You’re All Cunts

To my ex wife
To my ex girlfriends
To my current girl

You’re all cunts.

To the 2nd AC who spent the afternoon watching the World Cup
To the 1st AC who let him do it
To the perks of rank

You’re all cunts.

To my landlord
To the government
To cops and nurses and barsluts

You’re all cunts.

To my sisters
To my parents
To Ariel
To myself

You’re. All. Cunts.

Most people are cunts. They’re heinous and horrific people unable to process that they are animals in a illusion of civilized society. They will betray their friends, fuck their kids and kill strangers based on nothing more than sexual access or monetary gain. Their ideas are blips of consciousnesses pinned to the infinity of natural chaos. Human rights, computers, God; all just whispers of words lost to the cacophony of screaming mating calls of every beast. We all are victims of our vicious human nature. We have all been fucked over or destroyed by the electrical spark of our synapses telling our loved ones to run off, drive drunk, fuck your neighbor, take a 9mm to the head.

Its all simple, and it ruins us all.

To the bloggers who see us as customers
To the forum posters who live off their keyboard
To the liars of their conquests

You’re all cunts.

I can write as much as I want. I can say whatever I want. I can tell you I quit smoking, quit drinking, banged a 10 in front of the Vatican. You may believe it or not. It won’t matter, because I know it didn’t happen. I can say my anxiety is cured. That I didn’t have an attack at work this Monday that crippled me. That I quit my job and decided to walk the earth searching for the perfect moment of serenity. I can say whatever I want, but I will always know that it wasn’t true.

I am a mess of mental scar tissue born of generations of breeding that should have never been. Somehow, the blood pumping through my heart survived and passed on the great power to collapse in a heap of fear at any given moment. My vices are my crutches, my go tos when I feel the pressure of reality crush down on me, no matter how lame or typical it may seem. My drinking and my smoking cannot be solved by simple means. I rush to them for comfort. I use them to get what sex I can. I reach out through my mental illness and hope to find someone not as fucked up as me.

And all I’ve found has been like-minded defects.

The extremes I feel I need to go to so I can solve my issues are also the extremes I feel I can’t take because of the “real” world. The things I feel, deep beyond the lizard brain, would land me in jail or get me killed, but I always think of them. I always see them as the solution to an everlasting aura of uselessness and ghost persona. Would they solve my problems? Don’t know. But when the brain says something, like cry like a bitch at work, I jump. We all jump. We all follow.

I can pretend things will change after this. I can say, like I have before, it’ll get better, but I can’t promise. I can’t lie. I don’t know right now if I can, not without a drastic and dramatic change. In the meantime, I’ll still work and feel worthless. I’ll still drink and smoke and get laid from human trash. I’ll still slog, but at least I’ll try.

I’m a pathetic cunt. But I am an honest one.

 

Believe Beyond the Pattern

 

Its never strange how life goes. Not when you look at your past, or the past of others, and find the patterns of why the same things happen over and over.

Why can’t I find the right girl?
Why do I feel bad about myself?
Why can’t I get ripped?
What’s wrong with me?

Its because you aren’t changing. Your actions are the same. There may be different words, different people, different places, but you are still pussing out from talking to the hottie next to you. You’re still refusing to even do a set of push-ups every few days. You’re still not sleeping enough, drinking too much, trolling your ex’s Facebook.

Its all the same pattern.

Somewhere down that line that runs into all your past actions, there was something that said, “Do this and feel better.” You had a bad day, a break-up, some kind of trauma and you fixed it with fast food, drugs, alcohol, games, or any other of the millions of things we have now to avoid having to feel pain.

Want to break this pattern? Want to start, slowly, but surely, changing yourself and eventually get to your goals?

Start with your most treasured vice. The thing you go to anytime the world drops a bit of rain on your parade, and THROW IT AWAY.

End it. Kill it. Stop doing it with extreme prejudice. And replace it with something you want to improve: social skills, muscles, tech skills. Anything, anything, but what you used to do.

This is how we change. We recognize our faults, we eat our pride and we move beyond the destructive pattern we’ve held on to for comfort for years.

This is how we live.

 

If I Had A Heart (The Itch)

___
This will never end
‘Cause I want more
More, give me more
Give me more
___

You feel that itch. It can start on the skin, or just under, and it spreads. Arms, legs, hands, feet, fingers, nails; all up and all down until its consumed you. You’ve got to do something. You can’t just sit there, you’ve got to get up. Clean something, make something, do push ups, eat, drink, fuck. Something! The itch is overwhelming. Sitting at home, at your desk, listening to your girlfriend drone on and on with her friends at a “party”. God-fucking-dammit, you’ve got to disappear. Nothing feels right until you’re out in the real air, on a mission, to do ANYTHING, but what you were just doing.

I used to think there was something wrong with me. I would get bored easily of something, move on to something else of interest, get bored of that, move, move, move. I must be sick in the head, I must be lazy or unmotivated. I got told that this or that is out of place, that I must keep up with everyone else (“keep up” being used as a term for “same”), I can be so much more.

What is “more”? What is this goal I’m supposed to attain? The grand endgame of the life of a decently fit, white, western male…

This?

Or this?

Been there, done that.

None of that interests me.

You know why people get bored, sad and depressed when they get these things? Because they think life is over. Those who drilled themselves into deep, underground bunkers of forced lifestyles, no matter their clique, end up suffering under their own self-doubt and hatred. They hate their mortgage, their family, their legally bound fuck buddy they knocked up. They become mental cripples, complaining of the life they built for themselves, if only they did more before succumbing to weakness.

The itch is not a mental illness. Its not ADHD, ADD, bipolar disorder, anxiety, psychosis or white privilege. The itch is your natural male urge to go out and be. To build empires and to burn villages (or at least fuck some dude’s girlfriend). Its that ever-present, ever burning, ever enjoyable instinct that brought us from the death traps our evolutionary ancestors ran from and spread us across the planet to every corner, killing, eating and creating as we went.

Its not easy today, with the world so easy for us first-world folk. We live in the cultural empire of McDonalds, Starbucks and the ever-present wagging finger. I’ve climbed the stones of Death Valley, nearly been shot by idiots, seen the sunrise from the top of a mountain, sat with my feet dangling over some of the most dangerous rapids. Sometimes you need money, sometimes you just need to get off your ass. Either way, do it. Tell the voices in your head, or in your home, to fuck off while you go fulfill one of the oldest and most important urges in human history.

Make a name for yourself in your circle, or even better, try to make yourself a name in your town. Do something incredible, or infamous. Be part of a story. Be the reason for a story. Take the time to be remembered when you pass, or just be another faded name on your future kin’s family tree.

Return

Guess I needed a longer rest than I thought.

Sometimes, you just need to step back and look at everything, one piece at a time. Sometimes, you need to just be a lazy fuck and let the world vanish to see the reality of it all. Sometimes, bitches be crazy.

Its been both eventful and event-less since August. Been out and around. Had interesting, even violent encounters with some really fucked up women who take the pussy pass to extremes, but inbetween that… nothing really. Work dried up in November, now picking back up again. And, with that, comes renewed ideas for posts. Things about male mentality, mental health, family dynamics and the like. Not women. Writing about women all the time gets boring, because most women are the same. The most interesting things about women we already know, so why repeat? Unless I find that good girl with a bad side who likes the dark edge of sexual exploration, I’ll be typing away advice, not battle reports.

To another year of remaining red pill!

 

A Much Needed Rest

Its been almost two months since my last post. I just couldn’t think of anything to say, which in some cases is a good thing. Sometimes, you just need to break from things for a while, step back and readjust. See things from farther out.

Aside from side jobs here and there, the hiatus has been great. The career path is slowing being built, one brick at a time, making other things easier to deal with.  Like the fact I crossed my six month deadline from The Before and while my strength is up, the fat is still there. I didn’t hold to any workout for long. What got me stronger was working movies. Lifting heavy cases everyday, 5 days a week and eating fresh food during lunch had me looking better. It was afterwards. It was staying at home and not doing much, and the beer drinking, that got me back up to my starting weight six months ago. Things happen.

Speaking of, I am getting more work calls than ever. My name is finally spreading around and reputation increasing. The hours and the shit someone has to go through to finally get a bit higher than before can be depressing, but you just have to stay strong. Stay with it. Take every hit and get back up. If you’re going to quit, realize that means its over. You tried, you failed, you can’t go back. Not the way you’re thinking now. That was my problem when I first started years ago and when I returned in 2011. I wasn’t prepared. I wasn’t thinking ahead. There were so many things on my mind I felt totally overwhelmed and defeated. Now, after struggling, and a much needed rest, the world isn’t so heavy. My mind isn’t so fogged up with a million things that don’t matter. Focus and drive are in. Good things await.

Lose Yourself

____

You can hang on to dreams. You can bring up the past, the future or the what ifs of times gone wrong. You can sign up to an ideology, pray and protest for a better world that your lizard mind knows won’t happen. You can cry and wait and wait and wait for the saving grace of charity or just freeze yourself in place until the world goes dark.

Or you can move and make it happen.

I’m still living with my parents. I used to be on my own. I was on my own for a long time. No government help, no money sent through desperate phone calls to ma and pa. I held my own. Then my world was torn apart. My pride was destroyed. My ego broken. The very deep darkness exploded and coated my every action. I had debt and I added to it constantly with binge drinking, fast food and impulse buying. Layer upon layer of security and self-medication. Still, now and again, I slip into that dark world. Angry, lost and happy to break the bank for a night’s worth of numbness.

But that won’t get me where I want to be.

I use my skills. I can talk and attract women. Does it always go right? No. It never will. Sometimes I forget that. I hate when I miss things I think I deserve. A girl that caught my fancy who’s got a boyfriend. A “good job” when I just get more work piled on. Its what makes people snap.

99% of the time no one gets what they want.

Yet, at the darkest times, the flicker of light is there. The dream you can reach. It won’t be easy, it won’t be pretty, but the struggle will take you there. I recently bought myself a camera that shoots HD video. I haven’t owned camera nor shot my own stuff since 2007. I’ve been floating for years, now landing on solid ground, ready to put myself back out there, be creative and show my work to the world.

There is no happy, magic ending to your desires, whatever they may be. Once you get them, you will have to keep moving, fighting, being. But this is our way of living beyond what we’re told to be. I am still living with my parents, a kind, caring cage of the soul, and it can depress even the best excitement. It is only a step among many, and soon, those steps will take me out the door and back on my own, as I am meant to be.

The Fight Inside My Head

I’ve written before about my anxiety. The nasty monster that creeps into my life more often than I would like, during good or bad times, and ravages the way I think and act. I’m on meds for it. I’ve gone to group therapy for it. Both have helped immensely. What was crippling to the point of missing work is now manageable, though highly uncomfortable.

For those of you that have been around since the beginning, you know what an utter mess I was during the separation from the Ex. In the last 2 years, more so in the last 6 months, I’ve made vast progress in my emotional and mental wellbeing. I’ve rid myself of the parasites I found learning early game and now, totally single, have created standards and codes, aiming for the highest quality of woman. Not exactly an easy find here, but its a work in progress.

The problem with my illness is that its genetic, from what I can gather. Passed down generation to generation. My mother has a version, so does my sister. Both of my grandfathers and great grandfathers had a version. Its something I can’t escape. I felt it coming on a few days ago. Something simple, something normal, set off a trigger inside my head. The switch, fight or flight, was stuck and my brain pumped its energy. Instinctual, primal, the feelings are not part of my consciousness. They run deep. My life is not bad. I’m working. I’m doing kick ass at my job as I learn. I am not what the impulses say, but they scream it out anyway.

Last night, it kicked me in to insomnia. I laid in bed, tired as fuck, but unable to put down the thoughts racing back and forth. I could literally feel a fight inside my head, between reality and the disease, between the now and the what was. Everytime I told myself its not as bad, memories of the Ex would appear. Tainted memories, things I never thought about often. Fights, moments that I should of noticed, moments in bed of pure happiness made fleeting. The things a man needs to forget to move on. I rolled back and forth, frustrated, for hours, until my body overtook my mind and finally put the war to an end through pure exhaustion. A few hours later, I was awake again and had to function. Things to do in the real world that don’t care for what thoughts keep me up at night.

These moments aren’t the oneitis of a lost chance, able to be broken and scattered with the return to the sexual battlefield. Its not something easily changed by going out and being social. Wrapped in the cloth of this modern man lies the beast of my ancestors, every perk and every flaw. There is no heart disease that kills to early. Cancer doesn’t pop up randomly. Choices and old age usually kill in my family. What is left is the bite of the deepest invisible monster, the last medical stigma. You can survive AIDS. You can beat breast cancer. You can get a new heart. You can’t change the very electric sparks that make you, you. You just have to push through and live, despite the storms you see coming fast, and after the debris has settled, get back to rebuilding. One piece at a time.