December 2, 1994. Freezing rain, sleet, and snow fall out of the sky. Richard’s exhausted; thinks to himself: “Shitty-fuckin’-day to be a used-car salesman.”
He’s just test driven 1-more car. I begin observing him; not-visible to him, yet. Richard exits the Porsche; lets customer out. Customer: “Let me think about it; call you tomorrow either way.”
Richard’s thoughts: “You’re lying; Just say you don’t want the fucking-car! Douchebag! Dead deal. You won’t call me; go fuck yourself! Joyride? In a Porsche? In the fuckin’-rain? I don’t need this shit! I’d like to throw an elbow; knock you the-fuck-out! Chill. I need this job.”
Richard smiles insincerely; shakes the man’s hand; gives him a business card. Richard parks the vehicle; walks across the lot; cold; exhausted; soaked to his core.
Richard takes 1-more up, (customer,) instead of going home when he’s scheduled off. Scheduled till 6; it’s now 9; finishes with his last customer. “12-hour shift, no pay; fuckin’-awesome; should’ve left at 6.” Richard pines with regret.
Richard’s throat’s sore; slight dull-headache; smokes a cigarette with a coworker, out back; punches-out on the time clock; walks to his car.
I focus my energy; generate a Concussion; implant an idea in his mind: “Why don’t I go to Parks Place; have a beer; chase some tail?”
Richard considers my implanted-suggestion, as if it were his idea: “Beer? Tonight? Why the fuck not? It’s been a while. Who knows, maybe I’ll get laid?”
Lizard-brains: so fucking-easy to manipulate.
Richard drives to Parks Place, the local bar: burger and a tall light-beer. Football game’s on the screens overhead. Richard thinks: “Looks like the network chose wrong. Two teams, mathematically-eliminated from the playoffs; unworthy of Monday Night Football; Not worth watching.”
Richard starts playing pool; 8 ball. If Richard’s shooting bad, he can always play defense: wait for the other-guy to fuck-up. This is how it starts. He hasn’t played in a year; rusty; used to play every-night; used to be pretty good. Now, Richard’s playing sporadically; makes hard shots; misses easy ones. He’s starting to get his groove back.
Beer’s flowing; he’s feeling pretty good; starts winning more than losing. He starts gambling. Richard’s pudgy in the middle; maybe 20-pounds overweight. He hasn’t been working out; muscles: atrophied.
The guy he’s playing: 4-inches taller; hundred-pounds heavier; no neck; bald-head; goatee. Opponent: prison tattoos; drinks shots; wearing leather, to indicate an affiliation with a motorcycle-gang. Seems friendly enough, for now.
The biker buys Richard shots; they’re betting. Richard goes up 20; down 5; up 30; down 10; double or nothing? Double or nothing? Richard’s playing good now: double or nothing?
I allow Richard to see me for the first time. Richard notices me watching them; sizes me up; thinks: “He’s: about my height; about my build; older; muscular; lean. That guy’s in shape; wish I was.”
Richard torches the biker for $100; biker’s getting silently angry. Richard’s afraid to ask for his money. It’s customary, locally, to ask for payout, when you get up over $100.
“Double or nothing?” the biker asks. Many thoughts fire rapidly, in a split second, in Richard’s lizard-brain: “What the fuck you trying to pull? Shouldn’t have to ask you for a pay-out. You’re down $100. Everyone knows you’re supposed to pay, now. Pull out your fucking-wallet and pay! You’re forcing me to be rude. You’re forcing me to be a dick. You should’ve pulled your wallet out; paid your debt; then you could ask, ‘double or nothing?’ Whatever man; I would’ve paid you; you’re gonna pay me-“
Richard smiles, attempting to disguise his agitation. “Sure.” Richard reluctantly replies; then adds, “I’ll go double or nothing with you, again, as soon as you pay-out.”
The biker reaches into his back-pocket; grabs his wallet chained to his jeans. The biker: “Don’t think I’m good for it? Don’t trust me? Man you’re fuckin’-sorry! I thought you were cool! I’m beginning to think you’re a hustler.” The biker slams the money into Richard’s palm; squeezes Richard’s hand hard, a-little too-hard.
Richard’s thoughts: “This is a message: Play him double or nothing. Let him win, or we may-be fighting outside later.”
Richard looks troubled. The biker: “I’m gonna take a piss. When I get back, double or nothing; then I’ve gotta go.”
While the biker goes to piss, I approach Richard for the first time. “What’s your name?” I ask. Even though I know.
Richard wonders, split second: Doesn’t seem gay.
Me: “Looks like you’ve got a decision to make. Take this guy for $200? Maybe get in a fight. Or lose on-purpose and walk away?”
Richard: “I was never one to back down from a fight.”
Me: “I’m like that! Never backed down from a fight at your age, either. You remind me of myself, when I was your age.”
Richard studies me; thinks: Chiseled face; square jaw; neat; clean; groomed. He’s as sharp as a razor. Probably a ladies’ man. My height, maybe slightly taller, but all muscle. Pure: confidence; energy. I smile, sincerely, communicating non-verbally: “I’m with you; want nothing from you. I’ve got your back.”
The biker returns. Richard breaks and runs-out; the biker doesn’t get a single shot; he’s pissed. Before either Richard, or the biker says a word; I walk over to the biker–
Richard’s Journal December 3rd, 1994: (and subsequent-revisions.)
They stare at each other. Thought they were gonna go, right there. Hadn’t seen a good-brawl in 10-years; couldn’t hear what they were saying. It’s tense for a moment. The biker slaps a hundred into The Furai’s hand; laughs; then exits the bar.
Richard: “What did you say to him?”
The Furai: “It wasn’t what I said. It’s how I looked at him and spoke to him. Didn’t disrespect him, but didn’t show any fear either. Said with my eyes and body-language: ‘you have two choices: pay the hundred-dollars, or leave this bar in a fucking-pine box; I’m not playing. I’ve trained to kill every-day, my whole adult-life; when push-comes-to-shove, another warrior always recognizes the real-deal; I’m the real-deal.”
The Furai hands me the hundred-dollars; this is how I met The Furai.
The Furai exudes confidence: Energy. Charm. Charisma. Power. Everything I want to be.
Richard: “Buy you a beer?”
We go to the bar, drink, talk, and drink some-more. We laugh and bullshit.
Richard: “What do you do?”
The Furai: “I’m a teacher.”
Richard: “What do you teach?”
The Furai: “Philosophy.”
Richard: “Studied a little; what do you think of Ayn Rand?”
The Furai: “The greatest-philosopher of the last century.”
Richard: “I agree. Just finished Atlas Shrugged and The Virtue of Selfishness.”
The Furai: “Rand is great. What do you know about magick?”
The Furai: “Ever pray and something miraculous happens?”
The Furai: “Ever think about someone and they call?”
Richard: “All the time.”
The Furai: “Magick is very real. Because it can’t be seen or measured by modern instruments, doesn’t mean it’s not real. Objectivism, is an atheist philosophy. I’ve seen magick; know it works. I can prove it to you, not scientifically, but with results. How many men are in here?”
The Furai: “How many women?”
The Furai: “Sausage fest, huh? We need some-more tacos! For the next hour, say the following to yourself: ‘This bar is going to be packed with beautiful women, who are interested in me tonight.’ This is an affirmation-Concussion.”
I do this. We keep talking and drinking; the bar fills-up with women, several: checking-me-out. Richard: “It never gets like this on a Monday!”
The Furai: “I know. used-to come here when I was your age.”
I wonder why The Furai chose to lie to me; this bar’s only 5-years old; he’s at-least 10-years older than me. I blow it off. Within an hour: 35 women and 20 men; damn!
The Furai: “Told you.”
Richard: “Now what? Who do we hit on?”
The Furai: “I have your attention?”
The Furai: “Follow my lead tonight. You’re gonna draw a hot-couple to us. When they come over, let me do all the talking. Watch and learn. I’ll help get you some good-pussy tonight! You need to buy ALL the beer though. Deal?”
Richard: “What if you fail?
The Furai: “I never fail.”
I’m fascinated by this. He tells me to affirm to myself, “Two-beautiful women will approach me.” I do this obediently, faithfully, with effort, emotion and faith. Two-beautiful women come over to us. The Furai does all the talking; hits on them both; buys them drinks, (on my tab.) He flatters them; teases them; makes them laugh; invites them to my place. Before we leave: they excuse themselves, go to the restroom.
The Furai: “You’re in.”
Richard: “What do you mean I’m in? I haven’t said a word; they haven‘t even looked at me.”
The Furai: “Don’t worry, the deal’s closed. They think they are coming over your place, for a three-way with you. When they come out of the bathroom, repeat the following to yourself: ‘Sex flows to me with ease.’ Just let it happen. I’m tired; this is a gift from me to you.
When we get to your place, I‘ll crash on the couch; you can have a ménage a trois.”
I drive us home. It goes-down just like The Furai said it would; didn’t have to talk much. Soon as The Furai passes-out, the women are all-over-me, and all-over each-other.
Sex with a beautiful-woman’s a joy. Ayn Rand believes a great sexual-experience requires a heroic woman; a woman with a good-mind; bullshit! Great sex for a man requires a woman that’s physically appealing, and enjoys the ‘show’ you’re putting on; the actions you do to her. A woman in sex: a musical-instrument; better you play it; better sounds come out of it; better the sex.
The sound of a woman being fucked right: a beautiful sound; nothing like a beautiful-woman cumming, loud.
Fucked the smart-ones too. Rather fuck a ditzy-one, with a hot body, than a brainiac who requires analysis every-time: I put my finger in her ass; or pull her hair; or turn her around for a finish from behind. Sex is not about the woman! SEX is about: my passion; my power; the woman being overpowered by my energy. Rapture.
A woman who can’t concentrate, because you have her going, is like a man being beaten, like a speed-bag. Hit him in the face; dazed; head rolls backwards; neck catches; snaps it forward; as the face comes toward you; bang! Hit with the left; head rolls back; comes forward; bang! Hit it with the right. The man being hit is out of control! He cant stop his head from rolling; can’t see or move; bang! The next blow lands. He’s already dead! With every blow, he loses control of more motor-skills, and his brain. Whap! Roll, whap! Roll. This continues, until the puncher lets-up. By then, the victim’s either unconscious or dead; woe to the man who’s head is in rhythm!
Sex is the same way. When you get a woman going, every stroke causes her to lose control. She loses control of her body; her mind; her mouth. She’s yelling things like, “oh my God!” or “fuck me!” or “oh!” or simply: “uh!” Her body’s spasming; mouth quivering; legs shaking; she’s out of control, cumming loud; furious.
Keep: going; adjusting; hitting that right-spot; rubbing the right spots. Sex ends, when the man says it ends; when you explode, she can’t take anymore; she’s done, (she was done a few-minutes ago); you’re done. Getting a hot-woman to that point is very gratifying; no matter how dumb she is; no matter what her political-beliefs are; who the fuck cares Ms. Rand? The woman in sex: the object, the musical-instrument, the tool. Like the man being knocked senseless in rhythm, the woman has very-little to do with the act. Relax and enjoy the show.
Sometimes I look at: her face; her ass; her tits; the tendon between her leg and pubic area. Visual stimulation; tactile stimulation; auditory stimulation; and a woman outta-control because: you’re hitting it right; she’s unable to control herself.
These are the keys for a man to have great sex.
Because having a woman outta-control is such a key factor; sometimes alcohol or other drugs are a great aid. Sometimes a woman is too-uptight or frigid to enjoy sex, without a little drugging. I’ve had many a woman try to fuck me; it’s cute. They get on top; move around a bit, but in the end: They want the man to take control. That’s a man’s job. Men are built to drive; women built to-be driven.
They can start on top, but in the end they want to be finished, on the bottom. A multiple female-orgasm requires a man to hit it, beyond what she was expecting. Sexual power has little to do with a man’s size; everything to do with a man’s: will; lust; passion; energy; ingenuity; creativity; sensitivity, (if it isn’t working change: positions, angle, speed, depth,) strength; stamina; touch–Wizards make very good-lovers.
These two women are in his spell. They kiss each other; kiss me; I orchestrate the whole-thing. Monique is darker, small, with large-breasts, (C cup to D cup). Sharon is taller, red hair, light skin, fire crotch, c cup. Both: thin; muscular; hot–
Monique’s aggressive; Sharon passive. I lay Sharon down on her back; dive into her first–
The Furai: “Where are they?”
Richard: “In bed; nearly passed-out.”
The Furai: “How was it?”
I smile: “Thanks man!”
The Furai: “Kick ‘em out! You’ve got work tomorrow.”
Richard: “That’s cold man.”
The Furai: “Fuck-em! Trust me on this; it’s easier now when they’re tired. In the morning they’ll expect: breakfast, company, conversation. They may be bitchy. One or both may have a boyfriend. Better to send them away now–when they’re exhausted and can’t put-up a fight–than tomorrow when they’ll be: rested, sober, and possibly resentful. Get rid of ‘em.”
Richard: “I don’t know what to say.”
The Furai: “I’ll do it for you.” The Furai gets them up; dressed; calls a cab; gives ‘em cab fair from my wallet. They’re outta my apartment in ten minutes.
The Furai: “Now you can sleep; restore your energy. A woman in the morning, can drain all your chi for the next day. This way you’ll: restore your power; wake up refreshed; have a productive day.”
Keys to The Universe
Richard: “What the fuck happened last night?”
The Furai: “You ripped-open the universe, to create a short-term advantage for yourself. Used your lizard-brain to drive your neocortex; your neocortex generated energy to create a Concussion; the Concussion summoned two-women to your bed.”
Richard: “Can you teach me this power?”
The Furai: “You ready to become a master? Ready to attain wealth? Health? Power? Your enemies annihilated? All your dreams realized? Satisfaction, strength, self-confidence, self-esteem–Peace. Energy in abundance. Focus. Good looks. Admiration from your peers. Respect. Disciples. The ability to see the future–
No: fear, guilt, dread, stress, self-brutalization or self-mutilation–
Clarity of: thought; purpose; action–
Elimination of: disease, stress. The universe you desire, at your control, forged in your image.”
Richard: “Quite a-lot to promise. Can you deliver?”
The Furai: “So, you desire the keys to the universe?”
Richard: “I do.”
The Furai: “Prepared to use all your power to achieve your dreams?”
Richard: “I am.” Thus began my training–
From The Furai’s Journal December 3rd, 1994. Written in MS Word, (how primitive.) The Furai: “I am from the future. The future you and I created. We are going to change the universe you and I.”
Richard’s thoughts are easy to read: “I don’t believe you.”
The Furai: “I know this is hard to grasp; let me show you some proof. For my first trick–”
I close my mouth; begin communicating with Richard telepathically; I read his thoughts; he reads mine. For the rest of this post: Richard’s thoughts will be in italics. The Furai’s thoughts, (me) in bold.
You’re hearing my voice. It is just as real as me talking to you. I can control pace, tone, volume. I can also send you images.
Richard: “What the fuck are you doing to me?! I can’t see!” After a pause of about ten seconds– Richard: “I’m dreaming! This can’t be real! I’m losing my mind!”
The neighbors are gonna think you’re nuts, if you keep yelling. I’ll let you see again; first, communicate without moving your lips. I pause for a moment; Richard calms down.
Don’t worry, this requires no skill on your part. It’s much faster to communicate by thought than by words; there’s no chance you’ll misinterpret my meaning. Thoughts are precise. I pause another moment; then send him an image.
What do you see?
Richard: “A long bridge; white background. Everything’s bright, the way I always imagined heaven would look.”
No good; you’re still using your mouth!
Sorry, it’s a habit.
Good! You sent your first, purposely-transmitted thought.
What do you mean? Purposely transmitted?
I can read all your thoughts, with ease. You can’t hide them from me; don’t even try.
Bullshit? No it’s true!
I don’t need to lie! Shut the fuck-up and learn.
What choice do I have?
I’ll ignore that because we have to move on. Soon enough you’ll trust me, completely. Man’s the only creature, in the known universe, still using a primitive verbal-speech as his primary communication-medium. Man are so-much more-advanced, than the animals on the planet, yet, in this way, in this time, man are so backwards.
With the exception of dolphins, which communicate volumes of information with a few-clicks, and whales, who debate philosophy, and geopolitics, with bibles-worth of information, sung in a few-seconds–no other-creature uses sound, as a main-form of communication.
Even whales and dolphins are primarily telepathic.
Why do they use sound at all then?
Sex. Why do men create rap-music? They’re performing; posturing; being boastful of their territory; entertaining.
Can you communicate with dolphins?
I can communicate with any creature. That’s the cool thing about thoughts; a true-thought has no language-barrier. The only true-language-barrier is intelligence. You can’t teach: a slug about democracy; a halfwit-human about capitalism, economics, and monetary-policy. This is why democracy fails. This is why a republic is needed to protect individual-rights. In order to communicate with you yesterday: I had to communicate with a lizard.
What do you mean?
First off, we don’t work together. I don’t know any of your friends.
“That’s a lie, I don’t know any of Richard’s friends in this time.” I think to myself.
So, how was I gonna reach you? Approach you at work? Call you? Email you? Approach you in the parking lot? Man are so hardwired, in this time, to avoid communication with strangers. ‘Don’t talk to strangers,’ one of the first things you learn.
Why not just dominate me, like you are now?
You trust me, at least a-little bit–my goal from last night. Last night I: got you drunk; taught you a-little magick; got you laid. Stayed the night in your home; then you invited me to teach you what I know.
Before any of this could happen; I had to first suppress, then feed your lizard-brain. When was the last-time you had a strange-man spend the night, in your home? The first-day you met him?
Why did you last-night?
I was drunk. I was gonna have sex with two-women at-once, which I never did before. The prospect of that sex was worth the risk.
How often do you go out drinking by yourself at Parks Place?
Been over a year.
Why did you go last night?
Just felt like it I guess.
I planted that thought in your head.
Right after you thought about telling the Porsche douchebag, Mr. Conroe, to ‘go fuck himself’; after your smoke; on the way to your car; I tempted you with the idea of beer and tail.
I remember! I was fuckin exhausted! All I wanted to do was go home!
Your lizard-brain is your base-brain: instincts; sex; fear; fight; flight– your lower chakras. It’s the easiest brain to tempt. Being the good lizard, I guided you where I wanted you. You drugged yourself; played some pool; almost got in a fight. I stepped in; earned your trust; we started a conversation; now I am here. NOW YOU ARE HERE! 🙂
This is how you will conquer the enemy. This is how you will raise an army. There’s a-lot of money to be made, teaching men how to use their higher-mind. To gain access to their higher-mind; start with their lower-mind: Fear, food, sex, rage, hate, fight, flight–
This is the mind you dominate first. Once you control this mind; control the rest. Why do you follow elections? Why do you read the news?
To stay informed. To know what’s gonna happen in the future.
Spoken like a true lizard! You watch TV to appeal to your base. The men that control this world, this time, know how to control you. Every advertisement’s directed at your lizard-brain: food, sex, drugs, alcohol, fear–
I’ll teach you how to control your mind, your entire-mind. Increase its power; then, direct that power to one end: earning your freedom, then helping others to earn theirs.