I love chaos. The primal rabidity of it, an orchestra of fury, barely contained yet expertly wielded. To enter a bar and feel the atmosphere thick and tense with unexpressed anger and rowdy racuousness, eagerly anticipating some type of social error or ill-timed aggression to set it ablaze, like a match lit casually and carelessly inside a room brimming with flammable gas. To feel a set of eyes drilling into your back, then meeting that very gaze with lightning in your heart and whiskey on your breath. I smirk and call you out, and you respond in kind. We are both arrogant, brash, young and lively. My arms flex strongly and your chest pumps wildly. We take a twin step forward and the dance for masculine supremacy begins. We are home.
The problem plaguing men most today, in my opinion, is that, as a collective whole, we lack a legal, acceptable, sanctioned way to express our natural rage. Women will not understand this, partly because it has never been in their genetic makeup and mostly because they were always ascended angels, never savage, untamed beasts. We are expected to discuss things rationally, to apply discourse to everyday life and argument. The moment you feel indignation and the spark of enmity ready to be struck alight in your belly, you must calm yourself, lest you be shunned, ostracized and legally punished. For the most part this is good. If there were no type of boundaries to keep our basest instincts in check, from the urge to crush your opponents skull to the nearly unrestrainable lust one feels when gazing upon an attractive man or woman, we would be little more than animals, and our accomplishments would cease to exist. However, suppressing completely what needs to be expressed is just as damaging as falling into bondage, becoming a slave to your emotions. This has given rise to a race of effete, physically frail, mentally impotent, spiritually unfullfilled man-children. There is no excuse for a man over 21 to ever wear a fucking burgandy cardigan in public, unless he's pulling some type of elaborate mockery. They remove the bass from their voices so as not to offend the most repulsive of all creatures, the feminist. The drink red wine from chilled glasses with their pinkies extended to show "culture and refinement". They fit loosely into drainpipe jeans. Pathetic. Men, arm yourselves for battle. Lift weights. Perform hard gymnastics and calisthenics. Eat meat, dairy and fats. They are your lifeblood, forcing your bodies into a self-perpetuating anabolic state, overloading you with natural, beneficial cholestrol, filling you with the mana of masculinity, Testosterone. Take boxing lessons and learn to grapple. Read books on philosophy and history. Learn to fix your own damn car. Stave off, and ultimately repel, the destructive effects of modern society. They seek to enslave and castrate you. Start a business. Learn to play poker. Become free in an age of willful, ignorant servitude.
I live my life dedicated to the ideal of strength. It is the focal point of my life, and the pursuit of attainment of it in all of its forms is the altar I worship at daily. Strength of body, mind and spirit. Strength of faith. Strength in God and Jesus Christ. My tattoo's are all dedicated to strength, and there are still more to come. Every passing moment is a chance to improve myself in every aspect, whether it's by gaining knowledge, building muscle and power, or spending a few precious minutes in meditation and prayer. I know what it's like to be weak, slovenly, unimpressive and sniveling. Never again. With this mindset, I, and you, if you choose to embrace it, have no choice but to continually climb, to constantly pit my abilities against the insurmountable barricades I will undoubtedly encounter. Each day I strive to elevate myself past an old plateau and to prepare to scale a new one. I arrived here through reading the Bible, books by Bruce Lee, Steven Pressfield, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Dan John, Paul Wade and countless others. Life is painful and arduous, as it should be. I want to be rugged, not refined. In time, youll see cordiality for the charade it is anyway. The vast majority of people hate their "friends" with a seething passion, seeking to undermine them at every turn. Men discuss the teams they follow with the religiosity of an ardent zealot, watching dumbfounded as they attempt pathetically to live vicariously through them as they play the sports their fans are no longer able to enjoy on even a recreational level, their bodies withered away and faulty due to neglect and abuse. Women live within their own alternate realities, protected and buffered from the cold, calculating hand of life by firmly ensconced barriers and a nearly prodigious ability to deny the obvious. They gossip childishly, and lord material gain over each other like it ordains some type of regality. Both are oppressive and demeaning. This behavior first nips and your heels when your friends start to get married. Soon, the devoted gym goers drop away, their barbells replaced by beer cans. Many of them will become foolish, insane even, with their money. Dont follow the herd. Do the opposite. Be the example. Live it.
You will encounter opposition from every conceivable angle. Others will decry your efforts with forthcoming callousness, while your loved ones may seek to sabatoge you involuntarily. Obnoxious, baseless criticism is just as painful as well-meaning, but stunting, enabling. To grow is to subject yourself to the pitiless elements, to strain, stretch and suffer for every ounce of self-improvement you earn. You must grasp your will in both hands and hold fast to it amidst the storm of mediocrity until you reach excellence. However, when you arrive at Valhalla, as my brothers and I have, you will weep in rapture, giving way to hysterics as you realize that the pain was worth it. Every moment of self-doubt has prepared you for your destiny, and blood courses through your veins apocryphally as you realize youve come to enjoy the unerring fatigue. The hunt excites you, has become you. You are no longer of their world. You have evolved, and are no longer chained to false ideals and hollow promises. They can keep their reality television, shallow, consumerist empire, and willing servitude. You proudly exist on the fringes, unmoored from the cesspool the rest of the world wallows and wades in. You are alone, but also enmeshed with a family as fanatical as you have grown to become. So do your pushups, lift your weights, read your books, and dominate your detractors. Freedom awaits on the otherside of your pain.
The problem plaguing men most today, in my opinion, is that, as a collective whole, we lack a legal, acceptable, sanctioned way to express our natural rage. Women will not understand this, partly because it has never been in their genetic makeup and mostly because they were always ascended angels, never savage, untamed beasts. We are expected to discuss things rationally, to apply discourse to everyday life and argument. The moment you feel indignation and the spark of enmity ready to be struck alight in your belly, you must calm yourself, lest you be shunned, ostracized and legally punished. For the most part this is good. If there were no type of boundaries to keep our basest instincts in check, from the urge to crush your opponents skull to the nearly unrestrainable lust one feels when gazing upon an attractive man or woman, we would be little more than animals, and our accomplishments would cease to exist. However, suppressing completely what needs to be expressed is just as damaging as falling into bondage, becoming a slave to your emotions. This has given rise to a race of effete, physically frail, mentally impotent, spiritually unfullfilled man-children. There is no excuse for a man over 21 to ever wear a fucking burgandy cardigan in public, unless he's pulling some type of elaborate mockery. They remove the bass from their voices so as not to offend the most repulsive of all creatures, the feminist. The drink red wine from chilled glasses with their pinkies extended to show "culture and refinement". They fit loosely into drainpipe jeans. Pathetic. Men, arm yourselves for battle. Lift weights. Perform hard gymnastics and calisthenics. Eat meat, dairy and fats. They are your lifeblood, forcing your bodies into a self-perpetuating anabolic state, overloading you with natural, beneficial cholestrol, filling you with the mana of masculinity, Testosterone. Take boxing lessons and learn to grapple. Read books on philosophy and history. Learn to fix your own damn car. Stave off, and ultimately repel, the destructive effects of modern society. They seek to enslave and castrate you. Start a business. Learn to play poker. Become free in an age of willful, ignorant servitude.
I live my life dedicated to the ideal of strength. It is the focal point of my life, and the pursuit of attainment of it in all of its forms is the altar I worship at daily. Strength of body, mind and spirit. Strength of faith. Strength in God and Jesus Christ. My tattoo's are all dedicated to strength, and there are still more to come. Every passing moment is a chance to improve myself in every aspect, whether it's by gaining knowledge, building muscle and power, or spending a few precious minutes in meditation and prayer. I know what it's like to be weak, slovenly, unimpressive and sniveling. Never again. With this mindset, I, and you, if you choose to embrace it, have no choice but to continually climb, to constantly pit my abilities against the insurmountable barricades I will undoubtedly encounter. Each day I strive to elevate myself past an old plateau and to prepare to scale a new one. I arrived here through reading the Bible, books by Bruce Lee, Steven Pressfield, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Dan John, Paul Wade and countless others. Life is painful and arduous, as it should be. I want to be rugged, not refined. In time, youll see cordiality for the charade it is anyway. The vast majority of people hate their "friends" with a seething passion, seeking to undermine them at every turn. Men discuss the teams they follow with the religiosity of an ardent zealot, watching dumbfounded as they attempt pathetically to live vicariously through them as they play the sports their fans are no longer able to enjoy on even a recreational level, their bodies withered away and faulty due to neglect and abuse. Women live within their own alternate realities, protected and buffered from the cold, calculating hand of life by firmly ensconced barriers and a nearly prodigious ability to deny the obvious. They gossip childishly, and lord material gain over each other like it ordains some type of regality. Both are oppressive and demeaning. This behavior first nips and your heels when your friends start to get married. Soon, the devoted gym goers drop away, their barbells replaced by beer cans. Many of them will become foolish, insane even, with their money. Dont follow the herd. Do the opposite. Be the example. Live it.
You will encounter opposition from every conceivable angle. Others will decry your efforts with forthcoming callousness, while your loved ones may seek to sabatoge you involuntarily. Obnoxious, baseless criticism is just as painful as well-meaning, but stunting, enabling. To grow is to subject yourself to the pitiless elements, to strain, stretch and suffer for every ounce of self-improvement you earn. You must grasp your will in both hands and hold fast to it amidst the storm of mediocrity until you reach excellence. However, when you arrive at Valhalla, as my brothers and I have, you will weep in rapture, giving way to hysterics as you realize that the pain was worth it. Every moment of self-doubt has prepared you for your destiny, and blood courses through your veins apocryphally as you realize youve come to enjoy the unerring fatigue. The hunt excites you, has become you. You are no longer of their world. You have evolved, and are no longer chained to false ideals and hollow promises. They can keep their reality television, shallow, consumerist empire, and willing servitude. You proudly exist on the fringes, unmoored from the cesspool the rest of the world wallows and wades in. You are alone, but also enmeshed with a family as fanatical as you have grown to become. So do your pushups, lift your weights, read your books, and dominate your detractors. Freedom awaits on the otherside of your pain.