For a long time I have had absolutely zero urge to blog. Why is this? I used to enjoy it and found it helpful. Now it seems like an unpleasant task which I keep shirking.
I don’t like what I’ve slipped into with this blog. It was always a virtually hidden, underground blog which had one thing: it was an utterly truthful account of someone struggling with game and the red pill. I’m not saying I haven’t been truthful of course, but what I mean is I think I’ve gradually started writing for an audience, rather than writing for myself. It used to feel like therapy, sorting out my thoughts and pushing that button to pump them out there – much better than just writing a journal. Now it just seems like a chore, and irrelevant to my life.
I changed the theme. I made a silly background for a while. I got a dot com URL. I wrote some posts which were great, and people thought my writing was funny, but it was seductive. Then I wrote the book. I don’t suppose the Twitter feed helps.
I’m not a “PUA name”, even thought I know quite a few of them. I don’t ever want to be, yet I was kind of getting a little bit ‘known’. (I don’t regret the podcasts, however, they were great fun and I will do more). I hate the PUA circus.
This post is ten times easier to write than anything I’ve written in six months. This is because it’s old Bodi. It’s just ME and my thoughts. I miss my old blog. I still have a lot of thinking and development to do. I might move back there if I can remember the log-in.
I suppose the other tiring thing is the haters. Eventually they found me and started spouting their weird, warped crap, usually along the lines of finding a blog about someone openly struggling with their weaknesses and then criticizing me for them or my lack of success (as these fantasist bedroom virgins define it).
Please stop reading my blog. I want a couple dozen readers: that’s enough. I half wish I’d never written that book but it’s done and sometimes it buys me a coffee or two so I’ll leave it, and being a completist I’ll release the second one too or I’ll die of convulsions.
Maybe I’m just tired of writing about game and red pill. After all, it’s been a long time – over five years. Christ. This has been a lot harder and more awful than I ever anticipated. Surprisingly, I’m not tired of still pursuing my goals, as in real life I’m still out there putting one foot in front of the other, like the guy who got dropped down the crevasse and broke his legs and had to crawl miles back to camp (Touching the Void). I wonder if I’ll reach the point where I just no longer care, after all they say it’s easier to bear injuries than avenge them.
I have a reasonable chance of fucking a catwalk model soon, so I won’t call it quits quite yet.