“yeah Jack, I’ll speak to you tomorrow”
it’s a bit like “did you see that lakers game on saturday”, in that the speaking was done via telephone, and the seeing was done via television…. but these descriptive elements were omitted, despite the fact that they are both methods that DRAMATICALLY cut down on bandwidth, and therefore data.
I can take a close up photo of a nipple, or a cunt, or an asshole, put it on a swinging site and get loads of responses, wanna fuck baby?
Pull back the lens and get more in the photo, more data in the photo, and they get less sexually attractive, ooh, look at those hands… etc
Pull back the lens and include the whole face and body, I’ll still look at the cunt and tits, and to a certain extent ignore the face, you don’t look at the mantelpiece when poking the fire, but it is still low bandwidth.
Push the lens in again, so all you see is the face, and you start to notice the mouth and around the eyes and despite the fact there is less bandwidth again, you’re making me focus on other parts, and she gets less fuckable, note, this is ALL THE SAME WIMMINZ we are talking about here.
Change the camera angle, the usual selfie angle, makes the tits looks bigger and due to perspective the mouth looks more curved and smiley, more attractive.
The police / passport / driving licence mugshot is the one, the standardised straight on eye level zero angle full face pic, everyone knows jokes about the secret photo booth processing system that turns your film star good looks into something that looks like it just got out of a ten stretch in solitary for armed robbery.
How can you relate the indescribably cute pictures of me as a baby with the fucking gimp who stared out of a passport photo at 16?
How the fuck would I ever get a 3, much less 7, or a perfect 10?
By any meaningful definition, eg being a playboy cover bint amongst other things, Sam was a solid 10, or if you wanted to be a real cunt about it and deduct points because she was a model and not an heiress, which means including non visual stuff in a visual categorisation, a 9.2.
“I’d fucking give that one”
A handful of years later, she was trying and failing to make it as a pop tart, I had the chance, where chance is defined as taking it, post gig, the worse for wear for alcohol and self pity, back to its hotel room, just it and me, and it wanting to be fucked.
I passed. Too much vitriol and what are you a fucking homo and so on, but I passed.
I was getting 100% bandwidth, the fleeting facial expressions that weren’t that attractive, the faint sweet smell of booze and vomit on her breath, the chaos that looked like a cosmetic counter full of stuff on the dresser, and mainly the fucking wreck that was a drunk and fucked up and lonely little girl acting like a bitch to mask all the pain.
If I had been Bogey (another fucking gimp, mugshot wise) I’d have slapped some sense into the bitch, hey schweetheart, make me a java, bent her over and pounded her up the ass, but I wasn’t Bogey, I was me, and I backed outta there making excuses and basically fucking ran.
Back when I was younger, there wasn’t any internet, much less internet dating, you could ring people, landline to landline, you could write them a letter, or you could see them face to face, phones were things that were joined to things like parent and house, it wasn’t Hollywood LA where the kids had their own phones in their room, hell, lots of people didn’t have a fucking phone, so basically it was all face to face, 100% bandwidth.
You know what I see looking back at my own yoof?
Missed opportunities, 100% bandwidth was there, but I was too dumb and young and inexperienced to pick up on 99% of it, this throws up errors the same as the modern equivalence where the bandwidth is artificially limited and filtered, because in both cases you aren’t getting the whole picture, it doesn’t matter which side of the equation the filter is on, it limits and twists and alters the remaining picture/snapshot.
In hindsight there were a few wimminz who couldn’t have made it any plainer that they wanted me to fuck them, and there was me wondering if she liked me… gee… lol
In hindsight there were a few wimminz who couldn’t have made it any plainer that they thought I was a worm, if they thought about me at all.
Oh, if I could go back to say 13, but knowing *everything* I know now…. lol
You see I wasn’t really consciously aware of the fact that as good a definition as any other of what we are is walking pattern recognition machines, I was aware that I wasn’t any/very good at this *thing*, but I didn’t have a label for the thing, or an understanding of it and what it was, pattern recognition, it is something you learn with experience.
My disputes with other men were usually over the different results we got when running pattern recognition on the same subject, and in those day you pretty much saw it full on in the flesh or didn’t, none of this internet or photo or phone shit, so the bandwidth was either there or it wasn’t.
Same when you learned something new, like Julie was a slut, you learned it full on in the flesh total bandwidth in the space between one heartbeat and the next… that what all the old love songs were about, time standing still, the space between one heartbeat and the next, space enough for that total bandwidth to fuck you up.
Nowadays this shit is called PTSD, but its the same shit we had back then, the world didn’t change between one heartbeat and the next, you did, because of some total bandwidth you got… splat / copper / ziiiiiiwwww one heartbeat Jim is there next to you, next heartbeat Jim is there splattered all over you.
I suppose in some ways the shrinks could say I was all fucked up from an early age, and there is something in that, but only if you take it out of context.. everyone was fucked up from an early age, you just sucked it up and got on with life.
You know, I was BORN INTO and GREW UP IN what was classed as a terrorist rich environment, and boys and girls I don’t mean that fake shit y’all have in the USA today, or the random shit we had back in the day on the UK mainland with the IRA, I mean you went shopping in armoured cars, and you got signed into and out of each gated community on a route, so when you were missing the next day they knew where to fucking look for the bodies…. and it was considered NORMAL for parents and couples and families to sign up to go and live and work in these places… Nobody else said shit, nobody talked about this making you a bad parent or not loving your kids.
To me, this isn’t anecdotal shit, dogs were early warning systems, early warning systems got poisoned, your cuddly family “pet” didn’t exist, Fido was fucking recon batallion, first in the firing line.
Jack Reacher my hairy fucking ass, there is a (series of) novel written by someone who has no clue, none at all, who couldn’t possibly get it more wrong…. fighting is always always always playing the odds, only a matter of time before it comes up snake eyes, and then y’all ain’t no 78 inch 250 lb motherfucker no more, y’all are a fucking cripple, or dead.
As a result, though I didn’t know it, my early pattern recognition systems, and the foundations of what I am today, were built on survival…
Getting pussy is great, but to get pussy you have to stay alive, and that meant concentrating on patterns that signified staying alive, and that meant missing patterns that said come and fuck me.
I didn’t *get* da po-lice in this country, I didn’t grow up around po-lice like that, so I took the attitude “it runs and I know how to ride/drive it, I’m gonna ride the shit outta it” and provided I didn’t hurt anyone else I just didn’t get it.
NOW it is different, da-police is armed and trigger happy and dangerous and corrupt and will fit you up and lie like motherfuckers, I haven’t learned da po-lice, so much as they have become more like what I expect, the cape buffalo with toothache, the maamba, the jungle tiger, the only policy is avoid if at all possible, and if not you in a world of hurt because they all work as a pack now.
That shit I wrote about internet dating and digitally document everything up to the wazzoo and stick that fucker in the google cloud where no cunt can deny your lawyer access to it or edit it… that was my pattern recognition going off, seven bell alarm motherfucker, and 99.999% of people were duh what huh?
Just like me when I didn’t see the come and fuck me when I was younger.
Here is a small example.
“gender”
No sane, intelligent, free creature should ever use this word, the word you should use is SEX.
Using gender instead of sex is to DELIBERATELY fuck up your pattern recognition.
Y’all know why ex-grunts with PTSD turn to booze and drugs, same reason I did when I came back to the west, booze and drugs fuck up your pattern recognition, reality is an illusion caused by lack of alcohol/weed, I don’t like the patterns I am seeing so I am gonna medicate myself and change my perception.
A decade or more later I eventually and slowly grew up.
Red Pill?
It’s just some PTSD pattern recognition motherfucker, shit was always there, it was just being marketed as something other than what it was, gender / sex …..
Unless it is part of a discourse about pattern recognition or lexicons or iconography, as this piece is, the word gender has no place being written or uttered or thought by a man.
Nor, frankly, has any of that other shit, raayyyype, DV, the whole shebang.
My mother is a wimminz born with a cunt, I know because she popped me outta it.
My mother at one point was *the* white woman (note I use the word woman) all alone in the African bush, the nearest white person (apart from skinny punk ass 9 year old me) was down 6 miles of dirt track and then another 18 miles of backtop, a good hour away even if they knew shit was going down, or cared, and there were no telephones or internet or pagers or anything, no emergency services, fuck all…. not even fucking running water.
So one day the local chieftain turns up with his entourage, about a dozen of them, to exercise his right to have sex with any women who lived in his lands, buck nigger and his headmen in his territory on his patch.
She sent him, and his men, away.
No guns, no knives, no nothing, she just said no, not playing, now go away…. if necessary my husband will come and see you later and explain *our* customs, but that’s it.
(dad did, took the guy a bunch of new shiny corrugated iron for his palace roof, and an old tweed jacket, all customs and cultures assimilated…)
Now, either my mum is the Queen of Sheba, or she is just an ordinary woman who didn’t ever get to play the entitlement pwincess card, and had to grow the fuck up.
Either what I witnessed with my own eyes is not true, or a whole load of alleged stuff that I have *never* seen with my own eyes about all men being degenerate violent rapists is not true.
If both are true then the only possible explanation left is my mum is the Queen of Sheba, and she ain’t… so both can’t be true.
So I am left with personally observed fact, or those who wield power and insist that my personally observed facts are false, now, would I like to sign up for this false religion, of my own free will, or would I like to be castrated with a hook in a battery drill like some stallion on the range, just meat on the hoof…. also of my own free will of course.
Was the mother of my own kids, who falsely accused me of a decade of rape and sexual abuse and violence and control and wanting to fuck my own kids up the ass a completely different species from my own sainted Queen of Sheba mother?
No.
So what’s different.
My mother grew up in the last great war, all the men in her family were in uniform at sea trying to stay alive, and she was in uniform doing the clerical shit, passing messages that talked about killed and wounded on both sides, and then after the war in a hospital for those who were burned in the war but lived, sorta.
My children’s mother on the other hand grew up in peacetime in the cities and in the land of liberal handouts and modern social science and rewards for bad behaviour and sanctions for good behaviour, while never actually having seen anything genuinely bad first hand, never having thought there but for the grace of god, and in fact being the sole architect of everything that did suck about her own life.
My children’s mother would have gang-banged the chief and all his men, had the best sex of her slutty life, and then gone crying to someone in authoritah about rayyyype, and watched their rapist black asses swing from a gibbet, secretly knowing and loving the fact that the last cunt any of them got was hers…. and then spending the rest of her life trading on being a victim of tribal black gang rayyype… while masturbating to thoughts of doing it all again.
Of necessity, I had to swing this story around all of these trees, because one of the things my mother and others were taught as part of their military training was… wait for it… pattern recognition…
At the basic level it is silhouette cards, do you know your Me109 from your Hurricane?
At higher levels it is why isn’t there any troop movement here, what are these e-boats doing here, and how are drums of fuel being moved and to where?
For my sins, I once took a temporary job night security on a motorway construction project, that went right through the native habitats of some of the last remaining 3 trillon lesser spotted newt warbler larvae, within a week I caught guys on OUR fucking side cutting the fucking fence and then “finding” it and claiming it was the other side, within another week if our side had been handed live ammo nothing would have lived within 500 yards of the perimeter, not the local wildlife, not citizens walking their dogs, not drunks who missed the last bus, nothing… the only thing that would have survived would have been the fucking protesters, who were tucked up in their holes or in the pub plotting their next media appearance.
It would appear that as pattern recognition machines, we seek pattern where there is none, hence seeing faces in the clouds or doing acid and meeting Aristotle, any pattern will do, as long as it is a pattern.
Darwin will sort the useful pattern recognition from the useless.
Your face, as a mugshot, isn’t actually that important, your face in real life is better, more bandwidth, but at Vonnegut said, people project onto the blankness what they themselves believe, and that applies to your face too.
When one human being looks at another human being in the flesh, and “decides” if they want to fuck or not, they are not in fact judging or grading or classifying that other person…. you are just doing pass/fail on the pattern recognition and compatibility match scenario.
Talking about wimminz hitting the wall at 35 or whatever, yeah, it is true.
Talking about men improving with age while wimminz erode, yeah, it is true.
It doesn’t make you fucking superior though.
I don’t have the desire to fuck a guy up the ass either, that doesn’t make me superior to him, or his ass.
It just means NOT RELEVANT
If it ain’t relevant then literally don’t give it a thought.
but, pattern recognition can look at the same thing and see NOT RELEVANT, and also NOT SAFE, if you stopped looking, or started celebrating, at not relevant, you got fucking problems.
You can’t even party after declaring something not safe
Sometime declaring it not relevant is what makes it not safe (take a look in the mirror and see the truth in this one) and sometime declaring it not safe is what makes it even more not safe.
Pattern recognition is an ongoing never ending dynamic process.
Shouting SNAP… I WIN when you spot some post wall wimminz who you can reject in schadenfreud, or using your brain to say or think or listen to words like gender or rayype, etc etc etc
Stopping the wheel and placing a bet like Jack Reacher every time you see an implied challenge, or stopping the world and getting off…. not recommended.
Celebrating your latest win? That moment already passed….
Living to be a thousand is easy, just never stop breathing.
It’s the never stopping breathing that is *hard*… so hard, *nobody* ever managed it yet.
Never stopping your pattern recognition is *hard*
The alternatives are harder.
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