Photo Essay – Tiergarten and the Brandenburg Gate


I purchased a book called Camera Game from Goldmund Unleashed ( late last year, ostensibly to learn how to game women through street photography and sleep with them.

Over time, however, my interest in photography became greater than the Game element associated with it. A true transition where the object is developing the photography and artistic skill set and the reward is the possibility of meeting and seducing a receptive woman.

Game IS a project for me – but so is music, singing, dance, photography and writing. These interests provide a healthy balance to counteract the dark forces of leads you have not responded to you, “blue balls”, flakey dates and LMR.

TL;DR: Photographic essay of a famous park in Berlin. The article is mostly Game-free. You can skip if you want – this is a philosophical musing about my life and is as long and meandering as a walk through the Tiergarten.


My brother moved to Berlin in 2015, ostensibly to live out a Five Year Plan of residency to balance out the Five Year Plan his then German girlfriend had done in Australia.

I was excited for him on this new journey – he had gone through a traumatic break up in 2008 where his then first wife – an Australian – had called home while at work (she was away working in Western Australia) and had unceremoniously dumped him over the phone! This move represented an expatriate life that I had lived before … something which I knew he longed for but had never had the opportunity. Meeting this German girl had set the ball rolling.


We visited in 2016 – my parents, son and I – a long, arduous trip travelling with two elderly, infirm characters through Singapore. It was a wonderful experience – I had recently separated from my son’s mother and needed respite on holidays. Our family was unified and it was sweet. It was on this trip that we went to Pisa – the one moment of my life that truly defined me when I got my Dad to feel something (A Love Letter to Miss Bumblebee). I have mentioned that story a number of times because it is defining for me.

In 2018 we returned – this time through Bangkok – and the elderly, infirm parents had worsened to the point that my Mum had had a stroke and my Dad was with a walking stick. My brother married this German girl and we had a wonderful wedding in the countryside, holed up at a hotel formerly known for its SS credential including an old hunting lodge.

The Tiergarten

This park – a large area formerly reserved for hunting – forms a large rectangular block in West Berlin. Large roads cut through it, leading to the grand piece of architecture known as the Brandenburg Gate.

This trip represented to me the book end of a time in my work – approximately eight years – where I literally finished my shift and got on a plane an hour later. I had planned nothing apart from the broad phrase known as a “Eurojaunt”.

There was nothing jaunty about me. I landed here and immediately slumped into a reflective state about my life:

1. I started training here for a Half-Marathon in September, a fitness goal which, in my opinion, could not even be carried out by the best Soviet planners.

2. Eurojaunt was really the illusory title of sex as the object of my trip … when I had no leads, no plans, and no drive to do so.

3. I brought my camera with me as a form of therapyJohn Ruskin puts it best.

“The greatest thing a human soul ever does in this world is to see something and tell what it saw in a plain way. Hundreds of people can talk for one who can think, but thousands can think for one who can see. To see clearly is poetry, prophecy and religion, all in one.” – John Ruskin

I entered the Tiergarten and took a photo of this embankment. To the right of me was a young German girl – headphones, eating a hamburger and very cute. She was my first cold approach of the trip.

I opened her a la Krauser with “I hope you speak English”. She was frosty, direct, forthright and asking “why?”

“Well, I was taking photos in both directions and you ended up in my lens. I wanted to come say hello – you look very cute with hamburger in hand”.

She was an ethnic German – probably Thai or Vietnamese. Once she realised what was going on, the frosty reception dissipated and I was left with a young woman discovering her feminine state. I wished her well and then left. She was rapt.

I strolled past this building, reflecting on my first trip to Europe in 2007 to complete the Camino De Santiago in northern Spain.

An old ex – not just any ex but a girl I had lost my virginity to and was with for nine years – was my walking partner. Let’s call her Jordana. We enjoyed a wonderful, BluePillian life together, travelling to many countries and living fully.

I WAS trapped sexually in my twentiesI don’t deny that yet the fruits of my life were just as flavoursome as any Game ‘woke’ status as now.

I glimmered some Red Pill when I lived and worked overseas in South East Asia towards the end of that relationship. I had tried to be good in the relationship – the Best Boyfriend status – and had watched the full series of the Wire as an antidote to going out to bars and picking up women.

Pick up women? I had no idea. My growth was stunted as a man – like Blue Pill Twin (Red Pill/Blue Pill Twins) – and I eventually enjoyed a few drinks with some colleagues in a bar with dancers. A huge spike of dopamine drove me back into my manhood.

I tossed and turned the idea of picking up a bar girl and paying for sex for weeks – until Jordana turned up and we eventually negotiated some kind of open relationship truce. She left for Australia and had given me on my birthday a certificate allowing me to do what I wanted before I returned home. Even in that situation she was leading.

I indulged significantly. Returning home, we ended our relationship as I had kept in touch with a dancer I had met there and it was just too much for Jordana.

Blue Pill remained.

My life tussle continued. I rented a small flat after Jordana and was very alone. I had never really been on my feet before as a man, had no mentors, and very little sexual experience. I had never built a life outside of a co-dependent relationship with a dominant woman.

Something sinister was felt during this time – many reflective moments during my time with Jordana where she actively sabotaged any element of identity I wanted to forge for myself. Whether it was my singing friendship with the Captain, study and personal goals, or dreams for myself – she believed her identity was more important than mine. I felt disgust for myself and her.

I met my son’s mother later that year – she was a shop attendant at a cafe and we had an immediate connection. Oddly, like with Bumblebee (Miss Bumblebee) , there was no conscious Game involved it just happened. I often wonder whether this is what it feels like for women when an experienced player seduces them – it just feels like it happened.

We had some loved up months – love meaning sex – and it was an exciting relationship for both of us for a time. Soon it grew boring – I tried to end it a couple of times due to her neediness, drama and suicide attempts. But the White Knight in me kept it going. I remember us celebrating two years together and it was like a funeral.

At that time she and I had formed the idea of having a baby. I felt sympathy for her, thinking that the baby would ease her psychological heartache of being abandoned by both her father and mother. It did not.

Some two years later, after our son was born, she told me that she had had a baby to see whether it would bring us closer together. It was a death knell and I felt used – I had tried to love romantically but I really did not want this woman in my life, before, during or after.

Again, I felt disgust for myself for having spent so long with someone I really did not want.

One of my favourite songs at the moment is by Gregory Porter called No Love Dying. The words resonate strongly with me as my brother had used one of the phrases in relation to his ex wife:

There will be no love that’s dying here

The bird that flew into my window

Simply lost his way

He broke his wings

I helped him heal

And then he flew away

Well the death of love is everywhere

But I won’t let it be

That there will be no love dying here with me

No Love Dying by Gregory Porter

In my family, each man stumbled through the forest of a Blue Pill fate:

1. My father got a girl pregnant who was 16. She was put in a home for adoption and he rescued her and married her. They had the child and then another … and his then wife cheated on him a number of times. He ended up taking care of both kids – for five years. The Family Court then split custody and my eldest brother eventually decided he would live with his mother.

He remarried, had two kids and then suffered a bout of stomach cancer. He survived and his new wife – my mother – was glad to see him through it. Shockingly, when he was diagnosed with an autoimmunity disorder in 2016, her reaction was the opposite – she wanted to end the marriage. Clearly he had reached his utility point.

2. My older brother married a girl after selling a car to buy a pink diamond ring. It was the world’s best wedding and worst marriage. She dumped him over the phone and told him she had slept with a female nurse. I suspect that she did something so outrageous like that so as to fully test him as to whether he would be supine enough to stay. He did not – and later she bumped into him post-divorce asking to get back together.

3. My eldest brother dated an older woman and was whisked away to a far flung city where she eventually got a kid out of him. They separated after some years. He then married another girl who was cheating on her husband at the time – with both my brother and two others. They had a child and she eventually cheated on my brother … and ended up in a psychiatric ward. He was left raising BOTH kids from two different relationships.

Curiously, I asked him about the girl he dated when he was young and whom we all liked. “Well, she was lovely and sweet … and also cheated on me”.

Our family was cursed with BluePillia.

I reflected on the last time I had walked through the Tiergarten. It was three years before and with my son in a pram. It was a wonderful bonding trip for the two of us – cathartic and sweet, like two boys on the road. I remember coming across a large group of nudists and was curious to return to find them on this walk.

One strange conversation I had with my brother was around nudists and tanning your balls. Bumblebee and I had been to a nudist beach in Sydney described as “family friendly”. While there I told her to look at my balls – and she gave a look of surprise when she saw the balls rolling back and forth on each other – what a reference experience for her! She and I then returned home and had the hottest sex I could remember – she literally described my cock as being hotter and harder than ever before!

The only aspect of Blue Pill I cherish is the reward – having a son. It was the gateway to parenthood even if it was done wrongly (Player Dad) Yes, it was done in the wrong way, with the wrong girl and in the wrong circumstances … but I still feel like I won the genetic lottery with him. He was a product of love.

He now lives with his mother and her new partner, both of whom welcomed a new son recently. It is a weird arrangement – I don’t think she is happy – and I am confident that the new partner will have never heard of the Red Pill. From the outside it appears like she is using him … but who am I to judge?

I like The Red Quest’s musings ( on children and the eventual longing it creates in you, especially if you have had one before. I like holding my son up to the light and jokingly moving him from left to right with the exclamation: “Asian, white, Asian, white” as the sun reflects him.

A dark Red Pill corollary was a moment I was in the donut shop buying some coffee beans and donuts for my son and his mother. The owner asked me how I knew them:

“Well he is my son – I think”.

The woman behind me in the queue chuckled. I turned to her and pointed my inner cheekily – “what’s so funny?”

“Just your comment”, her eyes twinkled as she said it.

“Well, at least some white guy is the father … it’s probably me!”.

“I hope so”. She kept eye contact for a tiny micro second more than needed.

We laughed and all I could think of was bending her over the counter and punishing her sexually for such an obvious Secret Society moment!

Dropping off my son and returning home along was a stoical moment for me. Being good was a lesson in failure. But what was the failure? Well, through a Blue Pill lens the failure is that your romantic efforts are not rewarded with female loyalty and genuine feelings for you.

My philosophical musings to now really are like the walk through the Tiergarten – trying to piece together what kind of life I want now that I am ‘woke’ to evolutionary biology.

It reminds me of a conference I attended many years ago based on a Christian scholar called Francis Schaeffer. He asked the question of Christians: “How Should We Then Live?”

I left Christianity a long time ago – indeed, I never really was. But it begs the question – when we feel like we have an ‘inside knowledge’, in this case the truths of evolutionary biology, how should we then live?

I thought about this deeply, particularly monitoring the Red Pill community and a feeling I get of increased conservatism in it. I cannot find succour there. I am my own man and will need to form my own conclusions.

St Augustine pretty much summed up my feelings on the Red Pill community:

“Lord, make me chaste – but not yet”.

– St Augustine from the Confessions

The German people – Dem Deutschen Volke – have at once shocked and surprised me by the intensity of their behaviour. If calibration is the buzzword for wannabe seducers, then these people have none.

I was washing my face in the bathroom and the guy next to me asked me if it was hot outside. It was like he had stored up that facetious comment for years and it came out in a hearty and uncalibrated way.

Miss Boulder (Adventure Sex – Miss Boulder) likewise propositioned sex to me in the most uncalibrated way … and I cannot tell whether she was being humorous or just practical.

Practical people? Or just years of untapped social energy that comes out like a sledgehammer?

A supreme irony on this trip was that the only Indicators of Interest I received during the day while on the street were from … foreigners. Everybody else was walking with purpose and intent.

At night, however, Germans defrosted. I remember a shameless moment on the Metro where a young girl was kissing and hugging her boyfriend while eyefucking me over his shoulder.

Thank God! The Red Pill had not passed by Germany … I had discovered the light.

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