For Men: How To Attract Women

For Men: How To Attract Women

Have lots of money
— (and spend it on her).
Know how to dance.
Look good.
Smell good.
Own a restaurant.
Cook
— (very well).
Listen forever.
Wait forever
— (the prime directive).
Don’t make her wait.
Don’t interrupt.
You always like the dress and haircut.
Guess what she wants
— (and don’t be wrong).
Don’t notice
— (what you’re not supposed to).
Give compliments
— (that sound genuine every time).
Don’t criticize.
Accept criticism graciously.
Don’t look at other women.
Don’t do anything with other women.
Be nice to her mother.
Be nice to her children
— (and pay for them).
Tolerate her girlfriends.
Do housekeeping
— (or have it done).
Don’t make her jealous
— (by paying attention to your car).
Don’t go out with the boys.
Don’t drink more than she does.
Don’t smoke more than she does.
Eat what she tells you
— (on her mealtimes).
Watch her movies.
Don’t make her watch your movies.
Don’t watch sports
— (unless she does).
Freedom is frightening:
don’t be a husband off leash.
Remember:
she needs a safe man to say no to.
— Or —
don’t worry about attracting women.

6 December 2016

Pre-Traumatic Stress Syndrome

Pre-Traumatic Stress Syndrome

The college boy babbles excitedly,
testosterone jitters and beer foam greased,
leans towards the busty co-ed,
with high hopes.
The card in his wallet says “One-A,”
the Tet Offensive rages an ocean away.

The bridegroom fumbles knotting his tie,
it takes five tries.

The wife wakes him up,
talks about his damaged aura,
gasping and hacking to the emergency room 3 AM.
Doctor tells him “Croup.”
“Maybe you should get her a psychiatric evaluation.”
Eight months pregnant.

Career hopes rest on his next mission,
but she and the children have to vacation at grandma’s.
He watches their plane disappear up into the blue,
tight throat, heavy heart.
A letter waits for him at home,
“We are not coming back until…”

The kids have been played, fed, bathed; asleep.
She’s gone again the weekend:
transactional therapist college retreat.
Heavy rain, flooded basement, house creaks.
In the dank dark his flashlight shows
twenty feet of rolled foundation.
How much will that cost?
Upstairs, Saturday’s mail unopened:
bank statement, savings, zero balance,
joint account.

The kids are busy, know everything,
no time for the old man.
That’s okay, everything’s stable,
accounts are paid for,
the oldest likes college.
A union organizer now, meeting at noon.
Secretary puts a letter in his mailbox:
layoff.

She’s a consolation for life in the downslope years.
“Women don’t need men,” she tells him,
“men need women.”
That’s what you think, sweetheart: silent smile.
Next summer at the beach: “I want a baby.”
“Of course.” You always knew,
nature must have its way.
No restoring the sports car now,
keep your zen,
maybe she’ll still love you in twenty years.

Mother calls, father’s had a heart attack.
He leaves for the long drive in the rain.
The wipers break, scratch the windshield at eye level,
electrics are spotty.
How will I take care of her now?

Doctor gives him the news,
prescriptions, change your life,
worry to maximize,
and it costs.
But dependents have all their demands.
You can’t be an artist and have a family.
At least now I know it doesn’t really matter.
So, relax and enjoy.
You can’t make time, you can only savor it,
or lose it.
Life belongs to the alert,
peace belongs to the knowing.

29 November 2016

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What Have I Learned From The 2016 Election

0. I am out of synch with Americans today, old and young, and it is better for me to keep it that way even if it seems isolating. I would do best living happily as a quiet, invisible loner.

I am unable to engage with society without puncturing other people’s idea bubbles, because I am unable to keep my analytical mind from seeking the foundations of those ideas and the limits of those bubbles. I usually find the foundations weak, the limits narrow, and the bubbles flimsy – but held to be sacred. Trying to expand those bubbles (to “be helpful” and “inform them”) or pop them (to be critical and “wake them up”) just creates hostility, and that produces disturbances (when I lose my patience), which then suck the oxygen out of my good spirits, and poisons some of the time I could otherwise be spending enjoying my own thoughts and actions.

What I have now been taught, in these modern times, is that I would do best to “respect others” by simply saying nothing to them as they babble on without interruption, even as they fall off their own delusional cliffs and ensnare themselves in their own chosen sufferings. I get it: It’s your life and you’ll choose how to live it and fantasize about it.

For my part, it’s best I do my thing alone without seeking an audience, which seeking is just a waste of time that yields no appreciation, nor has social benefit. People only have an interest in me to sell me something (get money), or for me to play a supporting role in one of their self-focused social dramas (women are big on this), or to be a momentary entertainment fill-in.

Since there is such a wide variety of human types, the above analysis is not true for everyone.

1. You never help anyone by calling them stupid, even if it’s true. Stupidity is like gravity, it’s constant and impervious, and you can’t do anything about it – unless it’s your own. I must be patient about the reality of stupidity, for my own good.

2. Everybody is racist.

3. Attention deficiency is the norm. Most people do not have an attention span greater than 20 seconds. I think this is why hand-held electronics are so popular, and reading paperbacks in public is so rare.

4. I’m on my own (and it’s best). Nobody cares about what I think, say or write. And, I feel the same way about most other people.

5. Conversation is dead. Most people prefer to talk than to listen, where “talk” is either actual audible verbalized output, or broadcast written speeches, or internal mental self-talk.

6. Thinking is dead. Most people do not think reflectively and use logic, they react emotionally selecting instantaneous judgments from a list of pre-programmed prejudices. They only “think” mechanically and procedurally (like robots) to implement the task at hand, whether that task is a chore (something they “have to” do), or a step in self-focused activity (something they “want to” do).

7. Americans have been trained to vote on the basis of avoiding their fears (i.e., emotionally). Where fear is lacking, voting decisions can be based on personal biases (more emotions) and personal pecuniary impact (the beginnings of thought). The character of political candidates, and the public good (or damage) of the policies they would champion, are not thoughtfully considered by the majority of American voters.

“The most frightening feature of the civic melancholia in present-day America is the relative collapse of integrity, honesty, and decency — an undeniable spiritual blackout of grand proportions. The sad spectacle of the presidential election is no surprise. Rather, the neofascist catastrophe called Donald Trump and the neoliberal disaster named Hillary Clinton are predictable symbols of our spiritual blackout.” – Cornell West (3 November 2016)

8. Political amnesia and personal denial are the psychological anesthetics of choice. Voters never notice and never remember the damages their winning candidates cause, so they can remain willfully ignorant of their own responsibilities in helping to create those damages. For example: Ronald Reagan’s “trickle down” and butchery in Central America, Bill Clinton’s “welfare reform” and deregulation of the banks, George W. Bush’s Iraq War, tax cut for the rich and US financial collapse for the not-rich, Barack Obama’s generous giveaways to and protection of Wall Street, whistleblower persecutions and drone massacres. Have Reagan, Clinton, Bush and Obama voters ever taken ownership of the disasters, catastrophes and persecutions they backed?

American identity-politics voting on the basis of vanity (latest version: “first woman president”) subsequently requires many foreign brown-skinned dead bodies in tribute to “the cause,” and the camping out on sidewalks in the homeland of more and more “deplorables” and “welfare cheats,” and every other kind of out-of-scratch nonperson. I pity America’s exploited and discarded Red Necks, now raging with neofascist ignorance, as mirrored by their hero Donald Trump; and I am disgusted by the smug narcissistic vanity of America’s comfortable parasites, emoting or conniving and colluding, as mirrored by their heroine Hillary Clinton.

9. Predictions: Hillary Clinton will win the election on November 8th. The Electoral College vote will be decisive, but the popular vote will be close. Hillary Clinton will follow through on her promises to Goldman Sachs (Big Money), Saudi Arabia (Big Oil) and Israel (War Inc.), but will entirely ignore the Democratic Party platform (dumping the Bernie Sanders Democrats the morning after getting their votes), except as a useful repository of progressive rhetoric she can cherry-pick for use as political camouflage when needed. The mainline Republicans (finally able to ditch Trump and his Tea Party excludeds) will stonewall President Hillary in the same way they stonewalled President Obama, as a careerists versus careerist battle for political power, except at those times and in those areas where Big Money, Big Oil and War, Inc. tell them to cooperate to meet the owners’ needs and wants, just as they did during the Obama Administration. Hillary is closer (more pliant) to the Big Owners than Barack was, but she’s unlikely to be as adept as he was at managing the public. So, the Big Game will go on as before, but it may not look as pretty at the retail level of infotainment. The treacly celebrations of “breaking the glass ceiling” and “first woman president” will be overlong and overplayed despite quickly wearing out for all but Hillary’s sentimental cultists.

10. It’s time for me to renew my Zen.

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22 November 2017

I sure made a blunder in #9. I made the mistake of watching TV, Larry King interviewing a mainline Republican pollster (attuned to the Bush administration period), on the night before the election, and I fell for his seemingly rational and professional judgements, which favored a Hillary win. “Reason” and the overwhelming media propaganda in Hillary’s favored made me think my gut feeling that American ignorance, stupidity and bigotry were really the dominant forces among the populace, was too unlikely to be the complex of decisive factors. Gut was right, brain was wrong. Lesson: don’t look for truth in TV (as if I didn’t already know this!).

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Coin-flip Election of 2016

Coin-flip Election of 2016

Hillary Clinton ran against herself and lost.
Donald Trump ran against Hillary Clinton and won.
The American people – and the world – had lost the election in July.
From then until November it was a coin-flip
—– between corporate head and corporate tail.
The parasite elite was heartbroken with the result
but relieved the lumbering beast they fed off
—– remained under control.
The beast had settled on profound ignorance and honest bigotry
over profound corruption and dishonest ambition,
—– and for denial of its own complicity.

Hillary Clinton ran against herself and won.
Donald Trump ran against Hillary Clinton and lost.
The American people – and the world – had lost the election in July.
From then until November it was a coin-flip
—– between corporate head and corporate tail.
The parasite elite were ecstatic with the result
and relieved the lumbering beast they fed off
—– remained under control.
The beast had settled on profound corruption and dishonest ambition
over profound ignorance and honest bigotry,
—– and for denial of its own complicity.

1 November 2016

Donald Trump’s Medal of Honor Citation

Classified Citation for the Secret Medal of Honor, for Donald Trump

In the Classified History of the United States, Donald Trump will go down as one of the greatest heroes of the early twenty-first century, for almost single-handedly saving the republic from the anti-capitalist insurrection of Bernard Sanders, thus allowing our neoliberal economic order, guided by its Wall Street conservators, to continue without any foreseeable domestic threats for the remainder of the century.

Donald Trump accomplished this feat by his uncanny insights into public relations, his personal investments and losses, and his unsurpassed personal sacrifices in accepting near universal condemnation for his public policies, and opprobrium for his personal behavior. By willingly exposing himself to the public as the villainous foil to our designated successor for the presidency, Hillary Clinton, and carrying through with this boundlessly difficult and distasteful role to the bitter end, Donald succeeded in repelling a majority of the American public into the embrace of Hillary Clinton, and thus satisfactorily under our continuing control.

Donald single-handedly ruptured the Republican Party, creating the opportunity for it to repudiate its obstreperous and discredited populist “Tea Party” elements, and to realign itself once again under the full control of its long-standing and stable professionals of our bipartisan national leadership class. By creating what has been called “the most powerful negative pole of political policy and activity ever exhibited in an American presidential election,” Donald caused the fragile and insecure positivity of Hillary Clinton’s “political pole” to be exponentially enhanced in public perception. As a consequence of this felicitous enhancement, the luster of Bernard Sanders has been significantly dimmed, and the rabid enthusiasm of his anti-capitalist followers has been satisfactorily quenched into a mass disappointment that has excellent prospects of enduring as long term apathy.

Barack Obama has been the most successful tool for public guidance we have ever been fortunate to acquire, so it was natural we would once again turn to the Clinton-controlled Democratic Party for his successor. Hillary Clinton is the outstanding choice for that role, because of her lifetime of loyalty to our interests, and the singular confluence of politically useful characteristics she possesses: her female sex, which immediately guarantees her capturing half the votes in America, her absolute freedom from moral impediments, her salubrious cupidity (the bedrock of her loyalty), and her mastery of dissimulation and political manipulation. Where this “dream candidate” has weakness is in the area of easily rallying the public, and we had great apprehension earlier in her campaign with the surge of Bernard Sanders in opposition to her. It required the coordinated efforts of our operatives in the Democratic Party, the media, the corporate donor class, and the Obama Administration (including the president himself) to bring the Sanders insurgency to heel. But, essential to making the anti-Sanders counteroffensive successful were the enormous contributions of Donald Trump in the public sphere, as described earlier.

Truly it can be said that no man has knowingly shown greater loyalty to our class interests, and at greater sacrifice, than Donald Trump. For his unbounded and effective energy, sacrifices and success in our interests, we bestow on Donald Trump the Secret Medal of Honor.

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Hail to the Chief

Hail to the Chief

Democracy is so precious that it has to be rationed,
voting must be guided least it undermine the nation.
A confederation of complacent parasites
triumphs over a panic of anguished bigots’ fright.
The great zombie beast, dazed and confused,
plows on forward, prodded and amused.
The ruptured traditions all have been preserved,
the fragile ideals have successfully been reversed:
The task of public schools
is to press children into tools,
the goal of private schools
is to carve robots out of fools.
Dynasties arise and ancient unions fail,
memories turn over, and to the chief we hail.
No dreams have been deferred, they’ve simply been forgotten,
corrupted as ambition, or as despair turned rotten.
With clarity intact, and old visions of uplift,
with your world I’m out of time, athwart your synchronism.
With insights you attack, I’m now thankfully adrift,
this solitude of mine is freedom from your prison.

22 October 2016

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Two Samurai Duel

Two samurai, Isao and Kyuzo, each seeking saki and shelter during a night of heavy rain, became aware of each other seated separately on the tatami mats around the same low table in the bar of a country inn. The weather discouraged both travel (retreat) and outdoor swordplay, while samurai nature required evaluation of a rival’s skill (and all samurai regarded each other as potential rivals).

Talk being largely unnecessary among samurai, Isao picked up a cherry from a fruit bowl on the table, tossed it up into the darkness hiding the ceiling, then in a flash unsheathed his katana, twisted it blade up and sliced, and two halves of cherry, one pitted and one with pit, fell to the table on either side of the blade.

Kyuzo chuckled, picked up a cherry and tossed it up into the darkness above them, then all in a flash unsheathed his katana, twisted it blade up slicing, then twisted it blade down slicing, finishing with the sword held level and its blade horizontal. Two halves of cherry, pitted, fell on the table on either side of the sword, and the pit rested on the flat of Kyuzo’s blade.

Isao was impressed but not put off. There were a number of flies buzzing overhead, attracted by food that was still out, and the leftovers and scraps that had not yet been cleared away. One bluebottle fly was circling them annoyingly with a heavy buzz:

Zuzuzuzuzuzuzuzuzuzu…

Isao pointed to it and said “watch.” He stood in a calm stillness like a tree in a forest, while the fly circled him.

Zuzuzuzuzuzuzuzuzuzu…

In a flash he unsheathed his katana, slicing in an arc to his right —

Zuzu-uuP! —

then rested for a moment at the end of his stroke, and carefully sheathed his sword. He pointed with his outstretched palm to a part of the floor, and when a lantern was brought up close the two neatly sliced halves of the fly could be seen.

“Not bad,” said Kyuzo, and pointing to another big bluebottle fly, said “watch that big boy.”

Zuzuzuzuzuzuzuzuzuzu…

He stood in a calm stillness like a tree in a forest, while the fly circled him.

Zuzuzuzuzuzuzuzuzuzu…

In a flash he unsheathed his katana, slicing in a tightening arc to his right twisting into an upward cut —

Zuzu-uuP!-Zeeeeeeeeee!!…

Kyuzo sheathed his katana, as the fly raced around erratically, issuing its excited high-pitched buzz,

Zeeeeeeeeee!!…

Isao conceded.

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The above is my elaboration of a story I learned from Tom FitzPatrick, an avid rugby player, in 1978. This story is part of the vast, earthy oral tradition among rugby players. While presenting it here as text helps to preserve it in cyberspace, the audio effects which are intrinsic to an oral presentation are missing. The following “sound” definitions of letter-strings used above may help:

zuzuzuzuzu… = low-pitched, buzzing sound,

zeeeeeeeeee… = high-pitched buzzing sound,

uuP! = the sudden cessation of a low-pitched buzz.

A photo of Tom FitzPatrick’s chalkboard in February 1978 (Ah, boy talk in student days):

An Old Cur Gnaws Through

An Old Cur Gnaws Through

People would rather fall off their own cliffs
than have their illusions interrupted.
Our people prefer to perish in a nuclear war
than submit to hanging their wash in the sun.
It’s a matter of principle.

Why give in to happiness
when you can insist on getting what you want?
Success is not about gaining happiness,
but an obedient world bowing to your demands.
It’s a matter of principle.

Women don’t want husbands, they want dogs.
Their ideal husbands would be their dogs
with a steady income.
There’s no bestiality, they don’t want sex,
they just put up with sex to have their children.
It’s all evolutionary programming to pass on genes.
Love is entirely psychological anesthesia.
The doggie on the leash, with its balls cut off,
wagging its tail and waiting patiently,
is the woman’s dearest lover.

The old cur gnaws through its tether
and wanders off.
It’s a matter of principle.

20 October 2016

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Yewm-oon Oon-yewm

Yewm-oon Oon-yewm

Of all existence I am the noon
My supernova awareness explodes – kaboom!
Extinguishing that ugly psychic goon
Desperation to extinction must caroom
Illuminated by night’s all-stellar platoon
Changing black to light with relativistic voom
I shine out as the Void’s most blinding moon
My soul unto The All becomes the groom
Liberating joy like a typhoon
From the Hades depths of a psychic tomb
The infinite hopes of a mind-gone loon
Is Nirvana’s salvation that will exhume
The Om-like drones that to genes does croon
The fathomless mind of the unknowable Whom
Echoing timelessly its mysterious rune
For which even the Universe has insufficient room
A volcanic earth-shaking Olympian tune
Unravelling space-time like Penelope’s loom
Exploding air like a basso octoroon
With such a splendiferous sonic boom
Propelling me like Zeus’s harpoon
That from this danger I may zoom
My hopes float upward like a balloon
To thwart this fate that would consume
Be like a clever crafty raccoon
To shield me from titanic gloom
I am left to find my boon
What salvation can I assume?
I am left a hapless maroon
For re-ingestion by Nature’s womb
To be ejected to Earth’s spittoon?
Resisting this I must presume
With insane gibber like a baboon
However I in anger fume
My fate seems like a cruel lampoon
Before my living can resume
My very soul Earth will dragoon
So Earth my body can inhume
Nature’s spell will make me swoon
With salty air as the perfume
Wandering on a windswept dune
With precious visions of Tulum
On a sunny day in June
I shall come to see my doom
I fear it now, but all too soon.

I fear it now, but all too soon
I shall come to see my doom
On a sunny day in June
With precious visions of Tulum
Wandering on a windswept dune
With salty air as the perfume
Nature’s spell will make me swoon
So Earth my body can inhume
My very soul Earth will dragoon
Before my living can resume
My fate seems like a cruel lampoon
However I in anger fume
With insane gibber like a baboon
Resisting this I must presume
To be ejected to Earth’s spittoon?
For re-ingestion by Nature’s womb
I am left a hapless maroon
What salvation can I assume?
I am left to find my boon
To shield me from titanic gloom
Be like a clever crafty raccoon
To thwart this fate that would consume
My hopes float upward like a balloon
That from this danger I may zoom
Propelling me like Zeus’s harpoon
With such a splendiferous sonic boom
Exploding air like a basso octoroon
Unravelling space-time like Penelope’s loom
A volcanic earth-shaking Olympian tune
For which even the Universe has insufficient room
Echoing timelessly its mysterious rune
The fathomless mind of the unknowable Whom
The Om-like drones that to genes does croon
Is Nirvana’s salvation that will exhume
The infinite hopes of a mind-gone loon
From the Hades depths of a psychic tomb
Liberating joy like a typhoon
My soul unto The All becomes the groom
I shine out as the Void’s most blinding moon
Changing black to light with relativistic voom
Illuminated by night’s all-stellar platoon
Desperation to extinction must caroom
Extinguishing that ugly psychic goon
My supernova awareness explodes – kaboom!
Of all existence I am the noon.

19 October 2016

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