"A day at the Odinist Racetrack"
The ultimate key "to talking to girls", I've found-- is to keep a bit of "an objective air" and to remove oneself as much as possible from the world of "self-absorption", usually centered more upon "me, Me, ME" and how oneself feels-- "neurotic", "inferior", ect.-- instead of on the needs of the wonderful young lady you spy and wish to gamble your chances, dealing in the currency of a social capital borne of a confidence you have no problem risking.
If you have ever been down to the St. Louis zoo and seen the "big cat" rocks, where the lions and lionesses make their home and chill like "a key object lesson". What you will notice, is that these animals are a part of nature, just like we are, and remain supremely unbothered by most extraneous details. They lounge, they stretch, they hop up on a tree with brisk muscularity. . . . . and through it all, they seem extremely unbothered by the cares of modernity and fashion and cell-phones and the "cat-walk" dance-thump of the hippest, hottest music and movies and other such media-generated non-sequitors rolled out on television like an unfulfilling digital feast "of where it's at", but yet leaving you emptier and more alienated "for the wear" like crummier doofuses tittering at their own inferiority.
Yet, if you can abstract the scene "of the big cat rocks" and apply it to most of humanity as it goes about its business, you will see striking parallels. . . . . the stillness and indifference that marks most of the machinations of this world.
Action/Reaction. . . . . and for us here today, the subject of "attraction".
If you get a lionesses' attention, perhaps lay down a trail of meat, or wave about a colorful scarf, it might convince itself to follow you because she finds it in her self-interest. You have an offer, and she finds it "tantalizing". Maybe enough to understand that an alliance of mutual shared interest may be at hand, which is the very definition of "a relationship".
But hark! A man must have "something to show for himself". Might is what makes the world go around, like gravity-- credibility-- an accumulation of muscle, wealth, skills, talent, momentum, strength. And unless he is seen as being "powerful" in some way, which shines through in his level of purpose, direction, and confidence-- a woman is not going to judge him "very high" as A) Her provider or B) The father to her children.
"Holding eye-contact is a must!"
And nothing turns a woman off more than a man's pesky neediness, hopping after her single-mindedly like a small, flightless bird without arms. . . . . to be picked up, cradled, and mothered because otherwise they know out there "they will be eaten" by predators.
Boys like this "who were never taught to be men", or to bear down with a craft or a skill, often become minor nuisances whose enthusiasm "gets the better of them" and then, once chastened, fall deeper into pornography and internet junkieism and a drifting, spiraling path into no-man's-land of suing multi-player video game companies and looking at doctored photos of Audrey Tatou's skimpy ass-crack.
(Feel the PAIN. . . . .)
So, lean your shoulder "down to the wheel" and the solution shall present itself.
"When Boys Aren't Taught how to Fight". . . . . Many of us have been raised predominately by our mothers, or had absent or recessive fathers which turned us into "Momma's Boys" with emotional needs found in such closeness. But the irony is, that such "goody-goody" feelings are going to get us "the least far in life", particularly with girls who feel no obligation "of bondedness" because they don't know you. As the American neo-Nazi leader George Lincoln Rockwell once said-- "The man who don't fight, don't FUCK". But you need to learn to put this quote in some kind of context. . . . . because usually, it's the wildest, most unstable guys starting "bar fights" who end up scaring all the girls away by his sheer unreliability and overemotional shakiness. It's the man who has the capacity and willingness "to fight", yet doesn't have "to use it"-- is the point of that truism. "Less" is "more", in other words. To cut it down even further, "don't be a groveling shit-bag" because you'll be treated as "the same" in this world of worlds.
"Your Unholy Trinity". . . . . of strong, helpful, not-too-bright, slightly-wicked "meatheads" who overpower "with bandit king" intrigue, though having about "all the thinking moral capacity and higher religious impulse" of STUDIO 54 ON STERIOIDS.
s
Take
it from Blackie n' Glenn--
It pays to have a brooding, mysterious, ARTISTIC TALENT with a bit of breathy poise, insinuation, and a hard-headedness TOWARD LIFE rooted in HONESTY, there with controlled flourish, generosity, and a wonderful sense of humor. You're menacing yet cuddly.
a
Capital Crime: It's
when your mother "smothers you" like a buttered fat-boy
your whole life, caught up in the need for that feminized "magical reality" for
the sake of your own personal VALIDATION but
never "leaving you be"
to stand stout and proud; LIKE A SOLDIER. Obviously. . . . .
how or why would anyone else
know or care?!
Take
it from me. . . . . another thing you don't want to do IS
WALLOW IN WHAT AILS 'YA. What will never be appealing is a kind of hammy,
jerky, pressed, imposing "artificial" stench that bespeaks of some "unwanted
obligation" as if you're one who's there TO TAKE, TAKE,
TAKE as if reading too much "into the TEXT"
of who someone is "as some kind OF ANSWER". Rather,
if one has kind of a light, intuitive "playful-touch" that's far more like one
of those fast dancers-- whether one with a pair of castanets or the Irish
"River-Dance" series of emerald hill and silver brook, yet would slow down "with
fond, intuitive heart" that would think earnestly
about what the other person across from you "is feeling", making sure
NOT TO SHOW OFF TOO MUCH, so not "to hurt their
feelings". Like you're lightly-spooning honey over a bit of breakfast
cereal as the morning light shines through the drapes on a freshly-mown morning
in early summer. That's the hall-mark of social-skills. . . . .
and why you're on your way!!
Personally,
I think a show like "Blind Date" is one of the most loathesome shows I've ever
seen-- and a big part out of why so many of those guys "fail" up there is
because they're pressed along into "the dead motions" of a social ritual found
in so many hip, urbane expectations that is a mere shadow of what a man should
be presenting to a woman when he appears as "the offering" of who he is. It's
seldom "the woman's problem", but in how the guy failed to deliver, perchance in
not coming across "as clear-eyed, honest, and serious about life" that connects
with her ON THAT REAL EMOTIONAL LEVEL in a very
kindly, humorous way. Sometimes "those hip, urbane rituals" are a bit of a
mixture of this with a set of contemptuous irony and affliction "that makes you
think "THERE'S MORE" precisely because "they're
saying so little". But if you can deliver more of the genuine substance
with heart and back up yourself with great hobbies
and interests, "then you'll pass this audition" and have even a gal who seems a
bit crisp and judgemental, as if nodding at your answers in a black nylon blouse
and gold-rimmed glasses "feeling disarmed" by the sage-like simplicity
that will soon melt her heart. . . . . and freak
out the show's producers who had set up this Surfer guy "to have a rough night"
before the camera crews.
5
On to Part III:
Back to "Bambi"
*******************
"You want a-nuther song? Well I ain't plain' one mutherfuckin' note until someone comes up here and puts sum money in my god-damned tip-jar! You know I only came here for one purpose. . . . . to take yor fuckin' cash! Why, I could make more profit puttin' out my meth-head neighbor's asshole and ringin' a bell, hollerin' 'Man for sale! Man for sale!'
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
(Rheeee of Crickets)
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
("I heard that, Missy!")
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