Using drugs as a substitute for willpower

My gym workout routine takes about an hour.  It’s neither too hard nor too easy, and is enjoyable.  I like to do 10 reps on a small weight and work up by small increments to the max that I can push.  On some exercises that can mean 15 sets of 10 reps, on others just 4 sets of 10 and then 1 set of 5.

A few weeks ago I came across some blog post that mentioned that a guy could work out harder if he took pain killers before working out.  I’d never noticed any pain while working out, so that didn’t seem applicable.  Then one day I had taken pain killers in preparation for some minor surgery, and went to the gym.  I worked unusually hard that day.  In later workouts I became aware that actually mild pain was limiting how hard I pushed myself.  It’s always a surprise when what was unconscious becomes conscious.

Anyone who works out regularly knows that some days we are inexplicably strong.  And on other days we just don’t have as much mojo in the gas tank.

Yesterday I tried an experiment.  I prepared myself for the gym with stimulants.  I drank my maximum dose of tea, my maximum dose of theobromine chocolate extract, and took 1/4 pill of ritalin.  By maximum dose I mean the amount that gives me benefit without causing negative side effects, such as being jittery or losing focus or having an upset stomach.

Ritalin is used in conjunction with other medicines for pain management, and is known as a performance enhancer.  So it’s both a stimulant and pain killer.

I did my usual 1 hour workout, went to get a haircut, then came back and repeated the full 1 hour, using the same weights.  That’s the biggest workout I’ve ever done in my life.  It surprised me, as usually my workout leaves me close to spent.

Without the stimulants, I doubt I’d have had the interest or willpower to do a full second workout.  With them it was fun and easy.

I had just enough energy to pay attention to one of my girls for a bit before crashing asleep at 8 pm for a three hour nap.  Then a few hours work before another 8 hours of sleep.  I’m unusually tired today – I assume my body isn’t used to dealing with that much muscle tissue breakdown all at once.

I workout three times a week, as I’ve heard that a two day recovery is essential for maximum growth.  If you go every other day you won’t grow as much muscle as if you go just three times a week.  So I like to work extra hard on that 3rd workout day before the long break.  But at my age and with my workout routine, my weight and what I lift remains within a static narrow range.  I’m never that far off from a lifetime peak, even though I’m a small guy.  I get a bit bigger if I use HGH, but not that much.

I’m expecting that using low dose Ritalin once a week will make a noticeable difference to how hard I work, and my average weight.

Hiring a personal trainer as a substitute for willpower

M27 and N32 are both fat and claim to be battling weight loss.  I don’t count concern as a battle.

M is my girlfriend of 5 or 6 years, and N is sort my secretary, but we used to date for 2.5 years about 9 years ago.

They have been enemies and now are frenemies.  I’m forcing them to go to the gym together, under the direction of a personal trainer and dietician.  There will be a weekly weigh in contest, and whoever wins gets a prize.

I’ve tried every motivational technique I could to get M to lose weight.  Recently I with-held my offer to put her through salon school until she got her ass in shape.  But I know that no carrot or stick would work for her.  She just doesn’t like working out, and lacks self control to remain hungry as a long term habit.  If it were a matter of life and death, she’d leave a slightly chubby corpse.

The few times M was perfectly tight and slim, she was fucking hot.  Everything is sliding south, but even at 27 she’d look way more attractive toned.

At 24, even when she only carried a very few extra pounds, losing that extra made my eyes widen extra.

I’m not sure why my intuition tells me that it’s worth it to push N to become slim.  We fight all the time over issues that have her adult oppositional defiance disorder at their root.  Her actions can be a threat to my business, and certainly are nasty to my mood.  I’m putting her on Buspirone, COQ10, and Tianeptine.  I can also get Ritalin, and will give her access to maybe 1/4 dose for times when she needs to focus.  A.O.D.D is related to ADD, and Ritalin has long term benefits on brain structure for those with ADD.  Buspirone and related drugs are sometimes prescribed to adults and children with ODD.  The Buspirone will also help with her anxiety problems.  She can be a real ADD/ODD mess at times, stressed out and with low energy, and just a defiance waiting to passively aggressively defy.  Dangerous.

I figure that a fitness routine could only help N32.  And she needs help.  She’s financially beneficial to remain in my life, and if she’s going to interact with me, she needs help.  For both our sakes.

Both those women could never get fit without someone literally holding their arms and counting numbers in their ears and forcing them in public to push weights.  And then forcing them in public to do dancersize.  They both need someone to knock on their doors, and drag them out of the house, even when they are pretending to be sick.

They need a commander.  They are both thanking me for caring enough to be their overlord.



A few digs on the manosphere

From a recent comment on Krauserpua:

As for feminism/leftism, the impact of this is dramatically overstated in the manosphere, which sort of just reaffirms what i previously suspected about many communities: full of dudes who don’t go outside and (instead) formulate their view of the world based on other internet recluses.

From a recent email to myself:

If your blog gets low traffic I think that’s a sad commentary on the intellectual and emotional capacities of the bulk of the manosphere. Hell, every man should be exposed to your ideas and feelings. Your blog is gold.

I was speculating today why this blog is low traffic.  Some ideas that I had:

  • Other guys might not be interested in the lifestyle that interests me (they might prefer to be married, or to have egalitarian relationships, or prefer monogamous dating with women in their own age and accomplishment category)
  • Other people may not share my ambitions.  In fact my ambitions my even be off-putting.
  • My experiences might be too far outside the norm to register as relevant to most guys.
  • It’s too niche, for too many reasons
  • People assume that living and loving in Indonesia is very different than living in their own country.
  • I don’t make any popular appeals to blaming other people about any social or sexual ills or injustices. 
  • I view hypergamy as an opportunity instead of an excuse.
  • I don’t simplify my world-view, but instead use a lot of “ands”.
  • Some guys might just consider themselves to be too fundamentally unattractive to consider my ideas about dating to be relevant to their lives.

It could be that my thinking style itself, by it’s nature, could never make for a popular read.  And I mean that independently from the writing style; I like to think about things as if ideas were glorious toys.  I rarely meet people who view ideas as toys in real life.  Ideas are defence systems or rationalizations or weapons of argument, called upon with reluctance as a last resort, to many.  I put huge value on maximum coherence and scope of thought – holding as many facts together coherently is my definition of truth, and truth is my second greatest value.  I rarely meet people in real life who hold a similar value.

And my top value is sustained personal happiness/contentment/pleasure.  I don’t see that as all that popular a value either, to be honest.  A lot of guys value commitment, integrity, and other ideals that put others before themselves as more valuable.

There aren’t many comments on this lonely outpost of a blog, so sometimes it feels like I’m writing into the void.  In such cases how can I tell if I’m writing quality content or just have my usual delusions of grandeur?  When I do step out into the comments sections of other blogs and forums, I grow even more confident in my views, through view-combat.  I think my ideas are stated well and stand up to close scrutiny, and hold up very well wherever there is any disagreement.  But I no longer have as much time or interest to comment on the places that I used to.

I may never understand why more people don’t value this blog as much as I do.  I really love it and am pretty proud of it.  It’s a pretty close approximation to myself and my life, and how I think and how I love and what I feel and what I do.  I’m glad to have this outward manifestation of myself – it’s almost like having a friend.

Or course there could be other reasons my blog doesn’t get much interest.

  1. It might be boring (but I think that begs the question.  Boring to who and why?)
  2. The amateurish layout puts the content in a bad context.
  3. The writing isn’t tight enough and can ramble.
  4. The style and tone may not have popular appeal

But I’d rather blame other people, if I could get away with it even in my own hidden corners.

So it’s a mystery to me.  If my blog seems so good to me (and a select minority of other men), why isn’t it anywhere near as popular as other blogs that also seem good to me?

A friend mentioned Ken Wilber’s Boomeritis as a clue.  He said something like that most people are not at Wilber’s “Vision Logic” stage.  He hinted that this is a vision logic blog.  A lot of “and”s in it.  It’s a thinking about thinking, from a big all at once perspective blog.  Whereas according to Wilber, only about 2% of the population think that way by habit.

Update: Antonio commented:

Not only that, language, and its possible logical structures, don’t matter to them as much as the collective conscience of popular ideas. Say something outside of the scope of what is popularly heard, and even if that makes pristine sense, people will not register what you said. It is as if it was out of their vocabulary, a completely different language.


Human nature is simplistic, and is constantly searching for a convenient narrative. Convenient narratives require simplification, they require a clear villain and a clear hero. Not simplifying and not pointing fingers at villains is a guarantee that most people won’t relate to what you say..

The unspoken of dark side of non-monogamy

Guys who don’t have much experience with “treat em mean to keep em keen” have a very different internal and physical understanding of what “mean” means than guys who are sometimes emotionally open with harsh sentiments towards the women who are bonded to them.  It’s almost an insider vs outsider thing.  Nice guys want to think of themselves as nice, and bad boys see nice guys as ignorant chumps who refuse to grow up and live in the real world.

On the other hand I’ve been troubled by being not-a-nice-guy before.  I broke the heart of an infatuated virgin last year, and that didn’t feel good.   Last night I had a very disturbing dream.  An extraordinarily attractive young woman in my dreams had been with me for a few years but was now starting to act crazy and lose her bearings in this world, due to her being jealous and losing her sense of identity and place in this world now that she was not my one and only woman.

In the dream I didn’t want to be manipulated by this woman’s dramatic show of losing her mind.  She was openly flirting with other guys, in a random and reckless way.  Acting as if drunk.  I kept saying “who cares.  I know she’s hot, but I’ve already had that body for two years anyway.  Let her go crazy.  I’ll find a new girl.”

This sent her into deeper insecurity and despondency.

In the dream I was ambivalent about what to do.  Should I just walk away?  She was being self destructive, but was that really my responsibility?

Later I looked for her where she and some random guest had checked into a sleazy little hotel room.  It was empty.  The hotel staff told me that she had wandered out and they rechecked her into a “special” room.  Apparently the hotel had a psyche ward.

The psyche ward was hellish, and I had to crawl through a tiny labyrinth to find her, covered in a tarpaulin, naked and catatonic.  I pulled the cover off.  It seemed to me that I was her only hope for rescue from her own insanity – only I could pull her back with my love.  She needed that to know her place in this world.

I woke up feeling very disturbed.

I knew the dream was about M, but only now after writing this out do I realize just how tortured M had been on my seeing other girls.  I had deliberately made myself the center of her world, and she did in some ways lose her bearings.  And even today she still looks to me as the center of her life.  In a wistful and less hopeful way.

Very disturbing.

And this same dynamic happens with other girls, ALL THE TIME.

All the time.

Girls threaten suicide.  Girls get profoundly hurt and deeply depressed.  Girls throw gigantic and reckless drama fits.  One girl literally checked herself into a psych ward after a mental breakdown precipitated by my seeing another girl.  After that she let her life go drastically downhill.

In my dream I didn’t want to be the chump who let other girls drama take over my free will.  I didn’t want to be a slave to any girl.  I didn’t want to take responsibility for someone else’s insanity; surely everyone is responsible for their own life and their own mind.  Sooner or later, I reasoned, that girl would be fine.

And yet I intuited she needed my reassurance and love to be fine now.  I cared that her insulting recklessness in dating around was a form of self harm; a type of cry for help mixed with a slap in the face insult.  I cared, and it hurt to see her hurt.  No matter how much I valued my freedom.

The reader might not get a feel for it from my writings, but in spurts I can be a profoundly romantic guy, who connects deeply with women.  We can become intensely bonded.  Men and women can form pair bonds that leave imprints deep into every crevice of awareness.  They become a unit, and not whole without the other.  Disrupting such bonds can be literally devastating.  Horribly painful – living in hell painful.  I’ve felt it myself many times.  And I’ve caused it many times.

And yet I stubbornly insist on not merely casual sex with many girls, but on pair bonding with many girls at the same time.  I insist on it, and I do it.  That’s how I actually live my life.

Being an asshole as expensive signalling

There is an action of gazelles that’s called “stotting”.  They jump high when running away from leopards and lions.  It makes no sense.  It slows them down.

Yet it signals to the predators that the specific gazelles who stott are too fit to bother to chase.

Moose have huge bothersome expensive antlers.  And women love them for it, because any animal who has such an excess of energy to afford such waste must be proving fitness.

Being an ass-hole to women is similar.

It’s stotting.  That you think you can get away with it means you probably really can.

I doubt this means you can fake it before you make it, exactly.  I think a co-evolution of prowess and confidence must occur.  I think you can make incremental stotting steps, until your old self would never believe what your new self gets away with.  Your old self COULD NOT get away with it, no matter how expertly coached to try.

Taking pride in being wrong

A new peer and I were recently introduced.  I am exploding with history and ideas, and lack discipline in how to listen, no matter how interesting is the fellow.  At one turn in the conversation we chanced upon the subject of petrified trees.  My sink is carved from one.  In his recent home town of Arizona there are many.

“Oh, are they standing upright?”

“Uh, no, they are millions of years old, and had to petrify first.”

I laughed out loud at how stupid I had been.  Actually I forget who pointed out the thought error first.  I hope it was me.  But the stupidity itself was genuinely funny.  Perhaps when I was younger my mind would have been faster and it would have taken 1/10th of a second instead of three to notice the obvious, and the difference would have meant thinking stupid before speaking vs. speaking stupid out loud.

I would like to think that that episode speaks generously to my character.  I would like to think of myself as a man who can get alzheimer’s graciously.  I would like to think of myself as someone who can be corrected without causing too much drama.

Xsplat has sought therapy for his sex addiction

And it’s called sex.

I figure I need lots of therapy.  The sessions today proved quite therapeutic.

I long ago noticed that it’s possible to increase pleasure, by focusing on it.  I’ve heard that in Japan there is a culture wide appreciation for the beauty of cherry blossoms in bloom.  I’ve heard that some people make a routine of seeing and feeling a profundity of appreciation for the beauty of a sunset.

There is an art to maintaining and even increasing sensual pleasures.  I’ve met some gourmands in my life.  They take great delight in every mouthful.  They do this quite deliberately, and consider good eating a very important part of their life.

I do the same with the young women that I date.  I make an effort to notice what parts of them I find attractive.  It might be the fresh pink color of the tongue when the girl keeps her mouth wide open.  It might be firm shape of the ass.

There is an art to sexual appreciation.

There is a therapy for those who feel little arousal, and it is to learn to appreciate other sensual pleasures, such as sucking on a caramel.  By practising enjoyment, you can actually increase enjoyment.

The converse is also true.  By taking enjoyment for granted, and grunting out cheap five minute fucks, you can dramatically lower your sensual enjoyment.

I’ve talked before of course about chi-kung, and how that can profoundly interface with the internal feelings of sex.  It can make a bigger difference than the best vs the worst sex you’ve ever had in your life; there is no way to overestimate the difference chi-kung can make to a sex life.

But I have not been practising chi-kung much for a good three months now.  There are also other ways to highlight and intensify sex.  One is aesthetic appreciation of the figure of the lover.  That’s actually an art form.  Aesthetic appreciation is art.  It is one of life’s pleasures, and I believe therefore one of life’s duties.  With practice, the visual can thrill.

Unfortunately this does not work nearly as well for me with women who’ve already had children, or who have fat lazy asses.  Deflated breasts and loose belly skin don’t give the same rush as tight firmness.  It’s also easier to thrill to a young and pretty face than an old and ugly one.  In short, youth and beauty enhances sexual aesthetic appreciation.  It’s possible to go stare at a grey cement wall and be filled with awe and wonder, but it’s so much easier to find that emotion at the beach side sunset.

I think the young women I date really get a kick out of how much I love to stare at them.  My eyes love and lust them up, and that’s got to feel good.  I know I love it when they stare lustily at my cock, as if it were a glorious thing of wonder.  Oh glory be to naked tight bodies!  Glory glory.

I’ll seek out more therapy in the morning.

How to be happy and create personal meaning in a fundamentally uncaring and meaningless universe

I’ve noticed that a large percentage of the population has an innate psychological drive and need for meaning.

People are terrified of nihilism. They think that nihilism equals certain and permanent debilitating mental depression. Or worse – they expect they would turn into sociopaths if they accept nihilism.

I have no such fear.

I’m happy. Nihilism is fine. There is no contradiction. I treat people around me well, and I’m nothing close to a sociopath.

I don’t need this existential worth that my younger self and every rationalization in most every head craves. I don’t need life after death. I don’t need any god. None of those things are psychologically important in order for me to feel contentedness.

This has been discussed countless times by countless people. Some percentage of us absolutely crave meaning, and invent it, at all costs. Some of us need it much less.

Truth and meaning are very often at odds. Chances are, if you have meaning in your life, either you realize that it is manufactured and you believe it in the same way that you believe in a dream, (exactly like believing in love merely because it’s fun to do and why not?), or you compartmentalize facts so that they can’t rub up against each other in contradiction to your “real” meaning.

If you want to have power in this world, you need to be a systemic thinker.  If you are a systemic thinker, you need to let facts fight, regardless of emotional requirements.  The big picture takes priority, even over temporary mental breakdowns.  Can Casper the Friendly Ghost both fly through walls and catch a ball?  Such questions won’t bother you if you allow your mind to compartmentalize facts.  This is emotionally convenient, but comes at the cost of a coherent and therefore predictive and influential world view.

Morals and justice and equality and true love and each and every thing that you could ever hold dear are evolved responses.  It is not real outside of your head.  That’s fine.  It’s fine to have these thoughts, and to believe in the dreams we have, if they make us happy.

But if you also want to manipulate reality, I give you permission to also realize and make peace with nihilism.  It’s not as scary as people assume.  It just takes several decades of constant adjustment.  We can watch and get off on the movie, and at the same time know it’s a movie, and delight in why each aspect of the movie moves us.  We can understand that our responses are evolved.  It’s not a sin to know that there is  no such thing as sin.  And it’s human to behave humanely, even knowing there is no sin.  We are evolved to be happy acting as if there were; we are evolved to get pleasure by contributing socially.

That’s not a bad deal.

No afterlife and no god is not any sort of let down.  This mystery is a pretty good deal, for whatever it’s worth, or not worth.

You would want and need more sex if you had more young girls in your life now.

… an old joke about Calvin Coolidge when he was President … The President and Mrs. Coolidge were being shown [separately] around an experimental government farm. When [Mrs. Coolidge] came to the chicken yard she noticed that a rooster was mating very frequently. She asked the attendant how often that happened and was told, “Dozens of times each day.” Mrs. Coolidge said, “Tell that to the President when he comes by.” Upon being told, the President asked, “Same hen every time?” The reply was, “Oh, no, Mr. President, a different hen every time.” President: “Tell that to Mrs. Coolidge.”

More from Wikipedia:

In biology and psychology, the Coolidge effect is a phenomenon seen in mammalian species whereby males (and to a lesser extent females) exhibit renewed sexual interest if introduced to new receptive sexual partners,[1][2][3][4] even after cessation of sex with prior but still available sexual partners. The evolutionary benefit to this phenomenon is that a male can fertilize multiple females. The male may be reinvigorated repeatedly for successful insemination of multiple females.[5]

Couples on average have sex quite little.  I hear that sex sessions average from 5 to 10 minutes.  I can never remember the unbelievably low number of times most people have sex per month.  It’s so outside of my experience that it just never registers.

If you take the same “average” person, and give him access to several hot young girls, he’ll have a MUCH higher sex drive.

It’s just a biological fact.

And if he learns some modulation of his sexual energies, he can also learn to enjoy and prefer to not ejaculate, and so enjoy sex not just several times per month, but several times per day.  For longer than it takes to boil an egg too.

Most guys see this fact as so completely outside of their experience that it can’t register at all.

I see it that I owe it to myself to harness the Coolidge effect.  I’m not getting any younger.  These boosts make a big difference to a man’s sex drive.  And that makes a big difference to quality of life.

I told the gym bouncer “No” when he tried to kick me out

A cable broke on the exercise equipment while I was training my triceps.  This caused me to fall backwards and the bar hit me in the forehead.  No biggie, I rubbed my head a bit and went for a glass of water.

When I went back to the equipment a gym attendant came over to me with my can of beer, and angrily asked if I that was my beer and if I was an alcoholic.  “Oh yes, that’s mine, thank you.”  I took it and placed it on a safe spot on the ground and went back to work.

A few moments later he comes up to me again and tells me that I have to leave, because I was drinking.  I laugh and touch his shoulders, and in a friendly way explain that the cable breaking had nothing to do with my beer.  He insists that I am being kicked out.  Ok, so now he’s serious.  I look at him in the eye and say “No.  If you want me to leave you are going to have to fight me, and throw me out.”  He keeps asking me to leave a few more times, and I just go back to my workout.

I’m not a trained fighter, and the guy was much bigger than me.  If he chose to fight me he certainly would have won.  But I would have fought, and he’d have felt as many blows as I could land.  There was no malice or intimidation in my voice when I told him “If you want me to leave, you will have to fight me”, but I expect that my micro expressions contained what I meant by the word “fight”.  It would have been a scene, at minimum.

Later he comes back again.  He’s annoyed, and he’s got another guy with him.  He tells me that I HAVE to leave NOW.  I calmly look at him in the eyes, and simply say “No.”  No fuss.  No argument.  No drama.  Just no.  “You were drinking here!”  “If you don’t like my beer here, just throw it away.  There was no sign here saying I could not bring in a beer.  Are you the manager?”  “No, I’m an attendant here” “Go call your manager”.

At this point his friend grabs him by the shoulder and walks him away.

I calmly finished my workout, for another 45 minutes or so.  Wandered over to the water cooler where the staff work at least 5 times.  Shared turns on the equipment with fellow gym patrons.  I felt unusually strong that day.

As I walked out I shook his hand and made sure that we were both still friends.  He agreed that we were.

I’ve mentioned before that being a boss makes you feel like an authority.  The gym attendant originally felt that he was the authority over “his” gym space.  He felt it was up to him to keep proper decorum, and one can of beer was way out of line.  If I did not have many years of continuously being in the position of authority, I may have also assumed that he was the authority in that situation, and thought it natural to comply.  Or I may have felt challenged, and my blood pressure and adrenaline would have rose, and I would have considered the situation a contest of wills and a threat.

I did not consider it a contest of wills or a threat.  I simply gave him the option.  “If you want me to leave, you will have to fight me.”  When he asked me to leave through force of command only, I calmly looked him in the eyes, and with no threat or malice, simply told him “No.”  I felt no fight inside me.  I did not feel insulted.  I did not feel like I was threatening him.  It was not a negotiation.  It was simply “No.”

I believe that being self employed, and having many staff, changes a persons self conception, to the point where their level of stress hormones stay low during confrontations.  You just start to see yourself as the boss.  Apparently that carries over outside of the workspace.

Partying vs Ambition

I’ve been sidetracked lately from ambition, and it’s an interesting contrast.  Every evening I head to the beach, have a few beers, then cruise around and sometimes chat up girls.

And then just this morning I had a dream.  My brother invited me out to party.  I went to meet him in a large back alley.  His two friends were there, laying in the street like bums, but he was 10 meters away laying down in the street by himself.  When I approached him to say hi, I saw that he had been huffing some solvent like material, literally “black tar”, and his face was covered in it, making it a filthy shiny black.  In the dream I was close to gagging from disgust.

When I woke up I realized that huffing solvent and black tar were mixed up ideas about heroin, and that the dream was about addiction.  My bro wanted to “party”, but he was not happy.  He was an addicted mess, lying in the gutter.

For some reason I don’t understand,my Chron’s disease is in remission, and I can drink beer every night without causing a flare up.  I’ve had times where two nights drinking would ruin me for over a week.  I’ve been drinking a few plus few beers every night, and neglecting work.  That dream was showing me the extreme side of what “partying” can lead to.

I’ve watched and read biographies of Jacky Gleason and Paul Lynde, and Dick Van Dyke, and other old time celebrities who slid into alcoholism.  When does celebrating life to the max and wringing every last drop of enjoyment out of life slide into laying in a gutter?  It’s never easy to pinpoint the exact dividing line.

I’ve had to leave my main business in Java to oversee the workers on my bungalow construction projects in Bali. Out here in Bali I’ve let sessions at the gym be substituted for sessions drinking beer on the beach, listening to live music with girls, or getting massages by three pretty young teenagers.  I’ve substituted 12 hour work days for 3 hour days plus hunting for girls.

A lot of guys have been there and done that.  It can be a good life.  But I don’t think that’s the way to go to wring the juice out of life.  Not now.  Not at this stage.

Anyway, tomorrow I’m heading back to Java.  Java doesn’t have the same drinking triggers that Bali has for me.  And I have my girls there, and possibly one new date.  I’ll be ready and motivated to focus on work.  Like a lot of guys, I’ve “been there and done that”.  I don’t want to tread water or slide downhill.  Ambition can take us to new heights.

Too much information – icky personal goo

This is a diary post.  When a guy posts stuff that puts in him a bad light, one of two social status movements can happen:

  1. He becomes more approachable.  People see their own life in his words, feel less alone, and he is lauded for the honesty.  Everyone has down moments, after all, and these down moments can act to increase group solidarity.
  2. The weak points are used as ammunition against him to lower his social position.

Long time readers will know that I’ve been living in SEA for a dozen or fifteen years.  Before I first came out here, I was still in love with a woman in the US who was 11 years my senior.  I loved her but was freaked out in every nerve ending at her grandma voice and increasing wrinkles and her insistance that a real man took care of a real woman financially.  Ya, I thought, a real man might, if the real woman was young and hot.  If she’s older he gets to be the pool boy.  WTF was that cougar thinking?!

Still, I was deeply attached to her, and admired her.  We had a rare sympatico, on many levels, unequalled to this day.

I couldn’t get over the age differences.  43 to my 32.  She couldn’t get over my lack of provisioning potential.  I lived in her house rent free.  I was so into her that I invited her to spend Christmas with my family in Canada, and yet every moment that I looked at her face I felt wrong.

We went skiing one day.  I kept looking at this woman I was deeply bonded to and attached with, then looking over at the young ski bunnies.  Back and forth.  The contrast was shocking.

And my woman was a fit yoga instructor, with the body of a 20 year old.  Not any hint of sagging anywhere from the neck down.  Great personality.  Good enough and enthusiastic sex.

I was in such emotional turmoil that I was conscious of it most of the day.  At night before bed I’d ask three times for my dreams to show me guidance.  What should I do?

Every night I dreamed of having sex with multiple young girls in their peak years of attractiveness – from seventeen to 23.   In the dreams they’d find out about each other, and get jealous and pissed, but that only caused drama and never ended things.

One year later I was living in Bali, dating a 30 year old.  I thought that was quite a step up.

Two years later and I was dating two or more girls in Thailand, and invited the Bali girl to come out, with the plan of setting up a threesome.  The threesome never happened, but it was a fun reunion.

In Thailand I averaged a new girl every 6 weeks, with the average age about 22.  The youngest was a 19 year old virgin, and the oldest may had been 26 or so.  I stayed for two years.  I usually had two long term serious girlfriends, but sometimes three and a fuck buddy.  There was always time for finding new girls, as I was semi-retired.  For six weeks I dated and fell in mutual love with a well educated Persian woman who would get triple takes each time she walked down the street.  If you don’t believe in perfect 10s, you do believe in Miss World contestants.  She could have won.  Her face was seared like a branding iron into my brain.  She would orgasm while giving head, and was a screamer with great stamina. I’ve never been more alive, and never more into any girl.  Impossible to explain what an impression she made on me.  We wrote to each other almost daily for two years after.

Then I spent a year living with a hypersexual hyper neotinous micro mini girl in the Philippines.  Tried several times to arrange threesomes, but never quite got there.  She had BPD, and all the advantages and disadvantages that come with that.  The best and worst you can imagine.  It was starting to take too heavy a toll, so I moved back to Indonesia.

In Indonesia it took me a while to hit my stride again.  I was a changed man since the first time I lived here long term; more experience with women.  But I still had much to learn, and got tooled at least as much as I tooled girls.  Dated girls, lived with a girl while dating other girls, had that girl cheat on me, then invite me up to live with her Manado where she was dating the new guy, moved in with her for a week while she still dated the other guy, then quickly met some new girl who moved in on the first date.  We lived together for 2.5 years, and she’s still a big part of my life today.  While still seeing her, I moved to a new city and met my lifetime favorite girl.  We lived together for 11 months, which were without question the happiest days of my life.  Then she died, and it was 6 months of night and day excruciating pain.  I invited the Manado girl to come take care of me.  She flew out the next day, but overstayed her welcome and cock blocked.  As soon as I got her out of my apartment I was setting up multiple dates again.

After the third or fourth sex date, I met virgin M21 (21 stands for her age).  Quickly fell in mutual love, but was not satisfied with her virgin sexuality, so met a new girl and moved her in.  M kept dating me anyway.  It took over a year for M and I to find some decent sexual chemistry.  She moved in with me six months into our dating, when my live in went psycho from jealousy from me still seeing M.  We lived together for 2.5 years, and the chemistry kept slowly improving.  Two years later when I started seeing a new girl, N17, the chemistry shot through the roof, as both girls were fighting pussy wars to keep me.  The two girls kept me very busy, and this was again one of the happiest times in my life.

It took about six months of that for M to not be able to stand it.  She started secretly dating other guys.  She’s quite attractive, and so can attract model handsome very wealthy men, which she did.  One of her suitors would give her lavish gifts.  Another would promise marriage.  Another became a long term lover who visited her regularly.

All this time she was still living with me.  I suspected shenanigans, but didn’t press the issue.  One night she was out on a date, and refused to come home when I called.  For that I kicked her out of the house.

This caused her to go ballistic.  She thought it was fair for me to support her while she dated around.  Pair bonds are complicated things, and those who have been married and had affairs, or dated married women, know that just because you are into your new lover doesn’t mean you stop being bonded to your partner.  People get very strong attachments.  She was still very attached to me.  And I to her.

After kicking her out, she set up in an apartment a short walk away from me.  She kept seeing her other suitors, and we kept fucking.  It was heartbreaking for me, at times.  She had been near suicidal heartbroken about me, for many months.

It’s five years since I first started Dating M.  We still see each other, even though she is in contact with my two other regular girls, and sometimes learns of others that I date.

There is nothing embarrassing in any of that.  That’s just normal stuff, many guys will be familiar with.  What’s embarrassing is that over the last year or so our sex life has decreased in passion.

We’d had a long run of intense passion.  For the years we lived together every session was a rocket ship ride to a new fantastic space.  She’d orgasm again and again, and the love was intense.  We were deeply pair bonded, and intensely passionate about each other.  Sex five times a day was the norm.  We stayed in love for more than the customary 6 months, more than just 1 year, and more than the stated maximum of two years.  It was fresh and powerful for years.

I left Java last week to take care of some business in Bali.  I took no girls with me, as I wanted to see V, my private former virgin who was once intensely infatuated with me.  We quickly rekindled our heart and sex affair.  But then she flew off to travel around Australia and New Zealand with her girlfriend.  That left me with no girls here.

I don’t know what percentage of men can’t focus or function after a few days of no sex.  If that’s not you, stifle your innate desire to judge.  That is me. I know me.  After a few days of no sex I start to feel physically uncomfortable.  Then I can’t focus on anything else except finding new girls.

So instead of working I’ve spend much of my time hunting.  Had a few dates, and have a few good leads, but no new sex yet.

Of my three girls in Java, two can’t come out to visit.  One because she was causing drama, phoning up other girls so I nexted her (permanently or not I’m not sure), and the other because she insists on showing up for her job.  So that left M.  As our passion had declined, I waited until I just thought I could not function any more before inviting her.

It was a mistake.

We still have hit and miss sex, but the misses are too common, and they add up and have an emotional toll.  A man wants to feel wanted.  When I was in Java, a poor performance by M wasn’t that big a deal.  A few minutes later and I could be with a girl with more stamina.  But here it’s worse than no sex.  Her presence doesn’t satiate, and only cock blocks.

I’m going to send her home tomorrow.  I have a date with a super hot 17 year old the moment she leaves.

Oh, I since I’m being totally unfiltered with personal information, I may as well say that part of the reason the sex isn’t great is because M seems to have some painful vaginal irritation.  Likely an imbalance of her vaginal flora.  I’ve tried to treat her for that in the past, but she has a hyperactive gag reflex and refuses all pills, even if they are powdered and mixed with sweet drinks.  The suppositories I gave her were used once or twice then ignored.

I’ve given her new suppositories, but it would take days for the irritation to subside.  I have no mood to wait around for a woman whose passion is the color beige to maybe be able to enjoy sex some time.  That’s just cock blocking; I’d much rather be climbing the walls out of my mind sexually frustrated than hanging around tepid sex. I respect myself too much to settle for sex that is a slap in the face insult to who and what I am as a man.

It’s stuff like her stubborn refusal of medicine that removes my romantic feelings for her, and makes me think of her only as a sex toy, and it’s the lack of romance that lowers her sex drive.  She’s the type of girl for whom romance is a major portion of feeling sexy.  She’s not fuck buddy material; she’s built for romance.

Bad sex is embarrassing.  And annoying.

The hash is fake and the pot already had the THC oil extracted

It’s difficult and dangerous to find real pot in Indonesia.

The stuff that is sold on Bali is so weak that even if you vape two big bags of it, you barely feel a thing.

I’ve always suspected that it was the discards of the honey oil extraction process.

Yesterday a friend was offered some pot, by some dude on the street.  He walked with the guy fifteen minutes to his house.  He explained that he didn’t want any of that Aceh crap, because it was not strong.  The vendor tried to sell him two bags of “Moroccan” pot and a big blob of hash for $100 bucks, but my friend just gave him $25 for the two bags of leaf, because after smoking some of it with the guy concluded that it was that crap Aceh stuff.  And the hash was obviously fake.

This morning he carved a carrot pipe, tried it, and got nothing.  So he tried to extract the oil out of it using butane, following youtube instructions.

Nothing to extract.  Even soaking it in pure butane for an hour didn’t discolor the butane, and after the butane was evaporated away there was not a hint of residue on the plate.


My friend spend last night talking to every dealer he could find, trying to befriend them and get the real inside scoop on the pot scene.  Of course at first they all tried to sell him the denatured stuff, and insisted that it was real.  It did not take any of them long to open up more, but no one would open their mouth, and none would give him any contact for any real pot.  They could supply valium, xanax, cocaine and meth, but not pot.  He even searched out and talked to some mafia.  Same story.  Everyone said that yes there was some real pot in Bali, but that they would never touch the stuff, and didn’t know exactly which person had it.

I was told that real pot was sold in Kerobokan prison.  And that place is mafia run.  I was also told that as a local it’s not wise to approach mafia to buy pot, because they can make more money colluding with the cops in a sting than selling to you.

Had a blast chatting up teenagers again last night

It doesn’t take much courage to say hello to the massage girls sitting outside their shops on Poppies lane.  They’ll usually even say high first.  They get hit on day in and day out, but you might be surprised to learn that many of them are still virgins.

Pretty young teenagers.  Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen.

I had an absolute blast.  “I love you, marry me” was a common opener.  It was just fun flirting, with no real goal in mind.  I was not number farming, or trying to get any girl home.  I was not trying to spike attraction.  Just having fun and a lot of laughs.  The girls seemed to really enjoy it.

I have a zone.  I can be witty and social.  I know how to flirt.  I’m not always in that zone, but it sure felt great last night.  Like being a king of the world.

I suppose in hindsight the girls were not really hooking.  But at the time that was actually the furthest thing from my mind.  I would walk away from a girl with a very cheerful goodbuy, and didn’t feel the slightest twinge of loss or regret that I didn’t achieve my aim.  Because I HAD achieved my aim!  Such pretty faces.  Such cute girls.  It was so fun to flirt with them.

I flirted with pretty girls wherever I saw them.  Shop girls, girls on the street.  Even flirted with a hooker.  She cheerfully explained that she was very busy, with a client over here, then over here, but that she might be able to see me later tonight.  Cute and small older woman – maybe 35.  That was so fun flirting with her.  I explained I’m more traditional, and we smiled and waved goodbye to each other.  What a little bundle of yum.

Later that night I stopped in to a 7-11 and the counter girl was acting all smiley.  I showed no interest in her and was all business and serious again.  I think I’d flirted with her before and forgotten it.  Oops!  I have a touch of face blindness, and that kind of thing happens to me all the time.

I’ve gone out daygaming very occasionally for a few years now.   On many days I’d not make one approach.  Sometimes I had a little fun, but there was always a hunger to me; like I was out to get something, something that I didn’t quite know how to get.  The hottest girls were too hot to approach, and the mediocre girls were not hot enough to approach.  I felt awkward, and an outsider.  Breaking the ice was next to impossible, and then after that I felt undeserving to be in the presence of such a young hottie, trying to take up her time.

I can see now that it doesn’t have to always feel that way.

Yesterday before approaching a super-hottie on the beach, I noticed an old man and his wife talking to her.  Somehow this bloated ancient retiree was chatting up this super-cutie, with his grey-haired wife hanging on his arm!  WTF!  He was laughing and everybody was laughing.  As if it were perfectly natural to just walk up to total strangers, and be social with them.

We have a method of learning that is ancient, and that monkeys today use.  It’s called monkey see monkey do; we mimic the actions of others.  I swear it’s true that seeing that old man on the beach chat up that hottie – even with his wife right beside him – taught me something, at a deep level.  I didn’t hear a word they said, but that man opened up a world of possibility to me.

That old man was just being social, for fun.  With perfect strangers and with no introduction.  Mind blown.  How?!  And yet the next day somehow I had the same attitude, only I was very playfully flirting.  “Wow, you’re so cute.  I bet the boys hit on you all the time. ” “What do you like in a man?”

I wasn’t exactly flirting in order to get a number, or bring a girl home.  I was flirting for the sake of flirting.  Because it’s fun and what people do.

I even sat down and chatted with some local dudes for a while.  Talked a bit about the local drugs scene.

It sure felt better at the end of the day than my previous sorties.  Before I’d come home feeling like I’d wasted my time, or done nothing.  Last night I came home feeling great – like I’d just had a blast.  Not one solid hook the whole night, so it’s the same outcome.  But it was still time well spent.

That’s new for me, and I didn’t really know that was an option.

When I’m in my flow, I’m pretty good with the gab.  People are entertained, and engaged.  I’d be proud to share the voice recordings, if I had them and were not such an anonymity freak.  But I could see how daygame flirting could be more focused, and I could learn to elicit stronger emotions.  My plan for getting new girls has been to develop a business that brings girls to me, but being better at daygame could be a life improvement, not just for the potential new girlfriends, but just as something enjoyable to do.  To get out of the house, and be social.

Before daygame was a bit more of a chore, or something I did because I felt an inner hunger.  Last night was so much fun that it showed me a whole new side to gaming.  That it can be fun, and have no other purpose than that fun.