Anon arrived home late that day, exhausted by a non-stop shift of non-existence. Normally he barely even noticed that he was not a living being anymore but, perhaps due to a strange planetary alignment, that day drained him so thoroughly he did not even eat supper before passing out on the divan. He dreamed he had a song stuck in his ear and he could not get rid of it; he tried listening to the end of the song, to drown it out with other kinds music, and shooting himself up his jaw, but nothing quite did the trick. He was grateful when he woke late the next day, for he did not remember the song at all.
He wakes up not because of a jarring alarm, but because gradually his hormones have brought him to a state of wakefulness. He writes down what he can recall of the dream world below the given date. He changes the pillowcase and makes the bed. He does something physical which further wakes him, whether it be running on a trail or sets of chin ups and planks. He uses this time to reflect on the dream, present goals, and his relationships with others. Sweaty, he now takes a shower and while feeling relaxed, practices gratitude for his various fortunes. He throws on a fashionable but unassuming outfit, which induced ideal warmth given the cool weather. He sits pretzel style on his bed, back straight and spends 60 seconds practicing mindfulness. Observing thoughts as they come and go, being aware without effort. Noting that the identity "I" is not the same as consciousness. The next 60 seconds are for recognizing what the biggest challenges of the day might entail and how best to react when they arise. Around two minutes for this mediation, not much more or less. His body has been trained, showered and clothed warmly, his mind both focused and relaxed. He puts on some headphones and listens to an audiobook or podcast as he prepares a vegan breakfast, one with a good deal of protein to assist workout recovery. Also, black coffee from beans that have recently been ground. He enjoys the meal while reading his current book, something in the realm of non-fiction that will further self improvement. He takes his last few sips of coffee, finishes the chapter and starts the day.
Kerans woke up to a salty warm breeze rocking his fancy boat. He walked up to the deck to check out some views while smoking an eccentric cigarette brand. The tropical fantasy world he lived in was a special sort of facken neat that day. He ate some eccentric processed lunch and spent the rest of the day checking out views nodding on an eccentric cyberpunky analogue of morphine.
After feeding the damn cats, he showered and dressed. He wore shorts and a yellow polo shirt, for it was going to be a warm day. Breakfast was a jalapeno bagel and a fresh, juicy orange. He sat in the garden in the sunlight and began to write.
English is not my first language and I'm no Nabokov, so bear with me for a while.
"He woke up with the sun. It was winter, sunlight was sparse and not to be missed due to lazyness. To his left, tightly hugging a small and round pillow, she still slept. She was snoring a little, her mouth slightly open. The sound of it made him smile for the first time that day, and he relished that. She got up some thirty minutes later, while he was showering. He had already watered their little home-made garden and eaten breakfast. She stood in front of the mirror and opened her mouth as widely as she could.
- Damn, man. It's full of chicken. I should've brushed before going to bed.
- Yeah, that's true.
She laid one hand on the kitchen sink and the other on her waist, a big smirk on her face. She was wearing nothing but a male T-shirt.
- And what the hell is that supposed to mean?
- That you stink.
- Oh fuck you so much.
The water washed down the last traces of soap from his hair and face, and now he could see that she was joining him. She didn't bother to take the shirt off. She hugged him from behind, her cheek hot and soft against his back. He thought it felt really nice. She said something that he couldn't quite hear due to the running of the water.
- I love you.
- Oh. Me too.
- I know.
He turned around, took her shirt off and threw it out. It hit a wall, made a wet sound and slid to the floor. He made love to her as he had a few hours prior. They've been together for a little over three months now. It would not be long until they both hated each other, and he knew that. It was also quite clear that she knew that too, but neither of them cared about it right now. In that moment, under that shower, they didn't really care about anything. Their house was named lightness and their hearts could smile free. What more could you ask, really?"
Anon awoke at 5am. She sat up, brushing long brown hair out of her eyes, and yawned deeply. Last night's ritual magic had gone long into the morning, but it was important to wake up early so that she had time to jump on the treadmill. After running for an hour, she changed into her proper attire, fashionable yet functional (with room for her revolver), and made breakfast: poached egg on toast with a side of cottage cheese. With no other obligations, she read for several hours. She didn't need an alarm clock to tell her it was time to leave. "Today is going to be busy, little one. You had better get a move on," said a voice in her head. It belonged to Kiyohime, her dragon familiar. She simply smiled and nodded. In a way, it was comfortable knowing she didn't truly live alone.
She climbed into her truck and turned on the radio to NPR. It was annoying liberal nonsense as usual, but it was nice to get a sense of the political landscape, and Ira Glass's soothing voice was just the thing for the morning commute. The lecture she had to give today had been well prepared, and the ritual magic should see to its positive reception. Arriving early, she shook hands with the organizer, a bespectacled grey-haired man in his early 40s. The two talked for a while, and then it was time for the presentation.
"I'm here today to speak about the philosophy of violence," Anon began, "we can find representations of violence in every medium going back as far as recorded history. In our current media saturated culture, it is impossible to escape images of death and bloodshed. As soon as a child is old enough to understand the meaning of pictures on the television, they are impressed with the visceral force of murders and assassinations, slasher killings and mass slaughter. The ubiquity and indeed uncontroversiality of these images is telling. So just what is it about violence that makes it so seductive? The vicarious aspect of the matter cannot be denied; we usually associate ourselves with the perpetrator of violence. Exceptions, such as horror movies and police procedurals, exist to indulge different aspects of the psyche, certainly, and we will get to that in a moment. But right now I want to focus on one concept: dark freedom. The existential capacity for human beings to make any choice, no matter how horrifying or outside the boundaries of morality..."
After the presentation, she went to teach her classes. The students were engaged and thoughtful. Later that night, she shitposted on 4chan to relax, with a glass of wine. She smiled. In truth she was mediocre at what she'd assigned herself in life, but she was living life fully, and with that she was content.
Anon goes up on stage and gives a speech thanking the academy for the award he received. He's not sure why he received the award, or what the academy is, but the award is prestigious and was rewarded for something only he could do. He finishes, to much applause, and returns to his seat where he drinks wine and eats the complimentary dinner with his beautiful wife.
Is that satire? Since the rest seems to be a believable life. Btw why are so many hosts of popular podcasts effeminate men? I want the content, but the lispy pathway through which it's delivered is too much for me. For example, Planet Money.
It's not satire, I'm just insane. And more effiminate voices are also more crisp and clear. This is known in the context of telemarketing and secretaries and such as well as in the context of radio. Plus I guess most masculine men are out doing more masculine things.
>>7537314 I've never heard that about the clarity. I wouldn't mind a woman who sounds feminine obviously, but it gets under my skin when a man does. I agree about the man thing, I sometimes listen to The Art of Manliness, but all too often I think to myself 'brett mckay look at yourself, you're vicariously living so hard. Take off that ridiculous mustache, get yourself into a drunken brawl, and stop worrying about your clothes so much'
>>7536498 He wakes up, finding the permeating black of night still ubiquitous. For a few awkward minutes, he stumbles around, using only the light of the stars until he finally finds his lamp; another awkward minute of fumbling around in the dark leads him to turn the lamp on. Trying to incite fatigue, he reads for a half-hour. He eventually gets up to go for a walk. Although it can be dangerous to stumble in the woods in the dead of night, nevertheless he persists; he comes armed just in case. He shall die that night amongst the beauty of the stars; the man was caught off guard by a large grizzly bear. In due time, family members shall locate his remote residence. They shall bring back his writings; they will end up becoming a small yet important part of the philosophical western canon.
>>7536498 The will stirred, and worlds sparked and popped into existence, twirling aimlessly in the void before time ground to a halt. The <hands> emerged from the still darkness, appendages, perturbations of space rearranging and maneuvering the planets about without the slightest disturbance of the lives and dramas birthed full formed onto their ancient, seconds-old surfaces. After a moment of deliberation, all but one of the worlds were set aside, and the will grew closer, more intimate with the world, unblinking <eyes> piercing the mist that shrouded the fruit laden jungle, <hands> tweaking the physical laws until gravity became a feeble force unable to prevent the erection of colossal stone structures, the ascendancy of airborne plant-life. The biosphere of the planet now extended for miles vertically, and fluffy winged things sprang into being, some downy and drifting white, others gleaming and opalescent.
He wakes up and kicks the last bitch out. What time has he awaken? The time fate has assigned for kicking the last bitch out. Its different every day.
He eats, he lifts, and then he eats some more. He showers and grooms. The day’s necessities attended to, he now steps into the fold of the Muse. Hesitantly at first, but soon he's slipped into Her presence as if it were a second skin. He revels in Her glory. With an expert's finesse, he channels Her greatness into monetary gain.
He rests. He reflects on his work, and finds satisfaction with the good he has done for the day. For himself and for the Muse alike.
Then he goes out and snags him some pussy. He brings home a new cutie: thick and young with butterscotch skin and long, silky hair in all the right places. They make wild, passionate love that only two near-strangers unrestrained by the shackles of familiarity can incarnate.
Exhausted, he drifts into repose with her nestled in his chest and the scent of their pheromone-cocktail clinging to his sheets. Another stroke of paint on the canvas. Soon he’ll need to clean those sheets. Probably tomorrow would be good. But not tonight. Tonight he has postponed his suffering for one more cycle, and all is as it should be. Tonight he is whole.
Billy Jazz wakes up in an unfamiliar bed, throws aside the blanket, the girl. "Need my coffee's all." and he does. He makes coffee in the kitchen, Maxwell House, and lights up a doobie while it percolates. Billy enjoys his coffee out front in the sun, and heads back into the bedroom with a mug in hand for the girl. "Here, I dirtied this mug." Zip! Out the front door the rat bastard. Catching a bus to work where he meets love of his life Pauline at the reception, a terminally cute Mexican(?)/Spanish(?)/South American(?)/Brazilian(?) dame. "Heya babe." Pauline is glad to see him. "Gotcha some'in." handing over a soap carving of Teddy Roosevelt he bought off a homeless guy. He works a day of his lax journalism job and cranks out another hit with the head editor. "Kid, I don't know how you do it." thru yellowed cigar clenching teeth. Editor in Chief Cooper J. Raddison pats Billy on his back with one huge palm in a patriarchal dad-you-never-had kind of way. Billy takes the bus homeward but makes a quick stop on the way for dinner. He goes to a Mexican restaurant to meet his old friend Mac Bingus from his seafaring days. "How you doing old Mac?" Mac with a glint in his eye, can't wait to say what he's abouttasay "Well --" anticipation "I ain't fall'd apart yet!" Mac throwing himself backwards off the chair in a laughing fit, and Billy too. They eat tacos and drink beer until both are on the verge of complete and total shutdown. Billy hops back the bus and rides it all the way home to the beach. Flopping on the bed he starts guzzling Pepto and trying to slap himself sober because he's going out later the night with some 'Bookish' type friends. An hour passes and Billy's all but worked out his troubles. Phone rings, yep I'll be there, out the window down to the beach where he finds his friends gathered just a ways off his own stretch of the sea huddled around a bonfire singing folk songs and telling stories. Pauline is there and she looks angelic in the firelight. He fucks her down in the seafoam once the others leave. Then Pauline leaves too, and Billy lay in the sand gazing up at the stars sparking up an LSD cigarette and heading into sleep with questions of the universe being tried against the systems of the stars.
He wakes to a soft bed and a rested mind. Getting his thoughts together he makes his way to the living room to do some morning yoga. After 30 minutes he then begins morning meditation. Relaxing in the earthship structure he built prior. Feeling the warm sun on his face thru the large open windows. The air quality is divine with all the plant life inside.
He proceeds out to the greenhouse and checks on his various plants. Making sure that everything is going well. He does the same with the permaculture outside and takes note of the work that needs to be done later in the day. After the basic maintenance of his food bearing plants, he takes a nice swim in his indoor pool to get some cardio knocked out. The next stop is the kitchen to prepare a vegetarian lunch made mostly of veggies he picked earlier.
After lunch he takes roughly an hour to read something of value. After this he goes back outside to begin whatever work needs to be done in the various greenhouses and in regard to the livestock. A few chickens and a dairy cow. After feeding/planting/taking care of what he needs done he goes back inside to relax for a nice break to enjoy some herbal tea. While he is there he begins to write a few pages for another book he is working on. He also checks up on his finances and makes a mental note of the rent money that needs collected next week and orders a new dryer that needs to be replaced.
After taking a shower, and with everything else completed he joins his wife for dinner. She has already prepared a beautiful meal and a bottle of fine red wine. After dinner he proceeds to make love to his wife. Afterwards he promptly falls asleep only to wake up and repeat it all over again.
**The fact that I can achieve this one day is the only reason I am still alive.
Anon arises, crusty-eyed and debauched, his mind somehow mangled, misshapen; the distance between himself and the external world seems to have grown, as if his consciousness has gone to the backrow of his skull and is squinting to perceive. He realizes he is on his sofa. Indeed his suit - tie loosened, brogues half-off - is as if glued to his skin. A doled-up Oriental woman, pert, petite, pretty - taking small, nimble steps in platform shoes, a two-inch long mini skirt hiking up her legs to reveal a well-formed bottom - tap tap taps into the room.
- Anon, honey, I make you some Gyeranppang and put in fridge. You get wild last night. [She laughs, curt].
- Ah man, the benefits of having a Japanese wife.
- How many times I tell you? I Korean!
- Yeh, well, Chinese, Japanese, Korean, I don't care, so long as you know Gangnam Style.
- If you no rich, famous writer you no get away with this.
- But baby, it's all ironic, you know that.
Anon discoveres a cigar stub in his breast pocket. He takes it out and lights it.
Today was the day. The days of throwing his life away were finally over. For a long time he tried to fight the shackles of addiction he brought onto himself. It started by him violently trying to change his behavior and thus break the chains that held him back for the past 3years. It didn't work, so he looked for a key to the cuffs sucking the life out of him, but any means he tried didn't give him the sought answers. After months of trying all sorts of so called self-help, be it gymnastics, religion, yoga, social interaction or whatever, he gave up. But the moment he went to sleep, he noticed that all he had to do the whole time was to let go and that the cuffs he imagined were so loose that he could just let them slip away at any given moment. The next morning Mark stopped all the things that were crushing him since so long, he didn't need any cigarettes in order to be calm, no ritalin to be focused, no Z-class drugs in order to sleep, no camwhores to pay high amounts of cash in order to feel some sort of fullfilment in his live and no internet to combat his constant need for information due to his adhd, caused by the early exposure to video games.
He was a free man, free of his own physical restraints and free of the pressure put on him by his surroundings. Beeing free came at a cost, he realized that no thing in life was wort living, because all the things that he enjoyed were long gone, his family and his friends had abonded him for a long time. Now that he finally was the person he strived to be for such a long time, it made him realize that it wasn't the person he desired to be.
> Wake up next to gf > Make sweet lovin if she has the time > Have green tea and read > Have hot breakfast with eggs > Go Kayaking/hiking/biking and look at nature > Shower > Lunch > Eat lots of vicodin > Listen to music and chill with friends > Pick gf up from work > Go to a concert/play/hockey game/museum/zoo > Go out to dinner at a new restaurant > Go out to a bar or club for dranks and dancing > Copulate vigorously > Sleep
I wake up in the morning. Three beautiful women come and suck my dick. I smirk. I go to the toilet and take a big shit, then I wipe my ass with hundred dollar bills. Satisfied, I go to the bathroom and wash my face with Dr Pepper, which flows from my taps like water ordinarily would. Then I step outside and enter my sold gold car, which is driven by Stephen Fry who tells me interesting facts while he drives me to work, where I the king of Hollywood. "Please, sir," said Mr Spielberg. "I'm trying to get this movie finished, but I need a little more money..." Then I turn to him and I say, "Mooooorrree?" And he scurries away like a rat and I laugh. I stride along the lot, accompanied by a posse of intimidating looking black men, down to my office, where half a dozen hookers await, and I do cocaine and have sex with them all day. Then I eat a big tub of ice cream with loads of chocolate syrup. Then I go into the toilet and have a tug. Once I'm finished, I go to lunch with Richard Dawkins and the ghost of Christopher Hitchens and we talk about our atheism. They congratulate me on the Nobel Prize which I recently won (unanimously selected), then, while at the restaurant, I go into the bathroom and have another tug. Then I come back to the tabel and Dawkins and Hitchens pretend they don't notice anything strange but actually I smell like cum, because a little bit of cum is still shooting out ("aftercum"). During the afternoon, I smoke weed with Snoop Dogg and work on his new album, which we will never finish because we just have so many ideas and can't capture them on tape. Then me and Snoop Dogg have sex with half a dozen virgins. Then he passes me a joint and I give him a look as if to say, "I really like spending time with you, Snoop Dogg." Then I tug on one of his dreadlocks to see if they're real. After that, I return home where I bathe in Dr Pepper and I just shit in the bath for my maid to clean up in the morning. Then I go to bed using the pussy of a black virgin as my pillow.
>>7539877 Joe Rogan's my favorite podcast. I just subscribed to that other one and downloaded the most recent , although I'm not familiar with either of those people. Would you recommend any older episodes?
>>7536498 Anon wakes to his alarm ringing across the room. When it's silenced, he puts his bed away by folding his blanket and setting it in the corner of the hard-wood floor, next to another blanket of a different color. After meditating through means of his mourning ritual, he heads to work on a blue vintage bike he found at the local flea market. Anon notices his wife a block ahead of him; they don't talk before work, which some would find alienating, but which they regard as a strange form of intimacy. When the bikes are locked at the physics hall, the two greet each other good morning, and head to start their first classes. He teaches advanced astro, while she's lecturing on quantum thermodynamics. They eat lunch together, and part until night. Anon teaches a second class before moving on to lab work, where he greets his coworkers and friends. Until the end of the day the team examines data from a simulation they previously created. After work, at home alone, Anon eats a dinner /fit/ for a king, while browsing 4chan like a fucking faggot. Belly full, Anon puts on the shorts and walks the few blocks to the gym, where he pounds out his 4th set of squats this weeks. Inbetween sets, he reflects how complicated the routine's gotten since he started in college. Back then, the gains came easy; adding 5 or 10 pounds to his squat every week. Over 15 years later, however, weight doesn't come as easy. It might be 600 one month, 602.5 the next, but he'll take what he can get. Hours later, after getting home and showering, Anon chows down on another meal and reflects on how easy it would be to get his protein from a goddamn egg, or a big juicy steak; but then, he didn't get to where he was by doing the easy thing. He picks out his current book and continues his meal reading, remaining in his seat long after the rice and beans are gone. When his wife returns from her dinner (she prefers the burrito place, and they prefer to eat and read alone anyway) they practice their instruments together for a time, until they retire to the bedroom where they discuss the ideas they've seen that day. They fuck like absolute animals, and go to sleep on their blankets, ready to start the next day.
>>7540150 Pretty much every sentence made me and my brother laugh out loud. 9/10. I would have given you 10/10 if it were a little more realistic. I don't think anyone could sustain that level of sexual activity or have the audacity to tug on snoop dogs dreadlocks
A gentle knock at the door wakes me up. My little girl and her younger brother peak into my bedroom excitedly, but timorously. I smile and welcome them in, while at the same time, I notice my husband is gone… The smell of breakfast that flows into my room afterwards tells me where he is. My beautiful two children jump into the bed and crawl toward me. I thank the Lord I’m wearing undergarments -- normally I sleep naked. They nestle into my arms and I hold them tight. As my children speak to me, and I speak back unconsciously. It was a pensive moment, something I believe all women should experience in their lives. Brushing away my sons hair, my youngest child, I gently press my lips on his forehead. I do the same for my daughter. It's amazing how loving children can be. They are like angels in this moment.
>tfw 26 with no literary bf >most guys don't even read anything >the ones that do are reddit-teir dorks 99% of the time
>>7541077 Plenty of masculine guys read. I bet you're honestly not all that attractive, so only have the option of either a reddit-browsing, the martian-reading dork or an athletic lower class tradesman who is illiterate
I begin with my morning ritual. I call it "the terminator". First I crouch down in the shower in the classic "naked terminator traveling through time" pose. With my eyes closed I crouch there for a minute, visualizing either Arnold or the guy from the second movie (not the chick in the third one because that one sucked) and I start to hum the terminator theme. Then I slowly rise to a standing position and open my eyes. It helps me to proceed through my day as an emotionless, cyborg badass. The only problem is if the shower curtain sticks to my terminator leg. It ruins the fantasy.
>anon wakes up, refreshed after getting 10 hours of deep sleep following a productive day >he hits the gym early, and continues his streak of adding weight with overwhelming success >he showers, shaves, puts on some comfy clothes, and gets his hair to look just right >he gets in his car, which he fixed up himself, and drives back to his condo >he moves some money around in the stock market, talks to his banker over the phone, and checks his accounts >at noon, feeling a bit tired, he cooks up a nutritious and filling meal, then naps for an hour >waking up, a little groggy, he sits out on his deck overlooking Manhattan, letting the spring sun bring him back to life >feeling good, he pours a glass of brandy, walks over to his study, and packs a pipe of imported tobacco >he picks out a leatherbound volume that he has been reading for the past week, thumbs to his page, and picks up reading, puffing on delicious smoke intermittently >before he realizes it, it's dark outside >he puts the book away, vowing to return later that night >he gets his car, and heads to his favorite city club, where he meets with a couple of his friends and grabs a drink >he then texts his favorite hooker, transfers a couple thousand dollars into her paypal, and drives to pick her up at her local condo, which rivals anon's own >he takes her back, fucks her well, talks a bit, and then sends her on her way >anon walks back to his study, picks up the volume, and continues reading >at around 1 AM, he gets tired, and wanders back to his king-sized bed, where he falls into a peaceful sleep
Breaking news: Famous author Anon Anonymous was seen earlier today throwing copies of Mein Kampf at Jewish holocaust survivors. Witnesses say they heard him yelling "I'm going Mel Gibson in this bitch!" Over and over again while committing the act.
X woke up rejuvenated at 11 after a hearty seven hours sleep, staggered out of his room, put on an Arthur Russell record and brewed coffee, which he drank while smoking a camel turkish gold.
He re-read his favourite novel, J.R., for a while, before shit-posting on an image-board. Satisfied, and with his beau home from school, he invited her around for a 'study session' which involved detailed exploration of anilingus, spanking and an assortment of other conjugal activity. She stayed for dinner -- he cooked steak which they ate with red wine. They engaged in coitus again after she tried on increasingly tight pairs of underwear. Finally a film, a joint and afterwards they read side-by-side before discussing the novels in detail before turning off the lights.
>>7540642 Maddox is an internet satirist. He goes way back to 1997 I think. He runs his website maddox.xmission.com. He's also written books The Alphabet of Manliness, and I Am Better Than Your Kids, which are both satirical comedy.
Dick Masterson is author of his website menarebetterthanwomen.com, and the book Men Are Better Than Women. You're probably thinking he's a huge jerk now, but I'm pretty sure Dick Masterson is actually well developed character and alter ego.
Anyway, the dynamic Maddox and Dick have in their podcast is cool.
In their podcast, they claim to be building a comprehensive list of every problem in the universe, so they can find out what is the biggest.
>>7541325 A gentle knock at the door wakes HER up. Her daughter, the eldest, and her son peak into my bedroom excitedly, but timorously. She smile and welcome them in, while at the same time, noticing her husband is gone. He must left earlier, after lulling her back to sleep. The smell of bacon and pancakes flowed into the room now that the door was open, which informed her of his location. She turned her attention back to her young son and daughter, just now jumping onto the bed and crawling toward their mother. Thankfully, this morning, she was wearing undergarments as she normally sleeps naked. And she did sleep naked throughout the night, but after doing what loving couples occasionally do, she dressed in some comfortable undergarments to go to the bathroom. They nestled into her arms, one on each side, holding each other tightly. As the children spoke to her, she replied pensively, but lovingly. The majority of her attention was spent appreciating, what she thought might be, the best morning of her life. Smiling, she brushed away her sons blonde hair from his forehead and gently pressed her lips to it. The daughter, being mischievous in the most loving way possible, kissed her mother on the forehead and smiled as if to say "why didn't you give me a kiss, mother?". She made her mother laugh with this gesture and kissed her back. It's amazing how joyous children can be. They are like angels in this moment.
I'm no writer, but I like writing in 3rd person better anyway.
>>7536498 He woke up with her sucking it. "Good morning, baby?". He didn't remember her name. He decided to call her Rose in his mind. After he quickly dispached her in a cab to whatever the hell she lived, he procceeded to his daily routine. Bathing, meditating, exercising then preparing himself a meal. He didn't have quite everything he wanted to have, but that was on purpous. One must always keep a sense of lacking in order to maintain seeking. His father, a simpler man would have said, "Hunger is always the best seasoning.". He had nothing to complain about, though, as he would procceed his day by getting himself ready to work. He got down the stairs of his house then got to his bike, a 1000 cc yellow ducati. There was a gentle breeze that flew through the pines that morning, and childhood memories came as vivid as a film in his mind.
Look for the guy in his early 30's who is now finding success in life. Most of us where you are in age have yet to accomplish anything of value.
Now come back to me 10 years from now and I'd be ready to have a family and move forward with all that shit. However, until I get my life in order, my finances in check, and establish myself, the best you can expect from a guy like me is a good fucking and maybe some nice food every now and then.
Also, it fucking amazes me that women are happy with the life you just described. It has nothing to do with anything other than children. I wouldn't mind having kids, but they have almost nothing to do with my ideal life. Optional at best. But then again, so is a woman. I'm quite happy by myself without a care in the world.
>>7536498 He woke up smiling as a result of the dream which he remembers just enough to recall the melody that was introduced to him by the nymph of the Mediterranean. Having slept no less than necessary, he sprang up and jotted down the melody before replicating it on the accordion to produce a waltz that cast his soul into prostration in gratitude for the merciful God that bestowed such a magnanimous gift. He left the instrument and let his body to assume the position of his soul in prayer before preparing a mug of strong tea. The house was unoccupied and the stillness allowed for inspiration to flow without the quantity of excessive caffeine he had grown accustomed to and as he sipped, he sat atop his throne of creation and began to expand the life of his idea. When his mind was exhausted, he prayed once more and returned to his instrument for the pleasurable respite that only it was able to provide. He prepared a mug of coffee and let resound through the empty house the violin concerto of Beethoven, performed by Perlman, and played a match in Dota 2 as the subtle quantity of caffeine seeped its influence into his mind. Having carried his team to victory, he expands his creation for a while longer before he turns to reading the piano sonatas of Mozart in his effort to improve his skill so that one day he may play the Heroic Polonaise of Chopin. Thus his day comes to a close but before sleep, he writes in his journal to glorify God for the contentment bestowed upon him and then prays to bring a smile to his face similar to that with which he awoke.
I am presently as I have once striven to be, but the NEET life cannot be maintained for much longer.
You appear to place entirely too much emphasis on a life of leisure and excess. WIthout any actual value being produced. Moving money around is fine. And a great way to make cash if you have the funds. But in order for you to have a life worth living, of which you arent sleeping 11 hours a day because you're so bored, you need to produce something of worth.
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