Sometimes life really is stranger than fiction. I’ve been casting about of late trying to find some theoretical expression or model by which I can really bring out the distinctions between gammas and beta/deltas. They are not the same. Betas tend to be bumbling, clueless and follow rules so reflexively that it never occurs to them to want more than their measley lot in life. Gammas think they are special, by virtue of their higher intelligence and outsider status. They think the rules don’t apply to them and will happily break social conventions (sneakily), always looking to weasel a little “in” to the palace of pussy. So classic gamma tricks:
They are sneaky fuckers. Sneaky, twisted, dastardly fuckers. In contrast betas are fairly salt-of-the-earth stand up guys. Nonetheless gammas are so clueless of intra-sexual relations and so lacking in self-awareness that they don’t realise how creepy they are. Why do I know this?….. because I’ve long had many gamma traits that I’ve had to learn to root out and replace. Allow me to introduce Captain Gamma….. as to be expected he was unearthed residing in Asia. This guy really does exist and I got the low-down on him through three degrees of separation. No backstory…. just revel in his squalid loathesome Bottom-world existence. I’ll add a few comments as I go. I tried to restrain myself in the interests of good taste but the thing with Gammas is they effortlessly rile me…. they have such punchable faces. So indulge me in some uncharacteristic hating, please. Every single thing I quote below was formerly available in public domain on his blog. Names removed to protect the girl.
There are fewer than five days left before I leave, at which point this blog will be repurposed — put back to the original use, the use we always intended for it. The Broadcastaways project never had a chance to grow and develop, but it was one of the many plans we had over the years [we we we.... constant loan-sharking to make her feel a debt to him]. This story, now – about your sudden, unexplained, unexplainable, incomprehensible, unfathomable [gammas never miss a chance to show their intelligence and education, but never in an attractive manner] – withdrawal from me, and from the life we were crafting together, will end the eve of my departure. I regret – I do – that I am not yet well enough, repaired enough, to bring the narrative to an end any sooner than that [this is 100% twat-speak, horrendous choice of words]. How could I be? You were – you are – my everything; and not only am I still trying very hard to come to terms with the fact that you recklessly [=lover attraction] traded our rock-solid foundation [=provider chode] and deep understanding of each other for a boy – a boy – that you barely knew, and were smitten with because of some superficial similarities and raging physical attraction [i.e. genuine attraction, not negotiated tolerance]; I am trying very hard to make sense of how you could turn on a dime, how a woman who was so loved, so treasured, could whirl around like a dervish, and not care one bit, not one bit, about what your withdrawal and your sudden absence is doing to the man who was your best friend and unshakable ally [= "you owe me". This whole paragraph is a not-so-subtle guilt trip to blame her for all his feelings whereas the obvious reality is she got sick of him and traded up to a man who actually made her happy].
This is one of our many photos together, taken on the back lawn. As in the dozens of photos of us – to say nothing of the scores of beautiful portraits I have taken of you [pedestalising female-centrism] – we are a clear-eyed, clear-sighted couple, a team — a real team [which is the problem, a woman needs a leader]. Not a summer fling, not an explosion of sexual passion (although we were always that, and much more). We were a partnership — a field-tested, proven, come-hell-or-highwater partnership.
This photo is of the same spot on the lawn, taken yesterday. You will notice a bare strip — a track, which leads to the edge of the property on one side, and the small hill on the other. It was not there on the 26th of June, the night you said farewell in a short, one-sided, and all-too-civil exchange, where you sat on my sofa – the place we last made love – and in clipped answers and replied served me cold words that I was then left to weave into a narrative, explanation, and apology. [women grow very cold when attraction dies, especially as she never had any respect for this provider chump]
The bare strip is actually part of a track, which runs end-to-end in the back yard, and makes an oval. It is in the center of which I have taken some of your most beautiful photos. [Note his poetic attempts to weave a motif into the narrative, desperately trying to impress upon her what he no doubt considers his superior wit, elegance and rakeish charm]
The track exists because, beginning on Thursday 25 June, the day after you caused my world to crumble, I have done nothing but pace [that's an industrial-strength over-investment. Never make a girl your world. Of course he's playing the relationship equity game so he figures the more he sacrifices the more guilty she'll feel so he can manipulate her into intimacy]. Barefoot, for hours every day, and sometimes into the darkness, I pace, and pace, in an anticlockwise circle, trying to work out how you could do this, how you could not spare me one night of your company, and one morning more, to let my love for you guide my compassion and my reason to a place of understanding, a place of bitter but wise acceptance [he's full of blame and rage against her. Taking responsibility for their own actions is not a Gamma trait. They are too smart, too special. It's the whole world that is stupid.]. Circles, circles, circles, in the sun when there is sun, in the showers when there is rain; in the first light of dawn, and at the last light of a receding day. I have burned a track into the grass, walking, pacing, thinking, forever thinking. Trying to understand, or at least, trying to cope. Trying – the gods know, trying so hard – to trick myself into believing It is all for the best, trying to find enough goodness and wisdom to let go of the pain, the rage, the humiliation, the frustration, and the crippling sadness to inhale deeply, and say She is happy, therefore, you too must be happy.
I have created a circle, and in the center of it – where once you stood – is a frightful vacuity. Three years, and thrown-away for a man of five days, without explanation, or a chance to understand everything from your point of view. [Other dude probably had Game. Nice one fella]
My day of pacing will begin shortly. It is all I can do. It is all there is left for me to do [Really? Is there nothing in this sad castrati's life but walking. What about friends? Xbox? work? or god forbid.... approaching another girl?]. The thoughts most of the time, frankly, are mingled also, always, with sadness for you — sadness for you, my L. The candle that burns twice as bright burns half as long. I love you, and could never deny you the chance to have what your heart wants. [She doesn't need your sadness, chump. She left you for a better man. One who isn't a toxic rage-filled frame-controlling weirdo who traps her with guilt-tripping then wears down her soul over the years]
I have never been such a monster, and could never be. I refused two full-time jobs in Asia, because I wanted to make sure that you would finish your last semester with flying-colors [Femcentrism, overinvestment and now he's bitterly trying to make her feel guilty about it], and that as the stress began to accumulate for you I would be there, as I have always been. Always. And I always would be, will be — if you need me [The frame is all wrong. He's still available to her and projecting that. The correct frame is "good riddance/next!"].
And you know, too, because I have told you, that I had pushed all Asia-plans to the very end of August, so that I could give you the option – if you wanted it – of having the entire Autumn to make what you like of your final months in school. If other people, new relationships, new opportunities presented themselves, I was prepared to give you the space to enjoy them, experiment with them, and pursue them — for all they might be worth to you [This is a blatant lie, imho. He's an omnipresent orbiter who will be constantly stifling her]. And you know, too, because we have talk about it, that my overarching goal – the one reason I stayed here in the US – was to get you to graduation, after which I was prepared to swallow the big bitter pill that might have been your announcement that you wanted to strike-out and accept the world on your own, and on your own terms. Such is my love for you — which up to this point has been complete unselfish, and you-focused. [you-focused but utterly selfish. It was only by feigning sacrifice that the guilt-based rapport lasted so long]
But I pace with worry, too, because you have given heart, soul, body, and everything to a boy, too unseasoned to know what a treasure he has; a boy too untested by the exigencies of life to know how to support and encourage a woman [unlike Captain Clueless here who clearly knows so much about women], and – whatever his charms and virtues, and I do not doubt that they are many; a boy who – at his age – will surely at some point want to explore his options, and see if there is yet somewhere in the world a better version of you awaiting him. These are not the words of spite, or anger. These are facts [conveyed spitefully and angrily]. And for that reason I cannot but be sad for your aggregate loss, a loss that is growing and become larger every day we are apart, and every day you revel in your rapture with him. Saddest of all, is that you cannot even see that this is unquestionably and undeniably the case. [Very lame attempt to flip the script when he's obviously burning with loss while she is happily free]
I love you, L — for all the right reasons. I would have let you have your summer of passion and fun, and I would have girded myself for the possibility that your summer with the boy became an autumn and winter and spring with him. I would have smiled from the sidelines, knowing that he was better, and right, and that your preparedness for him – including your meeting in [redacted], which I encouraged you to attend at all costs – was made possible in some part by my support, my care, and above all my love for you. You never would have had to choose between the fresh, new, spirited, frenzied love of the young, and the sure, solid, proven, unselfish love of the man who created a life and world with you. The latter man – imperfect though he is – is wise enough to want your comprehensive happiness, even when he knows that your joys could require his sorrow; your sighs, his tears; your pleasure, his misery.
i love you L, whether you want me to or not — for sure, you no longer care [agreed]. And I fear for you, whether you recognize or not that my fears for you are well-founded. And as the days continue, and the track in the grass becomes deeper, flatter, more sun-scorched, the chance that we can give our history – our wonderful, beautiful accumulated history – a fitting burial, or, appropriate place on some shelf, withers to nothing. And that, in months to come, will surely be the saddest and most regrettable part of this tragedy. [His life is the tragedy]
I go, now, to pace, seeking peace where I cannot have answers, though you have taken from me even the hope of peace. [If she ever had the power to take that away from him, then he's too weak to deserve a decent girl]
I love you.
Initally I wasn’t going to post this but I heard through the grapevine that he is currently insinuating that he’s committed suicide and gone into hiding in Asia to provoke her into chasing after him. What a loathsome despicable man. He deserves the scorn heaped upon him.
This is the end of the line for men who take the Gamma path. Obsession and oneitis to the rare women they encounter and constant malignant frame controlling. What a poor poor girl to spend three years in his world. In the unlikely event either party is reading, here is my advice:
Which brings me back to the Krauser/Bhodi golden rule of how to fix a damaged relationship: Dump her and get a new girl