Justin Razor and the World

Maybe theres a reason for all of this pain and suffering, the torrential angst that plagues me unebbingly on a day to day basis. Racuous waves crash against the barricades Ive set up around my heart, seeking to tear them down dangerously and permanently, beckoning me sweetly to let the chaotic waters wash over me. Theyll perform a cleansing of the spirit, drawing me back out to the seas of passionate disorder, away from my island of safety and restraint. I think that by this point Im qualified to speak authoritatively about life on a ship adrift in the oceans of the world, and while I love the stability and predictability of life on solid ground, the truth is that Ive never felt as alive since Ive been out there  hundreds of miles away from the shoreline. Ive traveled to exotic lands 99% of people I know will never lay eyes on or witness. This world, my home, California, has changed because Ive changed. In joining the Navy, I sought to reinvent myself into the man I saw myself becoming

Im always most lucid before exhaustion takes over completely and snatches away my presence of mind. Whenever Ive had a life altering decision to make with seemingly unfathomable ramifications if I chose wrong, the answer presents itself clearly and unquestionably a few seconds before I fall under the embrace of sleep. Im not sure why this is, but some questions in life will never be answered, no matter how many books you read on any number of diverse, eclectic subjects. You can pray until God reveals himself and tells you to shut the fuck up, you can stay awake and prolong your chronic fatigue until the desire to slumber beats your head in and forces you to succumb to your bed, and you can ponder the potential answer until your last few brain cells have died from over work, and still be no closer to the answer you seek. This is good I suppose, because what is life if not a constant, Sisyphean search for meaning, contentment, and personal fullfilment? If we knew all of the answers upfro

Ive discovered, through enjoyable experience and constant self-analysis, that Im either on or Im off. There is no in-between, and I have no standby mode or inclination to be lukewarm. Im either social, eloquent, bold and, as some would say, arrogant, or Im sullen, withdrawn, angry and mildly depressed. Not a bad thing, its not like Im hurting anybody, myself included, when Im forced to trudge through the gloomy swamps of my morose moods. But it's not where I want to be. In the past, I viewed being down as a mark of maturity, a state that had to be earned because you were doing so well that you had no choice but to rest, or risk lapsing into catatonia and exhaustion. It was foolish, naive, immature thinking. Im not 16 anymore, no one has multicolored, oversized fringes falling stylishly and androgynously over either eye, or both if they were especially impaired, and bathing and marinating in your emotions is no longer in vogue. Privately its fine, but even then the focus should be o

I nearly passed out on the drive to work today. My body, which I believed to have adjusted fine to repetitive sleep deprivation, is rapidly rebelling against me. I stalk the hallways of my ship in a somnambulant haze, coherency gradually fading. I field requests to hangout with friends based on the level of inebriation we're likely to attain. The last few girls Ive met have been subpar at best, providing the requisite physical stimulation without satsifying my need for substantial, intellectually gratifying conversation one bit. Im at the point where Id forego a bottle of Jack Daniels Single Barrel for a night by myself in a hot bath with a pitcher of my Mother's homebrewed sun tea, and would eschew empty sex for just one date reminiscent of the excursions of my adolescence, the girl and I exploring each other's minds, hearts and souls, our faces flickering to life with youthful exuberance as we unearthed treasure after treasure the other person kept buried under the sand o

I need to rebuild. All of my effort, my pining, my longing? All impotent to change a thing. In spite of being the "creme de la creme", her words, not mine, Im the Anti-Christ, a demon with a silver tongue, able to seduce his way past any barricade and slither right into her comfort zone. My good works are wasted, fallen below her myopic field of vision. My crying and pleading, as undignified as it sounds, has fallen on ears deafened by narcissism and an incongruent view of reality. My passion, my persistence, my joy, and my work are meaningless in the face of the infantile impetuousness of her ignorance. But pity is for the weak, and Ive wasted too much time, too many exhaustible resources on this black hole. Who knew so much deep, powerful emotion could be spilled on something so shallow? Unknowingly, I took my rationality, my sanity and the culmination of all of my experiences, stuffed them inside my heart, and proceeded to beat it into a brick wall. I felt I was doing th

Right now I feel anxious. My hands are shaking, my heart is racing, and adrenaline is coursing through my veins. My mind is attempting in vain to find something, anything to say, while simultaneously being logical, reminding me that its not the content of the conversation but the framing and enacting of it that matters most. Beads of sweat are starting to form from a heat only I can feel, radiating from the stares and judgment of those around me. Problem is, none of that exists outside of my head. People are happily carrying about their days blissfully unaware of the battle raging in my head. The cause of it is unknown to me, those times where my confidence vacates the premises and abandons me, leaving me to fend for myself against disillusionment and shyness. The cause of the behavior cant be traced, but the cause of my present situation? Im sitting next to a pretty girl at the bar. Some that have read my blog (believe it or not, I have fans), have operated under the impression that

Im letting you go permanently tonight. The sideways glances, charged with potentiality, the flick of one eyebrow skyward, or even the sway that makes itself more prominent when Im around. These are all meaningless now baby. Youre a viper, lulling me intona false sense of security, only to strike with surprising lethality at a moment's notice. Then again, maybe it was my fault for not realizing it in the first place. Then again, who could blame me when your signals were so mixed they resembled a pile of leaves burst apart by a powerful gust of wind. Impossible to read preemptively, and pointless to try and rearrange after chaos has ensued. I followed you around the world in a stupor. Fresh from the pain of a catastrophic breakup, you were the first girl I seen potential in. Witty, intelligent and precocious, you reignited the flames of hope in me, embers I thought to had died long ago. I had doused them with the rains of despair, but you gave them the breath of life with a refresh

Ding dong. The shrill bell echoed through what seemed to be a cavernous apartment. Ridiculous I know ,considering he lived in a studio. I depressed the egg white button again, and curiously the ringing ceased to follow. “You’re driving me out of my mind with that bro.”, he said, the annoyance in his voice noticeable. Swiftly, the old door swung open, and he stepped out into the light, allowing me to take him in fully. A little below average height, but not perceptibly. Broad shouldered with thick arms that swung out a few inches from his sides like he was carrying invisible luggage, his frame tapering down to a narrow waist. He wore an undercut, long, jet black hair windswept eternally to the right. A fallback from his Navy days perhaps? A few days worth of light stubble peppered his jaw and mouth, lending a casual, not slovenly, effect. Suddenly, a wide smile overtook his features. “So, you’re here for the interview huh? Come in, come in.” A lean arm capped by a cartoonishly small han

“Remember, you’re not coming home as a teenager, you’re coming home as a young man.” – My Mom “Drink a beer and let it go.”- My Dad Advice can be haphazard, chaotically scrambling your mind as it struggles to wrap itself around the supposed profundity of what you just heard or read. The best advice in this situation is simply that most advice should be eschewed because the source it comes from is in no place to bee giving it. This is the reason why I have such disdain for the pseudo-intellectual. We’re both in our mid-20’s, and barring a cataclysmic catastrophe they somehow lives through, they have no right to lecture me on politics, the existence of God (If we cant see him, then where is he man? In my fucking fist, now shut your fucking mouth), or any other hot button issue permeating popular culture today. If you’re one of those types reading this, scowling at what you perceive as ignorance, do us both a favor and choke on your soy latte. If that doesn’t do the trick, coil your ov

Ostracized/ I thought I might/ Have been the cause of my/ Problems when they all combined/ To halt my life/ Cause all the times/ I was eschewed becuase I dropped my minds/ Honesty/ You fought with me/ All the right/ People playing sodomite/ But not tonight/ I dotting my/ Fallen eyes/ And raising them back up towards the farthest light/ Clawing my/ Way back up on the corpses of those in bondage Ive/ Stomped the life/ Out of whether lyrically/ Or literally/ This hostility/ Fueling me/ Is doing nothing to simmer me/ Down, and the will in me/ Wont be kept down willingly/ So keep fearing me/ Cause one day Ill seriously/ Break down the ceiling these/ Peers Ive freed/ Built to contain me/ Cause strangely/ Im angry/ But I can still face these/ Demons and brave these/ Problems with thanks see/ Cause itll take these/ Idiots more than crazy/ To change me/ Youve made me/ Exactly what Ive become/ But these crumbs/ Of affection offered are the reason/ Why Iv

I take fitness so seriously because it saved me. I was bullied growing up like everyone else, but it affected me deeply. As a fledgling boxer my punches lacked a semblance of power, and I was unable to grasp the idea of putting my bodyweight behind my punches. I was so uncoordinated it took me a solid month to learn to engage my hips while throwing jabs, straights and hooks. But the gym provided sanctuary, kinship, and, most importantly, confidence  At 15 I was about 5’5” tall and 120 pounds. This was a defining period of my life, one that introduced me to violence and the terrible power it carried. As the weights I lifted grew, my punches sunk ever deeper into the bag, and my beloved pushups became a mere warmup, introducing me to my muse, calisthenics, a fire was ignited in my heart. My shoulders grew broader, and I squared them, setting my jaw against harsh, uncaring world. As a sheltered child, these early experiences taught me self-sufficiency and the value of strength, my favored

In the previous entry in this series, which was the introduction really, I discussed the basic steps of the Cold Approach. I sought to condense it down to its most basic essence, giving an empirically tested system that could be used repeatedly and confidently to meet anyone. The main cause of social anxiety, my own included, is the fear of the unknown. As human beings, we crave structure. We enjoy chaos and embrace it, but only after we can apply some type of rationality and repetition to it. It feeds into our need to control our surroundings, although the great fallacy is that we can only ever really control ourselves. We fear heading out on a Friday night to hit the bars, clubs and open air venues around our cities, counties and countries, full of excitement and barely restrained enthusiasm, only to encounter the crippling roadblock of our tongues turning to ash in our mouths, and our minds all but abandoning us to the existential hell of mumbling and a lack of topics to discuss. Th

The air was crisp, for California anyway, as I skulked along Coronado Island. My target was Starbucks, but, as always, the beach enraptured me. The water was a soft cerulean in the setting sun, rising and falling tides beckoning me invitingly, even in the surprisingly frigid temperatures. I changed course, guided by no reason in particular, and began a leisurely stroll down the waterfront of the Hotel Del Coronado. If you ever think youve made enough money, take a walk down the back of the Hotel Del. The average room was $550 a night, with the cheapest beachfront houses renting for $5300 for 2 nights. Patronized almost entirely by an interesting mix of affluent white couples with spoiled children in tow, and equally prosperous foriegn families of indeterminate ethnicity, the establishment inspired greatness in the ambitious and shame in the downtrodden. As I moved candidly with deliberate steps, I felt a bout of introspection coming on. I wanted to be rich enough one day to stay at thi

I held you close and I held you tight. I felt your trembling body rock mine roughly as you wept your beautiful heart out recanting the ills of your past. A failed boyfriend, an attempted rape, the shame you felt. I assured you you were okay, that you werent broken or misaligned, your soul not tarnished or tattered. You were so gorgeous, and you knew it, adding arrogance to your potent charisma. But your unneeded, unfounded, baseless shame caused you to act loudly and judge broadly. You insulated yourself from fear, doubt and loneliness by sheer force of will. My captivating girl. My grin broadened involuntarily as I beheld the magnificent flower opening and unfolding before me. Your girlish giggling, high-pitched and carefree, drove my heart to soliloquy, echoing my own innocence and naivete. Before seduction, before pickup, before the Ars Amorata. When I simply was and could be, and my fingers gracing those of a amazing girl provided all the profundity I needed to prove that God doe

I cycle through women and relationships in general with the ease that most people do when changing shirts or ties. I dont know how I became this way, although Id venture to say it's because of my overall mentality. While Im social when I want to be, and have great conversational abilities, probably as a byproduct of reading and writing an inordinate amount of time all throughout my life, I feel at my best when Im alone. As an only child, Ive been accosted on all sides by the ignorant and the innocent, the grindingly corrosive and genuinely interesting, about how my upbringing affected me. In response, I usually quote Thoreau, and inform them that my childhood was ecstasy. "But dont you want brothers and sisters?", no, I have my cousins for that. "Do you think it made you weird?" This one used to bother me, now it amuses me greatly. Apparently a preference for solitude begets social dysfunction. Funnily, Ive always found those that need to be surrounded by large

Yes, I feel lonely sometimes, nothing to be ashamed of. Ive been on my own for nearly 4 years, it's expected. To touch down in another state, or even in a foriegn country, a complete outlier, living on the fringes of their established society. You learn to adapt, to create companionship spontaneously, to make the best of your surroundings. You become a type of performance artist, living and dying by your wits, learning to connect with those you have nothing in common with, at least initially. Truth is, there's a common bond that connects us all beneath the surface if we just peer into the darkness hard enough. At the risk of sounding like a hippie, it shoes that God is on your side, that you're okay, no matter what ills befall you. The first night I realized I was on my own was the first night of bootcamp. I listened attentively, horrified by the whimpering all around me. It seemed to fill the cavernous bay of our berthing, the low wailing reverberating off of the indust

A cold breeze tickles my freshly shaven scalp. In the distance, headlights flicker into nothingness as the iron horses they belong to traverse the darkened Coronado Bay Bridge. I pause from my appreciation the city I dreamed about from a world away and take a long swig of beer. Hoppy and strong with the aftertaste of wheat. Perfect. That’s when I notice you. Our eyes lock for a fraction of a second that drags on like dripping oil, and all that’s unsaid between us is said. You’re really quite attractive. Blonde hair pulled back lightly in a relaxed manner, pale skin stealing the goldenrod yellow flickering off of the fire, bold framed glasses framing a soft, feminine face with classic features. Beautiful. I steal a glance at your date. Older, Id say mid-30s, in an ill-fitting polo. Hands gesticulating wildly as he performs the tale he’s no doubt rehearsed tirelessly in preparation for tonight. His eyes dart from side to side and roll like rims in their sockets, looking at everything but

The sun is seeking shelter behind the clouds, taking the light and warmth with it. Normally Id find the lavender overtaking the sky soothing and comforting, but those days have long passed. As the light fades from the world, so it does from my eyes  As darkness envelops the city and the temperature drops, my heart hardens against the frostbite. Ive taken to driving through downtown, hoping to find something meaningful, a distraction worthy of my attention. As I stalk the streets into the heart of the city, I’m treated to a bevy of abnormality. An old black man in a wheelchair silently glides over the pavement at a glacial pace, his left foot his sole source of locomotion. I pass by distorted Daniel Day-Lewis in a daze. Nothing here phases me anymore. The oddities of the city are what give it its heartbeat, what imbue it with the breath of life. They are rough edges in no need of sanding, because they provide character and originality, becoming one with the intricate architecture surrou

My Grandmother taught me how to play when I was 8. Numbers dance before me, infused with the breath of life through the passion and excitement from a table full of onlookers. My visual acumen activates, and I see finance, the trading of money in illicit transactions, the poetry of math taken from the abstract to the concrete. Synapses fire quickly, my intelligence becoming a honed, lethal weapon. I'm a master thief, liberating imprisoned money from the hands of its captors. My train of thought is interrupted by jovial, communal laughter. “Hurry up G!”, my cousin shouts, her voice blending harmoniously into the conversation around the table. My Grandmother gazes at me with russet irises, her radiating love warming me. “Remember babe, it’s just a game.” We smile in unison. It is just a game Grandma, but it’s forever served as a catalyst. For connection, for companionship, for love. For this Sailor continually set adrift in hostile, harsh waters, it serves as an anchor. To love. To ho

Writing is a cleansing of the soul. On mornings like this, San Diego stretches out excitably before me, tempting me with its promises of a better life, like it always has. Beautiful women, delicious food, and a bevy of social opportunities. Places like this are why I cultivated my skill set in the first place. The greatest casualty of my generation is the ability to strike up and hold a conversation. It’s a universal tool, a gateway to limitless experience. Too many drift through life existing, friendless and angry, all because they lack basic social ability. It needn’t be this way. There are many books and instructional manuals out in print, peppering the literary landscape amidst self help drivel. Too many are lost in the shuffle. When I was 17 and stricken with crippling social anxiety due to bullying and a general negative outlook on things, the book “How to Talk to Anyone”, by Leil Lowndes changed my life. The woman rescued me from an adulthood bereft of companionship and entertai