dr neil and mr style.

i just finished reading possibly the most diabolical book printed in this century. it is the most insulting, immature creation i have ever seen to be put in print.

every fucking person on this planet should own a copy.

but then the material would be so regurgitated that it would eventually turn every living specimen of the male population in to a total dickweed and the effect would be devastatingly shit eating.

so i will NOT post the title and name of the author. you can all go on your individual treasure hunt because it's so much more fun.

the book, i will say, has sadly had not much effect on me. however, it would be truthful to admit it has, more than anything else, rekindled my love for the game.

THE game.
seduction.

cat-and-mouse, hide-and-seek, push-and-pull. oh the countless tactics women, and in my experiences of execution, men, have fallen prey to.

yes. in fact, the very reason i started this blog in the very first place.

outwit, outsmart and outlive. it amazes me that the author (who is still anon.) manages to managed to break this art down into a bite-sized gold nugget of precise science.

i miss it. i miss practicing it. sure, i still get to sharpen my claws every once in a while now, but it's different, due to obvious reasons. the extent to which i can go. thrills, as i hate them, only come to me now, short lived.

although i do not entirely regret giving up the game (or to whatever extent i have, and also subject to context of the words giving up.), i do, or rather did, enjoy it.

ahh life. the beauty of it all. and the inevitable self-destruction that comes in the end.

isn't it all just so bittersweet?

which is precisely what make it
so dangerous
so lethal
and so devilfuckingly spectacular,
no?