Coffee depresses me. It makes me want to kill myself. I am being very serious here. The initial effect of coffee for me is euphoria, mania, creative optimism, extraversion, etc. Then after one month I need to drink liters of strong black juice to maintain the same effect. In the third month no amount of coffee can return the honeymoon phase. I just need the coffee to feel sort of normal. Then inevitably I have to kick the habit. Two weeks follow during which I just want to die. So no more coffee for me. Since I have entirely given up coffee I have had far, far less suicidal thoughts, almost none.
I am really an all or nothing guy. There is just no middle road for me. It goes for coffee, but it also goes for exercise, making money, sex, women, any kind of drug, watching movies, anything. I either do too much of it, or not at all. I’ve discovered it’s totally impossible to maintain a healthy basis. I would have to live in some monastery-like institution where boundaries are set for me. The trouble with that solution is… that I hate boundaries unless they are self-imposed. So I have learned to live with this all or nothingness. I choose to do too much of some things and to entirely give up on some other things.
I am a fan of Femdom, especially chastity dominance. If curious you can google it, because I don’t feel like explaining it here. Yeah, I have developped some serious unworthiness issues.
There are some good people in this world. Most people are good. I have always refused to see this. Out of spite. It was more reassuring to just assume everyone was bad, but come to think of it, most people are good.
I’ve always assumed I live a tame life because almost all the people I have ever met are tame. But this is not the case, I am responsible for the way my life turned out. If I don’t go to swinger parties, it’s because of me, my own mental blocks, not because the swinger parties are not out there. I lead a pretty kinky life, but it’s still galaxies removed from the life of unfettered debauchery I wish to lead. But I don’t, because, quite likely, it would destroy me, so I have chosen to surround myself with some people who do give me certain boundaries. They don’t realize they are giving me these boundaries, but there are certain things I don’t do because it would push these people out of my life and I don’t want that. In that sense they provide me with certain boundaries.
I get my headaches from … sitting…. I don’t know how it took me so long to figure this out, but whenever I sit or lie down for a couple of hours, bam, I have a killer headache.
The only diet that really works is to daily eat 500 calories less than what you require to maintain your weight. It’s not entirely new, but I had managed to forget about it.
I’m a lousy friend. I seem mostly to be friends with people who need me therapeutically, and when they stop needing me therapeutically the friendship ends.
Without going into details, I am an entirely different person, my reality is entirely different, based on the contents of my balls. Empty or full, totally different person, totally different reality. And I really feel like am being forced to choose between the red pill or the blue pill.
I will never feel really great unless I go running regularly for fairly long distances.
I know a lot and most of what I know is economically useless.
We are waaaaaay to afraid of strangers. Every day I ride the bus and every time I feel like there are at least two or three potential super friends or great fuck buddies in that bus. And we – almost – never get in touch, because somehow it’s ok to get to know people at receptions, but not in the park, not on the street, not in the bus. I don’t get this. I read about people in America getting to know strangers in airplanes, but I have never seen it happen in Europe.
Traditions and rituals are insanely important to keep people sane. I have almost rejected traditions because I experience them as arbitrary traditions, but I have come to see how it gives people a much needed sense of eternity in life. Traditions and rituals help to protect ourselves against the fear of our inevitable death.
It’s best to make sexual intent abundantly clear from the very start. Call it ‘rapid escalation’ or call it ‘putting yourself at risk for being accused of sexual harassment’ but it works. Sexually interested in someone? Hell, make no secret of it.
We have been lied to even more than I previously thought. ‘History is the lie that historians agree upon.’
People tend to think I do a lot, but I know better, I do almost nothing. I just do certain things very fast. And I deeply regret doing so little…
Apart from history, psychology, languages, and some insight in economics, I don’t seem to know anything.
Based on what women have told me time and time again this year: men are entirely clueless as to what women want the most in bed…