Tag: redpill

Man and Machine

Rob Says3 Comments

terminator_endoskeleton_1020.0Today I want to address something that someone asked me about.

The question that was asked of me was “How should a man deal with his emotions? Like anger, joy, sadness, etc?”

It’s a very good question, good enough that I wanted to share that question with you all and my answer of at least what has worked for me over the years.

But first, I need you to join me in the Way Back Machine and we need to take a trip back in time to when I was in my early twenties….

Back in the early 90’s is when I attended college, (university for my Brothers on the other side of the Pond).

The Politically Correct Movement (aka The Thought Police, aka The Diaper Corps) was just really starting to take off. This was the predecessor of what would ultimately culminate in the #MeToo Movement that we have today.

Back then, the internet was really just taking off. There was no Messenger. There was no Facebook. IRC was the only real time chat program available, porn showed up as binary numbers instead of images that you downloaded and had to decode to see the goodies. Email was fairly new. The World Wide Web was still more or less in its infancy. Dial up was the means for accessing the internet. (AOL anyone?) I, like a lot of people at the time, thought that the internet was a “phase.”

How wrong was I?!

Okay, so I’ve set the stage in that respect for you. Now here’s something else that was going on, and still pretty much is, as far as I’m concerned…

Guys were being taught to “get in touch with their feminine sides.” We were told that it was okay to emote, to cry. To be like a woman basically. Now this hasn’t changed. This is still going on. I got the indoctrination too.

So here I was, early twenties, raging hormones, wanting to get laid, wanting a girlfriend, all of that good stuff.

Empathize with a woman? Check.

Be able and okay to cry? Check.

Be a good listener? Check.

Be that “nice guy?” Check.

I was surrounded by women. I was popular with women. Problem was, I wasn’t getting laid. I was barely getting any dates. And it frustrated the hell out of me.

Now before I go on, this post isn’t necessarily a “Game” lesson. But I want you to understand where I was, why I was there, where I went with it, and where it got me to today.

Okay, so my college years wasn’t spectacular. I didn’t have a girlfriend for the four years I was there. I only got laid once in that time too.

After graduation, I went to work. Kept trying to do the “nice guy” thing, and kept getting the same results.

Then I got pissed off.

Actually, I was more than pissed off. I got Angry.

I found some stuff through that was what would become the beginning of the PUA world. It was different, it was cool, it talked about things I had never heard of before. And for me, it didn’t work.

Now maybe this stuff would work for a different man with a different personality, but it just didn’t work for me. It was too cerebral for me. I had to memorize too many things.

So I bombed there for the most part. Granted it did get me laid a couple of times, but for the money, time, and energy spent, it wasn’t worth it to me.

So I got even angrier.

I decided, fuck it, I’m just going to do my thing and hit the gym. I’m going to become a Machine.

Now when I say Machine, I meant it. Ever watch the movie The Terminator? That’s the Machine I was talking about. Not Arnold as the Machine, but the Machine itself. That endoskeleton underneath the meat. (I love scifi.)

Machines are impervious (or so I imagined) Machines are unstoppable. They are ruthless. They feel nothing. They just execute.

And so that’s what I became.

Now, did I actually believe I was this killing machine from some future dystopia? No. I was never that delusional.

But I shut myself down completely.

I didn’t get angry much anymore. I didn’t get sad much anymore. But I didn’t feel much at all anymore. I felt no real joy, no love, no nothing.

In truth, I might as well have been dead. Looking back at those days, my “success” with women actually began to skyrocket as far as dates and getting laid went. I didn’t give a shit about outcome, and that’s a powerful thing. But I couldn’t connect with women either. I couldn’t connect with other men. I couldn’t connect with myself anymore.

I was totally drifting. That’s why I might as well have been dead.

I’ve gone from one extreme to the other. From emoting “soyboy” to cold, heartless, calculating Machine.

I can remember to this day, a woman actually called me that. A cold, heartless Machine. Back then, I took it as a badge of honor.

How stupid I was.

Men, there is a balance, for a lack of a better word, when it comes to your emotions.

Sometimes it’s okay to get angry. Sometimes it’s okay to cry. It’s what makes you human. It’s what makes you relatable. If you are so closed off, if you are so shut down, you won’t be able to relate to women, you won’t be able to relate to another man.

Do I still cry? Sometimes. When I do, I usually do it by myself. It’s what works for me.

I believe we as Men are the Rock for women to cling to. We are the Eye of the Storm. Women have the “luxury” of being able to emote and “lose their shit.” We don’t necessarily have that. That’s part of the “burden of performance” of being a Man.

If we emote as we have been taught to, we can’t be those things for women, and that’s because we are just like them then.

But that doesn’t mean you have to shut it all down. If you shut it all down, you’ll be dead inside. You won’t feel the anger (mostly) but you won’t be able to feel love and joy either. You won’t be able to connect with other men and women.

Accept your emotions. They are part of what make you a Man. They are just as important as what you Do.

Acknowledge your emotions. They aren’t “bad.” They just are.

Just don’t let them run your life.

Sometimes you lose your shit. Okay. No big deal. Acknowledge it. Accept it. Own it. Move on. Sometimes you are going to lose it. I’ve done it plenty of times in my life. Sometimes it’s necessary. It sets boundaries. It draws “lines in the sand.” It sends a message loud and clear. Sometimes that has to happen. It is what it is.

It doesn’t need to define you though. You don’t need to get hung up on it.

Like a song (can’t remember the name of it offhand) said, “There’s a time to laugh, and a time to cry. There’s a time to reap and a time to sow.” Something along those lines anyways.

Basically going to either extreme is not a good thing in my opinion.

What if your anger is no big deal? What if it doesn’t define you? What do you think would happen if you just owned it and moved on?

Check out stoicism if that’s your thing, check out meditation. Go to the gym and punch a bag. Go to the gun range and shoot some guns. I’ve done all of these things and more over the years. I’ve even wrote that shit down on paper (gasp! I know, right?!) and it works.

The point is, don’t go overboard either direction. You aren’t a woman (unless you actually happen to be a woman on this list) and you aren’t a Machine. You’re a Man. And Men have emotions. Men have their shit too. And that’s fine.

It actually makes us more interesting and more relatable.

I’ve waxed poetic long enough, and if you’ve read this far, thanks for joining me and journeying with me.

Sharpen Your Mind. Weaponize It. Start here and here. Sign up for my newsletter.

It’s Time To Move On.

Rob Says2 Comments

man in black backpack during golden hour

There comes a point in everyone’s life where it’s time to move on. It could be time to move on from one job to another. It could be time to move on from the relationship that you are in, it could be time to move on past whatever bullshit that is holding you back.

Are you caught up in the cultural outrage? Time to move on. Are you caught up in defining what exactly is “alpha?” Time to move on. Are you caught up in women’s indignation over…everything? Time to move on.

Are you caught up in “how to get da gurlz?” You guessed it. It’s time to move on.

There’s more to life than outrage. There’s more to life than cultural politics. There’s more to life than just banging women. There’s more to life than “following your biological imperative.” There’s more to life than deciding what is or isn’t “alpha.”

You want to play politics, watch outrage porn, and shout over the internet about who is more “alpha” than whom, that’s fine, you do that. I’m moving on.

Maybe, just maybe, if you stopped paying so much attention to the outrage, maybe it wouldn’t bother you so much? And maybe, just maybe some of it might actually decrease or go away?

When I was back in grade school and all through high school, there was this guy, his name was Dustin. Dustin came from a less than ideal background. He grew up in poverty, didn’t make hygiene a priority, and he acted outlandish in everything he said and did. He loved attention. He was the living epitome of “there is no such thing as bad attention.”

Dustin would intentionally piss guys off just to get a rise out of them and get some attention. It would usually end up with Dustin taking a serious beating. And in all honesty, he deserved it. He got what was coming to him.

Dustin and I used to work at the local grocery store as baggers. He smelled awful, was unkempt, and would try to get a rise out of his fellow co-workers for attention. To this day, I have no idea why management never fired him. Maybe it was out of pity, I don’t know. I do know that he was costing the store business though.

Anyways, I remember one day Dustin decided to try and rile me up to get attention from me. I knew that if I did anything about it, I would be the one that would be held accountable and get in trouble, and I didn’t want that.

So I ignored him.

I’m not talking about the “hey, did you see or hear something” that kids would sometimes do around someone they didn’t like. I’m talking about I actually ignored him as if he wasn’t there. If he spoke to me, I didn’t answer. If he stepped in front of me, I would just go right around him, almost like he wasn’t there. It drove him batshit crazy at first. Just like a little kid throwing a tantrum when they don’t get their way. Eventually though, he left me alone and set his sights on his next target.

Ignoring someone can be brutally effective.

I see guys on the interwebs bitching about how women are “thots” showing off their tits and ass on instagram. I don’t actually blame those women for doing it. They are getting attention from their beta-orbiters and are probably making good money doing it. I’ll tell you right now, if I could show off my ass and crotch to a bunch of women and have them giving me attention and throwing money at me, I’d do it in a heartbeat.

What do you think would happen if guys stopping following, liking, and commenting on these videos and photos that these “thots” put out? What if you as a Man, stopped paying attention to them? What do you think would happen? The “thot industry” would dry up overnight.

Same with feminists. What’s going on here really? I understand all too well that there is political maneuvering and power plays going on, I get that. But what else is going on here? It’s women bitching and moaning. What if you as a Man stopped paying attention to that? What do you think would happen then? What if you were completely indifferent to it? What if you shrugged your shoulders and said, “women are going to complain,” and moved on? Sure the shouting and the tantrums would intensify for a moment, just like kids throwing fits do, but ultimately it would die down.

What if you stopped clicking links to outrage porn? What do you think would happen to those websites that propagate it? Sure they would still be around for awhile since they are targeting women primarily. But what do you think would happen eventually? Clicks are revenue. Clicks are money. Ultimately that’s what all of these sites are about. They are about making money. No clicks, no money. No money, no jobs. No jobs, no websites.

In the past, I’ve called it “Vote With Your Wallet.” I’ll do you one better now:

Vote With Your Attention.

It’s time to move on and do something else.

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Nothing Like A Good Old Fashioned Horror Story.

Rob SaysLeave a comment
man lights legs silhouette
“I was sent by Triple A? I heard you have a flat tire? I’m here to help.”

For pretty much all of my life, I’ve been a fan of the “horror genre.” Books, movies, TV shows, you name it. Most of the fiction literature that I’ve read has been one form of horror or another.

Vampires. Were-wolves. Zombies. Aliens. Let’s not forget, at least when it comes to movies, guys in hockey masks, guys in blue coveralls, guys with knives strapped onto their hands.

Looking back on a lot of it, man, it was cheesy and hokey. Some of the films I used to watch, while they wouldn’t scare me, but maybe they would give me a sense of unease, of dread. Lately watching some of these films, I tend to find them somewhat silly and even boring.

I guess you grow up, you mature. Nothing wrong with any of this material, it definitely has a nostalgia factor to them. I can remember where I was when I first read or saw whatever it was. Good times.

I guess the horror literature and movies don’t do it so much for me anymore because of what can actually go on in the real world.

True crime is a horror genre in itself, the only difference is that the boogyman is real. I find this particular genre fascinating in and of itself as well. The how’s and possible why’s of what one individual or group of individuals did to another person or group. The why’s don’t bother me as much, they did what they did because they could and they wanted to, after all. Anything else is really just a label, a compartmentalization, a rationalization. A way for us the readers and viewers to say, “I could never do that.” Sure you could. Given the right circumstances and motivations, we are truly capable of anything.

There’s another boogeyman that’s real though too.

This one isn’t outside of us. It isn’t some other individual or group doing things to us, it’s in our own minds. It is us.

That boogeyman is very real. It’s all of our doubts and insecurities. It’s that nagging voice that tells you you can’t. It’s that thought that you aren’t good enough. It’s the voice of “why bother.” And it resides in all of us. It’s our inner critic, our slave driver, our own personal demon(s). It’s even that inner whisper of perfection.

If only you do X, Y, Z, in ABC order, then, and only then, will you find perfection. You’ll not fail. You’ll succeed beyond your wildest dreams. But…

People are going to be watching you. They are going to laugh when you fall down, they are going to jeer when you fail. And your failure will hang around your neck, like an albatross, cursing you for all eternity. So just give up. Laughter and pointing fingers, and the judgment that you surely will receive! Everyone will see you as that failure. You will wear that scarlet A. And you will be outcast. Shunned. Unforgiven and alone. A pariah.

Men and women will tell stories about you to their children to frighten them into obedience. “Don’t do that! Or you’ll end up like….And you don’t want that do you?”

Am I being outlandish? Sure I am. And yet I’m not. We all have our personal demons that whisper to us and tell us these frightening things. They tell us that we can’t succeed, that everyone is watching, waiting for us to fall down so they can laugh and judge. They tell us why bother. They tell us, don’t worry about it, do it tomorrow. And tomorrow. And tomorrow. And yet, tomorrow never comes.

They tell us that what we have to offer is of no consequence. They tell us someone else has already said and done it before. They tell us there is too much competition and that the market is too saturated.

They tell us that we will never be good looking enough, athletic enough, strong enough, thin enough, young enough, rich enough, and smart enough, so why bother?

These demons in our minds, they will tell us a lot of things. And we’ll turn them into reality if we listen long enough and believe them.

But we don’t have to. We can choose to ignore them. We can choose to exorcise them and cast them out. We can choose to listen and believe in something else.

We can choose to accept that we are not perfect and never will be. We can choose to figure that we are good enough. We can always strive to do and be better, but while striving, we can be okay with where we are at and who we are. We can look back at who we were yesterday and see the progress that we have made today.

We can choose to see those demons for what they really are. Smoke and mirrors. Hokey guys with fake machetes and plastic masks, dripping fake blood.

We can choose something else.

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