It’s Time To Move On.

man in black backpack during golden hour

There comes a point in everyone’s life where it’s time to move on. It could be time to move on from one job to another. It could be time to move on from the relationship that you are in, it could be time to move on past whatever bullshit that is holding you back.

Are you caught up in the cultural outrage? Time to move on. Are you caught up in defining what exactly is “alpha?” Time to move on. Are you caught up in women’s indignation over…everything? Time to move on.

Are you caught up in “how to get da gurlz?” You guessed it. It’s time to move on.

There’s more to life than outrage. There’s more to life than cultural politics. There’s more to life than just banging women. There’s more to life than “following your biological imperative.” There’s more to life than deciding what is or isn’t “alpha.”

You want to play politics, watch outrage porn, and shout over the internet about who is more “alpha” than whom, that’s fine, you do that. I’m moving on.

Maybe, just maybe, if you stopped paying so much attention to the outrage, maybe it wouldn’t bother you so much? And maybe, just maybe some of it might actually decrease or go away?

When I was back in grade school and all through high school, there was this guy, his name was Dustin. Dustin came from a less than ideal background. He grew up in poverty, didn’t make hygiene a priority, and he acted outlandish in everything he said and did. He loved attention. He was the living epitome of “there is no such thing as bad attention.”

Dustin would intentionally piss guys off just to get a rise out of them and get some attention. It would usually end up with Dustin taking a serious beating. And in all honesty, he deserved it. He got what was coming to him.

Dustin and I used to work at the local grocery store as baggers. He smelled awful, was unkempt, and would try to get a rise out of his fellow co-workers for attention. To this day, I have no idea why management never fired him. Maybe it was out of pity, I don’t know. I do know that he was costing the store business though.

Anyways, I remember one day Dustin decided to try and rile me up to get attention from me. I knew that if I did anything about it, I would be the one that would be held accountable and get in trouble, and I didn’t want that.

So I ignored him.

I’m not talking about the “hey, did you see or hear something” that kids would sometimes do around someone they didn’t like. I’m talking about I actually ignored him as if he wasn’t there. If he spoke to me, I didn’t answer. If he stepped in front of me, I would just go right around him, almost like he wasn’t there. It drove him batshit crazy at first. Just like a little kid throwing a tantrum when they don’t get their way. Eventually though, he left me alone and set his sights on his next target.

Ignoring someone can be brutally effective.

I see guys on the interwebs bitching about how women are “thots” showing off their tits and ass on instagram. I don’t actually blame those women for doing it. They are getting attention from their beta-orbiters and are probably making good money doing it. I’ll tell you right now, if I could show off my ass and crotch to a bunch of women and have them giving me attention and throwing money at me, I’d do it in a heartbeat.

What do you think would happen if guys stopping following, liking, and commenting on these videos and photos that these “thots” put out? What if you as a Man, stopped paying attention to them? What do you think would happen? The “thot industry” would dry up overnight.

Same with feminists. What’s going on here really? I understand all too well that there is political maneuvering and power plays going on, I get that. But what else is going on here? It’s women bitching and moaning. What if you as a Man stopped paying attention to that? What do you think would happen then? What if you were completely indifferent to it? What if you shrugged your shoulders and said, “women are going to complain,” and moved on? Sure the shouting and the tantrums would intensify for a moment, just like kids throwing fits do, but ultimately it would die down.

What if you stopped clicking links to outrage porn? What do you think would happen to those websites that propagate it? Sure they would still be around for awhile since they are targeting women primarily. But what do you think would happen eventually? Clicks are revenue. Clicks are money. Ultimately that’s what all of these sites are about. They are about making money. No clicks, no money. No money, no jobs. No jobs, no websites.

In the past, I’ve called it “Vote With Your Wallet.” I’ll do you one better now:

Vote With Your Attention.

It’s time to move on and do something else.

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Confession To The World

Have you ever done something that if the people around you found out you did it, it would change how they look at you, what they think of you? That it would literally change their worlds, and yours, forever?

I have. And I did.

You see, a little over four years ago, I committed a crime. I did something that could get me locked up for the rest of my life. In some areas of the world, it could get me executed.

I have committed Murder in the First Degree.

It was premeditated. I did it in cold blood. I did it without remorse as to the suffering of the individual that I killed. And I would do it again given a chance and if I had to do it again.

Who did I murder, you ask?

Just this guy I knew. I knew him my whole life and he was one miserable, unhappy son of a bitch. In all honesty, what I did to him shouldn’t be classified as murder, if anything, I should get a medal for what I did. If anything, I should be considered a hero. I don’t consider killing him as an act of brutality so much as an act of mercy. I put that motherfucker out of his misery.

I grew up with this guy and I watched him grow and do his thing. He wasn’t a bad looking guy, but he couldn’t see it. I tried telling him time and time again that he was good enough, but he wouldn’t hear it. I watched him hurt himself with drinking, the occasional drugs, and the shit food that he ate. I heard him talk of dying on and off throughout his life. If anyone wanted to die at one point or another, it was this friend of mine.

He was a good guy, don’t get me wrong, but god he could be a doormat sometimes. It was pathetic really. It was sad to watch him settle for less when he could have had so much more. If only he could have seen what I saw. You can’t make someone see the truth though, they will only see it when they are ready to see it.

That’s why I don’t try and “fix things.” People are going to do what they are going to do, and you can tell them all the reasons that they should or shouldn’t do something, but until they have crashed and burned enough times, whatever you tell them will fall on deaf ears.

There’s a meme that does the rounds on the internet and has done those rounds for several years. It goes something like this:

“What advice would you give your younger self?”

And of course people throw all sorts of nonsense out there about what they would tell their younger selves, about how if their younger self listened to their older self, their lives would be better somehow.

It’s all bullshit of course. What advice would I tell my younger self? Not a goddamn thing. Why not? Because my younger self had it all figured out and had all the answers and wouldn’t listen to guy an older guy like me, not even when it was me. It’s truly awesome being a late teen/early twenty something and you know it all.

Same thing could be said about my friend that I ended up killing. He had all the answers too, and you couldn’t tell him anything. Since he had all the answers and his life was such shit, I figured that all he wanted to do was die, so I obliged him.

One night I snuck into his house, creeped up to his bed, and woke him up when I put the barrel of a gun against his forehead.

It was so quick that he didn’t have time to say anything. But his eyes. Oh his eyes said all sorts of things. Mostly pleading with me not to kill him. But kill him I did. He needed it. He had it coming. And I’m glad I did it. Like I said earlier, I would do it again. The only thing I would do differently is I would have killed him sooner than I did.

The day after I killed my friend I told my now ex-wife that I wanted a divorce.

I won’t bore you with the details of that set of conversations and dramas, suffice it to say that ultimately here we are.

One of the things that I did say to my ex-wife though was this:

“Don’t consider this a divorce. Consider it a funeral. The Man you knew and loved and fell in love with is dead. I killed him. The Man standing before you looks just like him, so much so it could be his identical twin, but I’m not that Man that you married.”

Yes I killed him. Guilty as charged. And I would do it again in a heartbeat.

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Nothing Like A Good Old Fashioned Horror Story.

man lights legs silhouette
“I was sent by Triple A? I heard you have a flat tire? I’m here to help.”

For pretty much all of my life, I’ve been a fan of the “horror genre.” Books, movies, TV shows, you name it. Most of the fiction literature that I’ve read has been one form of horror or another.

Vampires. Were-wolves. Zombies. Aliens. Let’s not forget, at least when it comes to movies, guys in hockey masks, guys in blue coveralls, guys with knives strapped onto their hands.

Looking back on a lot of it, man, it was cheesy and hokey. Some of the films I used to watch, while they wouldn’t scare me, but maybe they would give me a sense of unease, of dread. Lately watching some of these films, I tend to find them somewhat silly and even boring.

I guess you grow up, you mature. Nothing wrong with any of this material, it definitely has a nostalgia factor to them. I can remember where I was when I first read or saw whatever it was. Good times.

I guess the horror literature and movies don’t do it so much for me anymore because of what can actually go on in the real world.

True crime is a horror genre in itself, the only difference is that the boogyman is real. I find this particular genre fascinating in and of itself as well. The how’s and possible why’s of what one individual or group of individuals did to another person or group. The why’s don’t bother me as much, they did what they did because they could and they wanted to, after all. Anything else is really just a label, a compartmentalization, a rationalization. A way for us the readers and viewers to say, “I could never do that.” Sure you could. Given the right circumstances and motivations, we are truly capable of anything.

There’s another boogeyman that’s real though too.

This one isn’t outside of us. It isn’t some other individual or group doing things to us, it’s in our own minds. It is us.

That boogeyman is very real. It’s all of our doubts and insecurities. It’s that nagging voice that tells you you can’t. It’s that thought that you aren’t good enough. It’s the voice of “why bother.” And it resides in all of us. It’s our inner critic, our slave driver, our own personal demon(s). It’s even that inner whisper of perfection.

If only you do X, Y, Z, in ABC order, then, and only then, will you find perfection. You’ll not fail. You’ll succeed beyond your wildest dreams. But…

People are going to be watching you. They are going to laugh when you fall down, they are going to jeer when you fail. And your failure will hang around your neck, like an albatross, cursing you for all eternity. So just give up. Laughter and pointing fingers, and the judgment that you surely will receive! Everyone will see you as that failure. You will wear that scarlet A. And you will be outcast. Shunned. Unforgiven and alone. A pariah.

Men and women will tell stories about you to their children to frighten them into obedience. “Don’t do that! Or you’ll end up like….And you don’t want that do you?”

Am I being outlandish? Sure I am. And yet I’m not. We all have our personal demons that whisper to us and tell us these frightening things. They tell us that we can’t succeed, that everyone is watching, waiting for us to fall down so they can laugh and judge. They tell us why bother. They tell us, don’t worry about it, do it tomorrow. And tomorrow. And tomorrow. And yet, tomorrow never comes.

They tell us that what we have to offer is of no consequence. They tell us someone else has already said and done it before. They tell us there is too much competition and that the market is too saturated.

They tell us that we will never be good looking enough, athletic enough, strong enough, thin enough, young enough, rich enough, and smart enough, so why bother?

These demons in our minds, they will tell us a lot of things. And we’ll turn them into reality if we listen long enough and believe them.

But we don’t have to. We can choose to ignore them. We can choose to exorcise them and cast them out. We can choose to listen and believe in something else.

We can choose to accept that we are not perfect and never will be. We can choose to figure that we are good enough. We can always strive to do and be better, but while striving, we can be okay with where we are at and who we are. We can look back at who we were yesterday and see the progress that we have made today.

We can choose to see those demons for what they really are. Smoke and mirrors. Hokey guys with fake machetes and plastic masks, dripping fake blood.

We can choose something else.

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