- Joined
- Dec 12, 2020
- Messages
- 74
It was a magic time. In the clock of the World, 2008 was significant. The global financial system was falling, and politicians prepared the wartime economy. I was there, at Umass Slamherst. I was 'that kid'. Beyond subcommunication, the communication with my potential harem was electric, vividly telepathic. I would think like how a lone wolf would think; 'Am I strong enough?' 'Am I ready for a fight?' The answer was 'you should go to the gym', or 'you should go eat'. In your lifting career, you are only 18 once. Then I showed her the apple tree, where I had seen a dark snake days before, and told her, 'Don't eat any apples from this tree'. I gave her a big hug. She went back towards the buildings as I left for the hills, I looked back at her, and she wasn't looking back.
When I descended from the mountain, I assailed the fortress world. I could make girls wet just by my gaze. I would see them and they would start uttering, 'I'm wet I'm wet'. It was not 'special powers' It was reality. I could smell it. I would ride around on the bus, the PVTA, and assail. I could smell the girl on the street from the bus. I hated them. The sluts. It was their fault that the economy was crashing, and the gears of the war machine were starting. There was one moment- at night with a half moon- a perfect two set, where I could have said, 'hey yo slut...'. That sounds like an asinine opener, but that is how bad I was. Now I know that was AA preventing me from that opening.
When a fight forced itself upon me, he was at my mercy on the green field of battle, and then she started running towards us, crying and yelling. I stopped and turned to her, hugging her hard and saying, 'I love you right now'. She was beautiful, fair, with green eyes; an angel. I would have killed him. In the cell I had a wet dream, about a tramp stamp tattoo. As they carried me away, I asked 'Why are they trying to kill me?' 'Because you're crazy'.
Years later, depressed and medicated, hospitalized and jailed, I would look back and try to recreate the magic of those times; I would think, 'if only I did this or that instead'...I would have self-actualized and my dreams would have been reality. Back then, I didn't know there was a man with goggles, an artist and scientist.
The art and science of pickup can take me there. I look to Mystery. The theories, and the science, I love it. I have a degree in Biology. Mystery talked a lot about preselection, but didn't really explain the biology behind it. It is metabolically expensive to put in the effort to choose a good male. So when she sees a valuable female that has already put in the work and selected that male, she can go ahead and choose that male without having to put in any costly research herself. It is not just pick up art, it is pick up science as well. I also question Mystery's penis. What exactly did he do or not do with his penis when he was in his heydays. Frequent sex, yes, but anything else? The mystery will remain.
You don't know my name yet, but you will.
When I descended from the mountain, I assailed the fortress world. I could make girls wet just by my gaze. I would see them and they would start uttering, 'I'm wet I'm wet'. It was not 'special powers' It was reality. I could smell it. I would ride around on the bus, the PVTA, and assail. I could smell the girl on the street from the bus. I hated them. The sluts. It was their fault that the economy was crashing, and the gears of the war machine were starting. There was one moment- at night with a half moon- a perfect two set, where I could have said, 'hey yo slut...'. That sounds like an asinine opener, but that is how bad I was. Now I know that was AA preventing me from that opening.
When a fight forced itself upon me, he was at my mercy on the green field of battle, and then she started running towards us, crying and yelling. I stopped and turned to her, hugging her hard and saying, 'I love you right now'. She was beautiful, fair, with green eyes; an angel. I would have killed him. In the cell I had a wet dream, about a tramp stamp tattoo. As they carried me away, I asked 'Why are they trying to kill me?' 'Because you're crazy'.
Years later, depressed and medicated, hospitalized and jailed, I would look back and try to recreate the magic of those times; I would think, 'if only I did this or that instead'...I would have self-actualized and my dreams would have been reality. Back then, I didn't know there was a man with goggles, an artist and scientist.
The art and science of pickup can take me there. I look to Mystery. The theories, and the science, I love it. I have a degree in Biology. Mystery talked a lot about preselection, but didn't really explain the biology behind it. It is metabolically expensive to put in the effort to choose a good male. So when she sees a valuable female that has already put in the work and selected that male, she can go ahead and choose that male without having to put in any costly research herself. It is not just pick up art, it is pick up science as well. I also question Mystery's penis. What exactly did he do or not do with his penis when he was in his heydays. Frequent sex, yes, but anything else? The mystery will remain.
You don't know my name yet, but you will.
