DukeD's Blog

Tonight marks 110 days of going out. I've been lagging on going to the next level, sort of drifting in my comfort zone of just going out every night. Tyler says just Go Out... most of your problems will self-correct. While I've gained quite a bit of significance being out all the time, I settled into a sort of rut. I've been hanging out with about 6 different girls, all with no real close value. At least it gets me social proof and helps smooth the way for most social interaction. Looking back to 100 days ago where I'd go out and hang out with chodes and no approaches, it seems like I've come a long way. Now girls are pulling me on the dance floor, txting me to see where I'm going to be at, and inviting me out to all sorts of crazy events. And it's normal, because I became the kind of guy that deserves it.

About 3 weeks ago, I had a breakthrough. Hey, I like myself! I thought I did before, but the first 60-90 days of this thing I was bitter and depressed. So many crazy moodswings, with nobody to help me battle my demods but myself. I couldn't see the forest for the trees. And that's when it all flipped over. I found myself no longer TRYING to have a good time, but actually HAVING a good time. Just like Tyler said... This is about being, not about doing. It's amazing how I THOUGHT I understood, but I was so far off.

My wingmen are not wingmen. Halfwing is a great club buddy, but he clearly has no love for the growth, just wants to be around when girls show up. Argentino and Prep do whatever they can to bring my energy down, and OGRawDawg is all tied down to his relationship. So I went searching and found new wing, a kid I met at Denny's with a heart for the game and an artistic spirit. We call him Brothello.

We've been partying every night, and he's wired like me; Grow, Learn, Progress. I've been lagging on stepping up past going out. I knew what I was supposed to do; Tyler says in the Free Audio to set a number, and then approach that many women whenever I go out. Sitting discussing with Brothello on what to do about our stagnant situation, he says... fine: we start today: He looks at his phone and the first number he sees is '7'. Great. Yesterday, Day 1. This new 'next level' thought process makes me all nervous again. I've got to get 7 approaches on a monday... Blowout city, here we come.
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I roll to crown last night with the normal crew. Hey look! no girls! We might get 4 sets the whole night on a tuesday night. A little blonde with tats and massive eyes rolls in with this guy I used to kick it with like... 10 years ago. I open and she punches me, which turns into an old-school TKD sparring match in the middle of the bar. Tickle fight. Leave, Reopen. Leave, Reopen. She's into it. Yay! I got my open out of the way for the night. Reopen, joke, I pull the hyper-aggressive choke thing; It hits hard and she's turned on to all hell. All the instant makeout stuff from the BootCamp posts starts swirling around in my head. What do I do again? hands around waist... Hey, close your eyes real quick. *Makeout* She's not THAT cute, but the binary system says GO.


I go to reopen, and she's 3 drinks in... and everything changed. For some reason, when girls get all tossed and get needy... it turns ME off. I dance a little, ask her to come dancing on thursday, and she giggly explins to me that she doesn't go out much because she's in a rehab program and if she gets tagged by the cop, she'll go back to jail for a really long time. Whoah. Turnoff number 2.

I don't want to escalate anymore. I spend about 5 minutes in my head pondering if I'm just making excuses and being a wuss, or if I should actually quit while I'm ahead. No. Definitely am no longer attracted. The binary system switched off. I had my experience with tweaker girls, and I still have an almost hardwired ick bomb that goes off when I meet one. That uneasy feeling isn't nerves, bro, it's a survival mechanism.

As the night goes on, she gets drunker and drunker, rolling back around and plopping on my lap, the tension getting heavier as the night goes on. The more needy she gets, the more ick I get, so I keep ejecting to play darts or talk to a couple of other sets. When I go to leave, she latches on and gives me the pleading orphan look and I jet, couldn't help but feel like I dodged a bullet.

You guys might have closed this girl, but I felt like my entire standards would be violated if I followed through. I spent a lot of time thinking about just throwing everything in my head out so I could gain new reference experiences, but the drug thing seriously kept throwing me off, saying; If she's bad news, she's bad news, bro.

Lesson of the day: No matter what the Game lessons are to be learned, it's OK to have standards.

-= Duke =-
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I was Reading Tyler's old post on The PUA Transformation Process

As serious as I am about this stuff, I hadn't really thought through the Mastery portion of this. I figured; I'll just get skills, hook up with a bunch of chicks, find the right one, get married, have kids.

When I first started training for competition fighting, I thought the same thing. Enroll in classes, wait two years, get a black belt, win competitions, go celebrate. I thought I was above the curve, that I was blessed by the universe with some special ability to surpass my peers just by being myself. 5 years later, here I am. I've competed at the national level twice, and haven't gotten past bronze. But the process has become more to me. Now I don't train to win tournaments, I train to train. Winning tournaments is a great gauge of the excellence of the method of training.

I get new guys in the JiuJitsu class that watched some new fancy move on youtube and they come in with the same fire. I'm above this, I will beat you and feel good in my ego that I beat you because I know tricks that you're not privy to. Well, lo and behold, they lose. Consistently. But, if they stick around long enough, they start winning. The fundamentals of the game are learned best by repetition. There's all sorts of little mental tips and tricks to get the most out of it, but at the end of the day; It's mat time that separates the chodes from the champs.

And it takes time. It will have taken me 9 years of school to get my doctorate degree. It will probably have taken me 10 years of training to get to my BJJ black belt. To look at it now, it took Tyler about that long to be where he is today. Malcolm Gladwell wrote in "Outliers" that a person needs to invest 10,000 hours of concentrated and reflective practice to achieve mastery. If I went out 4 hours per night, every night... I would be done with that many hours in roughly 7 years.

7 years, bro. That's a long time to think about girls. And here I sit, on Day 63 of consecutively going out and working this stuff, and I expect to be pulling 9's back to my pad for long sweat-spattering sessions of passion? LMFAO. No. It's all about mat time. This process is so difficult, and it's stretched me into a new, more dynamic, human. It's allowed me show more value. It's allowed me to like hanging out with myself. And each and every step of the way is to be savored, experienced in its fullness.

So I got the first one down:
Tyler wrote:
-Going out 4 days a week, minimum, for at least 2 hours a night, preferably 3
or 4. You are more comfortable in a club talking to strangers, than you are in
everyday life.

DONE. This has become congruent. And continues to occur. On to the next one.
-Internalizing a new peice of material every night, and "ranging" it (figuring
out at what buying temperature it is most effective, and figuring out the

This is what the little checkboxes in my paper journal are for. Horray for progress!

-= Duke =-
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Day 62, Sunday
Of to Crown, low number sets, what do you want for a Sunday night? Opened anyway. There was a girl looking hard and smiling but had a rock the size of Everest on her left hand... I'm not touching that. Opened a brunette who is shy. Opened her friend, a pro dancer but no dice. Tagged a number out from under Argentino's date which pissed him off, but his catch-and-release cockblocking antics over the last few weeks made me not too sympathetic for his plight. Eat it.

Her friend, I've seen 2 or 3 times in the last week and has been all over Prep lately decided to open her mouth about how unsexed she was. I started in with the challenging talk... but RawDawg broke my frame with hypersexual physicality. I thought I was gonna get blown out of set, but she kept looking at me and coming back to make out while he was all over her. It turned into this weird 3-way thing where I was getting schooled on physical escalation from my main wing all the while being part of the interaction. Weird shit. I let go of all my hangups for the moment, because I might learn something. And I did. After that, it was on.

Argentino got lovestruck by a Brazilian looking cutie with a RoughUp looking date. I was like, F it. I'll open him, you do your thing. If I get hit, though, you'd better get laid. They were sitting on the end of the bar, So I ran the rail, hoping to get through to the other side in total state.

Running the rail - Start at one end of the actual bar, and meet everybody on the way through. The momentum builds up with every micro-interaction, and by the time you get to the end, they see you coming and the social pressure is there to force it.

Once I got there, though, I introduced myself to the guy and he's staring me down like a caged tiger. Like 'I know what you're doing, motherfucker. Try it...' Small talk to no avail. he just talked right through me and ignored me while planting flags into HBBrazil as to mark his territory. Argentino wouldn't open her no matter how much heat I was taking from AMOGRoughUp. HBBrazil just sat there wishing someone would talk to her, all fidgety while I tried to distract the guy hard. All the while, Argentino pretended to be really interested in a soccer game on the TV, so I ejected and rolled my eyes at him and broke out the darts.

2 girls I met a month ago show up and rolled over to bug me for attention, so they got it. Number closes, they're coming dancing Thursday. Back out, more 3-way escalation, but I'm cringing inside thinking about how where on RawDawg her mouth has been in the last 10 minutes. I swear, I stop winging the day I figure out what my wings taste like.

We close down the bar, and it's off to Denny's. All of the girls come with us, and it was pretty non-eventful from there. I spent most of the time trying to build general rapport, but Argentino's bitterness kept dragging the whole group down. Ego driven game for the lose.

I learned quite a bit about near-animalistic physical escalation from RawDawg, though... and I broke through a major part of my internal sexual hangups. It took quite a bit to stay in there and just flow with the interaction, but in the end, it turned out win-win-win.

-= Duke =-
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  Tyler said "Go Out". Mystery said, "There are no failures, there is only learning". These 2 principles have been carrying me through the major swells of depression and ecstasy I've been experiencing in the last two months. It's slow going, haven't had my first makeout or my first pull or my first anything of that nature, but I finally stopped absorbing material and started making little checkboxes in my paper journal next to things I need to field test. Observations;

The sheer number of women in my life has increased. It's ridiculous. I feel like I haven't made any progress from where I'm standing, but When I take a real look at it, I've got 10 or so random girls to call to meet up, 2 Day2's last week, and have all but lost my sit-in-the-corner-and-smoke-in-fear behavior. This girl opened me last night and said "I've met you twice already. You're always dancing and carrying around a lot of energy." Damn right, I am. I swear I've not met this girl, but she must remember me. Hug me. Pound it. Dance with me. So many girls HATING on the local dance spots. F that noise. Come out. What are you gonna do, watch Gossip girl?

Excuses to stay in yuck state are like layers of an onion. Everytime I get over an excuse to stay in a lousy state, I find another one to deal with. Among those I've found some solutions for;
Approach Anxiety - I finally figured out how to shut it up for long enough to get momentum. It's not totally congruent yet, but the 3sRule is beginning to rule my interactions. FirstSetOnTheLeft when I walk in, too. Mark Redmond and Jeffy both are talking about running mantras in your mind; FunFunFunFunFunFun, How can I make this more fun? Fun Fun Fun Funny-Fun.
The no good reason opener - If I couldn't find the first words, I wouldn't approach. Now I just go in, blank slate as I can, looking to get a hug or a hi-five. What generally comes out is "What's the celebration for?" or "Did you guys bring the party?" or "Are guys here to sit here? Cuz I'm here to EPIC-LY ROCK THE DANCE FLOOR" Which stacks into a direct interrogation of one member (usually the alpha girl) gestappo-style: "Are you AWESOME?" I've got to change that around a bit, because the entertainer effect goes into overdrive then, and sometimes I have trouble getting into any sort of isolation, because the whole group will lock in on me and I have to juggle everyone.
Early Physical Contact - As I stated above, my goal walking into a set is either a hug or a hi-five. If the conversation rolls sexual (which is more often than I would have thought), I generally grab someone's hair at the base or grab their collarbones in a pseudo-agressive choke maneuver that, when it hits, IT HITS.
Staying in - I've been playing around with initiating challenges by cold-reading the inadequacy of the girls. "Oh, you think you can DANCE? I will wreck you, little girl." Then they get all up in my face, and I initiate a stare down, with our foreheads and noses touching for as long as they can handle it. I don't quite know what that communicates, but I call it a win over two weeks ago where I wouldn't hold eye contact for more than a few seconds because I was assuming failure.

My next focus: Ramp up the physicality. Day 60 and I still haven't closed anything. I don't know what I'm going to do about this. But I haven't tapped into that primal masculine thing that nearly all my wings have. They can just, sort of, turn on "Man Mode" and go after the physical thing. I don't even have a point of reference in my own head about that stuff. All the cues I used before were tied to some variation of the OMGSheAdoresMeDeerInTheHeadlights look. These girls don't do that here. Well, the big girls do, but uh... the binary system won't let me escalate.

I've been in the community and studying this stuff for years and years. But I didn't start in the field until 60 days ago. But I've come so far, so fast... it's staggering. But omg, I have so far to go.
Words of advice (to repeat Tyler): GO OUT

-= Duke =-
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Hey look! no hangover!
Saturday was party day. I had a graduation party for my homegirl and a birthday party ex post facto. Rolled over with my whole crew, and we just chode-crystalled it by the bar taking turns getting up the nerve (or not) to talk to the only single (as in, not married) girl there. I switched into family mode and chatted up homegirl's parents. Great food and congrats were in order, but we bounced fairly early, opting not to get wasted amongst the esteemed older folks who were sure to be a riot after the margaritas set in.

I turned up Aqua's album and rolled with HalfWing over to House-party-of-doom, complete with beer pong and a trampoline. I was DD'ing, so I kinda sat around not owning everybody at beer pong (which is surely what would have happened) in my own chode-puddle for awhile, pondering leaving. I thought to myself if I wasn't going to be able to provide any value to the situation, what's the point of sticking around to add my chode energy? The girl from the Britney concert pinged me via txt to get me over to the dance club and I planned to leave, feeling so chodely. Chode Chode Chode. Lump of guy adding no value sitting in this here chair. Stop sucking value and change venues, I told myself.

Then HBBirthdayGirl begs me to stay and play games, giving all sorts of little kino-rewards that I would normally just blow off in a club. But there was something different in her eyes when she was asking. I knew I wasn't going to do anything about it, so I wrestled with my head for a moment. Act under you own intention, Duke? Or stick around here because she asked you to? I would have normally just left but I was in a weird headspace that said I needed to stick around to learn something.

I turn on party mode in my head and play some games and jump around on the trampoline and general nonsense. It was pretty low-key, but I learned something. An epiphany. Like lightning just struck my brain. Like Tyler says; I provide value just by being me. She asked me to stay, not because I felt like a value-sucking chodecicle, but because I have something intrinsic that provides value. I provide value just by being me. No matter how many times I read it, or heard Tyler say it, or said it to myself, I didn't really get it until right then. I don't have to DO anything to provide value, I am already BEing someone of high value.

I'm learning something mind-warping, it seems, every night.
-= Duke =-
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 After Thursday night's disasterous state shift, I meditated a bit. I reflected on what it is like to be valuable just being me and to live in the now moment.

This MySpace girl who wrecks the dancefloor hit me up to go to Sunset and even though I'm not feeling her I wanted a good dance buddy and positive feminine energy always pumps my state through the roof. I hit up HalfWing and we roll over to Sunset with Daft Punk blasting in the car.

I roll through the bouncer-wristband-tag procedure and there's BDancefloorCrasher Chilling with a half-full AMF. Banter yell banter jump up and down, Oh yeah. HalfWing drove. I can drink. I don't normally drink because I'm DD, and years keyboard-jockeying in the community has drilled into my head "don't drink while gaming", due to the "scientific" nature of the game. Screw all that, after thursday night's mood, I drank two and crossed the indifference threshold in no time.

There's something about the combination of dancefloor and woman that connects my soul to the universal conscienceness. From the moment my hand grips the back of her neck to the hand-holding crowd-cutting exit my soul goes someplace else. Everywhere else, maybe; like who I am isn't separated from anything and can pulse to affect everything at once. I feel like the door to the outside patio from the dancefloor marks a rebirth, with the third trimester being spent kicking to T-Pain and Lil Wayne's melodic renditions of pickup from a G'd up perspective. Maybe I should just get a grill and some tats on my face and call it a day.

Dance-vibe-dance, inside-outside. I went on a rant of thievery. I tried to take one of my wingman's girls out from under him, comforted in the smoldering fact that I know he'd do the same to me. I opened a couple-set and tried to blow the guy out, but he took my energy as a game-like challenge and amped it up, just bringing value with no animosity. It seemed to be going well for him, so I switched over and winged for him instead against the other guy in the group, which gave him ample time to bring the fire, and he did. I guarantee he scored big.

More dancing, girls would try to walk through and I would just grab them and spin them crazy until they giggled, then I'd push them out. Meanwhile, wallflower AMOGs are standing in their intimidating arms-crossed poses trying to make their biceps look bigger in their tight foiled up affliction shirts. I could hear them talking smack but it didn't really faze me, I was in the zone. Badass dudes tried to jack my dance set with their wicked moves. I just pulled the clap and point spotlight and they would blow themselves out.

Stock lines of the night were "Hey guys, who's awesome?" and "WTF, are you judging me?" with a menacing look, followed by hand-hearts and hugs. Lap-dances, failed cigarette tricks and even a game of peek-a-boo. All in all, general drunken hilarity. Now if I could just find a happy medium between being open and being effective. Jeffy and FitsIn concur saying that I should just have one to loosen up and then not get all messed up. Onward.

- =Duke =-
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Some nights are harder than others, Jeffy's email said today. That hit home because last night I was channeling the glorious essence of some high-ranking chode-diety after about midnight. I got off work and went home for a nap (going out every night has been taking its toll on the sleep-cycle, and it's not nice about it) and woke up to the influx of text messages that generally signal the Thursday night wind-up. On with the show.

I picked up my Austrian half-wing and called Chris, a new guy from work who just got divorced and wants to get in the action. We met up at the local pub for preparty and made nice with all the locals. Too bad they all had Y-chromosomes. TinyTot, a cutie I met at another bar a few weeks back, guestlisted us at the Canyon club so we rolled in for free, under the influence of a redbull and a bit of fiesta-inducing screaming at the top of our lungs.

I sent Chris from work off to the mall for some club-worthy gear, and he shows up in jeans and an Affliction knock-off shirt with red foil all over it, he remarkably fits in. Add that to his infectious smile, and he's ready to go. I jump into state with a few rebel-yell worthy noisemaking fits and about 8-too-many high-fives and we hit the patio.

BAM! three steps out the door, He gets opened by this girl who looks like she's been drinking since Monday, with the slurred opener;
UGIfIHaveOneMoreDrink: OHMYGOD Will you hug me?
PUARemarkablyFitsIn: ...sure?
UGIfIHaveOneMoreDrink: Thanks so much... you just... look EXACTLY like my friend who just died.

HalfWing and I are laughing our asses off. His first time in a club in 20 years and FitsIn gets opened in the first minute we're there. The look on his face was priceless, and that moment is a reminder of why we do this shit in the first place. Back inside, we tear up the dance floor. The crowd is a mix of the older rich girls from the dinner-and-a-show crowd and the I-got-here-early-and-my-drinks-havent-kicked-in younger group moving around aimlessly to the mediocre music.

the drinks kick in for HalfWing and he starts dancing around like a bull in a china shop. He opens two girls with boyfriends and starts knocking drinks over. I guess that's somewhere in the rapport phase? I'll have him do a tutorial for anyone who wants in on the new "Knock a girl's drink all over her boyfriend's shirt" method. FitsIn and I rock out on the dance floor and bring the state up a little bit. I have a few fleeting dancefloor encounters and roll outside.

Then the redbull crashes, and so does my state. I don't know if those events correlate. I don't know wtf happened, but I went from clap-happy dancecore into full blown terminal chodeilitis. Opened a 3set for a light and just stood there getting ignored hardcore. They wouldn't even make eye contact. *EJECT* Who took the gem out of my donut? I sat there, in observervational chode mode for awhile, and when I got back on the dancefloor, I couldn't even move to the beat anymore. I saw set after set and right action kept getting further and further away. I jump up in the air like an idiot, clap a lot, make a lot of noise, encroaching into a lot of other sets' space, but nothing shook the downward spiral of emotional blackness my ego was sending me into.

HalfWing opens 2 girls in close proximity and one walks off and the other one plops down next to me.
BImJustWaitingForMyFriends: ::Mundane conversation::
Me: ::ChodelinessEmbodied One-word low-energy answers::
BImJustWaitingForMyFriends: ::Make-out with other guy who shows up on the other side::

I stared at the ashtray and wondered to myself "WHERE THE HELL DID THIS LOW ENERGY GUY COME FROM?". Working through the chode moments is utter lame sauce, to say the least. I passed up set after set after set, with each pass sending me further back into my head with chodely frustration. What am I afraid of? It's not getting punched in the face, it's not getting blown out. Could it be the unknown after the opening? 

Back to the dancefloor, I just wanted to get out. HalfWing, on the other hand, opened 3 more sets and at one point I heard him say "So when are you gonna drop these boyfriends of yours and get with ME?", followed by a bunch of giggling and hyperphysical 3-way dance antics. Sooo far out of my reality at that point.

Tonight, though... different story. I'm gonna go take a nap. I'll [url=http://www.rsdnation.com/kevinnj®/blog/you-want-game-you-got-game-just-look-within]find a pic of myself and draw all over it[/url] - realize that maybe I AM valuable just being me.
And maybe lay off the redbull.
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 Sometimes, I just have to do what works for me. I spent the relatively quiet Wednesday night getting punched in the face, bouncing around the club like a gummi bear, and dancing with myself on the ghost-town of a dance floor.

Remember yesterday's blog where I was all; "I'm gonna go to fight class before I go out so I can roll up into the club in state"? I got reminded of this uber method of state generation by gogl's post, where he shadowboxes in the bathroom to get it lit up. I got off work, changed into my gear o' badassedness, and hit up the fight gym. I was thinking to myself; "I'm gonna work HARD, so I can get that dominance rush and carry the energy to the club. My sparring partner for the day is a bouncer at one of the local clubs, so we have a decent rapport because I see him around all the time.

We're drilling the bruce lee parry-and-counterpunch move over and over, and I'm feeling good, light on my feet and can just feel the flow of energy while I'm bouncing around. All of the sudden he forgets that we're drilling and slams through my eye socket like a freight train. I'm laughing my ass off, through what was at that moment a lot of blood, thinking; "Damn, this game stuff hurts sometimes".
We all have our own ways of doing things.

I got home, showered, liquid bandage to close the cut on my cheek, and put on my club gear. I Rolled out with my half-wing, a 6'4" Austrian guy whose natural game is only eclipsed by his hairstyle. I call him half-wing, because he doesn't adhere to wingman rules. He'll just as easily an obstacle for me as steal the target, not by any real fault of his own, he's just so money he locks them in naturally.

My buddy's girl shows up and that cutie I took to the Britney concert a month ago shows up too. Horray for wing girls! I get real animated, hi-fiving people for no apparent reason and screaming stuff at the top of my lungs... trying to make a spectacle. Captian try-hard, but the energy came from someplace authentic, so it was infectious. I Randomly pulled in a few girls and danced all Mr. Solo-lo-lo on the dance floor, and came back to the conversation. 2 little dancers came over to get noticed and the first wing girl went over to open them with a comment about the shoes. When she tried to get them to sit down though, it all went to hell. Apparently, boyfriend was watching from across the room and social pressure blew her out. I should have opened them myself with my wicked dance moves, lol.

My biggest issue last night (besides having impaired vision on the left side of my face) was struggling to maintain sexworthy-guyness. I kept feeling the vibe with the cutie from the Britney show drop into dancing monkey "entertain me" mentality, so I kept trying to bring it back to the zone. I've been hi-energy entertainer chode for so long, I feel like it's a struggle to assert my status as a sexual threat. Everytime I did, I could see in her eyes that I was scrambling her perception, like it didn't fit. Both of them were trying to slot me into OMG-lets-do-our-nails-together-girlfriend mode and I was not having it. I wonder how I can make it more congruent so I don't have to reassert the fact that I have a dick?

Met new girls: Facebook close. I'm hip to the new millenium.
In other news, I almost cried laughing to the terminator pickup. Check it out. 
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A month ago, I stepped out into the world enencumbered, free of a LTR that had run its course. With nothing but gratitude for the growth it inspired, I let that relationship go, aiming higher for harder better faster stronger.

Following Tyler's advice in the free audio, I embarked: GO OUT. Every night. In the past 30 days it's been a whirlwhind, each moment building new reference experiences and breaking down all the notions I had about myself. I am truly getting to know who I am, layer by layer, where some nights I don't feel like I have anything left to give.

So many nights were a long, drawn out painful paralysis of self-doubt and inhibited motion. I finally found my first breakthrough; what it's like to be in state. Hearing about it over and over as I consumed materials, I had never connectd with the idea. State has always been a high-energy fake-out for me. Even when I could blow up a venue with my energy, I just felt like a high energy choad, so often that I figured I'd make myself a t-shirt :)
Tshirty goodness

State was irrelevant to me; A day in the life of a grand masquerade, and all of it to fuzzy and non-descript ends, at best. for the last month, I had given up on the gym, the fight club, and exercise altogether to make way for the long nights. Yesterday I went back to fight class and coughed out so many nights of cigarettes and cheap victoria's secret perfume I had accumulated in the seedy corners of local bars and clubs. When I got home to shower and prep for the night, my roommate stops me, entranced. She says; "Holy shit. You're on. You're gonna get hit on tonight. You've got that look in your eyes."

It must have been the workout.

I hit the bar with reckless abandon, dancing on guys to the mediocre dj mix and jumping around like a friggin' dinosaur. Too bad there were only dudes there. I made the best of it, got mad looks and IOIs from the girls that were there, and singing at the top of my lungs to 80's rap and 90's pop. That's when it hit me, hey I'm in state!. I'M IN STATE!!!!! I got so giddy I friggin' hi-fived myself. Like lightning just struck my brain. An epiphany of epic proportions; I just didn't care about it anymore.

So I'm off to a dance club tonight with 2 wing-girls. Preparation? Off to fight class, and do a little hard sparring. Local honeys don't stand a chance.

The devil dances in choadly pockets.
-= Duke =-
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