Rehosting "WHY I AM SUCH A GREAT LOVER"
The Art of Strangling Women & Tips on Male Grooming (that your baber wont tell you about)
originally posted Aug 24, 2018
I’m growing my hair out again. I cut it last year. Buzzed myself completely bald. It’s at that terrible border-area length where you can’t quite do a ponytail, and you have to resort to either the indignity of a topknot or looking like a mess.
I like having long hair. Looks good on me. But I couldn’t stand looking good any more. I couldn’t stand looking like him.
The Young Guru.
I wouldn’t have ever met the Guru, if it wasn’t for his prey. Prey was a roommate of mine for a short while. She helped me once, at a time where she stood to gain nothing and I had lost everything. She is also very pretty, compassionate and honest, and as a result, easily exploitable.
The Guru and Prey were an item. It was an on-again, off-again, turbulent thing.
The Guru was tall, slender, had long brown hair and just the right about of unshaven stubble. Everything about him was a conscious decision to appear gentle. Soft. He was a good looking man, and he was good at looking innocent. Exploitation wasn’t so much a plan as an instinct.
He made his living by leading “breathing workshops” at exorbitant prices, which varied in reverse correlation to the IQ of the people he was selling it to. It involved telling people to remember to breathe deeply for 45 minutes in a slow sexy voice as a sort of spiritual titillation, designed for the kind of over-sexed and emotionally void 20-somethings who can’t quite afford or dare to go on a trip through Europe to find themselves, or emotional prostitution working as symptom treatment for post-30 single women’s loneliness.
Along with his core audience, there were a few tag-along men. The sort of men that follow in the wake of such women. Im certain that he resented them for doing so, despite taking their money, and pretending he loved all his children equally.
He was very good at it. He had an uncanny ability to shower you with warmth and compassion the instant you met, overwhelming you in the sort of closeness and tenderness you so desperately ache for as the atomized, rootless Strong Independent Individual that you are.
If he had been more slightly more greedy and slightly less horny, he would have had a weekly newsletter about male self-improvement you could sign up for.
The few times we talked alone, it was very clear to me that he didn’t think or plan much, but acted mostly on instinct; for all the lies he told, being authentic was not one of them. His every moment was improvised, and he thrived on constantly balancing on the edge of being found out. I don’t think he knew why he lived like this, but I can let you in on a little secret, and tell you:
It’s because it gets you really, really high.
The Young Guru was, in his own words: “A man, who lived his love”. Except, they weren’t his own words, he would remind you every chance he got. This was not something he himself had realised — he was much too humble to have such realizations himself, of course! — But instead, it was what a shaman had told him as they did mushrooms together during his travels in Africa.
Going to Africa had been a big growing experience for him. Like a hyena learning to grow out it’s mane, to masquerade as a lion.
What “living his love” meant in practical terms, was that he was routinely unfaithful and worked to make Prey feel bad for being upset when she found out.
You couldn’t blame him for this, you see, as it was not really him being unfaithful — he was simply too open, too loving, too giving. He was too faithful! He had faith in all women! He was a man who lived his love!
This was his authentic self — would she deny him this out of greed? What a tyrant queen! Oh, cruel fate, that he loved her so, despite her malice! She didn’t really deserve him, that’s how overflowingly good of a person he was.
The times we live in are a constant feast for such Good Men, as all of us are rats, starving for love, willing to follow any motherfucker who can play a single note on a flute to the ends of the earth, if nothing else then just to feel hope for a little while. And the Guru was very one-note.
When they had sex, his moans were high pitched. I never heard her. I wondered about that for a long time.
Some time before meeting Prey, I had been living with a girlfriend who really liked to be choked during sex. I broke up with her because she couldn’t respect my boundaries.
There is one single nugget of useful knowledge possible to extract in the entire malpractice of academic “Sexology,” and it is this: A bottom ALWAYS tops from the bottom. Most of them haven’t even figured that out, despite decades of gay people trying to explain it to them, and Hegel covering it extensively in The Phenomenology of Spirit.
Seeing as we already had a physical relationship that included play-violence, when the relationship devolved to a point I could no longer accept, I had nothing to negotiate with. She had no respect for me, having given into her every desire.
“Don’t do this” — or what? I fulfill her erotic fantasies? Not a strong hand.
The only thing I could “do” to her, ultimately, was to deny her. It’s a very impotent feeling.
When I told her that I didn’t want her to live with me anymore, she laughed in my face. I had a nervous breakdown. We loved each other very much.
Strangling women is like beating children; if you actually have to do it, you have already lost. While the children of a violent father might fear the belt or the fist, they do not fear the father.
No one fears a man who beats his children, at least not for the act of beating them. The fact that he has to is always proof of his impotence; if he was truly “strong,” the threat of violence would be enough.
This is both the lesson of “Choke me daddy,” and the reason the God of the New Testament is magnitudes more Godly than the one of the Old Testament.
Me and the Young Guru were both stranglers of women. The reason I name him a prostitute is that what I did for love, he did primarily for money. He was clever like that.
What I did to please, he did to lease.
First rule of show business is always leave them wanting more. I couldn’t do that; I simply had too much love to give, you see. I was so overflowing with love — I had so much genuine love to give, that I couldn’t help loving her senseless, and yielding to her every desire.
In our violent relationship, however, I quickly learned that the art of strangling a woman is in that you don’t actually strangle them. They just have to feel like you’re strangling them.
And here’s the ticket: the less they know what being strangled feels like, the more wiggle room you’ve got. The more you actually strangle them, the less space is left for fantasy — and make no mistake: fantasy is more real than reality.
The more you really strangle her, the less real it feels, and the more violent the fantasy becomes — any amount that is truly experienced becomes immediately mundane. Only the fantasy matters, and the fantasy cannot survive becoming matter.
When the Guru went to work in South Africa for a few months, Prey decided to come along as soon as her schedule allowed. When she arrived, he had arranged for them to meet at the top of a mountain. She climbed it alone, to find him waiting for her with flowers in his hands. The open sky, the view, the exotic authenticness; could anything be more romantic?
The first thing he says is that he has been with two other women in the weeks since last they met, and apologizing, prostrating himself for her. I’m sure it was heartfelt.
She wanted nothing more than to get away from him, to be alone or to be with someone else, some revenge or at least just space to think — breathing room. But she had nowhere to go, no one to turn to. She was in the middle of South Africa and he was the only person she knew for miles and miles. The trip had already been planned out. Buying a new ticket home would bankrupt her.
The art of strangling a woman is to not strangle her at all. You just put your hand on her throat, and let her do the strangling herself.
But I can’t sell you that as a subscription service.
So why would I tell you?