The Art of Seduction

     A few years ago, I was challenged by a friend to read Neil Strauss’s book The Game: Penetrating the Secret Society of Pick Up Artists. Basically, it followed the journey of the author, Neil Strauss, as he struggled to gain mastery over the art of picking up women. He made himself into a new person, with a new name: Style. No woman could resist Style.

     After reading through this tome and following the progression of Style from a zero to a pick up pro, I began to apply the concepts and strategies to my own life. It was difficult at first. It seemed like how to be rejected was the only thing I was learning. But slowly, I began to have minor successes, which snowballed into major successes and before I knew it, I had 9′s and 10′s fighting over me in clubs and making me eggs in the morning.

     Yeah, that was all bullshit. A nice story, though, right?

     I read the book, but what I took away from it was at once more and less than the Art of Seduction. What I took away from it was more like footnotes for something more important to me – the Art of Life. What had happened to change Neil Strauss was entirely his doing. The person he had become was completely himself, yet completely and thoroughly put together in a conscious way to attract women. This resonated with me on some level, but I wouldn’t know how to put the pieces together until I talked to a friend about it much later.

     Pickup made me uneasy. Pickup artists struck me as inauthentic, craven beasts who calculated every move. I would read someone’s opinion online that pickup artists viewed women as nothing more than masturbatory aids, and I agreed. It felt that it was demeaning to women and dehumanizing. There was a part of me that was tempted to try it out, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. It didn’t fit with what I believed, it could end up hurting people, and I was too scared.

     Years later, I would meet a real pickup artist, though his days were behind him, at least for the moment. We became good friends. Finally, when the topic came about during a long drive, I asked my friend how pick up artists could be authentic, to which he responded that it was “about being yourself…about being your best self,” and furthermore that people only got hurt if you failed to communicate your intentions fully. He said he looked at it more as bringing adventure into girls’ lives. I began to realize that this was something I might be able to get behind. I began to realize that pickup and seduction could be a positive thing.

     But the biggest takeaway for me was that it was about becoming a better person by dint of your own hard work. “Better” was whatever you wanted better to mean…for pickup artists, that meant they attracted women. For me, while that may have played a part, the message was that wasn’t the best me that I could be…yet. And having a clearer idea of who that person was to me was a good first step. I figured if I was my best me, there’s no way I couldn’t also be attractive. Just live my life the best way I can think of, and everything else will fall in order. I still believe it.

     Recently, I began to delve into reddit’s seduction sub-community. After reading this guide and poking around the community for a bit, I found a post asking how pickup artists reconciled their seductive ways with long term relationships. There was a response about how everything was about power, which I didn’t think fully explained how an enlightened PUA viewed it. So I responded:

I’m responding to you because you seem to find this a place of darkness. Some things you should read up on:

Seduction – meaning “to lead astray,” or “to attract,” courtesy of quazzy.

Lifers v Gamers – Lifers use the game to better themselves, gamers use the game to take advantage of people.

With that out of the way, how I reconcile seduction with a real relationship very much so adheres to the definition of “to attract” and the goals of a “lifer.” The primary message of seduction, for me, is “to attract” by being yourself…not someone that you discover somewhere in the hinterlands of your soul, but someone who you create. It’s an uplifting message – that, whoever or whatever you consider yourself now, you can forge someone better out of it, better by standards that you set yourself.

I believe that you do not discover yourself. You create yourself. There’s a great book called “It’s not how good you are, it’s how good you want to be,” and the same goes for your personality. It’s not who you are, it’s who you want to be. If you have that going for you, your confidence will be attractive by itself, and if you want to be even more attractive, you can be that as well.
As for how this works out for long term relationships, the more comfortable you are being yourself, the more agency you have in your personality, the more likely you are to click with the right person, because you are putting out 100% your own personality. The only thing left is to find the right person. And getting to know someone, getting them to open up, is an important part of that.

There is a positive, affirmative way to look at seduction. Just ignore the gamers and the gamer mentality and seddit won’t be as dark a place anymore. I strongly hope that makes you less depressed about this subreddit, especially if you’re going to stick around.

     Basically…the way I see seduction is that if you’re good at life, you’ll do just fine at love.

     Tweakin’ out because I haven’t slept in 25 hours, so I’ll just leave it at that.

On Failure

Fear is frustrating. Fear of failure…Fear is paralyzing.

Inadequacy drives me. Drives me forward like a slave driver, a whip of failure.

There is a direct correlation between the rate at which you experience failure and how fully you are living life, a direct correlation between your discomfort and the amount you’re growing. Do more. Do the unusual. Do everything. Finish things. Live more!

You will win this challenge, and then you will move onto the next challenge, and you will fail many, many times, if past history is any indicator, but then you will succeed. This month, you rewrite the endings to all your stories.

Again, I need to fail five times faster than your average person in order to learn the same stuff. So let me make a mistake.

Make a mistake.

Right now.

It’s 2am

     The Koreans playing Starcraft are too loud. The lights are too bright. I’m too tired. My friends need me tomorrow.

     I just read my NaNoWriMo 2009 entry and everything is strange. I’m remembering who I was and how I got here. Everything is perfect. Everything since then has been a smooth transition.

     Can I do this again? Not the 50,000 word count. I have no doubt I can do that. But the amount of personal growth I went through in this month last year…that is what I am excited for.

     Wish me luck. There are lots of people counting on me tomorrow. One of them is me.

Truth. Love. Hope.

Hitting the Roof

     Last night was the first night that I gave up on sleeping in my car in the midst of the attempt. It was just too uncomfortable and there were too many changes. I had swapped out both of the 30 degree sleeping bags for one zero degree sleeping bag and a blanket. I used the blanket to create a shroud and attempted to sleep underneath it. For some reason, it just wasn’t working out. The zero degree was too hot, the environs were too cold, and the seat was too uncomfortable.

     Perhaps it wasn’t that the seat was too uncomfortable, but that I was imagining ways to improve the car that would make it infinitely more comfortable and the difference between what I was experiencing and what I imagined I could be experiencing was just too great. Either way, the discomfort was impossible to ignore.

     I essentially sat there for hours. I spent one of those hours watching the introductory programming course from Stanford’s iTunes University podcast, CS 106B. I learned absolutely nothing, but it was the equivalent of syllabus day. I did manage to rekindle my interest in learning how to program. Ah, finally some sort of academic fervor, so long ago lost in my life.

     So at about 2:30, I up and left. I packed what I needed and started walking. The plan was to sleep outside, employing my zero degree sleeping bag and the self-inflating mattress to go where no man had gone before. For some reason, as I was packing, I felt a great reluctance. I was already tired. This was risky. It was cold. I must have spent half an hour agonizing over what to bring and what not to bring, as I was planning to go from where I slept to running with Suran in the morning.

     I started heading to Krannert Center at first because I knew of a place that was pretty well hidden, but then I got lazy and found a rooftop very close to my car. Climbing up the stairs and ladder, I felt very conspicuous. The zero degree sleeping bag is quite large and puffy. I realized this morning that it looked like a stereotypical burglar’s bag of loot, and that was what I carried as I went up. I crouched down. Artificial lighting from streetlamps lamps weakly flooded everywhere except behind a small boundary wall that marked the edge of the rooftop. I could barely tell between street lights and headlights, never knowing if there was somebody who could see me. I set up the self-inflating air mattress there, in the shade, and began carefully packing my belongings so that the morning dew, if there was any, wouldn’t damage anything. Recently, my car windows had been frosting instead.

     Finally, I unpacked my sleeping bag and carefully got in. I snuggled as much as I could and then accidentally looked up.

     Just like the time I slept on top of Krannert, I was blown away. The stars were so clear they seemed to be pulsing with life. The shapes and geometries they formed didn’t seem static. Instead, they seemed to be moving, swirling. I was reminded of how our ancestors must have looked upon this sight every night, must have been familiar with its every nuance. There’s beauty and mathematics in the stars. There’s knowledge to be had. There’s also a sense of connectedness that I had never felt before. The universe was alive before me, moving to its own heartbeat and welcoming me as part of someone else’s faraway star, on a distant planet. There was no denying that the Tao was strong last night.

     I stared, in awe, for a long time. At some point, battling the dry, cold air, I fell asleep.

     I woke up when the lights turned on in the window next to me.

Suran’s Birthday Party

     Sometimes it just happens. It’s like getting hit by a car. Sometimes, you look left and you look right as you dash madly into the street and you get hit by a semi. Well, today was kind of like that. I ended up spending a lot of money. Thinking back on it, probably not the best fiscal decision, but it was unavoidable. It’s my nature.

     I had a birthday party to attend at 7pm. I had fallen asleep around 6:30 as a result of having around 3 hours of sleep. At 7, the party started. Five minutes later, I woke up and rushed out of ISR. Twenty minutes late to the party, and we were already overcrowding one table. We spilled over to a second table, where I sat, where we definitely ate more than the other table.

     Beyond us, there was a table of drunk Chinese people who made one of our table members, Jun Ming, toast with them even though he was under age. As far as I know, this was unsolicited. They just kinda ambled over and made him drink. Furthermore, they continued to bug him throughout dinner. They all had the Asian glow about them.

     Finally, at one moment, Suran was telling a story and we gathered around to hear her. That’s about the time it happened. I started asking around to see if we should start singing happy birthday. Swetha said, “Yes…I wish we had a cake!” and something just clicked in my head. I went into overdrive. The solution was apparent. The makings for candles and a cake were only a few moments away. I knew I could solve this immediately. The situation demanded cake.

     I realize now that wishes, dreams, and the magic of birthdays kicks me into high gear. Furthermore, it was a gift not only to Suran, but to everyone there, which made it more worth it. And with it being sudden and unexpected, not only for everyone there, but for myself, it would seem like it appeared out of nowhere. Just like birthdays should be. Magical.

     Suran, I hope it was magical for you. Because damn, did the world try.

     I ran to get the cake. There was a line at Coldstone, so I hopped over to Walgreens, quite literally, as my freerunning antics drew a gasp from a startled onlooker. Once in Walgreens, I found the birthday candles and a lighter and hightailed it out of there, ringing up at the cosmetics cashier. At Coldstone, I picked out two cakes. One said happy birthday. The other said, “eat me, I’m fucking delicious.” Ringing them up made me spit an “oh shit,” quite out loud. The cashier asked me if I was sure, but I rang it up anyway. My impulse purchases are hardest to control when they are for other people.

     With the lighter and candle in my pocket and juggling two cakes, I made my way back to the restaurant, where it seemed that people were leaving. I opened the cakes, quickly noting with pride that they were largely undamaged, and started jamming candles into them willy nilly. Eat Me I’m Fucking Delicious ended up with 6 candles, while Happy Birthday ended up with three. It is actually quite strange to see only three candles in a cake. The inevitable triangle lends it a false geometric significance.

     We proceeded into the main room, where the owner (I’m guessing) helped me carry the two cakes in. She even turned off the lights. As I walked in, everybody started to sing happy birthday. I imagine it was quite magical – walking as slowly as I had been to avoid the candles going out, I reached the table just as the song ended. Much celebrating was had. I was still on Usefulness overdrive, so I started cleaning the table. The question came up of who was responsible for purchasing the cake, so I fessed up and we got down to dessert. That’s when I found out that one of the drunken Chinese guys had: A) given Suran $100 for her birthday to cover the meal, and B) one of them had stolen the lighter I had just bought.

     All in all, it was an awesome, unexpected experience, from the sheer number of people, to the drunken Chinese people, to the surprise cakes. Also, I have never felt as little guilt eating someone else’s Chinese food as I did eating the drunk Chinese peoples’ food after they left. They hadn’t even touched the singapore noodles!

     Night wound down and we went our separate ways. Good times, though. Fuck, I miss my lighter.

K, so I’ve been living in a car, right?

     I’ve learned a lot. I’ve learned so much that I don’t have the energy or willpower to dredge up what I’ve learned right now, on a moment’s notice. So perhaps I shall merely write a list and then expound upon it later.

  • Independence is worth it.
  • Less is more.
  • Strength is what you make it.
  • Life is what you make it.
  • Keep a diary.
  • Don’t park far the fuck away from everything to go to sleep, it’s a waste of time.
  • Don’t park in shady parking lots with nails. WTF.
  • Hang out often.
  • Hygiene improves?
  • Health improves?
  • Cheapness is only worth so much
  • Two sleeping bags. Woot. Maybe three when it gets colder. What a dumbass strategy.
  • Life is easier when someone’s got your back.
  • Lock your doors. If nothing else, less interruptions by potheads when you’re trying to sleep.
  • My dream is a van.
  • I laugh every time I realize I can take my whole life anywhere with a road.
  • Food is a luxury.
  • Whatever I started out thinking this would be, it is now something else. I have no regrets
  • “Where do you live?” *thinks of last place I parked* “I live at *last place I parked*.” It’s just easier.
  • A place to call home is a luxury I yearn for more and more. Constantly dreaming of home.
  • Laundry is a bitch!
  • Computer labs are wonderful.
  • Free stuff is wonderful. But not if it takes up space.
  • Dreams can make any kind of life worth it.
  • Listen and understand.
  • One friend saying “Yes” is worth the world. Thank you.
  • Anything is possible.
  • Anything is possible.
  • Anything is possible.
  • Truth.
  • Love.
  • Hope

     It’s incomplete, but it’ll do. In fact, perhaps a bit too verbose and more than half of it is written to myself. But, in that vein, keep on trucking!

Writing for Myself

     Lately, I’ve forgotten why I write, especially since my posts are pushed onto Facebook and Twitter. I just shut that off. Too much speculation about who’s reading and what they’re getting. Fuck them! No offense.

     I write to remember what it feels like to run at night for no reason at all except that I need to be somewhere else every second. To slosh about the contents of my heart so that I don’t need to feel its inherent turbulence in the silence. I write to talk to myself when no one else will. I write to talk to those who came before me, and to address those who will come after me. I write to unshield my flame and light up a part of the world for those who care to look.

     But beyond writing for myself, I need to remember to live for myself. “Don’t do anything that’s not fun,” says DFD. So what if I live my life on my own terms? In the end, I disappoint nobody but myself. As long as I can still listen to a friend when they’re troubled or feel the sun on skin, I’ll be fine.

     Hmm. I think I’m done with this one.

     PS, Thanks to Suran and Don

What is Love?

     …baby don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me, no more

     Don Mach asked me last night what I thought love was. I didn’t realize until then that I had been struggling with that question for over 2, possibly 3 years, or even longer. It took Don, that amazing motherfucker, to get me to come back to it.

     I struggled with it all throughout my one and only real romantic relationship. The two competing themes were “capital L” Love for Real Romantic Love with one person, and “little L” love for friends, family, and community. I didn’t know if there was such a thing as Love, but I knew for sure that love existed. But if Love existed, then what was love? Some kind of less noble, less Loving love?

     I decided that Love was worth believing in, and if I was going to believe in it, I was damned if I wasn’t going to live it. When you are in Love with someone, I believed that we both held on to each other no matter what, that we worked to overcome everything, every emotion, every circumstance, even every thought that would keep us apart. When things didn’t work out, it became a matter of how could I change? What could I do? What part of me or my personality is wrong? I committed, completely, to my girl. Or so I told myself.

     I believed in Love until I could believe no longer. I committed myself to Love too soon, too idealistically. After fighting with my partner and twisting my very soul for too long, I snapped. The religious fanatic broke, his faith now smoke drifting in the air, the only thing left in the aftermath of an explosion.

     Picking up the pieces of my life, I found a little love here and there, pieces spattered on the walls, a little at the bottoms of deep wells, glinting like gold. A door held open, a friend calling just to call, a blanket placed around shoulders rising and falling with reassuring rhythm while half lidded eyes blink themselves to sleep.

     Something I could believe in. Because I saw it every day.

     I found love. It wasn’t hard. It was seeing it that was difficult. I found it in the parks, with old men playing chess and feeding pigeons. I found it in a brother’s over protective watch over his younger sister. I found it meeting up with friends and sharing jokes, sharing food, sharing words. I saw it everywhere. I felt it when I breathed in. I heard it playing on the radio. The whole fucking world ran on love, and that’s just the way I would have it run.

     ”What are your thoughts on love?” Don asked me. I thought about it for a while before I could answer. We finished eating our fast food and sat for a while before I could formulate an answer.

     Love, for me, is you reading this and knowing that I believe every word. Love is you closing this, going back to facebook and commenting on your crush’s status. Love is the sun coming up. Love is driving a friend a few blocks because he’s lazy and you both know it. Love is going running with people in the morning when everyone else is asleep or at night when everyone else is asleep. Love is finding a brother in mind and spirit that you never expected. Love is dancing in class. Love is singing in the streets. Love is letting you know that I love you. Love is listening.

     In a sentence, for me and I think for everyone, love is…

     …well, Don knows my answer. But I’m not happy with it. When it’s in a sentence, it’s just words strung together. I tried several times while writing this, but I just can’t bring myself to just say it. I’m not happy merely writing it here for you to read. I want to live it.

     But more and more importantly than that, I want you to live it with me. So ask me sometime. I’d be glad to hear your thoughts, and in the meantime we’ll keep dancing this crazy dance called Life.

TLH
Kung