So on tonight’s “Let ‘Em Burn,” a comment was made about “Slipping Into Darkness.” To which I said something along the lines of, “Sounds like a song from Saints and Sinners,” which if you don’t know, has a song called “Slipping Into Darkness.” Google it, check it out, I’m not doing it for you.
Apparently it goes much darker than me having a 90’s flashback to a metal song that I thoroughly enjoyed back then and to this day.
I don’t know if her friend died or not, but from the comment, I take it that this person died. But hell, maybe he got sent to an asylum or something.
Here’s the point if it’s about death though:
Fuck Death.
We all die. Sooner than we think we will. Always. We all think that our loved one’s, and us by proxy, are going to live forever. We aren’t. We all die. And sooner than we would like to think we will.
My Mom died in late 2018 before she turned 67. I have friends who died back in their 20’s and 30’s. An acquaintance of mine just lost her 23, almost 24 year old niece, to a drunk driver. The guy jumped the curb, hit the niece, killing her almost instantly, and almost killing the niece’s baby daughter. He then proceeded to drive off, only to be caught a short time later by law enforcement. My Dad just told me a couple of days ago that he needs me to take him to the hospital so they can “whittle on his prostate.” Those are his words. At 72 years old, nothing is a minor procedure anymore.
Fuck Death.
You can’t outrun it. You can’t outlive it. “On a long enough timeline, our probability of survival goes down to zero.” Guess what movie I’m quoting.
Fuck Death.
Live your life in the way that you choose. Live it fully and fearlessly. Live it to the hilt. Eat all of the good food. Drink all of the good drinks, and even some of the bad ones. Do all the shit that you want to do. Your survival isn’t guaranteed. In fact, it’s guaranteed that you won’t survive.
Fuck Death and all of the myopic bullshit and virtue signaling. “Quality women and men,” don’t exist. There’s just men and women, that’s it. Either she’s a “hell yeah!” or a “Fuck no.” That’s it. Anything in between is bullshit and is a no as far as I’m concerned.
Enjoy your life and do what you want. Drink to your friends, lovers, and family who have died. I know I would want you to if it was me. Don’t mourn me. Don’t cry for me. Don’t lament my passing. Drink to me and to life and for Christ’s sake, get to living.
I’m saying this now because tomorrow isn’t guaranteed and I don’t know if I’ll be around to write it.
Drink, eat, and fuck for life. Fuck Death. Drink, eat, fuck and live in spite of death. Do all the shit you wanted to do and don’t put it off. Tomorrow never comes and yesterday will never come back.
Do what you want because tomorrow isn’t guaranteed and nobody is watching and nobody gives a fuck anyways.
There is no remedy for love but to love more – Henry David Thoreau
I follow a handful of blogs and guys on Twitter, and ThomasCrownPua on Twitter posted a great article.
Thomas Crown was doing a Q & A for some of his guys and someone asked, “Should women be a priority in your life?” To which he said, “women will always be your priority.“
Thomas Crown goes on and talks about hormones, your “mission,” (which is a fucking laugh, by the way) and other stuff. In many ways, he said things that I have already talked about, but he said it better. Go check out his post, you won’t regret it.
I quoted Henry David Thoreau at the beginning of this post. I found that quote in a book called “Drink, Play, Fuck” by Andrew Gottlieb. The book has been around for a moment, the copyright goes back to 2009.
Ah, 2009. That was the year that I got married. It’s funny what words or images will evoke when you look at them. Anyways, enough strolling down memory lane, that’s not what you are here for. You’re here for the “nuggets.”
So I started “Drink, Play, Fuck” on Sunday morning and finished it Sunday night. It’s an easy, light, entertaining read. The author mentioned going to Ireland, Vegas, and Thailand over the course of a year after his marriage of 8 years came to an abrupt end and his wife wasn’t “haaappy” and left him to go live with “David,” a guy that she was banging.
The author’s character started off drinking in Ireland for 4 months, went and gambled and golfed for 4 months in Vegas, and ended up in Thailand for the sex for the final 4 months. I’m not going to spoil it for you, and I would have made different choices than the author made, but that’s what life is all about.
That quote from Thoreau got to me though:
“There is no remedy for love but to love more.“
Get out of your heads and into your bodies and just “feel it.” He’s not wrong.
Every time I meet a new woman, I feel it. Every time things go great or they go south, or nowhere, I feel it. It can suck the big one, sometimes. But that’s the price of admission. I’ve talked to guys in the recent past and they say things like, “It’s all so tiresome.” Or “it’s a slog,” or “a grind.” And yes, it most certainly can be.
You meet a new woman, you chat, you text, you talk on the phone, you go out and have a drink or three, and maybe there’s some chemistry there, some spark. Maybe there isn’t. Maybe you take her home and fuck the shit out of her. Maybe you go home alone. Maybe you think to yourselves, “it’s just not worth it.”
I go through that sometimes too. There are times that I think, “I can’t stand another first meet. I can’t stand going out again.” And then I do it anyway.
Why?
Because the only remedy for love is more love. Going out and grinding or matching with yet another woman is better than sitting in my house, talking about my “mission,” and practicing semen retention.
There is no remedy for love but to love more, is:
You feel the pain of someone breaking it off with you. You feel the pain and disappointment of someone that you thought you had a connection with, ghosting you. And you smile and go out and do it again. You don’t hold the sins of the woman from the past against the women of the present and the future.
There is no remedy for love but to love more.
While it can suck and it can hurt, right to your very core, you carry on. My heart has been broken so many times that I have lost count. And yet, here I am. I’m still alive. My heart continues to beat. I still want and desire the company of women. I still lust for them, I still desire them. And yes, I still love them. Even and especially when it hurts. What is the alternative? There is no alternative for me.
Instead of closing myself down, shutting the women out, I open myself to even more. More pain, more disappointment, more heartache.
Do you know what has happened?
It doesn’t hurt as much as it did the last time. It still hurts, but not as much. It shows me how “tough” and resilient I am. And it allows me to love them even more. And so I do.
I was sitting at the belly dancer’s house on Easter Sunday when my Venezuelan girl sent me a wall of text. In short, she wanted to end things. My belly dancer and I have a unique relationship in many ways. She knows I see other women and I know that she sees other men. She saw that I was distracted when I looked at my phone. She asked me what was going on. I told her that it was over between the Venezuelan woman and me. She wanted to comfort me and she told me that she was sorry. I told her that I knew that it was over several days ago and it didn’t come as a surprise. The only surprise was that the Venezuelan girl decided to tell me it was over instead of just ghosting me, which is usually how it goes.
There is no remedy for love but to love more. I know without a doubt that I can and do love more than one woman at a time. Each one brings something different to my life and my experiences. There’s no one woman that can be “everything” for me.
Some women like to camp and hike. I like to camp and hike, so I do that with them. Some like live theater, concerts, and being in large crowds. I like live theater, concerts, and being in large crowds, so I do that with them. Some like to drink and alter their states of consciousness. I like to drink and alter my state of consciousness, so I do that with them. Some like kink, and some don’t. I do kink with the one’s who like it, and I don’t with the one’s who don’t. Some like existential conversations about the meaning of life and why we are here. Some would rather talk about the latest gossip about the latest celebrity. And so I do both. And I love them all.
I wish I was a better writer and could convey my thoughts, feelings, and emotions better than I do. I really wish I could take “out of my head and body what goes on in there,” and just transfer it to you, Dear Reader. But I’m not that good at conveying it I fear. Somewhere the message falters or gets lost in the translation.
There is no remedy for love but to love more. The more you open yourself to it, the more you get in return. And while the hurt, disappointment, pain, and you name it, never go away entirely, it’s far better than shutting down, becoming a recluse, becoming numb.
The older I get, the more I realize that not only can I love more than one woman at a time, I also realize that I don’t want “peace,” whatever that means. I want experience. I want a ton of experience. I want more experience than I already have. And so I love. I love more.
Back in 1993, I worked for a school crew that poured urethane on gym floors for the district high schools and junior highs. It was a summer job for me, a way to earn money to go towards the next semester’s tuition. I was the only college kid on this crew of about 5. The rest were high school kids making some money to blow on booze or weed, or both. There was a supervisor over this crew of dipshits, and his name was Richard. Richard was about 35 at the time. He was dour, sour, scowled a whole bunch, called us dipshits and retards, and was a most unpleasant fellow to be around.
One day, right as we were about to take lunch in this sweltering gymnasium, I remember that I was talking with the high school retards, and we were talking about our favorite subject: Pussy.
I remember telling them something along the lines of how I turned down “some chick” because of reasons. I thought I was “smart” and that I was “cool.”
Now our supervisor, Richard, had already begun his lunch. He was eating a bologna sandwich and some chips and shit. He overheard our conversation and he stopped eating, looked up at us, looked me dead in the eye, and said, “Never turn down pussy.” He scowled and sneered as he said it.
“Why not?” I said.
“Because you’ll always be one behind.” And with that, Richard went back to scowling and eating his bologna sandwich.
At the time I was 21 and thought I knew it all. The truth was, I had no idea what Richard was talking about. It took me until I was about 35 to understand what he meant.
“You’ll always be one behind.“
I don’t regret the money I didn’t make, I don’t regret the jobs I didn’t take, and I don’t regret the places I haven’t visited. What I regret, what still haunts me to this very day, is the women that I didn’t bang because I was naive, stupid, or both.
I’m not talking about the women that I made a pass at and they told me in one form or another, “thank you, but no thank you.” I’m talking about the women, who in some cases, told me point-blank, that they wanted to fuck me. And stupid me, I didn’t get the message until it was much too late. Too late to take them up on their offer. Too late to say, “Let’s go.” Too late to have another chance because that chance was gone forever.
That’s what I regret.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t dwell on it and I certainly don’t beat myself up over it, but it is my one and only regret. Like I said, I don’t regret the one’s that said no, I don’t regret lost job and money opportunities, and I don’t regret the places I haven’t been to. But I do regret not fucking those women when I had the chance.
I was talking with Swurv, Dante, Mish, Marty, and I think Jack Napier was still there too when “The One Behind Club” came up in our conversation. Don’t ask me how exactly it came up, but it did. All the guys had a gut, visceral reaction when I said it and what it was. All of them paused when I told them what Richard told me so long ago. All of them belong to The One Behind Club. It’s how Dante’s discord server got a name change.
I decided to write this post and hopefully you guys will see it and unfortunately, I’m sure far too many of you will relate to it. Far too many of you will be members of the One Behind Club. Can you “fix it?” No. If you passed up on a sure thing, a sure lay, you’re always going to be one behind. But learn from it. Don’t pass up on a good time again.
I have had a lot of sex with a lot of different women over the years and not one of them was “bad.” It’s like pizza. There’s no such thing as “bad pizza.” Just some better than others. Same with sex. I’ve never had a bad sexual experience, just some better than others.
You want to pass up a sure thing because of your morals, virtues, or something that someone else told you was “the way to go,” you will always be one behind. And trust me, you’ll think about it at some point, and you’ll regret it. Even if you never say it out loud to another human being, you’ll still regret it. You’ll always wonder. And it’s that wonder that becomes an itch that you can never quite reach, you can never scratch.
Rob Says 
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