Tag Archives: change

Gan Eagla

Posted by Jordan on

___

What’s the point?

Wake up. Get up. Bathe. Brush. Eat. Ignition. Drive. Work. Lunch. Work. Ingition. Drive. Open door. Sit. Watch. Eat. Sleep. Repeat.

What’s the point?

What’s the point of taking up weights? What’s the point of going out for a drink and a night of pretty women rejecting you? What’s the point of socializing? What’s the point of suffering? Why do any of it?

There are plenty of people who get along just fine doing the minimum. They glide across life like a dog on ice, going and going and going until they hit the end, and that’s it. Its over. They’ve made it to the end with little effort and smile their stupid canine smile, content.

Why bother pushing yourself? Why bother trying? What’s the point? No tales will be written of you. No songs. History will forget you as it does every name that doesn’t change the world or try to conquer it through evil. You’ll never be Achilles or Leonidas or Perseus or Spartacus or Vercingetorix. Even the great heroes of the war that ushered in the atomic age, Richard Winters or John Basilone, fall in comparison to the names of the famous, the socially smart or the politically correct. Without an army, a party, a massacre or a sex tape, you are nothing but wind to history’s mountians.

What’s the point?

The point is you. The point is the effort. The point is your cause. Being the best without laurels or fame or throngs of screaming harpies and parasitic men leeching your aura, trying to taste your life through presence.

The great names of history became history to due to circumstance more than anything. Right place, right time, right choice. Not too long ago, a poor man with the right words and a strong will could usurp an empire. Men with vision could have entire islands or countries named after them. Wars fought in their name. Monuments of valor. Now, men trod along, living like kings, but feeling like slaves. Greatness comes at the behest of a dollar or the backing of a shadow government. Now, if you are not their man, you are no man, if you hold to what the world believes a man is.

What’s the point?

The point is reclaiming. The point is adventure. The point is glory and honor and pounding your chest on top of the world even if no one hears you. The point is to touch God through your blood, sweat and tears. Loosing the fat of life and leaving only the harden muscle of living.

The point is being without fear. Now, and forever.

Bonfire

Posted by Jordan on


___

Its been a long time coming, but its here. The day friends and family have been waiting for.

As of an hour ago, I quit smoking. Whole and full. No half assed slow down. No gradual ending. Its over.

What’s going to be different from all the other dozens of times I’ve tried?

First, I’m not working. My closest end to the habit was last month. I had gone several days without smoking while still going 12 hour days and stress out the ass, but as the season wound down, so did my willpower. We raced to the finish and I ended up with a pack in my pocket and frozen hands.

Second, I have a coach. A long time friend and ex-smoker is keeping me on track. There are rules, charts, reports and cruel retribution for lighting up. When I started smoking, I told my new slavedriver that my ass could be kicked if I hadn’t quit within a year. Its been nearly two. Promise fulfilled.

Third and finally, with all my progress personally, socially, emotionally, etc, the only thing left is my body. I’ve got good clothes in my closet, I’ve got a few girls in my orbit, aside from the financial roller coaster of my industry, I’m set. There’s a small hill of fat left behind from what was. I wouldn’t be surprised that the Ex left me with some portion of her ass along with all the debt she racked up.

Time to suffer for the most important thing… me.

I Dare You

Posted by Jordan on


___

No, you can tell ‘em all now
I don’t back up, I don’t back down
I don’t fold up, and I don’t bow
I don’t roll over, don’t know how
I don’t care where the enemies are
Can’t be stopped, all I know; go hard
Won’t forget how I got this far

___

There’s a whole world out there that tells you you aren’t good enough.

It tells you that who you are is wrong. A moral stain on the goodness of a thousand bloody empires stacked on each other, bleeding down to the thirsty, meandering zombies asking for one more chance.

The voice of these priests of chivalry come in many costumes. They walk among you, pointing fingers, digging nails deep into you from the furthest stranger to current lover. You can feel it. The shadows crawl into your skin, under your muscles and into your very spirit. The smile you give is false. Beneath the teeth is shaking anxiety.

Am I good? Am I good enough? Why are these people looking at me? Did I say something wrong?

Who are these voices?

They are the universe showing you what not to do. Paths of folly, quantum physics made physical and given consciousness.

I had my voice. Ariel was that voice. A screeching, pathetic, ill speaker broken on delusion. Aside from the holidays and being sick, my last month has been wrought with dealing with what this stalker was saying to me. I let it in and it dug deep.

And it failed.

She called me names. Rapist. Abuser. Unwanted. Harassed me with text messages. Attacked my self-image and self-worth. The things I told her when I thought she was worthy of my life’s story were bullets in her manic depressive volley. Tired and weak, she struck, and I felt so angry, so lost, that this busted cunt was in my head. And she could get away with it. Already arrested and released. Already put away, let go and given no help by the grand mental health apparatus of Ontario. If I walked into a police station and show them text messages, what would they do they hadn’t already done?

“Change your number,” someone said to me when I told them the story. ”Ignore her and she’ll go away.”

don’t come to Taps or youll get beat up lol, she sent to me last night.

Ignorance is not bliss, at least not to those still stuck in reality. The delusional ill… well…

The only thing left was to give up.

Give up caring. Give up doubting. Give up the very last vestiges of every stupid, childish, weak thought that stopped me from doing what I want. What is left after rock bottom? Nothing, but up. Every step until you see yourself in the oasis’s pond, drinking up sun.

This lost female soul in the crack of a modern nation dared me to change.

Much to her chagrin, I changed. And when her obsessive eyes reads this… who cares? Fuck her. Fuck any woman who thinks she can “make you better”, to put it simply

I dare you to change. I waited for a manic depressive stalker to force me in to the corner. Bad idea. I let myself destroy my gains. Don’t let that happen to you.

Don’t wait. Don’t stop. Aim for perfection. There isn’t any other choice.

___

On a side note, I’ll be making several improvements to the blog over the next few weeks. Look out for them.

That’s All You Are

Posted by Jordan on

The problem with opening yourself up is that you invite pain. You invite every flaw and every evil that others project. Being emotionally honest to everyone will quickly destroy your faith in humanity. You will become angry, bitter and dissolutioned. This is how feminists and militant MRAs are made. Somewhere they opened up fully and they ended up hurt. Instead of growing up, they grew out, reaching for reasons and looking for skulls to break.

It takes true emotional maturity to endure. The Intern (now paid) lost her mom recently. Two weeks ago, during an ice storm, her car hit black ice and now is totaled. Since she lives near me, we carpool in to Toronto. This is given us much time to talk. She still remains upbeat and ambitious, blaming no one for her pain.

When I first met her, I thought I was ready to pull out all the stops, but the situation changed and by choice I scuttled my attempts to game. This did not stop my feelings, and I found myself conflicted between trying to get her and knowing the slim chances.

The Intern was the first girl I had honest strong feelings for after the Ex. And the longer we’ve worked together, its more apparent how well of a match it is.

But the impressions have been made. The lines drawn. I am a friend and I know it. That’s all I am.

Unlike Ariel (see QuickTips comments), I am NOT lashing out because my feelings are not returned. I do not think that I am so perfect for this girl that I will destroy everything to make it happen.

I have been humbled by this experience. This is a girl I should be falling over backwards for. A broken man still in the throes of divorce finding someone like him, but not able to hold or kiss or enjoy. But I won’t. I can stand tall, without a word of selfish attention, and be a man outside of a woman’s feelings.

My emotions are not the center of me. My purpose is not to bow before romantic fantasies. Through every bit of pain, bad luck and personal poverty, I grow and endure and hold stronger to what I believe.

Ariel learned this when she came to my house uninvited. She would learn much more if she decided to become violent. I did not budge. Later she ended up getting arrested at her kids school (according to her), looking for different outlet for her anger at her powerlessness. Because that’s all she is and she’s unable to cope.

So, my friends, do not falter when things don’t go your way. Recognize reality. Every ounce of endurance builds stoic muscle. Hold to the code that we all have, and you will personally prevail sooner or later

“Be good.”

Posted by Jordan on

I didn’t usually send her flowers, but that day I did. On the card was “Be good.” A private message between us.

The Ex told me time and again she wanted to be a slave. A lifestyle submissive. Her life owned by me. As I was then it was a foreign concept, but I adapted over time. To a boy raised on feminism, controlling a woman like that is not easy. It didn’t help that my wife would swing back and forth in her fidelity to the idea. Sometimes she would be on her knees when I got home. Other times she would physically push me away and tell me angrily she did not want it. I wasn’t socially mature enough to realize what was going on. I was just trying to be a good husband.

When I sent the flowers little did I know it was already falling apart. I was telling her to be a good slave, but in her mind she had already broken free from chains that were never holding her back. I was blind to all of this. Intoxicated by the idea of having a woman be submissive to me. Me, Jordan, the kid who use to shake and sweat near any girl he liked. The kid who had a 4 year dry spell. The kid who was lucky enough to marry a bisexual. I was high on all the possibilities, ignorant to the reality.

Even after being betrayed, I was the one following that message. “Be good.” Don’t fault her. You did something wrong. Keep in touch. These are the things a good man does.

Good. Good is a moral concept relative to the society you are in. Good is abstract, floating across our minds, chaining us to certain behaviors. The gatekeepers of morality shame on us into being as they want us to be. The church has given way to feminism. What was immortal then is moral now. What was betrayal then is freedom now. What was natural to human being is now considered a hate crime. Good is a political tool used to control the masses, leading us by our noses to their false paradise.

I am part of a generation sedated by constant stimuli. We were born into information, raised on the first instances of Internet pornography, and now hunt in a sexual field littered with land mines while being told that there are no mines and everything is safe. Awakened to this fact, reality sets in like a punch to the face. I must take steps with purpose or I step on another mine and lose more then just some money and a mentally ill wife.

Good is a leash. Defined by self appointed betters, they will drag you to your demise. Define yourself and define your own actions. Feel what is you and be it. Give none to those who want to control you. This is what it means to be a man in the 21st century. With help from my brothers, I’ve been slowly turned on to this fact. With perseverance, I’ve been able to define myself. With a strong will, the next gatekeepers will never break me.

Don’t Fuck With A Man’s Pride

Posted by Jordan on

___

Where do women get off at the idea that they can attack a man’s pride, a man’s honor, and we’ll just let it slide?

Probably from everywhere. Its on the TV, its on the radio, its in movies and video games. Ray. Ted Mosby. Commercials for light beer and microwave dinners. Bumbling, fumbling men and their expertly trained, angelic wives who tolerate their foibles because of the Hallmark version of “love” says you gotta love what you hate.

Guess what, guys. Ray Romano would of been cheated on and divorced by the end of every season if it were reality. Ted Mosby can’t find the perfect girl through 8 seasons because he fails to realize HE is his perfect girl. No, Coors Light, Bud Light or any other of those “drink this to become manly” companies will make you attractive to women. It’ll make you pathetic. Light beer is like light cigarettes. A product made for vaginas, but since most men are vaginas, they buy it in droves. Grow some pubes and pick up a real beer, or a hard liquor.

The reality of everything comes down to this: people take advantage of the weak. Everyone. Mother Teresa survived on the tears of poor children. Every charity, every food bank, every blood drive, every single beautiful humane thing anyone has ever done including throwing themselves on a grenade is an act of personal advantage. May it be mental, physical, spiritual or financial, people use people. Its only the ones who see the light that know that being the user, or in some cases the used has, advantages.

Women, biologically, are made to be used. Weaker, panic-stricken, prone to fuck shit up, they aren’t exactly the pinnicle of human development. BUT, they have one thing men need: pussy. For the specices, women are the future. They carry and care for our DNA. So, men have protected women, their women anyway, since the dawn of time. From animals, from other tribes and other humanoid species.

Back then, pussy was worth having your dick eaten by a tiger.

Today, its much different. Women are more male than men. is it worth dying in an office, on a construction site or crossing a busy downtown street for this?

Lulz. The HTML says this is the large version.

Weak men die in urban cages for ungrateful, undisciplined women who loathe them. Soldiers die for ugly whores who fuck while they’re in country. We recovering betas wasted money, thousands of dollars, on ass that came with navigation instructions. We do this because we had no pride.

Pride is a man’s soul. Proud of what he’s done. Proud of his scarred hands or his trophy buck. Proud of the old car that still runs better than a Prius and gets better mileage. Proud of the clothes he wears and the swagger of his walk. Men are biologically driven by pride, otherwise why even roll out of the hut when feeding the bitch or yourself has no meaning?

Women fuck with our pride because they have the law behind them. They can call you a homo one minute and hide behind the nearest cop the minute you look angry. For decades, this has turned us into mice in front of their imaginary atomic bomb of disappointment. We fear it’ll go off, and we’ll have to deal with a legally sanctioned attack on our human right to happiness (UN approved!)

But we don’t have to. For those in the know, we are the reason they live. The reason they have meaning. The reason our species didn’t die out. Yeah, they carried kids and collected berries, but the swinging dicks fought off everything for 100 000 years, keeping them alive. War after war after war. From disease to beast to invading horde. Men fought them all. Every man has a warrior’s blood in him. No man ever should ever feel in danger from a woman. Ever woman should feel fear when they see a man. We are the history of human survival, and we should fucking defend it.

Spartan

Posted by Jordan on

I’m broke. And its my fault.

I’ve been trying for a long while to play a character I’m not. I’m no suave guy. I’m no multi-girl man. I’m scouring the bottom of the barrel right now and its costing me. Aiming for higher is costing me. The anger and the frustration. The world buzzing around me, past and future, bringing me down emotionally and mentally. I’ve been drinking a lot this month and last. I used it to go to sleep, then I used it to numb negative emotions. I went out constantly and drank. I went to the casino and lost money. I went out to feel alive, and I just woke up with change in my pocket.

I do have paychecks coming in, soon if the production company isn’t full of cocksuckers. I’ll be more solvent, but its the fact that after getting my credit debt down and banked cash, I tossed it. Other than $1000 for car repair and registration and other fees that went with it, I should have a good buffer. I woke up in the negative, asking my mom for $200 she owes me along with putting back $200 I had taken out for an apartment deposit (which isn’t needed yet, thank God).

When I saw it, I wasn’t angry. I wasn’t panicking or frustrated. I got up, I put my clothes and shoes on. Got my keys and my wallet and went to the bank with the cash, putting it back in. After a few hours, I got a fee for a rejected auto-withdrawal. I didn’t get stressed. I just moved on to doing something else in my day, knowing when the money is there, I gotta pay up.

This is the way I have to be, or I’ll end up in this position 6 months from now, back in the red. I wrote a few days ago that its hard to admit when you haven’t changed. I wrote that in reference to my hours with the Mentor. Now, it shows true all around. I was money blowing when I was married, before that, and since I can remember. It can’t be that way, or I’ll always be a slave to the consumer impulse, the credit corporations, to women, to other men and to my own insecurities.

Tonight, my sister and I went out for sushi. I would of ordered beer or some sake. Just water. I would of scarfed down a $30 worth of food. I had about $14 worth. I didn’t try to keep the conversation going. I didn’t say silly or stupid things. When she was still eating, I stayed silent and stared into space. I had enough to fill me, but not enough to make me full. I felt right, solid; not unsure or wavering. I didn’t want to overdo anything. I didn’t want to try. I just did what I had to. It was just a meal, but it was also a test. A test of my own will to change myself.

I’ve gone far in a year. There’s still much further to go. The humbling is another step. When you realize all you’ve done hasn’t changed you a bit, and you have to push even further to make it where you want to be. Still training. Always training.

The Yamaha Mentor

Posted by Jordan on

___

Its one thing to read and teach yourself the lessons we all have learned. Its another thing to hear it espoused by a guy you just met in a bar or at a party. But, watching it happen before your eyes: its like the slap across the wrist. The pain echoing through your body. You’ve been living in books, my friend. Its the big leagues now.

I had gone to Grand Central to watch the UFC fights. The place was packed at 10pm and just grew and grew until the main event. I was going in for drinks and coming out to the patio to breathe air. Only when Griffin vs Ortiz and Silva vs Sonnen came on did I venture into the TAPOUT shirts and their hanger-ons. None of the fights were that exciting, thought it was joy to see Ortiz lose his last fight. Guy is a talent, but too much of a primadonna to make him anything but hated.

Going in and out, one guy I shall call The Mentor stood by at one table with a pint and a pack of smokes. About my height, not exactly a cover model, but not someone who needs a Ferrari to get attention. He talked to some guys he met about his divorce. Debt is not separated, but assets are. So, he went out and got a motorcycle with whatever credit he had left. A Yamaha. Apparently, that counts as debt, or his ex-wife would now be giving it to whatever boyfriend-of-the-week she saw fit.

He, two other dudes and I talked UFC and other things until the fights were over. The time was barely past 12:30, so I said I was going to head off to another bar until last call. I had Double Ds in mind. A dive across from Mints, the worst of the strip clubs in the Falls. Cheap local pints. My mind was as far from game as possible. I wanted to drink more and go home, but he had other things in mind. He told all of us about Big Texas, a country bar on Lundy’s Lane at the edge of the tourism area. “Chicks in daisy dukes.”

“I’m in.”

An hour later, we had all trickled in and ran across each other. The Mentor had already caught a few eyes, while the other two just hung around and I, so out of the mindset, just had beers and smokes and sat. The urge to go home was nasty. I had no drive.

“I can read people.” said the Mentor. “I’ve always been good at it. Can I try you?”

“Sure,”

He nailed it. I’m enjoying the single life, but still not good on approaches. I’m confident, but not THAT confident because of what happened. I want to get the chicks, but there’s something keeping me back. It was like a kick to the head.

Moments after, two decently cute girls, blonde and brunette, walked behind us and chatted to each other. A dude in a full sleeve stripped shirt chatted them up.

“Watch this,” He moved about two inches and the dude recognized him from their work. We all introduced each other. He leaned in to me, “The brunette is a runner or something. Look at the legs.” Then, as quickly as he told me, he asked her if she ran or figure skated.

“I used to figure skate,” she said.

The stripe dude said, “Do a triple sow cow right now!” She got about as far as lifting her leg up before laughing.

The blonde kept looking at me, but it was the brunette who put out her hand, “Have we been introduced?”

“Yeah, I’m Jordan. I think you forgot.”

“No, I didn’t” she said defensively with a smile. “What’s on your shirt?”

I had worn my new “Why Does This Look Like Shit?” t-shirt under a cheap button up one. I told her I worked in TV.

“I have a lot of ideas.” she said, but the blonde started to tug on her. “Aw, man. We have to go.”

The Mentor saved my ass. “You still need to tell him your ideas.”

“Alright, here’s my number,”

And just like that, there it was. Something new. Out of the rut and into the road. Before we parted ways, he told me that the most important things for guys like us: divorcing/divorced, is to just lay low. Basically, go our own way. Live, but don’t tax yourself. Bank money. Relax. Enjoy.

Yesterday’s night out was needed more than any chick I could of gotten from POF or OKC. Low-bangers. Rotten fruit. This man broke me and put me back together in seconds. Something I couldn’t do myself. Something no one can ever do themselves. All the blogs and books can teach you theory, but when its put into action in front of your eyes, it clicks. It becomes real and you have no excuses now to stand back and watch.

This Life

Posted by Jordan on

___
Gotta raise some hell, ‘fore they take you down
Gotta live this life
Gotta look this world in the eye
Gotta live this life until you die
___

No one said anything about life being easy unless they were trying to get something out of you. The merchants and indoctrinators and kings. They all want a piece of your minute wealth. They want to suck you dry until you are nothing, so they can move on to the next sucker.

The life you have is the only one. If you’re atheist or agnostic, its obvious. If you’re God fearing, like me, its still the only one. You’ve got one chance to tell God or whomever that “I did the best I could and never quit.” Most people can never have the courage. Most people are scared. Statues of cowardice pointing towards easy ways and easy lives, never experiencing, ever seeing the beauty of whats around them. I hate these cowards. I hate them all.

I started my old blog, HarmonicaFTW, under the banner of anarchy. I was angry and lonely and hurt. Over a year later, that little boy was right. Politics don’t matter. People don’t matter. You’re on your own.

And, if you take away all the illusions, you are. In the end, in our modern, information civilization, you’re alone. Totally. People are stuck within their own little worlds. Everyday, you’ll be ignored for a text message, a Facebook update, a tweet, or any number of things. Your politeness, or just even your want to connect with someone new, will be shut down because somebody’s old high school classmate decided to say hello. Not a word can be said that could break away the addicted from the social drug.

We who take the Red Pill are social pirates. The ones who sail outside the waters of normal discourse. When protests about rape, abortion or healthcare rear their head, we don’t care. We are pillaging the undefended leftovers of civilization’s great debates. Sailing between Left and Right, making our shore anything but the beaches of the “real” world. We have our own islands, full of truth, full of what is, unencumbered by the weights of the sheep and their sheppards.

Some of us, we try, we do what is needed, what is said, to make it, and we collapse and fail like roofs during tornadoes. When the winds pick up, our facades collapse and we crumble. It won’t work, comrades. You simply can’t fake what you think these women, these people want. You have to fight your way through every inch of bullshit, vaginal discharge and hamster thought. Its a war, never ending, for the soul of men. If it wasn’t for the power of our sex, we wouldn’t be attacked so and made to conform, or made to follow, or made to submit. If we were truly equal, feminism wouldn’t need to be. But we aren’t. Men make the world. Men are the world. We are power incarnate. Everything after that is an attempt to make you worry that’s a bad thing.

Tonight, I went in with a song in my heart, a smoke on my lips and the courage of a thousand lowly men cheering me on. A 9 sat beside me, her ugly ass mom talking to friends. She kept checking the exits, as if someone was to appear, or she wanted to leave. I opened after a few minutes, “Looking for the exit.” A statement, not a question. She smiles. Beautiful smile, and goes right to her phone. Not a peep, as her mother brags about flashing an AC/DC cover band.

This is our world. Upside down. We fight against gravity, hoping one in one thousand to fall into our waiting laps.

Its a fight. Its a war.

Its our life, and we can never quit, because its our life.

This life. War until we die.

Making sure our lives, to dust or to Heaven, mean something. That we can die happily, no matter what age. 26 or 96.

I’ve been across the US and Canada 4 times. I’ve fucked whores and been in love. I’ve lived in my dream state and been through Hell. I’ve lived. I could die right now, and despite my low notch count and my failures tonight, I’ll walk before the Gates and say, “I lived.”

Can you?

Max Body and Gaming Hiatus

Posted by Jordan on

For those who follow my twitter feed, I was out last night watching Frank Mir get his ass kicked by Junior Dos Santos. I went out to Grand Central, the same bar where I got wasted months back and had a great time. I had another good time. Wing and beer. A lot of ladies. And I did my best, but my best wasn’t as nearly as good as it should of been. I could blame the cold Canadian women, but that’d be a large excuse covered in a small truth. I just wasn’t close to the peak of my talent. Not by miles. I believe its because I’m too lax with my life right now. I’m improving, I’m doing great, but I’m not doing everything I want to, that I can do. I’m taking it way too easy and still expecting to have ladies fall in the lap. A bad mindset to have.

So, in light of this, I’m going to officially call off going out to game for a while and focus on the one thing I want to improve severely: my body. I’ve gotten into a good habit of working out as often as I can: lifting, using the medicine ball, ab work outs, etc. Its shown results in my arms and back, but its not good enough. My going out lifestyle and my drunk self don’t aid in the results I want. The Geographer posted great advice today on how to get jacked and I’m going to follow it. I’m going to reach my goals.

Without sacrifice, there is no victory. With victory, there is peace.