Challenge 1 Completed: It's All Good ("Would You Like Anything Besides That Coffee?")
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So. It turns out: "Getting kicked out" is NOTHING.
People will let you back. Especially, if you (intend to) say, "I'm sorry." Or. What'll happen is--like in my case-- the people who kicked you out simply won't be there to kick you out again.
Which means... you still get in.
Storytime: I park my car 3 feet from the "Please Keep 4 Feet From This Door" sign. My vision turns angelic white as it reflects my cars headlights. Turning off the ignition, I open my door and feel the soles of my brown leather shoes squish through slush and then press to hard, black pavement. The air and ground vibrates as my car door clunks shut behind me,
I do a "full-body" scan--running my subtle awareness over and through my body. A nervous white-blue golden energy tunnels through the upper right and left of my torso. A little of the excitement trickles beneath my neck muscles.
My right fingertips press flat to cold metal as I pull Fourth Coast's door open. Looking into the cafe, gravity pulls the seats of the chairs to the tables, all upside down. The stained oak hardwood floor flooding beneath the tables reflect dim 4:00 am lighting. Bearded guy, "John", wipes a reflective glass. He glances at me, stops wiping, then leers into the glass's soul as he resumes wiping it.
I have weird "brain language" that I always mutter. Like a chant, a "buff" as WoW-ers would call it, I ask myself, "What's the reference structure for overwhelmingly believing that I max respect and love myself as I add the maximum value?" After asking this, I ALWAYS visualize an idealized version of myself. And my body resoponds accordingly.
To explain, I observed the power of reference structures from Wyatt Woodsmall, Ph.D. This guy teaches in a recorded seminar called Advanced Learning & Teaching Technologies. He says that people are often told to "Go mop the floor." People are NOT told to: "Step to the custodial cabinet... feel the leather of your jeans as you fish into your pockets for your keys...
"...Pull the metal of the ring of keys out of your pocket... feel the janitorial key press between your thumb and index knuckle... while pressing your fingers together on either side of the key, push your hand forward to the relatively dark keyhole... hear it "zipper" in... press your thumb on bottom left of the key and your knuckle to the top right as you twist the key...
"...Grip and turn the knob clockwise as you pull toward you... press the bottom of your feet onto the floor of the open closet... see the staff with noodle-like strands of cloth on it and grab it... pull the bucket next to it out as you're still grabbing it... blah blah see the light reflect from the wet floor... blah blah squeeze mop dry... see the wet noodles hand down over the "top" part of the staff as you put the mop away... hear the door clank... done."
And... surprising... a lot of people NEED that (not saying that I do.)
The point is, though, that all of that just came from "What's the reference structure for mopping the floor?" I didn't HAVE TO READ A FUCKING BOOK just to get how to mop the floor. The details, the dirty dirty details, came to me automatically. Which means, it was in MY brain. The whole of that last paragraph... from one question. Do you understand how this can be applied to manifesting the correct behaviors within yourself?
Perhaps not. Because: Maybe you haven't learned that "Clear Visions Create Causes"... Maybe you haven't learned to "Create --> Articulate"... Maybe you haven't learned that "Emotional (non-logical) imagery inspires people with energy and direction" Which is OK.
If you haven't learned this yet, just know that behavior changes radically as a result of it.
So. Standing a foot away from the counter, he asks, "What will you be having today?" in a serious, neutral tone.
Does he recognize me? I'm not sure. "A large coffee, please?" I give puppy dog eyes, trying to be "non-threatening."
"Are you taking that upstairs? You can bring a chair down if you want." I look at the table next to the counter. Leaning over to pull a chair off the table, I remember the upstairs. The Crow's Nest.
After tearing open a couple packets of Sugar In The Raw and "non-dairy creamer" packets, I trot upstairs. 10 beautiful women scatter at various table. Three guys (each drunk) intermittently populate the tables.
A dial in my consciousness clicks to "Game", but I dial the "Intensity" dial to "0". Remember Shelby's finger wag, I decide not to socialize.
Feeling the pen scratch into the yellowish pages as I drink my sweetened coffee. A beautiful brunettel college girl full-on approaches me. Black leather pad in left hand, pen in right.
Breasts poke into my consciousness. Lips: juicy and smooth.
I want to make out with her.
"Will you be OK with that coffee or will you have something else?" My gut says, purchase something.
"I'm good with the coffee for now, thanks... Am I good sitting up here?"
"Yeah, you're fine. Go ahead." Her once focused eyes zone out slightly. She turns and traipses to the back.
"Thanks."
Thoughts: I need to become a PUA superstar. Yeah. Because, you know what? I want to pull every fucking woman, ever. Because, feeling my penis between their breasts... would feel great. So. What I want to do... I want to game the world.
Gaming the world will open up everything. My customers, will receive the value I give through Game. Friends... will smile at me more as I kino-escalate to a hug with them.
When I become President, Gorbachev style people will smile. Because. I'm going to use Game on other countries. In multiple languages. When I'm President, we're all going to be one happy (fucking) family.
It's going to happen.
After five minutes of scribing into my journal, I mentally check off today's challenge as completed.
If I want to pre-ordain another challenge, I can go again during the day. Because, I still feel somewhat of a fear with going while it's heavily populated.
So. By going during the day, I'll both totally conquer Fourth Coast... and know that tonight wasn't a fluke.
Until next time, brother. Toodles!
Your friend,
Aaron Bell