the masculine spirit

the priest at our parish
talks about lust every single sunday,
sweating through his robes,
eyes on the girls in the third pew.
lust, lust, lust.
you'd think the old goat invented it.
but this fucker,
he never mentions the real sin,
the one sitting in every pew
with a belly and a phone,
the man who could be a lion
and chose to be a gazelle.
god handed that guy two arms,
a brain, heartbeat, a whole morning,
and he spent it scrolling
pictures of other men's wives.
if I ran the church
the confession booth would have a pull-up bar.
bless me father, for I have sinned:
skipped leg day,
quit my novel at chapter three,
let my woman carry the groceries,
spent my son's school money on a scratch card.
ten burpees and fifty pages, says the priest,
and go strengthen thy wretched self.
sam elbows me in the ribs
because im laughing during the homily.
i can't help it.
heaven, if it exists,
is full of tired men with scarred hands.
the soft ones are still in line,
checking their phones.

if danger walked into your home tonight, could you handle it?

physically. financially. mentally.

picture it for a second. a man breaks through your door at 2am. then your father gets sick and needs surgery money by friday. meanwhile, your woman breaks down and needs you to be the rock while everything falls apart, while your mind is being attacked by unknowng strong forces.

four different attacks, all at once, all demanding the same thing from you: strength.

be honest with yourself. would you stand there useless, angry, and scared, waiting for someone else to save the day? or would you handle it?

that answer tells you everything about the man you are right now.

strength is your duty. staying weak when you could be strong is the greatest sin a man can commit.
being a weak loser is unacceptable.
why?

because you always have the opportunity to be strong. and wasting that opportunity is a sin.

the greatest sin in the world is to be a weak piece of shit,because you can be more than you are rn.

its not okay for you to be a weak loser,

it hurts you, your dog, sam, brothers, family, and your 1000 true fans

think about it. the man you become doesn’t affect you alone. your capabilities determine, in part, how well you can take care of the people who depend on you. your discipline determines what you’re able to build. your knowledge determines what problems you’re able to solve.

every capability you develop gives you another way to deal with the demands of life.

and every capability you neglect is a potential source of helplessness.

but there’s something else i’ve noticed about getting stronger.

the pursuit itself can make life more fulfilling.

getting stronger: the satisfaction of developing one’s potential.

i noticed this in myself, i dont really find happiness in all the so called "happiness" in the definition of the free-world.

think about it, when you want happiness, what do you usually do??

vacations, going to thailand, bali, or parties, or alcohols, drugs, having fun, going out with your friends, or maybe movies, sex, and mores sex.

i mean, there's nothing wrong with doing these things, but, and this is a big but, they dont really give you true fulfillment in life.

i went to the parties.
let me be clear about that,
i did the whole circus:
a rooftop in bgc with twelve-dollar cocktails,
the whores from cebu,
pills that turned strangers into brothers
for four hours,
one beach in siargao
where i woke up in somebody's hammock
with sand in my ass and a tattoo of a fish.
fun, all of it.
im no monk.
hand me a party tomorrow
and i'll probably go.
still, every one of those nights
left me hollow in the morning,
a balloon somebody forgot to tie.
pleasure is frosting.
you can eat a whole bowl of frosting
and still be starving.
the cake is the hard part,
boring af,
6am alarms,
a blank page that hates you,
heavy bags that hit back.
bake that every day for ten years
and then, sure,
pile on the frosting.
by then you'll have earned the sugar.
you might even taste it.

getting stronger.

consider a man who wants to become an excellent writer. he starts out struggling to articulate his thoughts. his arguments are weak, his vocabulary is limited, and he has difficulty expressing complex ideas clearly.

but he writes anyway.

he reads great writers, studies their work, examines his own weaknesses, and practices expressing his thoughts more precisely. he spends years developing his craft.

eventually, he can articulate ideas that he once struggled to understand, let alone explain to another person.

he has developed a capability that previously existed only as potential.

this is what mastery offers a man: the opportunity to develop his potential and experience the satisfaction of becoming more capable.

there is a particular satisfaction in doing something difficult, repeatedly confronting your inadequacies, and gradually becoming capable of things you once couldn’t do.

you can see the difference between who you were and who you’ve become.

research on self-determination theory identifies competence as a basic psychological need, alongside autonomy and relatedness. people tend to experience greater well-being when they feel capable of dealing effectively with the world around them.

and the satisfaction doesn’t have to wait until you become a master.

a man might endure a difficult boxing camp and feel miserable during parts of it, yet find the experience deeply fulfilling. his life doesn’t have to wait until he achieves greatness to become meaningful.

the pursuit itself gives him something worth dedicating himself to. it gives direction to his days, challenges him to confront his inadequacies, and allows him to see his own development over time.

but there’s another part of mastery that’s beautiful.

the experience of being so deeply immersed in something that everything else disappears.

think about a boxer who’s been training for years. he’s moving, reading his opponent, slipping punches, and throwing combinations. he’s completely absorbed in the fight. he’s not thinking about his bills, insecurities, or what other people think of him. his attention is entirely on what’s happening in front of him.

we call this flow, a state of deep immersion where you’re so focused on an activity that your awareness of everything else fades away.

a writer experiences it, too. you’re developing an idea, connecting arguments, finding the right words, and suddenly you’ve been writing for two hours without noticing the time pass.

you enjoy the act of exercising a skill you’ve spent years developing.

the boxer enjoys moving with precision. the writer enjoys articulating an idea with clarity. the musician enjoys playing beautifully.

you experience the pleasure of putting your abilities to work, of doing something difficult and doing it well.

and sometimes, you’re so absorbed in the activity that you forget yourself entirely.

this is another reason mastery can be fulfilling. you have something worth developing, and as your abilities grow, you discover new depths of satisfaction in practicing your craft.

you find fulfillment in becoming more capable, and in experiencing what your capabilities allow you to do.

but i think this is something we’ve lost sight of in our pursuit of happiness.

we’ve become so accustomed to asking ourselves, “what would make me feel good?”

that we rarely ask, “what would make me respect the person I’m becoming?”

those are two very different questions.

and while there’s nothing wrong with pleasure, i don’t think a life organized primarily around feeling good can offer the same depth of satisfaction as a life organized around becoming better.

cultivate your home, turn it into a heaven

you should design your home around the three activities that matter most to your development: sleep, intellectual work, and physical training.

1st, best bedroom
where you can sleep properly, deep fucking sleep.
sound proof, air-conditioned, blackout room.
quiet, cold, dark.
super comfy bed.
this is important, you need something where you can fully let go, and recuperate.
you want a place where you can completely disconnect from the world and recover.

2nd, the batcave
soundproof, air-conditioned.
hag capisco, macbook, adjustable table.
you want a dedicated environment for developing your intellectual abilities and producing your best work.

3rd, garage gym
where you can fight, train, lift
garage room is better for this
and that should also serve as parking for your cars and bikes.
you want a place where you can develop your physical abilities through boxing, lifting, and other forms of training.

try your best to optimize everything around this.
because this is basically your entire life.
sleep, zone of genius, train.
thats it.

here's i want you to do
set an alarm for 5am (or whatever the fuck is your preffered time)
take a walk, 15 mins is enough.
come back.
coffee and cigar.
play macmiller lofi (the 46:48 one in youtube)
set a timer for 45 minutes, zone of genius
take a shit, kiss sam on the forehead, tell her how beautiful she is.
set a timer for 45 minutes, zone of genius
shit again (only applicable to me)
done.
go to the garage gym and put yourself in a rigorous physical training.
run, lift, or box.
thats what all your life should be about.

then i dont really dont give a fuck what you do after.
maybe go to talk to some beautiful bitches,
or jerk off to attagirl's vids,
or admin stuff or paper work,
or beat the shit out of someone
or human traffic a bitch (that little slut will never see the light of day again)
or open your chakras,
or take a nap,
or go to your regular job,

i give zero fucks what you do after,
just protect those first 4 hours of your day.
that is what determines the whole trajcetory of your life.
allocate those 4 on the right things.

do this for a year, it will take you to the moon.
do it for five, then you’re among the stars.
guaranteed.

the man i used to be
lives in my closet now.
i hear him at night,
crinkling chip bags,
jerking off to the same tired videos,
whispering that tomorrow
is a better day to start.
he’s pale and puffy, about two-twenty,
wearing my old cargo shorts.
sometimes he follows me to the kitchen
and leans on the fridge,
telling me boxing is for idiots,
writing is a hobby,
money is evil,
women are all the same,
the whole loser catechism.
i let him talk.
he’s lonely, poor bastard.
then i put on my shoes
and run five miles in the dark,
coming back
to find him a little smaller.
every year he shrinks.
he used to fill the doorway.
now he could fit in a shoebox.
one of these mornings i’ll open that closet
and find a pair of cargo shorts,
a sad pile of crumbs,
then i’ll sweep them up,
say a short prayer
for the soft fat boy
who had to die
so i could live.