I interrupt this blog for a moment for some breaking news: Pickup Artists have started writing poetry.
And it’s glorious. By which I mean, of course, that it’s gloriously awful.
Yesterday, while poking around the internet in my usual manner, I ran across an amazing little discussion on MPUAForum.com, an online hangout for PUAs who have for some reason added an M to their usual acronym.
A PUA going by the name bob2 announced to his Comrades in Sarging that he was planning on starting a “a pickup poetry blog.” That is, a blog providing PUA wisdom to the Average Frustrated Chumps of the world in the form of little poems. As he explained:
In pickup, especially in natural game you need to really GET a few key ideas. Therefore poetry is the tool of choice. Whereas a post or an ebook “gestures” at ideas, poetry is tough and precise, it really gets the point across.
There was just one teeeeensy little roadblock with this plan: It would involve actually writing poems, and, as bob2 admitted plainly, he’s “no writer.”
Unwilling to let the fact that he can’t write get in the way of writing a blog, our hero asked the assembled masses for submissions.
And they delivered. They delivered some of the worst poems ever written by sentient beings.
“I love rhyming words to express feelings,” a fellow calling himself Pickup Truck announced happily. He celebrated this love of rhyme with a poem in which, er, nothing actually rhymed. These two stanzas will give you some idea of his intriguing sense of rhyme. And also what an insufferable ass he is.
I’ve been here a thousand times before and learnt it,
Her beauty is present, but her personality is transparent,
She may be hot but what if she’s also a bitch and unpleasant?
The challenge excites me, the prospect excites her,She knows tonight’s going to be different,
Her daily routine will not be the same, I stroll over,
Her heart races, she turns to jelly when I smile,
Place my hand on her shoulder and ask “hey, whats your name?”
In the first, Mr, Truck at least made vague gestures towards the notion of rhyme; the second abandoned rhyme altogether.
Also, “hey what’s your name?” What the hell kind of opener is that? Shouldn’t he be negging her a little bit, dropping in a “nice nails, are they real?” or “one of your boobs is definitely bigger than the other one” or “are you a model, like, a 1/32 scale model of a Krupp Sd.Kfz.121 Panzer II F tank?”
Actually, I’m not completely sure I understand negs myself.
A commenter called Ezo came a little bit closer to the goal of writing a poem that rhymes. But he seemed unaware that words that are spelled similarly do not always sound alike.
When you start getting the point of the Game.
Your life will not ever give you the same.
Tired of pondering words that she said.
When she just told you that youre not getting laid.
So close!
Dziah, perhaps noticing the troubles his comrades were having with rhyme and meter, went with free verse. Very free verse. Verse so free that it probably should have been repressed a little by the authorities.
I gazed at a rose,
Cast away into the eye.
Motional leaves move while still.This inhibited instant,
Reality impedes.
Trance just dismissed.The elegant red of the pedal‘s tips,
The saccharine essence.
Thorns now pierce my flesh.
Uh, pretty sure you meant “petals,” dude. Flowers have petals. Bikes have pedals. Petaluma is a city in California.
Those roses that dispute the most anguish,
Contain the most eccentric adventures.
These strange saga’s father the Magnificent.
If any of you can discern any possible meanings hiding in this word salad, let me know. I’m stumped.
Bob2 offered a couple of sample poems of his own. One even managed to work in the words “becometh” and “womanhood” — in the same line!
she becometh her womanhood
feels your calm
the easygoing King,
unapologetic, calm
Err, dude, it’s sort of cheating to rhyme “calm” with “calm,” given that they’re THE SAME WORD.
But the conclusion of his poem was so truly beautiful it brought a wettening to my pants.
she wettens, she laughs
her pupils dilate
she can hardly believe it
she’s getting ready to mate.for you are Zeus,
manhood incarnate
and she a common beauty
yours with which to masturbate.
Wait, what?
Look, fellas, I realize that most of your trips to the club end with you back at home alone, masturbating forlornly into the bathroom sink with the memory of some women you tried to hit on floating around in your head. But you’re not supposed to admit this out loud. It kind of ruins the PUA mystique.
EDIT: Removed a link to a video; I hadn’t realized that it had some awful stuff in it.
@dphk “what rhymes with “fedora”?”
amphora, aura, flora, agora, Dora the explorer
Their poetry is as deep as Mt. Everest. And I’d expect people so obsessed with getting laid to have better sense of rhythm. Sex is a rhythmical activity after all.
About free verse poetry: There’s a huge (and noticeable) difference between people who know how to use rhythm and rhyme and break the rules for artistic reasons and people who write free verse because they couldn’t rhyme if their life depended on it.
Hahaha this was the perfect cure for a Thursday morning at work!
This feminist is in a bit of strife with mrmagnificent. We had the teev showing something he wanted to pay attention to – in the same room as I’m reading this.
Unfortunately, my repeated snorfles, spluttering, giggles, chuckles and occasional shout of laughter interrupted this Very Important Task.
Youse guise are fan.tas.tic.
David probably put this dogawful post up just to bring out the best you can do. He’d be needing a laugh after going through all the stuff he had to read to get the bits in the post.
Lawrd, please send these idjits a thesaurus and a dictionary.
You folks are great. I lost it at the raven and have been giggling all the way to the bottom 🙂
These examples of, er, poetry, and the other examples of shoddy misogyny-inspired craft, lead me to wonder: could it be that being an active bigot holds people back from good writing/art? Obviously even great artists and thinkers throughout history had their own prejudices, but overall artists tend to be progressive in comparison to their times.
Doing a search on the issue, I found an interesting blog post about why this might be. In the realm of storytelling, which is the subject the blog devotes itself to, stories are about conflict, and conflict gets better the more effectively the writer can portray all sides as human. Therefore, given the same level of craft, the person who has a broader conception of who is human–including women, blacks, gays etc.–will write the better story. So if a story is fundamentally devoted to denying the humanity of a group, as we’ve seen with the stories by Paul Elam, Roosh V. and so on, it’s likely to be absolute crap.
Even more fundamentally, though, and across all areas of arts and crafts, I think it comes down to clarity of thinking. George Orwell said it best in his essay Politics and the English Language: “In our time, political speech and writing are largely the defense of the indefensible. . . . Thus political language has to consist largely of euphemism, question-begging and sheer cloudy vagueness.”
Think of all the times the commentariat here puzzled over the vagueness of MRM writing, wondering what the hell it is they’re going on about. (I’ve done the same myself dissecting an AVFM post about Malala Yousafzai.) That fuzzy thinking is a symptom of a mind running from itself, forced to hide behind a cloud of rhetoric from the reality of what the speaker is advocating.
Now extend that vagueness into everyday life and work. You have a person hiding from reality with poorly-defined resentments and brutal hatreds, running from their problems by projecting and blaming them onto the hated Other. (Can’t get laid? It’s those damned feeeemales! Can’t get a job? Ooh, those Mexicans!) How likely is this person to create good art or even to have decent craft? Craft, whether in writing a blog post or putting together a decent poster, depends on clear thinking and engagement with reality. Art depends on a certain level of craft and demands even deeper powers of perception–an understanding of the human condition, a knowledge of what makes humans work.
These craftsmanlike or artistic qualities are unlikely to flourish in someone who turns to bigotry in order to avoid dealing with real life and real people. That is why people who build their identities around bigotry are unlikely to create good art, and why many can’t even turn out decent craft. Hating, it turns out, doesn’t leave room for real artistry.
These boys should definitely stick to the STEM fields, creative expression is not for them.
I have the penis, this means I am king
I am the Google, and women are Bing
My poems all rock so totaly,
thanks to my rationality
With me no woman wants to be,
because the muse is kissing me
I don’t think I have enough internets to award to every poet who made snort my beverage just now. Y’all are brilliant.
@PussyPowerTantrum: I’d say that it’s also true that the inability to stop being preachy for one. friggin’. second. would also significantly hinder one’s creative ability.
For my humble submission:
Little Miss Muffet
Sat on her tuffet
Eating her curds and whey
Along came a spider
Who sat down beside her
And strangely, was a PUA.
He negged at her dress
Said her hair was a mess
And mused about what she may weigh
With a roll of her eyes
She just sighed, “Ugh, some guys”
Escorting herself well away.
The spider, perplexed
And most personally vexed
Turned again to Roosh on RoK.
This Web’s magic can
Make his ego expand:
“This technique MUST work, surely, some day.”
D: That last couple of stanzas, though.
No woman, ever, has been “ready to mate”. That’s a term we reserve for nature documentaries, calculated to be as un-sexy as possible for the BBC.
Also, finally a PUA readily admits that he sees women as masturbatory aids and not sexual partners.
Violets are blue,
Roses are red,
I don’t think you’re human
And I’m crap in bed.
sn0rkmaiden:
As one of those STEM Morlocks myself, I’d like to point out that to stem successfully demands analytical thinking and a commitment to accepting reality. These are not traits much in evidence from these guys.
Re: rhymes for fedora
“remora” also comes to mind.
I feel a lot better about my own past attempts at poetry now…
A strange man walks up to you at a bar and puts his hand on your shoulder and smarmily asks you your name. Do you:
A. Cream your jeans
2. Gain the superpower to turn to liquid and run off the stool and out of the bar like a river of “NOPE”.
3. Remove his hand from your shoulder with tongs and disinfect your shoulder.
4. Rush home with him for a hot night of mating. Sweet, sweet, passionate…mating.
5. Tell him his shoe is untied and while he’s bent over, leap frog over him to freedom.
Hi there! Yet another new commenter recruited by Katie (Woody tried to talk me out of it, but I told him to shut up). I’d like to offer a link to one of my favorite poems, presented in both the original Spanish and with an excellent English translation. It was written centuries ago but it still sounds awfully modern, and accurately describes the kind of men that now populate the MRM.
Without further ado, You Men by Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz: http://allpoetry.com/You-Men
Choice exerpts from the translation:
Whether you’re favored or disdained,
nothing can leave you satisfied.
You whimper if you’re turned away,
you sneer if you’ve been gratified.
With you, no woman can hope to score;
whichever way, she’s bound to lose;
spurning you, she’s ungrateful—
succumbing, you call her lewd.
What happy mean could there be
for the woman who catches your eye,
if, unresponsive, she offends,
yet whose complaisance you decry?
@Lea Number 5. And then when I get home I’ll still disinfect my shoulder.
@Mewens:
Perhaps the manosphere is claiming poetry now?
“Look, I’ve discovered poetry, now it is manly, and for men!”
‘She wettens’. I’m dying.
This thread is full of genius. Hilarious! This one is hug your tummy and cackle funny.
I want to dip this thread in twenty-four karat gold and put it proudly on my mantelpiece (of course, I’ll need to get a fireplace and a mantel first). You are all magnificent.
And I agree with sonnysombrera, “Let It Bro” is an achievement that deserves another moment in the sun. I shall link it for easy access.
I love everything about this thread. I’d contribute, but I’m hung over and still nursing my coffee. Well, what’s left of it and hasn’t ended up all over my monitor and keyboard 😉
Okay, okay. My apologies to Mr. Frost.
“The Game Not Taken”
Two broads conversed in a yellowed bar,
And sorry I could not pick up both
And be one Alpha, long I stare
And drooled at one with lock and fire
To where her cleave caused a sudden growth;
Then, look, the other, though not as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because she was easy, and wanted wear;
Though as for that my negging there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that evening equally say
“Are you drunk? No way and don’t come back!”
Oh, I kept the thirst for another day!
Yet knowing how chicks love to play,
I adjust my game and refuse to slack.
Yeah, I hate it when roses dispute my anguish. With their eccentric adventures. And stuff.
This thread is amazing, btw. I’m kind of having a crappy day, and I really needed this.
@ Spindrift
Fedora the Explorer
http://fc04.deviantart.net/fs45/i/2009/056/6/f/Fedora_the_Explorer_by_CrowMaiden.jpg
lacerta viridis
Hope you are feeling better