A Possible Solution

So ...if the files I want to work aren't working any more, what do I do?

I start thinking.  Now, when I'm think, it's not your garden variety "thinking".  It's much more than a meta-analysis of what happened.

I started at the beginning, which is always a good place to start.  What was contained in that first Jock file -- TrainTotalJock (TTJ) -- that got its hooks in me so deeply after one listening?  Well, after listening to the file for so many times -- it was the only file of its kind that I knew about for about a year -- so I could more or less break it down int it's component parts.

There was the "you love to look the part" suggestions.  Although I bought an occasional tee-shirt and jeans, that wasn't a major hook for me.  I had quit going to church and didn't have any great desire to be a fashion plate with such extremely limited areas to show it off.  Show up at eh local part-time gay bar in Armani?  I don't think that was the dress code ... and I was not going to spend my limited cash to get leather gear.  Besides, I don't drink ... which would have made me popular at college as a "designated drive" ... if I knew how to drive.  (My epilepsy prevented me from learning how to drive: I had to prove I had been seizure-free for one year before I apply for a Learner's Permit.)

The going out on the town to pick up total strangers for sex was anathema to my personality.  I want to know much more about my "conquests" than their bra size -- in my case, that would be need to be cock size; I'm gay and this file never said anything about changing sexual orientation.  (One file -- TTJ2, which EMG nicknamed "Train Fratboy" contained five minutes of suggestions of going out to party and being able to pick up any (female) because you are so damned hot and sexy.  This is definitely NOT MY STYLE.  I'm not into getting someone drunk, taking them back to someone's place, and raping a boozed-up unconscious female.  I'm not that kind of dude.

Somebody re-mastered TTJ2 for gay guys (and straight guys with morals) by removing that specific five minutes of suggestions.  They labeled the file with the obnoxious material removed TTJ2-NoStr8.  Everybody knew what that "-NoStr8" meant:  the undesirable material as gone.

Then there were the "play sports" and "watch sports" suggestions.  Well, I watched some sports, but I was never a rabid fan of any of them.  I never developed a desire to play any sport or lift weights, or even attend local sporing events, like the local hockey team or the high school wrestling teams.
So that was a bust.

Now we're getting down to some throwaway phrases that were inserted as filler.  EMG only mentioned "getting dumber" in one phrase of one sentence.  The sentence goers something like this:  If you want, your intelligence will decrease as your strength increases."  Fine, if that is the answer, then why do I want my intelligence to decrease?  What are the "being dumb" benefits that my subconscious sees that I have no clue exist?

(to be continued...)

"All I Want For Christmas Is You" MUSIC VIDEO - Steve Grand

Problems .. Now what?

Greetings.

A lot has happened since my last post.

Mom died.  I moved, downsizing from a four-bedroom house to a one-bedroom apartment.  (I like apartment living.  I don't have to worry how I'm going to fix something when it breaks, or shovel snow, or mow the grass, or rake leaves.)

I found that the Jock files I had used to such good effect earlier no longer had any effect on me.  After some experimentation, I concluded that I was not having problems with hypnosis in general -- I was still as susceptible and suggestible as ever to most hypnotic suggestions -- nor did I have a problem with any specific hypnotist.  My problem was solely with some of the suggestions in most jock files. I discovered that my subconscious had problems with some of the uber-masculine commands that are normally included in typical jock files, like: go out every night to drink, party, and fuck somebody, go home, crash, and repeat at least once a day.

No, it's not put quite that crudely as that in the files ... but it's implied.  Apparently my subconscious is somewhat of a prude.  Dad owned a bar/restaurant.  When I grew up, we ate supper together; what we did that day was part of our typical conversation.  I got to hear lots of stories from Dad about the dumb assholes who got drunk and belligerent and were escorted away in handcuffs by the police.  Other times, drunks got to spend their nights in the hospital because they couldn't handle their liquor and insisted on fighting some innocent party who could defend himself.  Some idiots tried to harm themselves ... or others.  Dda refused to have anything to do with them.  He was trying to run a decent place where women could come in and get something to eat or drink and not be harassed. He succeeded.  He had a reputation: you didn't bring drugs (or your troubles) into his bar.  If you couldn't behave, you weren't wanted.

Dad refused to serve some people.  They always wanted to fight ... or dealt drugs ... or tried to smash up the bar ....  There was always a good, reasonable, reason for Dad refusing to serve someone.  It wasn't arbitrary.  But apparently my subconscious was insisting that I be a reasonable, non-drinking, non-belligerent type of jock.  And since macho was always a part of these files, my subconscious decided to ignore all of the suggestions in that type of file.

So ... what the fuck am I gong to do?  My motivation is crap.  I want to want to workout.  (No, that is not a typo.)  I want to have the motivation to work out.  But I never learned how to workout.  I was forbidden to take Phys Ed.  I was "excused" from having to learn to work out due to having grand mal and petit mal epilepsy seizures.  Hell, I never even knew where the fucking gym was.

I never knew what I missed with Phys Ed.  It might have been torture for me; I was your ordinary super-intelligent 98-pound weakling glasses-wearing genius nerd (and yes, I did have a pocket protector) who had read the dictionary and a good set of encyclopedias at an early age because I was bored one summer.  I have a gift: an extremely retentive memory.  If I've ever read something, I can (at minimum) tell you the basic concepts.  I may be able to quote the actual pages of text if I was sufficiently interested ... or tell you the page number of what I quoted to you.  Genius?  Yes.  I have an IQ of at least 160.  (Mensa meetings are as boring as every other meeting I've ever been to.  The parties, when everyone unbent, were fun.)

I'm great at theory.  Putting theory into practice is the hard part.  I can tell you how to fix your sink ... but hand me a wrench and I'm all thumbs.  I'm Mr. Can't-Fix-It.  Plumbers and electricians and roofers love me.  Klutzes like me keep them in business.  I'm the total opposite of my Dad, who could fix anything with a pen, a paper clip, some shoe polish, and a roll of electrician's tape.  Dad could out-MacGuyver MacGuyver.

So what do I do?

Well ...

(to be continued)