tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7618099044206773012024-02-20T19:07:06.511-08:00Recklessness & Audacity"An autobiography is only to be trusted when it reveals something disgraceful. A man who gives a good account of himself is probably lying....."John Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09563200602107612083noreply@blogger.comBlogger195125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-761809904420677301.post-39582968075062524562010-06-08T20:34:00.000-07:002010-06-08T20:35:38.736-07:00Unadulterated: Full Disclosure Edition<a href="http://thisisnotimefortheanonymous.blogspot.com/2010/06/unadulterated-full-disclosure-edition.html">Here it is: This is from another blog I've kept. This is the full disclosure of nearly 4 years of infidelity. </a><br /><br />Not sure if this blog or the other will be shut down, but I'll post here if this occurs.John Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09563200602107612083noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-761809904420677301.post-15044527811715431962010-06-07T22:43:00.001-07:002010-06-07T23:44:12.982-07:00AftermathSoundtrack: <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=poiwcvKxC9k">All the Pretty Faces by The Killers</a><br />It's late. I trained hard. I cannot sleep.<br /><br />She messaged me earlier. Just thinking about her choked me up. If I stop to think of her....I get choked up. Doesn't matter the time of day or night.<br /><br />In the quiet of the night, my chest grows heavy and I waiver. I tell myself that I can make it work for her, for us.<br />My resolve grows weak, infirm. I miss her. I miss her falling asleep before I did. I miss reading while she slept and softly stirred every so often. I miss a great many, quiet, priceless, precious things.<br /><br />I don't know how everything fell apart. But it did. My flaws as a man chiefly to blame.<br />I have a wedding to attend soon. She was to be my date. Another wedding we would have attended together.<br />It's tough enough facing the stark reality of her absence.<br /><br />I don't know there's anywhere to go from here. I'm left wordless and exhausted by my nature and the broken dreams left in its wake.<br />There is a place beyond infatuation, beyond lust, beyond love, beyond devotion, beyond everything.....I simply feel inextricably bound to her.<br /> <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"> -With Greatest Affection</span>John Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09563200602107612083noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-761809904420677301.post-82828492172056462552010-06-07T08:41:00.000-07:002010-06-07T08:54:21.312-07:00Woke up. Drove home.<br /><br />Got some coffee.<br />Thought about her.<br />Wedding coming up. Seems fitting for her to be my date...but I don't think it will happen.<br />Being around her is just too painful. Being around her at a wedding would be far too much.<br />I know that I have to stay away from her. For her good. I don't want to hurt her again, and I just don't know that I can stop myself from running around on her at some point.<br /><br />"Can you separate all the darkness from my eyes.....Can you separate me from the sin, is it not too late to try and start again...."<br /> -sometimes it is. sometimes it is too late.<br /><br />Good thing my fight's coming up. One of the few things that gives me reprieve from myself. The daily exhaustion and focus necessary to get ready. This will be my shortest training camp to date. I don't know how I fucked things up so bad. It's like, fighting is the only thing that lets me go, lets me lose myself. But feeding that impulse, that operating on instinct is part of the problem. That very same drive is what makes it so hard for me to be normal....I miss laying in bed with her head on my chest, reading a book.<br /><br />I drag myself to my feet. Weary from living the past few days. From operating on impulse. I want peace and quiet. I want reprieve. I know it will be fleeting whenever I find it next. Tonight, after the gym, I'll lay beaten and submitted on the mat...the first of MANY such days in the coming month. The fight is just a reward. I need the gym. It is in my blood, it is part of my fiber now. One in a long line of all or nothing men leased upon the world. Impetuous, straining against convention, too strange to live, yet too rare to die (Thompson).<br /><br />It's like the crazier I become, the more girls flock to me.<br />I wish it were different. I wish I were different. Fucking curse.John Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09563200602107612083noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-761809904420677301.post-55972070154988483652010-06-04T07:42:00.000-07:002010-06-04T07:58:23.683-07:00Nothing to see here: Volume 2I could tell you about what's happened since she and I broke up but it doesn't matter. I miss her. I did the right thing and as usual, it sucks & it hurts. A bunch of hoez have hollered at me. I've been emotionally distant and vacuous.<br /><br />I remember ages ago, I drove an ex home b/c she was too drunk to drive. The only girl before my ex that I miss in a similar fashion....a girl whom I regarded as a close/best friend & a lover. At any rate, I drove her home, and she asked me to stay, asked me to sleep with her and hold her.....I walked out, knowing in my brain I was doing the right thing yet feeling like shit. This was only a couple months after I'd met my most recent ex.<br /><br />This is like that.<br /><br />Contrary to popular fiction, I sometimes do the right thing. I don't make a habit of it b/c it hurts almost as much as doing the wrong thing for which I seem to have a much higher propensity/inclination.<br /><br />I'm doing okay compared to times past when she and I were apart. I haven't slid into the day after day bender. I've got a fight booked in a month which is good reason to maintain functional/semi sobriety, yet in the past I didn't even manage that. My first fight, I worked a double and drank the night before. My 2nd fight, I drank the weekend before. Seriously. Perhaps, slowly but surely, I am becoming slightly more mature...that or I'm just getting tired.<br /><br />I miss her. More than I can even consciously admit. I miss what we shared and the feeling of her body pressed against mine, lying in her bed, running my fingers through her hair. I miss the precious weight of her body on my chest and her natural smell, no perfume, nothing, just the smell of her skin and body.<br /><br />God, I fucked up. This is one of those that will mar my soul.<br /><br />So, instead of blogging endlessly about how much I miss her.....there's nothing to see here. I'll post again when I have something else to say/feel/blog about.<br /> -With Greatest AffectionJohn Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09563200602107612083noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-761809904420677301.post-36146636525703340432010-05-28T13:52:00.000-07:002010-05-28T13:53:58.866-07:00Nothing to see hereDon't know that I'm going to post for a few days. I just don't have the spirit to do it and do it well right now. I don't have much the spirit to even crank out some shitty, pithy length post so I won't waste your time.<br /><br />Good luck and happy hunting. Hoist the black flag in my name.<br /> <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">-With Greatest Affection</span>John Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09563200602107612083noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-761809904420677301.post-5999102165177552772010-05-24T21:48:00.000-07:002010-05-24T21:51:21.175-07:00Insomnia(c)Trained hard.<br />Hard considering the amt. of booze I drank this weekend. Harder considering how poor my diet and sleep schedule had been as well.<br /><br />My technique's gotten better b/c I accomplished two things on the mats I had not before. I'll spare you the trivial details.<br /><br />Made a delicious dinner to treat myself for 1) not drinking and 2) fighting the good fight at the gym. Nights like this give me hope. Hope that I may manage some semblance of normalcy in the coming months.<br /><br />I know that tomorrow as the sun sets, I will hear the whispers of gibbering id....but for tonight...I feel good enough to not think about that.<br /><br />Good luck and happy hunting my readers.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"> -With Greatest Affection</span>John Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09563200602107612083noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-761809904420677301.post-11096606730132936742010-05-24T13:39:00.000-07:002010-05-24T13:46:55.835-07:00TurmoilThe days grow warmer.<br /><br />I grow distant.<br />I disconnect. I feel as though everything I do minus time at the gym sweating and bleeding is just going through the motions. I feel devoid of emotion. I feel like a complete sham of what represents a person. I feel hollow and devoid.<br /><br />I see the same colossal leviathan waken and rise before me.<br /><br />It takes every fiber of my being to resist the pull of temptation and not slide into a 2 months maelstrom of drinking.<br /><br />So, I'm off to the gym for several hours.<br />I bid thee well faithful readers. Good luck and happy hunting.<br /> -With Greatest AffectionJohn Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09563200602107612083noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-761809904420677301.post-66671670995235823302010-05-23T09:58:00.000-07:002010-05-23T09:59:14.167-07:00***** by Rammstein - NSFW - Sunday Humor Edition<object type="application/x-shockwave-flash" data="http://strela.tv/play/xRUyXbM8ai" width="480" height="391"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><param name="allowfullscreen" value="true"><param name="allownetworking" value="all"><param name="flashvars" value="link=http://strela.tv/video/xRUyXbM8ai&displayclick=link"><param name="movie" value="http://strela.tv/play/xRUyXbM8ai/"><img src="http://strela.tv/img/noflash.gif" alt="noflash" width="300" height="300" /></object>John Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09563200602107612083noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-761809904420677301.post-62928215202646950822010-05-22T12:59:00.000-07:002010-05-22T13:33:23.638-07:00Gremlin Hunting<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2YvKd9oAlICvuGh9MYAldCkc5pbS3pFqwoC5KfHqmW-wADqrtLdJ9jmOp8crhb5OtOlJ-KcGdSJq0Akyw0bjzt5PC920oQpJK5QwO-yvwOPrJKYQ3-X2jFJSCZcG1TQIM9px4ODR7zKA/s1600/__The_Picture_Of_Dorian_Gray___by_M.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 309px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2YvKd9oAlICvuGh9MYAldCkc5pbS3pFqwoC5KfHqmW-wADqrtLdJ9jmOp8crhb5OtOlJ-KcGdSJq0Akyw0bjzt5PC920oQpJK5QwO-yvwOPrJKYQ3-X2jFJSCZcG1TQIM9px4ODR7zKA/s320/__The_Picture_Of_Dorian_Gray___by_M.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5474192354643588482" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Soundtrack: <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VoAleubvp9M&feature=related">Hazy Shade of Winter by SWR</a><br /><br />"The life that was to make his soul would mar his body."<br /> Oscar Wilde's <span style="font-style: italic;">The Picture of Dorian Gray</span><br /><br />Strolled into the cool evening air. My head and chest were fighting a battle for control. My head spoke of moving on and my chest strummed fingers upon reflections and longing.<br /><br />I walked in my Chucks on the cooling pavement whilst feeling the night's languid air...yet somehow the white noise of crackling tension began to announce the night's possibilities.<br />I posted up with a different crew than usual. Change was necessary. Something else was different: I was not drinking.<br /><br />A fashion show took place which explained the bevy of girls taller than myself that had gathered at said drinking establishment like some herd of giraffe on migration. An Asian guy chatted me up due to our having mutual friends. He actually used some PUA lingo within the first few sentences. I told myself to be pleasant and sociable but I honestly had to force it. I was discordant. I was sober. I played around the room and ascertained who was with whom and who was more interested of each couple.<br /><br />He was a cool kid, asked me about jiu-jitsu b/c our mutual friend had told him about my chosen sport. He was gung-ho about opening some pretty birds in the room, but I wasn't out to socialize with the fairer sex. I had simply come out to hang with my buddies and make it a sober night.<br />I was doing surprisingly well on both accounts.<br /><br />My mentor arrived and we chatted about the blowout with my girl.<br />Walked outside and my buddy was chatting up two gremlin-looking coquettes. He introduced me (unnecessarily) and they acted like they were doing me a favor by giving me their names. Stupid college girl(s) inundated with dick offerings by guys in flip-flops, rockin' wayfarers, smelling like deodorant. Give it a couple years ladies.<br /><br />I controlled my face and hid my disgust so as not to fuck up my buddy's approach.<br />They walked away after one girl feigned that she didn't want to give my buddy her number.<br />He was going to be the best looking guy that even looked at them that night. Period.<br />I complimented one of the models (a ginger) on her walk.<br />"Did you really just have to bullshit over that gremlin's phone number?" I asked.<br />"Yeah. It's cool.You gotta' put in work sometimes."<br />"I guess. Fuck those gremlin hags. They looked like 12 year old boys on Halloween wearing masks they bought from the Halloween store. 'Sides, I'm prettier than those bitches."<br />Two of the models seated to my left began laughing and joined our conversation. They lightly shit-tested me for my "prettier than those bitches" line but I maintained frame. I wasn't looking and they weren't my type. Running tight game with girls you're not interested in is easy.<br /><br />Complimented a nubian model on her walk.<br />Complimented a Latina on her shoes as she sat blithely on a couch killing time.<br />The coma people were out and about. The clique people were out and about. The out to be seen by others and take pictures for facebook people were out and about.<br /><br />Good luck and happy hunting my faithful readers. Hoist the black flag.<br /> <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"> -With Greatest Affection</span>John Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09563200602107612083noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-761809904420677301.post-5255726345361180942010-05-21T10:45:00.000-07:002010-05-21T11:22:18.953-07:00The Truth Will Set You Free<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlQNiL8pYosRC0j_ggZqcO-LuFU7GA2uSyHU-9zKHjxFFMcsKkig2Gt_j_-EenpN-aojxuhfezgON0WiSa0tHmOCYjua4mJBwkZAcTfp_KjB9J4WtXrdNkXS34CN21dJMu38_0ES9RySQ/s1600/solace.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlQNiL8pYosRC0j_ggZqcO-LuFU7GA2uSyHU-9zKHjxFFMcsKkig2Gt_j_-EenpN-aojxuhfezgON0WiSa0tHmOCYjua4mJBwkZAcTfp_KjB9J4WtXrdNkXS34CN21dJMu38_0ES9RySQ/s320/solace.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473789387896803090" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Found out I'll be moving in with a buddy in a week.</span><br /><br />Some humor for your day, you ask? <span style="font-weight: bold;">I've been living with my momz on and off for the past couple years with some temporary respites at various subleased places which functioned more as flophouses than actual places of residence. </span>My mom left the state for awhile and I helped pay part of the mortgage once my 'rents decided to go ahead with the divorce. Then my momz moved back after that fell through and I've been helping her out with bills and such b/c it took awhile to find a job given the current economy.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">This blog has come at a steep personal price.</span> It has remained a bastion of truth in my double life. If there was room for the truth in daily life this blog would not exist. This blog is perhaps hyperbole at times, a diary open for the world to see, written anonymously. But then, as always, the mask slips and those not meant to see it have read the words.<br /><br />Since I got back together with my girl I've actually behaved. Shocking, I know. My past is littered with indiscretions and poorly made choices and mistakes. I was giving it a go. I was spending nights playing on my computer and jerking off. I was behaving. I was being one of those normal people I hear about on television.<br /><br />--<br />It's like the woman told me last weekend as I sat with her son.<br />"Men make mistakes."<br />She said it not judging, but one who had seen, been privy to, and been let down by men but knew this was just the road men must tow.<br /><br />Allegedly, there are guys who don't slip. There are guys devoid of vice(s). I guess. At least, that's the image they do a better job than yours truly of maintaining for the world to see. I doubt there's many good looking, intelligent, charismatic, and confident guys that don't slip from time to time. If you find one, let me know.<br /><br />Let me know how exciting that is.<br />Women need a good reason to cry. A reason to get worked up, to shout, to scream.....if nothing else, the fact that her man is "too nice" will become the reason for the above. How many times have you heard chicks bemoan the fact that "he's too nice," or "he's nice, but....."??<br /><br />Last night: I told some blonde girl she had toilet paper on her shoe. Her friend waxed poetic about how nice I was. In the midst of this bullshit 5 minutes, my girl called. I didn't answer b/c I wasn't up for a needlessly drawn out conversation where I had to qualify why I wanted to hang out with my guy friends and that "no" I wasn't picking up chicks. Typically, I only see my friends on the weekends b/c y'know, like, I train to fight and stay in shape and like, I have a job, and my buddies are not in school anymore. At any rate, I inadvertently hit the answer button on my phone at some point, and apparently she overheard my talking to a girl.<br /><br />Alert the media. Someone call the news station. Breaking news.<br />Like every night she's out I haven't heard from guys I know who work downtown about guys chatting her and her friends up. Her friends literally go to places they know that have more guys than girls. At any rate.....<br /><br />What followed were vociferous texts and hurtful things. All over some blonde girl not even my fucking type chatting me up out of politeness b/c I told her she had toilet paper on her shoe.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">Chris Rock said it best: Jump to 3:15 for the truth</span><br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/wNzKN2EeA4s&hl=en_US&fs=1&"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/wNzKN2EeA4s&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br /><br />From Kinowear: <span style="font-weight: bold;">"</span><em style="font-weight: bold;">confidence is built on the belief that no matter what happens, they can trust that they’ll handle it and take immediate correct(?) action. "</em>John Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09563200602107612083noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-761809904420677301.post-22419473128412429582010-05-21T07:42:00.001-07:002010-05-21T07:56:26.754-07:00It is what it isDoesn't seem to matter if I behave. I'm accused just the same. I can be a housecat for however long, but an unanswered phone call, a night out with my buddies and none of that matters. It still ends in accusation.<br /><br />The truth shoppe may be shutting down, folks. I'll email my longtime readers if this blog shuts down and I start a new one.<br /><br /><br />"Every disappointment and mistake, summer's ebbing from a one night heartbreak....."<br /> -She Wants RevengeJohn Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09563200602107612083noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-761809904420677301.post-88234827209411608692010-05-20T09:43:00.000-07:002010-05-20T10:07:50.654-07:00(Un)Tangled Webs We Weave<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVJBzjgigRNV2zSqAqo6V-FiF-Hs_kY_R5DyAPyE9jBjBOgjUGUr7YAxEL73Uq0aHXvoipxl0al0rhi0V6Eounm1K5ERwNm-WH43o_LJOeXDsC5jXJh6LpN7H6SyzwxGh7bDP3Iv1mAhY/s1600/fountain-conquistador.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVJBzjgigRNV2zSqAqo6V-FiF-Hs_kY_R5DyAPyE9jBjBOgjUGUr7YAxEL73Uq0aHXvoipxl0al0rhi0V6Eounm1K5ERwNm-WH43o_LJOeXDsC5jXJh6LpN7H6SyzwxGh7bDP3Iv1mAhY/s320/fountain-conquistador.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473398085462710434" border="0" /></a><span style="font-weight: bold;">File under: the ever increasing arms race that is seduction/men & women relationships</span><br /><br />For awhile I got bogged down in the whole "who's too cool for whom" tip I was running into while out and about/socializing. Between slagz shit testing over my choice in Argyle/tie/flaking after them giving me their number unprompted......I was going through one of those "negative feedback" phases one gets into, otherwise known as a <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">slump</span>.<br /><br />Been reading a lot of <a href="http://vksempireofdirt.com/?p=1364">VK's</a> and the <a href="http://therookiedc.wordpress.com/2010/05/20/unfazed/">Rookie's blogs</a> as of late.<br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">It's refreshing due to the respective analogies and admittance of failures/obstacles/the unforseen.</span></span><br /><br />Much value can be gleamed from the mis-steps in pursuit of tail as well as a couple perspectives on the same situation/411.<br /><br />I learned more from my fuck-up a few weeks ago than I did the last few girls that simply affirmed what I know about women/game/pick-up and were beating down my door for the rod.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The curve balls make you re-evaluate</span>. The stumbles make you pay attention to what's going on around you, insteada' walkin' around thinking you're the flyest ***** on earth and untouchable when all that's going on is whorez ar3 throwing themselves at you.<br />See opportunities, not obstacles. A shit test is just a test...prove you're man enough to handle her ass.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The game evolves. Period. </span>The landscape of desire and pursuit is not static. If it was, guys like us would get bored of it super quick anyhow. Besides, this is part of the process that weeds out the unfit. Selection bias is part of the innate design for the best genes.<br /><br />If you'd told me, with the right venue selection, making sure there is dichotomy in my appearance (boyish good lucks mixed with tattoos) a few years ago that girls would open me/hit me with 20 questions and beg to make plans, I'd have balked and asked what the fuck you were talking about. If you'd told me cats would begin salting my game with lies, accusation, innuendo b/c their girl hit me up by the bathroom, I'd have laughed and shook my head.<br />If you'd told me I could swoop the cats with the most social proof effortlessly....well, you get the picture.<br /><br />These were things I had to observe in the matrix and become aware of on my own. No amount of "telling me" was gonna do it.<br /><br />I don't run a heavy conversational game. Deep rapport is something I segue into depending on the vibe I get from the girl (Game comes from a core state but must be reactionary-calibrated). Different girls require a different amount of conversation before segueing into rapport...different factors figure in: how attracted she is to you, what she's seen (who've you been talking to, if you are acquaintances with her/her coterie et cetera) and discerning if she's vicariously conversationally cheating on her man b/c he doesn't know how to dance/is out of town...is actually D.T.F. you.<br /><br />I see 2 basic pick-up models:<br />1) craft pick-up that nets the most girls possible but does not single out a particular type<br />OR<br />2) craft a selective/signature style like VK's mentioned, and use that to filter through girls that won't be much more than an SNL/aren't really what you want anyway.<br /><br />And much like VK stated...after awhile...just getting a notch becomes a pretty bland experience.<br />Hell, if you'd told me that a few years ago, I'd have balked. It was something I had to find for myself.<br /><br />The cold reality: the last 4 girls that have opened me were beating down my door for me to come over and rail 'em but I passed.<br /><br />Sifting through the dirt for the gems....it takes a lot to make me <span style="font-weight: bold;">doubletake</span> these days. A couple weeks ago was the first time in 6 months or so I saw a girl that hit me with the <span style="font-weight: bold;">doubletake</span>.<br /><br />But hey....it's not like I'm a fan of predictability or easy pursuits....if I was I wouldn't be living the sporting life and I wouldn't find peace fighting in front of several hundred people.<br />Good luck and happy hunting my faithful readers. Hoist the black flag.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"> -With Greatest Affection</span>John Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09563200602107612083noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-761809904420677301.post-63447479304213305872010-05-20T09:03:00.001-07:002010-05-20T09:35:32.453-07:00Obligatory Boxing Post: StylesSoundtrack: <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6Y1Emb7Jyks">Rakim's "Don't sweat the technique"</a> (one of the jams I listen to when I'm warming up along with a healthy dose of B-Boy music).<br /><br />"A man can be an artist... in anything, food, whatever. It depends on how good he is at it."<br /> -Man on Fire<br /><br />From a young age, I was enamored with boxing. Seeing guys get in there and move, bounce, flow, precision punching...and ultimately the balls necessary to get in there with another guy and slug it out while thousands watched....I was awestruck. As a small for my age kid growing up on the west coast seeing guys that had that courage and grace and finesse under fire always struck me as amazing. It was a place where a 147 lb man was a terror.<br /><br />It was a power I desperately wanted. It's a power I've spent nearly 6 years pursuing despite increasing costs/sacrifice necessary.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">In no particular order, stylistically, here are some of my favorite boxers:</span><br /><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n6z2UE0hdT8&feature=player_embedded">Emmanuel Augustus:</a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D5tXsaTX4RA&feature=related">Pernell Whitaker:</a><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2wc5ysCpQog"><br />Salvador Sanchez: </a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZqSq7XbSQkA">Roberto Duran: </a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a_B12kAKonw">Marvin Hagler:</a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IO2dTnFl2Z0">Harry Greb: </a><br />Despite having been the ONLY man to beat Gene Tunney, and logging nearly 300 professional bouts, no fight footage of Harry Greb exists.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ql2jscsVcjE">Carmen Basilio: </a><br /><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TGA3M2mVCMM"><br />And last but not least, the modern day warrior, Arturo Gatti - RIP.</a>John Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09563200602107612083noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-761809904420677301.post-66947954748141383652010-05-19T12:17:00.001-07:002010-05-19T23:44:16.135-07:00Poser(s)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7kWlweQ5FUky2mdzWMn42v1mClKYBJAxffEE9SpFDTPkkBSwwo75t3MDROHpWJs1YxPtKLJpHVqjw67hsz8GAw3AQ6MTnip8dcnNyW3GADBjKueQ7QK_QJOrE4b731aNu87MPlI9lqcw/s1600/GSP0001725_P.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 318px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7kWlweQ5FUky2mdzWMn42v1mClKYBJAxffEE9SpFDTPkkBSwwo75t3MDROHpWJs1YxPtKLJpHVqjw67hsz8GAw3AQ6MTnip8dcnNyW3GADBjKueQ7QK_QJOrE4b731aNu87MPlI9lqcw/s320/GSP0001725_P.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5473199600142638610" border="0" /></a>Woke up. Ate some Cheerios.<br />The day loomed before me. I called in late to work. Most people do this so they can sleep late or b/c they're hungover.<br />Not your humble narrator.<br />I had sparring time booked with 4 guys all heavier than me.<br />Add that I haven't done any full out sparring since my injury. Over a month of ring rust and timing lost. Fuck it.<br />Good way to start the day. Hoist the black flag. Bleed now to win later.John Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09563200602107612083noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-761809904420677301.post-34489839472424260792010-05-18T10:46:00.000-07:002010-05-18T10:47:41.175-07:00Recommended Viewing<a href="http://www.pualingo.com/pua-definitions/rumination/?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+pua-lingo+%28PUA+Lingo%29">Over at PUA Lingo there's an embedded clip that is not about game, but about overhauling your life and the pursuit of "happy" - ness.<br /><br />In particular, I recommend from 13:30 onwards. </a><br /><br />Great viewing. Sit down with a beer and soak it in.<br /><br />Seriously.John Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09563200602107612083noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-761809904420677301.post-54549138787407691572010-05-18T07:34:00.000-07:002010-05-18T08:01:36.168-07:00Advanced Basics: Life Edition<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3nQEJbf7CofMBZGzUN-oYye4PICZu7gFfmwv4bnoXQxCRFQt8OxDU9fyfLNiX9bfAKYXDLU2CFTjBEba7TJ-9gEp-7ITYOnkmIhSh7bsT2KwZxpD3lv-3FMY38ZJOSIZ2CqsefG-dhew/s1600/Alexander-2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 242px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3nQEJbf7CofMBZGzUN-oYye4PICZu7gFfmwv4bnoXQxCRFQt8OxDU9fyfLNiX9bfAKYXDLU2CFTjBEba7TJ-9gEp-7ITYOnkmIhSh7bsT2KwZxpD3lv-3FMY38ZJOSIZ2CqsefG-dhew/s320/Alexander-2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472624332650312402" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Some people assume that I fight and train out of insecurity. What started as the desire to have a better shot at defending myself and those for whom I care has become a life long process of self-improvement. Training is far more humbling. Each day I roll with guys stronger, heavier, better, and more experienced than myself. Most days involved admitting defeat, being bested in the form of a tab/submission. I'll go a week without submitting anyone. Some days, a great day is just surviving and managing to avoid being tapped out.<br /><br />Try that for your insecurities.<br />I've learned more about myself in the long years of training and competition than in virtually every other facet/endeavor in my life.<br /><br />I was rolling at Jiu-Jitsu last night.<br />I had been worried that I'd have lost a lot of finer points in my absence and to be sure I wound up in some bad positions, nearly tapped out, but overall, the time away did me good in showing how far I've come since my last fight.<br /><br />My instructor had recently been to a seminar and he was talking about "advanced basics"....nothing super fantastical, nothing over the top balls ridiculously hard. Just refined movements that are based on the fundamental basics of mat work. Things that work regardless of the situation, regardless of the opponent: sound fundamental principles that are based on the universe and physics.<br /><br />I'm going to talk about a cornerstone of LIFE/Game that is not focused on enough. It's an important one from the first interaction to those of you who operate long term game: Controlling closure/Drawing the line in the sand.<br /><br />This is a fundamental "line in the sand" that may cost you acquaintances and fair weather friends...and unfortunately even some of those intrinsic to your personal life.....but those who know you will respect you whether or not they stay in your life.<br /><br />You must be willing to walk away from people, situations, & offers that are not on your terms.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Delineating what is in your best interest in an entirely different subject I will not broach at this time. </span>This isn't a self-help/advice website/forum.<br /><br />I'm talking about a friend who wants you to co-sign on a student loan for a chick he's been dating 6 months.<br /><br />A boss that treats you like shit and degrades you.<br /><br />A Co-worker that steals your work.<br /><br />A friend who turns their back on you for personal decisions you've made.<br /><br />A relative that wrongs you/stabs you in the back.<br /><br />A snake in the grass that pretends to be a friend all the while scheming on a girl you're dating....<br /><br />When dating....drawing the line in the sand regarding expectations, labels, seeing others, dancing with others...blah blah. This isn't about fairness. If everyone was the same, consistency in its purest form would be possible. It's not. Men and women are not the same. What's good for the goose is good for the gander is the stupidest phrase in history. If that phrase was true American women would be happy? Who was the last HAPPY WOMAN you met? Name one. Seriously. I want you to think of the last HAPPY woman you met? Not pleasant. Not Smiling. I'm talking Fucking Happy. With a thirst for life, for experience, for fun...who genuinely was happy with herself and her life?<br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Seriously. Can you name one? </span><br /></span><br />I have digressed.....The key is that you must be willing to draw that line in the sand and ACTUALLY walk away when your bluff is called. A lot of times the bluff won't even be called....but when it is, pack your shit and hit the trail, movin' on down the line.<br /><br />"It's my way or the highway."<br /><br />You may not be right. You may be utterly wrong. No one ever said you had to be right/correct to draw a line in the sand. <span style="font-weight: bold;">That does not matter.<br /></span>It's Alamo time, bitches.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;"></span>Draw the line in the sand and walk away if need be.<br /><br />This has cost me friends, acquaintances, jobs, girlfriends, and several family members.<br />-<br />Welcome to the Alamo called "Life".<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"> -With Greatest Affection</span>John Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09563200602107612083noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-761809904420677301.post-33493236812015727452010-05-17T08:47:00.000-07:002010-05-17T09:10:52.695-07:00InsightI strolled up the pavement past several nice cars. I walked in and saw my buddies. I lithely strolled by an ex-girlfriend of mine and sat down by the pool. Small fuckin' world. I don't get to see my buddy often due to an ongoing separation/divorce/custody battle. Good intentions line the path to hell. I should have been elsewhere. I should have been with my girl. I inherited something from my stepfather....I try to do to much. I try to please too many people. I balance too many things on my lap.<br /><br />It is a small world. The ex glanced my way as I spoke with my other friends in attendance.<br /><br />I cracked open a beer. The ex decided to leave though we ended on semi-pleasant terms years ago, but then she's ******, so they takes that kinda shit personal I 'spose. Her mother and brother were there, but the boy was too young to remember me. The mother I could tell did recall my visage (she used to lightly flirt with me and compliment me) but said nothing. I opted not to have the backstory known to those in attendance.<br /><br />A **** girl with fake tits that were the first pair I've ever seen that weren't nauseating was encouraging everyone to have shots. It was some strange Columbian booze. Probably the equivalent of Aristocrat based on the taste. Patron followed. The girl with the fake tits looks remarkable considering the number of kids she's had and her age. There are American chicks 18 years old that look worse than her. A lot of them.<br />I'd met her through the ex @ the party, and through the ***** girl from last summer that longtime readers may recall. The one that got me booted by the gay roommates.<br /><br />Another ***** girl flirted with my buddies. A **** girl was wrapped up with my other friend. I chatted with a ***** man and his Columbian friend. They spoke of **** and other places they'd been in South America. I had somewhere to be. I was waiting on the guys to pack up and drive as I wasn't in shape to do so. I waited.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Another shot. Another beer. BBQ. Another shot. </span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Wash. Rinse. Repeat. </span><br /><br />I played with one of the kids. He told me about school and a girl in his class. He asked me about my tattoos then about fighting. He said I seemed sad. He asked if I could come to his class and meet his friends. I wondered if/when I'll be able to settle into a life such as this: house, pool, dog, kid(s), wife......there are quiet moments of peace, however fleeting, that calm my restless spirit with a look, a touch, a scent, a flicker of time.....<br /><br />His mom said I was good with kids, asked if I had any of my own.<br />"No. I don't."<br />"You will. In time."<br />"I don't know if that's the case."<br />"You'll calm down with time. You are still young, yet. You have a thoughtful face. How old are you?"<br />"27."<br />"Yes. You can feel it already. I can see it in your face. The same things are not the same things to you they were once."<br />"Yeah."<br />"You are young. You are a man. Men make mistakes."<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Fade to black. </span><br /><br />I woke up in my car. I drove home. I tried to sleep. My phone was busted.<br />I literally climbed up the side of the building with relative ease and rapped on my girl's window b/c my phone was busted and I didn't want to wake her roommates. I came inside and we slept then enjoyed a wonderful rest of the weekend.<br />It's life: bumps, bruises, smiles, tears, and all.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"> -With Greatest Affection</span>John Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09563200602107612083noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-761809904420677301.post-20774356110238402832010-05-16T05:06:00.000-07:002010-05-16T05:08:24.420-07:00Shots to the FaceHad some shots with one of my best friends.....woke up in my car.<br /><br />Which means....I missed hanging out with my girlfriend after her *****.John Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09563200602107612083noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-761809904420677301.post-73276665242528446742010-05-14T07:53:00.000-07:002010-05-14T08:56:52.541-07:00A Whisper in a Room Full of Shouts<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrb9y4wlBnbED3v-NleMdbXRcwjKiWlO7khnA6dc_cyRjufyWhcPEHZkj9AmHaW_TqIkHDM7FEyFHoiMRnjmaSZTsktEWk66RapHTaRo_SqFBmseqSix6dgI3BV96bNchlXU1cS3848jM/s1600/wallpapers_telefilm_mad_men_Don_Draper-001.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 256px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrb9y4wlBnbED3v-NleMdbXRcwjKiWlO7khnA6dc_cyRjufyWhcPEHZkj9AmHaW_TqIkHDM7FEyFHoiMRnjmaSZTsktEWk66RapHTaRo_SqFBmseqSix6dgI3BV96bNchlXU1cS3848jM/s320/wallpapers_telefilm_mad_men_Don_Draper-001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5471154174346543698" border="0" /></a><br /><br />From the Files of "to be posted later".....<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">"To me, Beauty is the wonder of wonders. It is only shallow people who do not judge by appearances."</span> <span style="font-weight: bold;"> -Henry Wotton, </span><i style="font-weight: bold;">The Picture of Dorian Gray</i><br /><br />A sign to one is not the same sign to another. Crossing paths in the most unpredictable of times is just that....a sign...if you're a chick. If it happens twice in a week's time...well then, it's meant to be.....if you're a chick.<br /><br />"It's meant to be," a quintessential passive/aggressive girl rationalization tool for liking a guy.<br /><br />Nicaragua. Brazil. Venezuela. Mexico. India. Czech Republic. Cougarland.<br /><br />A lot of girls. Blase. They all ask the same questions. Virtually all of them respond to the same routines/basic principles. Going out with ZERO intention of gaming and simply interacting changes the whole paradigm. When you're not vested in the interaction, simply curious to see the "action/reaction" ping pong of social situations.....consistencies emerge.<br /><br />A couple guys who've seen you work this same room come by and irritatingly fist bump/ask you 20 questions like they're some chick trying to suck your cock.<br /><br />20 questions repeated ad nauseum. Chicks and dudes playing the same part on your stage.<br /><br />My phone lit up.<br />"Do you want to come over for dinner and drinks?"<br />The 2nd time in as many days that an offer of this nature had come down the digital pipe.<br />Blase.<br /><br />My phone lit up....I was busy playing Battlefield Bad Company 2 (Awesome game) and actually doing the "quiet night at home" thing which has proven so elusive in my past. My eyes grew tired from training and knifing motherfuckers in the face on the virtual battlefield.<br /><br />She always worries when she needs not. When she's not worried, she should be.<br />Ah, the irritating predictability/paradox of life.<br />Things reach a point....when you try to behave. You do everything you're supposed to do...but it's not enough. It never will be. The trust is gone. There is no rewind. No number of compliments, hugs, mornings woken up next to can restore that previous state.<br />The weight of transgressions/mistakes becomes a yoke to bear....you who carry few such burdens.<br /><br />The mask slips. Heavy is the head that wears the crown.<br />Expectations. You abhor them. They make a drab and dreary affair of life. This is part of what chick magazines and therapists tell women is a "fear of commitment".<br />It's a fear of boredom put more aptly. Life is short. There are no rewinds, no redo's. There is only the non-existence that follows that last breath/gasp.<br />When I'm 80....assuming I live that long (quite the assumption, I know), I won't lie in bed and think, "y'know, I should have spent more nights at home playing video games".....<br />--<br /><br />She came my way. She stood next to me at the bar. Her arm semi-subtly touched mine. She hoped/expected me to open. I did with some bullshit situational opener like I always do. It's not really what you say....just the guy saying it that matters. If you build it they will come.<br />You informed her the next ***** dance was hers.<br />She smiled and said she looked forward to it.<br />As is virtually always the case, you were a better dancer than her despite her heritage.<br />Insecurity does not compliment girls well.<br /><br />A long ago dance partner roved her eyes over you. As you parted with the Nicaraguan, you held out your hand and the two of you moved in time. You saw an ex from ages ago, a Cartel member's girlfriend who partied you under the table (the only girl to ever do so). You had heard she returned home to the motherland. As with most things people say, creative liberties had been taken. She still looked good. She still looked like some drug lord's mistress. You were busy dancing with a dark-haired girl.<br /><br />Ships passing in the night and all that shit.<br /><br />There was no flicker. The candle kept burning at both ends. Wax dripping on fingers deigning to capture the flame then shocked that the flame singed their skin when they came too close to it. To hold the flame would extinguish it....a sad truth they know in their heart of hearts yet hope against hope is not the case. You're not a house cat. You never have been. You do a good impression of one, and it soothes your restless soul much of the time...but the call of the wild roars to a deafening decibel and you have to kill a bird to leave on the doorstep. You're not sure why, you've tried repressing it. You've tried being a good little boy reading and watching bad network television.<br />As it is, you awoke, sipped coffee you didn't need and drove to work in the cool morning air, irritated and nonplussed by a needless conversation forthcoming.<br /><br /><br />"First one gives off his best picture, the bright and finished product mended with bluff and falsehood and humor. Then more details are required and one paints a second portrait, and third---before long the best lines cancel out---and the secret is exposed at last; the planes of the picture have intermingled and given us away, and though we paint and paint we can no longer sell a picture. We must be satisfied with hoping such fatuous accounts of ourselves as we make to our wives and children and business associates are accepted as true."<br />— <span style="text-decoration: underline;"></span>Fitzgerald's The Beautiful and DamnedJohn Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09563200602107612083noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-761809904420677301.post-76995832286441073372010-05-13T16:25:00.001-07:002010-05-13T16:41:18.651-07:00Life LessonsFinished my boxing workout. A guy that's pretty cool who trains there was struggling with some work on the mat. Specifically, <a href="http://www.jikishin-harlow.co.uk/Photos/Techniques/ArmBar%20from%20Mount/Arm%20Bar%20From%20Mount.gif">he couldn't escape this position...so he got caught in an armbar ala this gif</a>.<br /><br />he's a nice guy. Not overbearing. doesn't walk around all hard since he's been training for a few months like some clowns do...it's not his fault the guy running the "mma" sucks and isn't qualified to teach someone how to hold a fuckin' jump rope. He's not fortunate like me as I train with the best jiu-jitsu team in the state. I do my boxing with boxers. I do my jiu-jitsu with jiu-jitsu guys.....I don't go to a boxing gym to learn "mma" b/c I watched The Ultimate Fighter on SpikeTV.<br />Alas, I have digressed.<br />I stepped in and methodically showed him the mount escape, explained the frame and specifics about drilling escapes from bad positions religiously...b/c as I found out in various parking deck/parking lot fights....bad positions come out of nowhere esp. in street fights.<br /><br />You miss an armbar, damn.<br />You miss a mount escape...teeth are missing as well. Hell, even if you hit it, likely, you'll get punched in the process.<br /><br />These are lessons learned the way most effective: the hard way....the eye swollen shut, ribs broken, concussion style lessons that leave scars and lapses in memory.<br /><br />Roll the dice.<br /><br />As a kid, I wish my dad had said something like, "Son, one day you might turn to say something to your friend and a large man will strike you at the base of the skull. The next thing you know he's pounding your head in on concrete...what do you do? WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU DO?"<br /><br />It's a question you can really only answer when it happens.<br /><br />And you'll probably be drunk as fuck when it happens too.<br />Heads up.<br /><br />Good luck and happy hunting, kids.<br /> <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"> -With Greatest Affection</span>John Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09563200602107612083noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-761809904420677301.post-10608744912170449412010-05-12T23:11:00.000-07:002010-05-12T23:21:17.918-07:00Hilarious Post over at Insurgency, Inc.<a href="http://insurgencyinc.com/2010/05/12/identity-crisis-sweeps-america/">Hipsters...and their inability to just f'ing admit they are. </a><br />---John Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09563200602107612083noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-761809904420677301.post-31948101680863880602010-05-12T08:09:00.000-07:002010-05-12T08:58:22.093-07:00The Jungle: Modernity EditionSoundtrack: <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7eZAqMYat-0">Guerilla Radio</a><br /><br />Competition for low paying jobs?<br />Housing market a swindle?<br />Credit crunch/predatory lending?<br />Higher education virtually unattainable (unless you take out massive loans-see above)?<br />Massive corruption/graft occurring between politics, private interests and the government?<br />Court/Legal system about who has deeper pockets?<br />Corporations making the regulations that oversee them/flaunting them regardless?<br /><br />Each year.....I'm more and more amazed at the parallels between <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Jungle-Enriched-Classics-Upton-Sinclair/dp/0743487621/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1273677796&sr=8-1">Upton Sinclair's seminal work, The Jungle, and our modern time(s).<br /></a><br />Though, semi-Victorian in nature due to glorification of the protagonist(s), and purporting a cure-all (in the form of Socialism).......<br /><br />Much like its predecessors in the vein of Dickens and other socially aware authors that pulled on the heart strings of the reading public; Sinclair took a political slant and sought to create sympathy for the plight of the impoverished.<br /><br />But as we look at the news, as we look at the economy....as we look at spiraling national debt then have the bank and the student loan companies harp on us as though individual citizens should not have any accrued debt....wait, no that's not right, you have to have a certain amount of extended credit to even have a decent credit score.....hmmm. <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Imagine that. </span><br /><br />Some of us had a "Rage Against the Machine" phase early in our rebellious youth. We saw conspiracies and harped on the government's largely felonious practices in various parts of the world.....<span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">then you set childish things aside.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">Are you not a bum? Are you motivated? Are you ambitious? Are you intelligent/creative/driven? </span><br /><br />You go to college.<br />You take out a loan.<br />You get a credit card.<br />You graduate having negative net worth.<br />You are saddled with debt for an education worth less than at any point in history yet 100's of times more expensive....so your eyes eventually fall upon those "childish" things......and you grab your teddy bear, you grab your big wheel, Gameboy in hand, and you open your eyes to see the <span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);">system of debt. </span><br /><br />It is a system <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">DESIGNED</span> to keep you paying back money you can Virtually never fully pay back. If everyone, or even the majority of people zero balanced their credit each month, many credit lenders would fold overnight. They would close up shop b/c there would be no money in it.<br /><br />I have banked with the same bank for 3 1/2 years. I need a loan to make it to payday. I'm talkin' like $100. I had a check clear unexpectedly that I wrote over a month ago. The bank said "no, [they] cannot in good faith extend me a loan."<br />This is the same institution that has been loaning out my money to others on interest for 3 and a half years.<br />I don't need them. They need me. Worker beers can leave the hive. The Queen is the slave, not the other way around.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Wrap your brain around that. I cannot obtain a loan for $100 b/c I'm behind on my student loan payment(s). </span><br /><br />These are two totally unconnected debts, held by two completely different hands....but you see, they talk to one another. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5PvL-B7aoHo">They "flag" you....so though, like in Rounders with Matt Damon:<br />"All the luck inthe world isn't gonna change things for these guys. They're simply overmatched. We're not playing together, but we're not playing against each other, either. It's like the Nature Channel. You do'nt see piranhas eating each other, do you? "</a><br /><br />Do not participate in a corrupt system in which you are designed to lose.<br />I'm not advocating you go Jack Duane in The Jungle and grift/become a professional thief, b/c unless you have money, <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">the legal system exists to get those that go outside the confines of the debt system. </span><br /><br />How much money does the federal government have?<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">NOT ONE FUCKING RED CENT</span>. They do not own the lint in my fucking pocket nor the ink on my goddamn check.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Don't forget that. </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">The government is answerable to its people</span>, not the other fucking way around.<br />Somewhere along the line "public" servants forgot that.<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">We are not indebted to them. They are indebted to us. </span>John Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09563200602107612083noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-761809904420677301.post-89935073613016528732010-05-12T00:10:00.000-07:002010-05-12T00:11:22.693-07:00Equal Protection Under the Law....another fallacy<a href="http://mensnewsdaily.com/2010/05/12/vawa-billions-spent-on-pure-government-evil/">True story. Truth is stranger and more terrifying than fiction. </a>John Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09563200602107612083noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-761809904420677301.post-28131213473886714232010-05-11T09:49:00.000-07:002010-05-11T09:51:51.579-07:00Serenity(?)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fr25-tpLpJA/S-mKddTZJ4I/AAAAAAAAACU/01lVkEpb0Z8/s1600/wallpapers_telefilm_mad_men_Don_Draper-001.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 256px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_fr25-tpLpJA/S-mKddTZJ4I/AAAAAAAAACU/01lVkEpb0Z8/s320/wallpapers_telefilm_mad_men_Don_Draper-001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5470055461104985986" border="0" /></a><br /><br />She stood on her tip toes in the doorway. I held her face in my hands and missed her already. I pulled her to me and felt her body close to mine. I ran my fingers through her hair and could barely speak. Words could not articulate the depth of feeling I possess for her. I had stayed in bed next to her as long as possible. I was already late for work. I had much to do but none of that mattered.<br />Peace is not a feeling that I experience with much regularity. Normalcy is not a state to which I am accustomed despite my best efforts to make it commonplace. I'd emerged from the weekend melange equal parts hollow and.......something I could not articulate.<br /><br />I walked into the cool morning air, late for work but unfazed. Life is a series of moments which phase from one to the next....but a precious few reverberate then emblazon themselves onto the core of our being.<br />Tonight I'm going to train hard enough that I can resist the call of the wild. One of you will have to hoist the black flag in my stead. Good luck and happy hunting.<br />I bid thee well.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 0, 0);"> -With Greatest Affection</span>John Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09563200602107612083noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-761809904420677301.post-14794875381601643552010-05-10T07:18:00.001-07:002010-05-10T08:31:53.478-07:00Weekend Wrap-Up: Prizefighter Edition<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs6Z8NKqTjgLOP-BFAQMZpmklyfYVHEUz2qT76LeHUjJWQfgDHHr7XQ_Xd_ZT0PYmL9s8N_iGu-3QqpKY6GqEhuzs-1CpDVZw1Uusjx4ruz-QJCIX9wp4mtle2GdePtnXJKItlGC5OJAs/s1600/2380742870_fcc16299ba.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 242px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs6Z8NKqTjgLOP-BFAQMZpmklyfYVHEUz2qT76LeHUjJWQfgDHHr7XQ_Xd_ZT0PYmL9s8N_iGu-3QqpKY6GqEhuzs-1CpDVZw1Uusjx4ruz-QJCIX9wp4mtle2GdePtnXJKItlGC5OJAs/s320/2380742870_fcc16299ba.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5469655167652446306" border="0" /></a>Above.....<span style="font-weight: bold;">legendary Harry Greb</span>. Fought nearly 300 pro bouts despite being dead by the age of 32...fight for years whilst blind in one eye. Straight up. They don't make a lot of men like that anymore.<br /><br />Soundtrack: <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VNMPdUrLZYQ">I Get Even by Mickey Avalon</a><br /><br />Busy weekend.<br /><br />Got back on the mats for the first time in a month. Within a few weeks I hope to be back full steam at the gym, possibly fighting in July, but more than likely August. Oddly enough trained with a guy I almost fought recently. His skillset was, shall we say, unimpressive. He left the gym knowing he narrowly avoided a serious fucking ass whipping in front of about 700 people.<br /><br />Saturday, watched my white whale (whose coaches turned down a fight with me) fight another guy in a back and forth affair that was likely fight of the night.<br /><br />Keep winnin' those fights champ. I'll be waiting.<br /><br />Celebrated my buddy's birthday.<br /><br />Hadn't planned on going in the first place, but got into the opening night of a brand new club/lounge where I may be working part-time in short order. I'll be making money hand over f'ing fist if I get hired.<br />I rolled up past the 50-60 people in line rockin' my white v-neck t-shirt, jeans, and Chuck Taylors while broads wearing super expensive dresses, hair styled just for the night, and needlessly fake tanned legs stood outside shivering in the aberrant cold night air.<br /><br />In other humor, some chick grabbed my ass. A girl in a red dress saddled up next to your humble narrator and made small talk. I excused myself and discussed life and such with my mentor before another girl in a tank top and designer jeans asked me to dance. Dancing wasn't on my list of things to do as I was tired from a long day of training, watching the fights, and revelry.<br /><br />.....in other news, at said bar's gala opening, I saw two mortal enemies from my past.<br />--About 2 years ago perhaps, I saw these two clowns both at the same bar on the same night. I rolled up on both of them and called them both out on it in front of like 20 of their friends. Because they're both cunts, they rallied their troupes, but my 3 buddies and I were literally going to hand them all their asses...so the pansies got the bouncers to take us out. Pitiful, really.<br /><br />Anyhow, I was posted up at the bar when I saw the first guy. He immediately averted his eyes and disappeared into the crowd. Rollin' out hand in hand with them was the cousin of another ex of mine.<br />I saw the second guy and he looked away. I guess 20 min's later or so he felt the need to not feel like a gutless simp of a man and magically appeared next to me at the bar. I looked over at him and smiled.....but he never looked up from his beer. He was probably having someone somewhere snap a picture to prove had something that resembles balls. I guess in his mind standing next to someone he fears even when backed up by 20 guys is a moral victory.<br />Hope he slept well on that.<br />The girl in the red dress re-appeared by my side but I just slammed down my Corona and flitted into the night with a tragic smile on my face.<br />I went home with my absurdly smart and gorgeous girlfriend.<br />One or both of those clowns were probably jackin' off with their tears as lubricant and wishing they could at least feel a little bit more like a man.<br /><br />Put your dick in the fire. Get beat up. Roll the dice. You can go on youtube and watch me fight motherfucker. You gotta' pay cold, hard cash to see me put the hands, knees, and feet on folks these days. I am a prizefighter...part of a long tradition comprised of the all or nothing men walking around, living the sporting life.<br /><br />Oh yeah. And I got another tattoo.<br /><br />Monday morning came quickly....I slept fitfully and deep. She was by my side. I ran my fingers through her hair as she lay with her head on my chest. Leaving her for work and the drive in my metal coffin proved difficult as it does on these peacefully quiet mornings next to her. There was no hangover, no need for coffee or rushed exit. Her beautiful face and long, dark hair....soft and warm...hushed toned tales of intimacy and longing coursing between my fingertips and her skin. I could have hugged her and crushed her in my arms, unable to articulate her importance to me and the depth of my feeling(s) for her. I've spent much of my days self-reliant, hesitant to actually rely on another, at least in self-admittance. I sat with my mother yesterday...and it occurred to me, that the person I trust most other than her is my girl.<br /><br /><span style="color: rgb(255, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;">-With Greatest Affection</span>John Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09563200602107612083noreply@blogger.com3