennials are that of the boomers.

Wait, what?

Allow me to recap. That historical aside was to give you a sense of why and how my generation was steered onto rocks instead of the meaningful life journey of marriage until death, children, family, tradition, real worship of God and respectful obedience to His laws as best as we can, creating truly meaningful lives (and thus happy in the only way that matters) rather than “hollywood happy” ones.

My personal story is a reflection of what a very few of my generation managed to do: I went full circle, and by luck or divine intervention, had the peculiar attribute of a persistence that almost none of my generational peers had any right to have. What was the point of never giving up when you had no real purpose to fight for? My adopted samurai code kept me away from drugs and a certain level of moral corruption, which did not, however, extend to sexual relations with women. In that respect, my descent into libertine ways was to a certain extent inevitable, given my intense nature, insatiable curiosity, and explorer’s heart.

But once again, if that becomes the totality of your life, what are you left with at the end of it?

It was that very conscious thought that led me initially at least partially out of it.

I distinctly recall the precise moment. I was alone at home, in an apartment I loved and that, incidentally, my eventual future wife had found for me. Lying on the orange couch that had come with the place, on a Saturday I think, having binge-watched a couple or three episodes of NCIS, I consciously considered my life. I was 39 years old, had travelled to many places, had essentially given up on trying to make any meaningful long term relationship work, I was limiting myself to having them last until the woman in question either irritated me or I got bored of her, and had rotated through a few cycles of getting a bunch of women under me in quick succession, then getting rid of all of them for a week or two, then starting the cycle again but with a somewhat “improved” version of the women-merry-go-round. Better read, prettier, dirtier in bed, or whatever the attribute, or set of attributes I got interested in that month.

I contemplated my future and thought about the different paths it could go. It was obvious to me by now that I could spend the rest of my life as I had been doing for the last few years and I could go to my grave with a constant change of woman on my arm, and that comparatively speaking —in spite of whatever my age or eventual decrepitude and wrinkles would be— such women would always be younger than me and prettier than most men would get a chance to be with long term, never mind temporarily more or less at will.

The appeal of that sort of future was essentially limited to the frisson of a new woman lifting herself partially off your bed as you gently slide down her knickers for the first time.

The intensity of a new body under you intent to please you or you pleasing her in ways she had not yet experienced. It’s thrilling. Intoxicating. I suppose, perhaps, there is a kinship to a kind of drug maybe. I wouldn’t know, I never did drugs, but the addiction to the ephemeral might be similar. It’s the kind if life where soon, familiarity could begin to breed contempt instead of a deepening love.

Where the normal, terrene, aspects of humanity become irritations and inspire contempt, instead of charity, forgiveness and a contemplation of our own weaknesses and errors; a practice that the boomers we were raised by avoided like vermin fleeing fire.

What can one be left with, living such a life, at say, age 99, looking back while cuddling your shotgun, your cognac and your memories, on your rocking chair?

The melancholy of remembering (assuming your brain didn’t go to shit by then) the fleeting sensation of how this or that woman’s foot felt on your calf as she orgasmed under you?

The erotic smell or taste of another?

The beautiful sunsets over an exclusive beach you shared with the one you had a few months with?

And who other than yourself to even remember these things with? Or even tell them to? And of what use would they be to anyone? Or of what interest, other than possibly morbid fascination with degeneracy?

So I thought about the alternative. Find a woman I could tolerate long term and have children and raise a family with. I was not naïve about the hardships that would entail. Including the putting up with the woman, since I had been through enough of them to know that, like all human beings, they all will irritate you in some ways or others. And the complications of raising a child, how it affects every aspect of your life, work, travel. I was not naïve any of those aspects of it. But thinking about it with cold reason, it was obvious that all those efforts would be worth it.

What I was naïve about however, was actual, full-blown narcissists. In a society that expects and enforces proper courtship, such creatures would be more likely to die alone. But, like the devil, in modern society, actual narcissists of the full blown variety were considered a somewhat mythological creature. At least back in 2008 or so they were. And to me they may as well have been werewolves. Creatures that didn’t actually exist. I was aware of evil people and of extremely selfish, manipulative and unethical ones. I had dealt with them more than most. But I was not prepared to imagine that a quasi-mythical creature, which is really more a shapeshifter at will than just a poor werewolf, who is a mere lunatic after all, could insinuate itself in my life.

The “methods of measurement” I had evolved were not really designed to sift for narcissists. They covered:

  • Looks – I had to be physically attracted to a high degree to get interested for a potential long term situation
  • Sex – plentiful and varied
  • IQ – they had to at least be able to understand some of the things that interested me once explained. At least in general terms. And be able to hold at least some level of conversation concerning philosophy (of life as lived, not the esoteric writings of some German incel like Schopenhauer)
  • Their attraction to me – If they weren’t interested to a certain level, then I lost interest in them pretty quickly too.
  • Some generic quasi-moral rules of ethics that at least mostly aligned with my own.

Well, let me tell you, that list does not, in any way sift for narcissists. In reality, as far as functional marriages are concerned, while a mutual attraction is certainly ideal, it is not even necessary. Neither is the sex or, necessarily, the IQ. But their character and ethics are pretty fundamental.

Today’s superficial ways have seen to it that as long as you have painted over your crappy moral fibre with enough glossy nail polish, sexy underwear, porn-star bedroom etiquette, and CNN or Fox News sound bytes  (to cater to left or right leanings) your abyss of the soul is not even noticed, much less criticised. 

Yes, it is true, that after such an experience, and in part also thanks to my previous encounters with women of all types, eventually, after I went through all that hell, and came out the other side, I found and ended up with what I believe will be my wife until we drop dead. Hopefully a very long time from now. But the difference is that instead of having adult children starting out in life, I now have children that I hope will get married early and make babies pretty much immediately after doing so, in the hope I get to be a grandfather before I drop dead. 

I do not regret any aspect of my life. It’s certainly been a hell of a ride so far and has no indications it will be any less interesting going forward, but it is probably true that in a society that had the values that Catholic society had a few hundred years ago, I probably would have married and had a lifetime with hat first girl I was with for 13 years. We would have had a bunch of children and be comfortable enough now to be able to retire in some semblance of peace.

It does happen to be true that I also believe I am much better able to appreciate the joys of life now than I would have been in that alternate history, and I think I am happier too and with a woman I certainly feel is perfectly matched to me, so overall, I ended up in a better place that will certainly keep me busy (and entertained too, both good and bad) until I eventually do join my ancestors in the afterlife. 

So What’s The SOLUTION then Kimosabe?

Patience grasshopper. First, understand where we are:

  • I have identified the issue is the mechanisation of human interactions.
  • I have shown some of the errors, pitfalls and ultimately nihilistic and generation-ending future this way of life produces.
  • The “benefits” such a lifestyle provides would absolutely not be positives or even required in an ordered, Catholic society.

But before I show you the solutions, you need to understand the real root of the problem. And that is the secularisation of society. That happened because of Protestantism. Protestantism is literally nothing less than the rebellion against God first done by Lucifer the so-called Lightbringer. 

I have covered this before and in various degrees of detail. But the point remains relatively simple. Protestantism brought in the disordering of relations between the sexes. It started with the introduction of contraception, which changed the dynamic of marriage. From the primary purpose being to create, nurture and raise a family, to having sex for fun.

Think about that. 

Serioulsy. Think about it. 

Try to imagine what the world would be like if not only you, but everyone around you, thought of marriage as a situation in which you remain with that person for life, no matter what, and create and raise children together (as long as you are physically able to). How would that life be? 

Well, we had that. For quite a long time. Now that attitude is seen as “backward”, unjust to women, socially irresponsible, and endangering the planet.

Before contraception was accepted by Protestant branches, the very idea of divorce was considered quite scandalous throughout Western Civilisation. After it, divorce naturally became commonplace.

It is perfectly logical of course, when the primary function of having sex become personal enjoyment, instead of family creation, with the bonus of personal enjoyment, then, sex becomes just one of the many things that has to be “perfect” in order to fill in the relevant box-ticking list that one must curate in order to “be happy”.

After contraception and fault-free divorce on demand, the very act of getting pregnant is a misfortune, something that will prevent you from doing what you want when you want, with anyone you want. So you begin to murder babies. And today we have “ex-spurts” trying to make it legal to kill babies up to 2 year olds. Mostly it started with this piece of shit in human form.

Contraception took a while to be “socially acceptable” thanks to the strength that even a declining morality within the greater Catholic Church had instilled in Western man. It took some 400 years from 1521 to get contraception to be more widespread. And it took until 1958 for the Papacy to be taken over right up to the present day, by Satanic freemasons. 

But here we are. Add in ubiquitous pornography and degeneracy of every kind, such as the current “transgender” movement, aimed specifically at children by the usual LGBTQPedo types and is it any wonder we have a generally sociopathic undercurrent to human relations in 2023.

So, here FINALLY are the solutions.

If you have read all that and got to this point, it is probable you’re not a millennial. Maybe a Zyklon with reading skills, which is rare enough but not unheard of. So it is only fair that I point out that this is not Boomer-type “advice” of the “don’t do as I did, but do as I say” variety. Nor is it of the same Boomer type that is more akin to “I did it when it was cool, and I *am* cooler, but don’t YOU do it, you’re not cool enough to pull it off.”

No. This is the kind of advice from someone that has come through the fire and miraculously is not just alive, but has a happy ending. 

In essence what I am telling you is:

“Don’t believe the bullshit of Hollywood son!”

“You have to fuck your way through an army of whores, gold-diggers and idiots to just begin to understand that porn stars don’t make the best mothers!”

It’s not so much “don’t be a criminal, because crime doesn’t pay,” type of Bible-thumping advice. It’s more of a “you get ass-raped in prison,” reality check.

And criminals go to jail. Almost all of them in the long run.

Ok, fine! as my three year old says, while stamping his foot. But then what do I do?

Learn. Educate yourself about proper Catholicism. That was the society that created the best situation for humanity, so learn what they did and how and why. And believe me when I say that what you think you know of Catholicism has, in fact, almost nothing to do with it.

Find out what Sedevacantism is and why it exists. 

Understand what relationships are from that perspective and what they look like.

If you can read Italian (or French) you can certainly get into the extreme detail of it by reading this book.

Understand above all, what is the lie concerning familiarity with many women. I said above that having had lots of sexual interactions can result in an increased ability in having such encounters, obviously, but also that it had other “benefits” of status among your equally brainwashed peers and so on, and by extension in relation to your general life prospects. Sure, but it does that in the context of a fallen world.

My personal sense of self-worth or ability to achieve certain things in life, was never tied to the number of women I had been with. When I stated that:

Pretty soon I discovered a sense of things that I think few men really achieve in their life. A sense of self-confidence that I didn’t even know I was missing to begin with that can really only come from being validated by women we value.

I was referring to my ability with women. I never had doubts about my abilities on other aspects of life, be it work, politics, skills or whatever. The self-confidence with women was merely a confirmation (by these women) that my abilities in general tallied with my own view of them. 

I assure you that my intensity at any job I undertook, confrontation I faced, or difficulty in life, was in no way affected by how many women I had been with other than very tangentially. Because they had been with me (those whose encounters were of a duration that permitted it) and seen other aspects of my life, they had confirmed their noticing of such abilities by, in a sense, giving themselves to me, at times at least, also in a secondary relation to those abilities. 

For example, if you’re a millionaire, some women will get sexual with you because of your money. And in that sense it “confirms” you have money. It was never my case, but I had such “confirmation” based on other aspects of my abilities, often in cases that were not even conscious for the women. It doesn’t matter at all —consciously anyway— to most women, if you are a good martial artist, or painter, or poet (assuming the talent isn’t related to wealth), and yet, talented men will tend to attract more women. It’s a natural selection thing, but undeniably, after enough interactions, a pattern of “merit” of various skills could be derived by the number of women who took notice.

In short, being with lots of women only means you will feel you are able to get with lots of women. And while that skill may give you an ego boost, if you are rational, you will realise that if that ego-boost got you to a better job, say, it was not because you banged a dozen girl in a week. And consequently you will also realise that since you can manipulate your own internal ego-sensations, you can get the ego-boost at will.

I for example, have almost never been rejected after a face-to-face job interview, and it had absolutely nothing to do with my sexual prowess, I assure you.

Learn courtship. And no, it doesn’t matter if the woman doesn’t know anything about it or is not used to it. And no, courtship is not bringing flowers and being totally chaste and so on. Sure, it can encompass those things, for a girl that understands such gestures rather than expects them as a tribute to her superficial beauty. It means taking the time to get to know the character of this woman you are interested in. And being able to recognise Red Flags. Which are not necessarily the ones popular culture tells you they are. A man that stands his ground, morally, intellectually or physically, today is labelled some kind of aggressive bully, intolerant, backward, and so on. Society does not supposedly approve of a straight white male that tells you to fuck right off when you try to push your SJW agenda on him, or worse, his children. But guess what, women worth marrying, even if they might deny it from their upset mouths, or believe that no, no, no, they don’t want a “brute” of that sort, inevitably, deep down, ultimately, want to surrender to such a man.

I honestly would have to think hard to count how many supposed feminists, discovered they really enjoyed discarding the feminist card completely once in the bedroom, and then pretty much never picked it up again. Feminism is the female equivalent of sexual frustration rage that people like Elliot Rodger have. 

The male incel rage is: If I can’t get any of the pretty girls, then no one will! I’ll kill you all!

The female incel rage is: If I can’t get any of the deeply hormonally satisfying sexual relationships I want, then no woman ever shall enjoy sex again with anyone!

Well that’s a lot of time investment but where’s your proof?! (aka provide peer reviewed source).

Ok, my internet autist friend. Read more. See what Catholic cities, lives and lifestyles were in the 1600s, or the 1700, or the 1800. Learn who invented the actual scientific method. Learn who the greatest astronomers and scientists were in most of human history.

And if the past is not evidence enough, know that as of 2023, I know of at least 3 or 4 couples that have got engaged to be married as a direct result of reading at least Believe! and maybe event RTCC, but at any rate, of learning about Catholicism. I know of more that got married. And of at least a couple of people that have potentially avoided suiciding themselves because of learning about these things.

Beyond that, if you are hellbent on drowning your soul and future in pussy, there’s not much I can do, or even want to do, to dissuade you. If god has given us free will, who am I to try to force you away from the path to hell you are choosing?

All I can do is tell you of my walk along that route and why I think it’s a very bad idea in the end. I not only survived, but I got uncommonly lucky, and I say luck because I know who I am talking to here, people that either are, or were, or aspire to be, as I was, some kind of fearless pussy-hunter, and I don’t want to be so presumptuous to ascribe God’s grace to me to the extent that He clearly Has done so. Not because He has not, but because I don’t want you getting the idea that I think I deserve it. 

I know I don’t and didn’t deserve it. But God permitted me to have it anyways, and even better than I thought it could be. Of course, there are hardships too, but man, am I glad for these hardships as opposed to the alternatives that I would have faced in that life of headlong hedonism.

So I hope you have read this all, young man. And I hope you take the advice and use it to avoid all the pitfalls and traps that delayed and snared me, and make the future for you and your children one where the Klaus Schwabs and globohomo pedo-satanists of the world have their DNA eradicated forever.

And if you’re not all that young anymore, then I hope you are in time still. You can be, and yes, sometimes it’s up to God, but buddy, trust me, if you’re in your late 40s or even 50s, you still can get it all. Which is not to say you don’t need to move your ass, you do, because as my Grandmother always said: “Aiutati e il ciel t’aiuta.” 

Help yourself and heaven helps you.

But it’s still all doable.

Yesterday I spoke to a guy I used to know some 20 years ago and that I did some security/bodyguard/close protection/hello-sir-can-interest-you-in-some-fairness-karma-and-justice kind of stuff. We are the same age. He has 7 children (he started earlier than me, the weakling, so I only have 5) the youngest being 7 months old. And trust me when I say that he had very few redeeming human qualities. Having been who I was, I can say that without any malice.

If he can, and I can, so can you.

And in case you’re wondering, no, he’s not Catholic. But he is religious, and believes in his culture and his people’s traditions, and in fact moved back to his ancestral land, as, in a sense, have I. Well, I haven’t taken the Most Serene Republic of Venice back yet, but you know, give it time, I may do it just yet.

And if you are a Boomer, and managed to read this all without spitting at the screen about how your g-g-generation was the best ever, and how we GenXrs should just have lifted ourselves from our bootstraps, like you did, and all that, then do what you can to help your sons, or theirs, or a total stranger if it comes to it. I mean, hey, if you’re short of ideas, you can always donate to my project here at The Kurganate

Or like my own father did, help your son/s daughters own property/land/a business that they can develop and pass on to their children and so in in turn. Remember that most wealthy people are so because of generational wealth being passed down.

My ancestors were adventurers, explorers and handy with swords and guns and some with politics, but they also squandered their fortunes in some cases and made them and passed it on in others, but I plan, as best I can, to pass it all on. And to raise wolves. Good, strong, ethical, Catholic wolves, but wolves nonetheless.

I hope you do too.

 

Who says you can’t turn a party girl into a good wife

It’s quite surreal to see my wife put on some rap song to make our new 2 month old daughter fall asleep, which she does, while she sings along to it.

She literally knows the words to just about any song that comes on. Then she modifies them for the new circumstances.

Tom Jones’ Sex Bomb becomes:

Wet Bum, Wet Bum,

You gotta wet bum,

And you-can-count-on-mummy-when-you-need to-clean-it-up

Wet bum, wet bum,

You got a wet bum,

But your mama’s gonna clean it up

If you know the words to the original and the tune, you’ll see it works.

N.E.R.D. ‘S Lapdance becomes:

Oh baby you want me?

Oh baby you want me?

Oh baby you want me, well you can get this boobie juice here for free!

And Fuck the Pain Away by Peaches is almost unchanged:

Sucking on my titties like you wanted me, wanted me, wanted me all the time.

Check out my chrissy behind

And here she is rapping away to Vanilla Ice, which, astonishingly makes the baby fall asleep.

You can hear her laugh-smiling as our daughter begins to fall asleep

I mean, she did work as a Promo Girl for a nightclub in Spain and again in London, where the basic idea was to entice people into the club, and/or get them to spend thousands on the same crappy drinks you could buy at literally less than a twentieth the price at an off licence (you’d think men only, but you’d be surprised).

It was a classy affair, not like she danced on the bar in skimpy clothes the club sold, and that she also customised herself with scissors so the customers wanted not just the same club logo shirts and hot pants they sold, but the ones that looked like hers.

Tequila shots and fast moving scissors with strobe lights and the club’s theme song playing at deafening level:

It’s gettin’ hot in here (So hot)
So take off all your clothes (Ayy)
I am gettin’ so hot (Uh, uh, uh, uh)
I wanna take my clothes off (Oh)
It’s gettin’ hot in here (So hot)

You probably wouldn’t immediately assume this is where you’d find the right girl to get baptised as a hardcore Sedevacantist Catholic with. Then get confirmed, married, and make three children in 5 years with her. It would have been four but she miscarried the first. Finding myself doing a baptism on her belly at home, when she thought something was wrong, and holding her hand and later holding her, in the hospital, when it was clear the baby was gone, thankfully after only about 6 weeks of pregnancy, is not a feeling I’d wish on anyone, but we found out after it happened that it’s quite common, even if people don’t talk about it much.

From party girl things, to changing nappies, making play-dough, taking them to the park, reading them stories, teaching them the alphabet and how to count, and playing them music and teaching them nursery rhymes, cooking for us all and feeding us and packing all their toys for the beach or worrying about them all having the things they need to run around like the little savages they are outside, even though she’s given up on making them wear shoes. I still harbour hope on that score, but then I do tend to take on impossible projects.

It’s not for everyone, the path that she and I took. As wild as she was, it’s probably inevitable that she could only be with someone like me, that surpassed her own transgressions and wildness, though, opposite to her, always clear-headed, which in a way might be worse.

But the fact is, that the first day I met her, I had a surreal experience that cannot be explained to others, but remains true nonetheless.

She was working as an estate agent by then, still wild every weekend, and it was in fact a Friday when I met her. I’d arranged with an estate agent to see some apartments and taken half a day off work. I had called the guy a few days before to make sure he had a good selection of places. He had assured me he would get keys for all the suitable properties.

I was earning decent money now and wanted to move to a nicer place and leave behind the small apartment I had lived in with my Italian wife, briefly, before we split up a couple of years earlier, and eventually divorced. I called the guy again just before I left work to make sure he had the keys, since, as a freelancer any time off I took I didn’t get paid. He assured me he had all the keys and he would meet me outside the Wapping tube station. So I went. Got there… no one. I called the guy up to see if maybe he was running late. In a bored voice he told me he wouldn’t be coming today because he didn’t have the keys. I told him where he could put his keys and hung up. Directly across the station was another estate agency. I could see through the window that the only guy in the office was playing solitaire on his desktop. I could actually see his screen.

I went in and said hello and that I wanted to view some properties.

“Oh I’m sorry, I’m too busy right now, could you come back later.” It wasn’t a question and his glazed-over eyes returned to the screen.

“Yeah, I can see. Real busy.”

I left and decided my afternoon was shot anyway, so I may as well enjoy a walk. The area had a certain organic charm that is not too common in London, and despite it being early November the sun was out. As I walked along the cobbles I saw another estate agency in a pale yellow face brick building with the entrance being a diagonal that cut off the corner of the building. As I approached it I could see through the big glass window most estate agencies have a young woman sitting at her desk. She was stunning even at this distance, but I purposely looked away. I was here to find an apartment. I wanted to move. I didn’t want to be distracted by yet another pretty girl. It’s not like I was short of them anyway. But this one, she would be hard to ignore, so I looked away. Inside were other people. I’d just go the the blond man I could see sitting at another desk, and not even glance at the pretty woman. I’d not taken three steps into the place and realised the guy was as gay as a pink flamingo in a chicken coop. As I approached him he did that whole, look at you up and down thing in an obvious and obvioulsy gay way. I gritted my teeth and said “Hi, I’d like to see some apartments”. That’s how badly I wanted to avoid the girl. I hadn’t even snuck a peek to my right. He gave me the once over again, then waved in the direction of the same young woman, “She’ll look after you.”

Dammit. I tried. Really tried. Well, ok. Never mind. I can focus on the apartment, no matter how hot she looks.

“Hi, I wanted to see some apartments.”

She looks up, her eyes are brilliant blue, transfixing if I was a weaker man. That slightly bored, slightly dismissive, slightly lazy look that Estate Agents worldwide seem to have crosses her pretty face, and she says:

“What… now?”

Fuck this! Must have crossed my face in that instant.

“Yes, now.”

Without batting an eyelid her demeanour changes, she springs up, she has on a white blouse and faded jeans with black high heel shoes.

“Oh, okay, I think we have a place here, close by, let me get the keys and I’ll show you.”

She walks us across the road and leads the way up a flight of stairs. I can’t remember if it was already inside the apartment or on the way to some internal door to it. She opens doors, shows me rooms. Says what they are. I don’t speak. When we are done she leads the way back down the stairs. I am not trying to see it. I just do, she has a frilly white edge on her knickers. They are so close to the edge of the jeans waist I see it.

We step back outside in the sunlight and she asks, “So, what do you think?”

“I have no idea, I don’t even know how many rooms it has.”

She turns to look at me, but calm.

“You’re quite distracting.”

She doesn’t flinch. “Oh. Thanks.”

She keeps quiet a bit, as we walk back towards her office, then she says, “I think there is another place you’d like, but I am not sure if I can get the keys.”

I stay quiet again.

“We can try.” She poses it as a question with her eyes, so I nod.

She makes a call, she can’t get the keys, because they are from another agency that they sometimes work with, but she drives us on to the place anyway, then speaks to the security guys at the concierge desk. The poor bastards don’t stand a chance. She smiles, shakes her head, comes up with some story about how she had the keys but someone else at the office hasn’t returned yet and could she borrow the spare set to show her client the property. They happily hand the keys over, managing not to drool when they both smile like small children just being shown a huge candy.

She shows me this apartment that has a view over the Thames. It’s good. I like it. I say ok. but I want to get away from her now. She is distracting and I want to put my mind on other things. I don’t want to be doing that dance again with yet another pretty woman, plus she’s English, she looks beautiful, it’s true, but that’s probably it. I mean she’s smart, fast on her feet, but no, I want to stop doing this pussy-hunter thing, at least for today. I just want to move apartment and get a kind of clean slate. So I move away from her, heading for the door, I want to get out of here and away. She doesn’t follow. She stays looking out the big window at the river below us. Forcing me to turn and wait for her by the door.

“Seeing this,” she says, without turning to look at me, “doesn’t it make want to leave?”

I am taken slightly aback by her unusual and unprompted question.

“…Leave…London?”

Now she turns and looks at me. “Leave everything.”

And in that moment, when she turned to look at me, in one fraction of a second I got a flash-forward. I had flash-forwards a few times before, at least twice it saved my life. The image of a snake coming at me from behind, to bite me, and another time of someone at a concert running up behind me with a knife in-hand to stab me with. Both things would have happened if I had not acted on this image, premonition, flash-forward, call it what you want. But this was different.

I saw her in the now, but also in the far future, the same, the same distance between us, but old now, and with a hat on I think, and yet, her. Always her. The brilliant blue eyes, and smiling at me, which she wasn’t doing right now, not that way at least. A smile complicit of many years together, a love between us that encompassed all the insane, strange, beautiful, ugly, scary, things of our life and the ones we had lived through together, and between us, four lights, each a child, I could not say if male or female or what they would look like, just a kind of floating light, like disembodied souls to come. Her face, both beautiful as the here and now and also as the old and wrinkly. Like my own would be in that time, but still her. Always her, and beautiful even then, in old age.

It all happened in a tiny sliver of time, but it had within it, as if compressed into a laser bolt of information, years, decades, a lifetime. It was like a sledgehammer to my entire nervous system.

Years of karate in a hard dojo, other martial arts, and living and working with a gun for over a decade, meant my face didn’t show anything, but inside, it was as if I had taken a punch. One of those that makes you see blinking lights.

“Do you want me to show you the gardens?”

I nodded. Didn’t trust myself to speak for a second or two.

What the hell was that? Who is she?

We go outside and we look at the gardens laid out like a simple but tasteful patchwork of paths and trimmed hedges and reddish-brown face brick. And I get another flash. This one a memory. From about ten years earlier. I dreamt of this place. It makes no sense, but occasionally I have had dreams of something that eventually happens in the future. Sometimes I also have very vivid dreams with a really complicated plot that end, and then years later I have another dream that picks up where that one left off, like a kind of part II to a film. And being here, in this place, now I remembered the dream. This place, which I had never been to before, ever, for certain, was exactly as the dream I had. And I remembered that in the dream there was a statue of some old man, or Troll type thing, that said Old Father Thames on it. It was in the corner of the garden, you couldn’t see it from here. I asked her if she would just wait for me for a second, as I had to go and check something.

She said ok and I ran off. I went to that corner, and there it was.

Father Thames Statue

I knew enough about myself, because I had had premonitory dreams before, and flash-forwards —though usually only in life and death situations— that I knew I wasn’t crazy. Well, probably not anyway. I walked back. Calm now. Not even curious, just surprised. And she was waiting for me. Brown jacket zipped up now as the sun was going down and it was getting colder. A white scarf framed her smiling face with her impossibly blue eyes. And then I knew.

Oh. Ok. She’s the one.

And she was. Though it would be more than ten years later before we got together properly.

We had a very brief, half-drunk, half-night stand, a few months later, then invariably her, or me would end up with some person or other. She’d come close then pull away again and I told her repeatedly to either get in and find out or leave me be. But over the years she would always eventually get in touch again. Then I had a daughter, and I forgot about her. That marriage ended in spectacularly dramatic and ugly fashion. Then she had a daughter.

In 2016 I moved from London and was working in Venice and Kazakhstan, and flying all over the place, and we started to text each other on Telegram. Just philosophy and life stuff. I was on my own mostly, with an off and on again quasi-relationship with a woman that was probably possessed, and her own relationship was basically collapsing.

In 2017 I moved back to London and she helped me pick out furniture for the new apartment I was renting. She was on her own again.

We went to dinner. We kissed.

Then she disappeared for three days, as she usually did. I didn’t call or text her, I kind of knew how she was and I was tired of the ten year old dance.

She called after midnight one night.

“I tried to not think about you.” She said.

“How’s that going?” I asked. I was sitting at my dining room glass table, it was round and not very big, on the 16th floor, the view of the Thames and the lights below me. I had a tired hint of a smile on me. I wasn’t tired because of the late hour.

“Not good.” She paused a while. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“So? What you going to do about it?”

“I don’t know…”

“How long have you been doing this? You come close, then you pull away, then I tell you to get lost, then some weeks, or months, or years pass, then you get in touch and we do it all again. Aren’t you tired of it? I am.”

“Well? So what am I supposed to do? Just move in tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

She laughed.

“What you got to loose? Do it. Let’s find out once and for all if this thing is something or nothing. At least we’ll know.”

“Ok then.”

“You’re moving in tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

We both laughed. I told her I’d get a roast for lunch.

I expected her to just come for lunch, maybe spend some time. Talk. Maybe more. Maybe not. It was fine. I liked time with her, I was never bored talking with her. And she was easy to look at.

I got the roast, started it late because I knew she was always late. But today she wasn’t. She called me from downstairs, asked if I could help her bring some stuff up. I said sure and went down.

She had brought her daughter, her travel cot and a bag of clothes and toiletries.

I laughed.

We both assumed she would leave after a couple of days of hanging out together.

She never did.

Like I said, it’s not for everyone. Our story sort of reminds me of the film Payback, with Mel Gibson. In the last scene, he’s missing a couple of toes, killed all the bad guys, got his money and as she’s driving them away, he says:

“We were going for breakfast. In Canada. We made a deal. If she’d stop hooking, I’d stop shooting people. Maybe we were aiming high.”

And yet, here we are, and it works for us.

All content of this web-site is copyrighted by G. Filotto 2009 to present day.
Website maintained by IT monks