Monday, August 8, 2011

Getting Dirty

A man uses himself and a sense of timing.  The eternal verities for subverting her resistance.  It's our gospel.  And to study the gospel we need a church; our church is a hallowed, reverent hallway where sentient awakenings occur with regularity if one just knows where to look.  Monday night I attend services at a joint in Hollywood.  There are pairs to either side.  Blonde chick to my left has a low slung Red Sox cap over her slightly weathered face, blue sweats conceal the bathtub in back--well, sort of.  Friend past her is pure skank, keeps going out to smoke.  Starboard are a younger, better aped duet engaged with each other, oblivious to men.  But are they?

I chill for 20 minutes.  The Patriots are destroying the Dolphins late in the 4th.  I turn left, pause, "You a Boston fan?"  The question is asked only slightly ironically since: 1) it's obvious that she is but 2) New Englanders value sincerity.  Direct hit:  the dam bursts, she is indeed a Boston fan, all Beantown sports teams are discussed, then the boyfriend, then the dad dying, then her interest in hockey as a pup (long ago it would seem).  I nod, a good listener, leaving a thought at the altar for the dearly departed: her boyfriend.

It's a set up, of course, for the couple stage right.  They are drinking.  One has a cast.  But still they don't look around at all.  I'm waiting for a seam, eye contact, something.  Since, well, I am armed now, I  have integration, they've seen me chatting so now is the time.  But there is nothing.  Nothing, nothing until the casted one says "I have Vicodin for my foot."  She looks up (finally) towards me, I nod slightly.  Pause.  "I hurt my foot [raises the cast]."  "What kind of buzz is Vicodin?" I ask.  I inch forward, I show some interest.  That's it, that's all it took.  After a few more empty exchanges, her friend gets up and moves further down the bar so this chick can sit closer to me.  I have no interest in her, she's hot but whacked because she just broke up with her boyfriend; our drug conversation leads to a discussion of boyfriend's mood alterating reliance on some such pill that made him announce, suddenly, that he has no interest in her.  She moves closer to me, she's crying now.  It happens so fast.  In church, there are miracles every week.

There is religion and then there is science.  In science there is a concept called phenomenology.  Meaning, you act from a place of not knowing, of wanting to learn.  The opposite of phenomenology would be like, an agenda driven approach.  The Guerilla knows how to combine both.  He asks the question with an internal agenda.  But he states it in a way that seems sincere and genuine because it is.  Both questions tonight  were successfully fused (if I do say so myself).  I was a little curious about Vicodin.  But it was a ploy of course.  It always is.  It almost has to be.

For more insight on how a Guerilla approaches the game of attraction, visit


  1. you writing emits interesting internal thoughts. yes, LA certainly is a battle field for the single and lonely. unless you are single and loving it...then LA is a playground.