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Entry #1
Just
another cold-ass winter's week here in Jersey… Another week paying
dues… Another week in paradise… Training was hard and intense as usual,
but nothing spectacular--just another brick in the wall. Starting with
the standard grueling Tuesday back session with my boy Vinny “Pots
& Pans.” Wednesday brought with it a sinus-induced, dome-in-a-vice,
migraine-type headache that kept me out of the gym and forced me to
shake up the normal split. Returning to gym on Thursday, I decided to
train biceps first because I had missed them on Wednesday. I then hit
quads and hams solo. The bicep workout was brief and focused. I've
gotten better at keeping the small muscle group sessions short and
sweet. I can now blast biceps full tilt in less than 20 minutes.
Friday, known in my gym as “Big Friday” is chest day… Still making up
for my missed Wednesday, I had to lump tris and calves in with pecs to
catch my ass up to speed. That is why I fucking hate missing a
scheduled workout. But such is life. You make due and get your training
in by any means necessary. Saturday was the typical delt session,
except this week I pre-exhausted by doing all of my laterals before
pressing and was really into my trap training so I ended up doing like
10 sets of shrugs. Some days you just have to be instinctive and go
with the flow. My diet was typical off-season: 350g of protein a day, 4
shakes per, trying to keep the junk food consumption to a minimum. Had
several helpings of venison chili this week. This was my first time
eating it and considering the fact that deer meat is a very lean and
high protein food source, I decided I'd give it its day in court. I
felt sort of guilty eating Bambi, but I realized that such feelings
made me little more than a hypocrite. I can eat chickens and cows all
day long and not feel the least bit bad about it. The way I look at it,
if it gave its life for me to get bigger, it did not die in vain. My
supplementation was on point all week, the highlight of which is my
favorite anabolic postworkout concoction: 1 pack Animal Nitro G,
5g creatine and 10g glutamine mixed in 6 oz. of cold water. I bang that
down even before my shake and at least an hour prior to my first post
training whole food meal. It's the little shit like that which makes
the difference in the long run-that is the shit that will give me my
edge. There it is, a week in my life. Training and eating, struggling
and striving, clawing and scratching my way, trying to get ahead in
this world. Looking for that elusive edge. Doing whatever it takes to
get mine…
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Entry #2
This
week I jumped on the cardio bandwagon. Even though I’m offseason and
trying to blow up, I’ve got a plan. You see, I’ve always had the skinny
boy metabolism, so even as I’ve progressed as a bodybuilder and gotten
bigger and stronger, I never made huge jumps in bodyweight--just
steadily added lean mass. This past winter, making a concerted effort
to pack on the weight, I threw caution to the wind and had gained ten
pounds over three months, before recently screeching to a halt. This is
where you’ve gotta switch shit up. I’ve added the cardio to allow me to
up my calories while remaining hard. Walking on the inclined treadmill
at a good pace, keeping the abs tight and squeezing my wheels with
every step, what I’ve dubbed “the big guy walk.” The cardio, as I see
it, has many benefits. First, it speeds up what was already a fast
metabolism making it tough for me to store bodyfat. Second, it
increases my appetite making me even hungrier, helping me put away the
necessary growth calories. Third, it is good for my ticker--you see at
some point back in the day, bodybuilding was about being healthy, and
considering I want to be a big, bad motherfucker when I’m 60, I figure
I better start making that investment now. Finally, I find it
therapeutic. I get on that treadmill, put on my headphones and zone
out. I can’t do that when I’m training--I have to concentrate too much
to not get murdered by a quarter ton plus in the squat rack. It’s just
me, alone with my thoughts, in my own world--a fucking scary place to
be. I’m there plotting and scheming and thinking of a master plan. To
paraphrase Arnold, while the next guy is thinking about how hard this
is or how much its gonna hurt, I’m thinking about how I’m gonna make my
first million. Motherfuckin’ right.
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Entry #3
This
lifestyle of ours provides shelter from the storm. Stress, problems
with relationships or family, lack of cash flow, career issues… Life
can fucking beat the living shit out of you if you let it. But no
matter what shit sandwich you get served, it is no doubt a blessing to
have the structure and comfort of routine that bodybuilding provides.
Eat, train, sleep when you can… Wake up and do that shit all over
again. When all else fails there is the gym, a place of solace and
refuge. Like a Tibetan monk escaping to a remote mountain cave to
meditate and be at one with nature, we can go to the gym with a chip on
our shoulder, go to the squat rack and throw down, punish our quads for
the inequities of the world and leave it all on the gym floor… Like a
spiritual and physical cleansing all at once. Plus, we are able to make
a positive investment in ourselves, our goals and our future, even
during our low times. Moments when others choose to walk a path of
self-destruction, we build and grow and flourish. Bodybuilding is
steady and solid. It is hard and unyielding like the cast iron of a 45
lb. plate. Times change and trends come and go. Interest rates rise and
the Dow Jones plummets. But the gym is always there. A 100 lb. will
always be 100 lb. And I like that.
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Entry #4
“What
the fuck are you looking at?” Those are the words that rush to the
forefront of my mind every time I’m out eating in public. Whether its a
10 egg white omelet in a cafeteria, a pyramid of burgers at MickeyD’s
or the protein shake I’d bring to class in college, it is quite obvious
that regular folks have a problem with eaters and consequently have
issues with bodybuilders. I think their scorn is the result of an
underlying fear. That fear is rooted in the fact that if we were
stranded on a deserted island and somehow were caught in a “Lord of the
Flies” scenario, they know that they’d be the first to get roasted over
an open flame and eaten. It gets no more basic or primal than that.
I’ve gotta admit, however, that I have my own issues with food as well.
I hate to be seen out in public buying or eating junk food, for some
reason I have attached a certain amount of unavoidable shame to the
consumption of trash in the presence of normal people--they might
presume that we are in some way alike. Also, I detest seeing uneaten
food left on the plate. It might be my blue-collar roots, but I don’t
like to see food go to waste. Remember, there are starving children in
Africa and skinny guys at your gym, so pretty please, with sugar on
top, clean your fucking plates.
Entry #5
Breaking
one of my fundamental rules about the need for sacrifice in life to
produce success, I gave in to my girl and went on a little trip with
her for the first time in our four and half year relationship. This
departure from the norm found me in Paris, France. And while
there is enough to be experienced there, it is no place for the
bodybuilder. Planning ahead of time, I figured I'd use the few days in
Paris as an opportunity to let my body heal and recover, so I trained
everything on a three day split before my departure. This was the first
time I missed more than my standard two consecutive rest days in
probably six years, and that made me feel guilty enough. I brought some
shakes with me along with my Animal Paks, Animal Nitro, glutamine, and
some other stuff just to ensure that I at least got the minimum
nutritionally during my time abroad. I'm glad I had that foresight, cuz
while the sidewalks in Paris are small, the food portions are even
smaller. I also didn't see a single other big dude in my entire time
there. People looked at me like a mutant freak of nature, and I'm only
235... I even had an artist chase me down by the River Seine to ask to
draw me--did I play futbol? Was I a boxer? Neither, I stated proudly.
I'm a bodybuilder. An American bodybuilder in Paris... There ain't
enough room to walk, not enough food to eat, the clothes don't fit and
the American dollar ain't worth jack shit, but at least on your most
skinny feeling, muscle dysmorphic off day with no pump at all, you'll
still be the biggest monsieur there.
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Entry #6
Sometimes,
to keep progressing, you have to go out of your way to humble yourself.
Like I've always said, I don't compare myself to the people I see
everyday--that is the best way to be the big dog in a small pound for
the rest of my days. Fuck that. You've gotta keep some perspective.
Remember terms like “heavy” or “big” are relative… What is heavy for me
is some other dude's warm-up. For the past several years, I'd get my
tickets to the Night Of Champions in NYC, because it was the closest
pro show to my Jersey home. And each May, just around the time where I
started thinking I was big, my trip to the NOC would put me in my place
and fire me up for months to come. Since then, I've been to the Olympia
and the Arnold where I have been surrounded by the professional
physique elite and droves of anonymous monsters from all over the
country and around the globe. I'm now in a perpetual state of hunger…
My fire to improve is constantly raging as it is being rekindled every
couple of months: October… March… May. Bigger… Stronger… Better. Step
out of your comfort zone and put yourself in your place. You are only
as good as the competition you surround yourself with; even if that
stage is only in your head… Will your comp be the local stiffs or the
best of the best? Only you can decide.
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Entry #7
The
gym is the greatest metaphor for life there is. Every time you attempt
a new lift, or even simply try to maintain your previous best, there is
that haunting feeling in the pit of you stomach… It ain’t fear, it’s
pressure… The pressure to handle the weight, to take the heat, to, at
the very least, maintain or better yet, to strive to take it all to the
next level. That weight, that pressure, is what we carry with us
everyday of our lives. The kind of pressure that gives you gray hairs
in your early twenties… That shit is no joke. That pressure doesn’t
come from external sources like society or parents or spouses… it comes
from within. It is the burden that every great man must bear. Life
without dreams and aspirations and the pressure that comes along with
them ain’t no kinda life at all if you ask me. I’ll take that heat;
I’ll deal with the pressure because that is the price I must pay to be
great. You hear cats say, “Be easy” or “Hang loose” or “Chill”. Well
guess what son. Chill don’t pay the fuckin’ bills. I’m here to get mine
and to carve out the life of my dreams on my terms, and I’ll be damned
if any man will step in my way. This is the life I chose. Can you carry
the weight?
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Entry #8
I
am old school. I know… It’s a startling revelation. I may only be 26,
but I am no doubt a throwback, the son of a distant era. This fact has
come to the forefront of my conscious mind as I reflect on my general
philosophy as a personal trainer--my interim occupation of choice as I
pursue my life’s quest. I believe, down to the bare roots of my being
in the basics… Train hard with free weights, eat like a bodybuilder
24/7, get your rest and do cardio to stay lean. The tried and true
stuff, the shit the forefathers of our sport did… Bodybuilding 101.
While we are all our own dieticians, physical therapists, trainers,
psychoanalysts and all around bodybuilding gurus, we ain’t fucking
splitting the atom--bust your ass in the gym; shovel in the protein and
calories; sleep as much as you can… Repeat. Save the pilates, wheat
grass, soy milk, balancing precariously on an inflated rubber ball
while you do bicep curls with pink plastic coated dumbbells, new age,
nouveau riche bullshit for the Palm Springs soccer moms. It is 2005 and
the old school is back in session. Lesson #1: Keep It Simple Sucka.
Class dismissed.
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Week #9
Variety.
It is an essential element of bodybuilding progress. Switching up the
details regarding your training can translate into accelerated gains.
The “who”, “what”, “when”, “where” and “why” of bodybuilding must
always evolve and be reshuffled. For example, I train at a gym other
than my regular home base twice a week now--on Tuesdays and
Thursdays--and I lift with two of my co-workers, who are also personal
trainers at that gym. Back and leg day have now been given new life as
1) they are being trained in a new environment where I am an outsider;
2) I am training with new partners; and 3) the equipment is slightly
different than that at my usual gym. And those are just the obvious
factors. Beyond that, I am highly motivated by the need to bury anybody
new that trains with me, to make them understand what it takes, to
cause them to realize that they’ve never worked so hard in the gym, and
consequently never been so sore before. Also, I always like to live by
the Joe DiMaggio rule--to always perform and carry yourself in a way so
honorable as to leave an indelible impression on anyone who crosses
your path, even if it is only once. Another example of how changing
shit up can make all the difference in your progress comes from this
Saturday’s delt session. Same old gym, same training partner (Pots
& Pans), and shoulders as usual. Until, in a moment of lethargic
inspiration, desperate for something new, I suggested that we try
something different--circuit training. Two circuits: military presses;
dumbbell shrugs; side dumbbell lateral raises and dumbbell rear delt
raises; machine shrugs; upright rows--5 times through each circuit in
superset fashion. We absolutely trashed delts and traps in less than 45
minutes… Best fucking shoulder session I’ve had in years, all because I
decided to deviate from the norm. Take it from me, variety may be the
spice of life, but it is the fucking ammonium nitrate of training.
Believe that.
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Entry #10
I
saw too much wasted potential growing up as a ballplayer and sports fan
and it left an indelible impression on me. Len Bias, Darryl Strawberry
and the like broke my heart when I was a kid. To have the world as your
oyster and the future laid out in front of you ripe for the picking and
to throw it all away is one of the saddest things in the world to
behold. We’re all human, and we all make mistakes, but opportunity
often only knocks once, and you have to be ready to answer the door or
you might just be left ass out. I made a decision early, that I
wouldn’t allow myself to be that guy. I wouldn’t let the distractions
of the world and the negative assholes I encountered along the way lead
me astray. It reminds me of a friend of mine, a kid I met a couple of
years back. He had some tough guy issues, so we dubbed him “Angry” Jon.
Good kid, funny and at 15 years old, was as strong as an ox. He became
like a little brother to my whole gym crew and especially to me. He
trained like an animal, asked questions all the time trying to raise
his bodybuilding IQ and would call me on a regular basis with updates
on his daily nutrition. He had all the potential in the world and at 15
was way ahead of the learning curve. But like so many trying to find
their way, he got caught up with the wrong cats, lost focus, started
fucking around and got himself in some shit with the law. He dragged
his feet for a year, gave up on his training and when I’d run into him,
I could do little more that shake my head in disapproval. Now at 17,
like a prodigal son, Jon has returned to the gym. He is more mature,
more focused and has a sense of the potential he has within him. Jon is
again working hard, paying his dues and bringing himself back up to
speed, making up for lost time. He has gotten a second chance and is
young enough to start fresh. The world is his. So are you making the
most of your gifts? Are you maximizing your potential and going for
yours or will you just piss it all away?
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Entry #11
We all have our own slang. 45 lb. plates, instead of being just one of
several nominal weight increments capable of being used in the gym to
increase a training load are instead, to me, “pies.” I only count in
multiples of 45’s… We go up in pies, all day long, until the bar bends
and snaps. A credo that is far easier to actually adhere to on
exercises like deads and leg presses as opposed to curls and bench
presses. But for me, it is all about the mindset. To turn myself into a
destroyer, a human wrecking ball, is the ultimate goal every time I
walk through the gym doors. It is to enter the weight room with a
purpose, to be in a positive state of mind and to be confident in my
ability to handle the task at hand, no matter how daunting. Self
assured that this is not merely a worthwhile past time, but a part of
who I am. It is a matter of perspective. For example, to me stretch
marks are not unsightly striae, but battle scars--the manifestation of
limits transcended. Food is often not tasty chow, but instead fuel for
a high performance machine… Like my Pops said observing me choke down a
couple cans of dry tuna, “You’d eat the ass off of a rhinoceros if it
would get you big.” Motherfuckin’ right I would. But that fact, to me,
is not special or extraordinary, it is simply what I do. No one thanks
the wind for blowing.
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Entry #12
Every
year that passes, I look back on the previous year and think about how
much of a pussy I was back then, compared to my current status. I am
always trying to do better, to demand more of myself, to be more
hardcore than before... Whether it is diet and supplementation or gym
warfare, there is always a little bit further to go, an inch or two
closer to the brink of insanity. One way for me to push the envelope is
to be innovative, to create exercises, or to take my surroundings and
utilize them to make my training even more insane. Last summer during a
moment of cruel inspiration, I devised a way to take my leg training to
a new level. My gym is located on the second floor of a shopping
center, up two flights of steps to the front door. Once the dinnertime
rush to the gym subsided and thoroughfare would be at its lowest, my
boy Pots & Pans and I dragged some dumbbells downstairs after heavy
squatting and leg pressing and decided to lunge up and down the steps.
Two steps at a time with the 80, 90 and 100 pounders, up and down, in
the brutal July heat, reveling in the fact that we were the only
motherfuckers hardcore or crazy enough to do such a thing. My legs had
never been as sore as they were in the days following the “Stairs of
Death.” But that was last year, and now I must outdo myself and think
of something so sick it will make the stair lunges look like a walk in
the park. So I’ll be here in Jersey scheming a way to take it all up a
notch to be more hardcore than ever before… To do whatever it takes.
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Entry #13
“You
can shit in one hand and wish in the other and see which one fills up
first.” That is one of my Dad’s classic quotes. A Frank statement (pun
intended). It is all about a mindset. Dudes wish they were Mr. Olympia,
wish they were a millionaire, wish they were this and wish they were
that. They wish all day long, but they ain’t willing to put the work
in, and thus they’ll never achieve their goals. Because after all,
there are too many good excuses to fall back on: “It was politics.” Or
“He has better genetics.” Or “That guy who beat me is on this and takes
that.” Bullshit. The only one to point the finger at if I lose or
underachieve or come up short is myself. It is my duty to bridge the
gap. To make up the difference in hard work and diligence--in
consistency and attention to details. To push harder. To demand more.
To be all it is that I desire to be by any means necessary. It applies
to every facet of life--from the weight room to classroom to the
boardroom. From the womb to the tomb, those who will gain the most in
this world are the ones who invest the time and effort and who press on
past obstacles undeterred. It is easy to wish and not act. It is easy
to blame others and cop out. It is easy to die without ever making that
grasp for greatness. But it is hard to pursue your destiny, to answer
the call of greatness, to be a man of action. The days of wishing and
waiting have come and gone. The hour of action has arrived.
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Entry #14
Stay
the course. Follow the fucking plan. Rome was not built in a day…
Nothing great or epic or mighty ever was. Shit, anything that is simply
worthwhile takes time. Time well spent that is… Time conceiving,
planning, executing… Look at every day, every meal, every training
session as an investment, a payment made toward a greater goal.
Chipping away at your dream, one deliberate, positive action at a time.
When times are hard and doubt lingers, be resolute and self-assured.
Yours is the noble path, the journey of the warrior. Some dark days
that road is treacherous and rocky and it seems to take every fiber of
your being, every measure of your soul to muster the heart to take even
one tiny step forward. But push onward you must. And it is those
arduous, painful, incremental advancements that will make all the
difference in the end. Slow motion is better than no motion. Be not
discouraged or disheartened when things look bleak, Animal. Hard work
pays off and hard people prosper. Your day will most certainly come if
you have the balls to stay the course.
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Entry #15
Let
me tell you a little story. Back when I was in Philly, I trained on
occasion at somewhat of a yuppie gym around the corner from my
apartment. A lot of college kids and new doctors beginning their
residency trained there (in their scrubs, of course). But it was well
stocked and close so it was convenient. An IFBB pro named Alq Gurley,
who hailed from Philly, happened to be a staff personal trainer at this
very same gym and a really cool, personable guy as well. Alq was a
monster and was really prominent in Flex and the other muscle mags in
the mid 90s when I first got into bodybuilding. In a horrific freak
accident a couple of years prior to my encountering him at the gym, Alq
blew out both of his knees slipping on a patch of ice leaving a Sixers
game. By the time I got to observe him, he was already back in full
training and getting ready for the Night of Champions. The thing was,
he was fresh off of rehab for two completely reconstructed knees that
had been immobile for several months. He was basically bringing his
legs back to life with every workout. He would do 5 or more
ball-busting sets on every single leg apparatus in the entire gym,
probably 50 sets minimum, and then he would squat--heavy, free weight
squatting, ass-in-the-fucking-grass. That is fucking harder than
hardcore. That shit left an indelible impression on me. Taught me what
it really meant to pay the fucking price. I’m not sure what Alq is up
to now, but he inspires me to this day. Next time you feel like
bitching out on your training, half-assing it, taking for granted how
lucky you are to be alive and to be in the gym, think about Alq gutting
it out, murdering himself on leg day on two Frankenstein knees. That
should do the trick… It still works for me.
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Entry #16
Achieving
extreme growth, that which exceeds nature’s intentions, often requires
extreme measures as well as a little bit of patience. In general,
everything has grown at relatively the same pace. However, my upper
body responded immediately to weight training and grew at an even
further accelerated rate after I began to undertake a bodybuilder’s
diet more than 8 years ago. My legs, on the other hand, took a while to
catch up. Growing up as an athlete and playing ball for 6 hours a day
for the better part of my teens, the slow twitch muscle fibers in my
legs were dominant. While my wheels would consistently grow stronger,
they weren’t blowing up as fast as I wanted them to. So I pounded away
at them, grueling workout after grueling fucking leg session, for years
and they have finally now begun to respond, not just in terms of
strength but also in gaining serious mass. My calves, which had always
been the strong point of my lower half, now suddenly weren’t up to par
with my quads. So I’ve gotten away from blasting them once a week to
training them 4 or 5 times weekly, varying the exercises from day to
day and hitting them on a maintenance level much as I’ve always done
abs… A little bit everyday getting a deep burn and a nice pump, on top
of an all out workout on leg day. It is no longer enough just to have
“good” calves or “good” anything as a matter of fact. Everything must
be exceptional–as freaky as possible. “Above average” just ain’t
cutting it anymore.
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Entry #17
In
Jersey, you really have two seasons: the cold ass, parka-wearing winter
and a scorching summer that’s as hot as balls. On the fringe of each is
two months of rain, wind and gray misery. And luckily for me, the roof
at my gym leaks. One spot used to be right above the decline bench but,
after remodeling, is now just to the right of the shrug machine. The
other leaky spot in our aluminum roof is in the back corner of the gym
in the mirrored hallway that houses our cable station. When it rains
heavy, the gym floor is a mess: a mix of forgotten gym member towels
that have since become rain rags and various buckets designed to absorb
or catch the incessant flow of water, which eventually end up being
mere islands in the pond-like puddles. You usually just train around
them and try to avoid getting your shoes wet, but this past Friday,
such indifference became impossible. It was Big Friday, which in my gym
means chest day… And this week was a rough one. Endless sets on the
flat bench down to doubles and singles, going all out to failure
followed by a few sets of incline dumbbell press working up to the
heaviest ‘bells in the house. After all that shit, our chests were
pumped and fatigued beyond reason and our joints were beat to death. We
needed a finishing exercise… The perfect finishing exercise… But what
about the puddles? So there I was ankle deep in Lake Massive doing
twenty rep sets of cable crossovers, with rain drops peppering me on
every other rep… Loving every minute of it.
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Entry #18
Sometimes,
on rare occasions, it pays to be big. Literally. I got a call from an
old friend of mine last week who had recently been hired to handle a
promotion for one of our local Atlantic City casinos. He needed big
dudes ASAP. The gig: stand there and look big for several hundred
dollars an hour. Now, I’ve paid my dues and worked several shit jobs in
my day, so this was a no brainer. It gets even better. The deal was for
the Arturo Gatti vs. Floyd Mayweather Jr. championship fight at A.C.’s
convention hall. The first day, dressed as Roman centurians we had to
work the weigh-in, which lasted all of about 20 minutes. The second day
was where we earned our cakes. Mayweather, who had pretty much painted
himself the villain by talking shit in the papers to Gatti the local
favorite, was to be carried to ringside Cleopatra-style. Live, on HBO
pay-per-view, in front of 13,000 plus hostile fans, 4 gladiators had to
deadlift a 300+ lbs. platform mounted by the 140 lbs. Mayweather in
unison to waist level and then had to simultaneously clean the carriage
onto our collective shoulders and slowly march toward the ring. It was
a crazy scene. And, by the way, it was a blast. Exactly the kind of gig
you live for when you are young and broke and cutting your teeth in the
world. You spend thousands of hours forging your physique for the sheer
love of the pursuit. But it is nice when all that hard work actually
pays dividends… Even in the form of little perks like working the fight
last weekend. All those hours in the gym, all the blood, sweat and
toil… maybe it is all part of a huge master plan. Something like what
Arnold must have dreamt of on those cold Austrian nights many moons
ago. Something so big, you’ve gotta keep it to yourself til the time is
right. Wait’ll they get a load of me…
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Entry #19
We
pay our dues daily. We are bigger and stronger than 99.9% of the
population. XXXL sized shirts and dumbbells twice that big are not an
uncommon sight in our world. All noteworthy facts that, believe me,
everyone we encounter is aware of without us having to remind them.
Nothing puts as much of a black eye on our sport and our lifestyle as
tough guys. Arrogance and condescension are our downfall. Narcissism
and elitism plague bodybuilding. We all started skinny and weak and
half the size we are today. But as we gain our ego often grows as well.
This is unacceptable. This is a game for men not insecure boys. It is
our duty, as we carry our lifestyle through the harsh external world
just by means of our appearance, to represent bodybuilding right. We
must be humble and approachable. Articulate and friendly… We must
consider ourselves as ambassadors to the planet for the sport of
bodybuilding. When the bells of war ring and it is time to do battle in
the gym, be an Animal. If our personal safety or that of those we love
is jeopardized, then by all means react accordingly. But the rest of
the time, we speak softly and carry a big stick. There is always
someone out there bigger and stronger. People look at us with the same
sort of reverence, respect and trepidation that you would bestow upon
that dude. In the outside world, as bodybuilders, we are role models…
We should conduct ourselves as such.
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Entry #20
“You
give them half, G. The other half you keep for yourself.” That was my
boy Mikey’s advice. Words of wisdom. But easier said than done.
Especially for a brother like me. I’ve always been the all or nothing
type. It’s just who I am… And it ain’t always a good thing. My heart is
on my sleeve. With that sort of approach to life comes much heartache,
hardship and disappointment. I also feel that it is the only way to be
if you are to truly get what you want out of life. Quite obviously, it
is a double edged sword. It makes victory all the sweeter and loss
totally devastating. It’s hot or cold, black or white. I’ve got no time
or interest in lukewarm or gray. I’m “all in” from the flop. Either you
are with me or against me. If I’m in your corner, I’ve got your back to
the end. This mindset can make you the best friend, the best spouse,
and the best teammate in the world. It can also set you up to be taken
advantage of or taken for granted. You take for granted the axle that
holds the wheels on your car, until that fucker snaps and you end up in
a ditch on the side of the highway. My advice is different than my
boy’s. I say live hard and die hard and love hard in between. Cuz
tomorrow ain’t promised and today is slipping away...
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Entry #21
Usually
Sunday is, for me, a total day of rest… Not active rest either. I’m
talking about hibernation. I ease up on bodybuilding foods and
supplements and just try to pack in the calories. In between, at least
during the summer, I sleep and watch the Mets. But this past week, I
said, “Fuck it.” The weather was just too damn nice to spend in
seclusion. So, I did two things that I haven’t done in a year. Two
favorite Jersey pastimes--I went to the beach and played hoop. There
was nowhere to park near the beach, cuz all of the out of towners have
my county on lock, so I had to walk like 5 blocks to get there after I
parked my truck. Once I was there, it was a sight to behold. You know,
I find it strange how people can wear the finest threads and drive
hundred thousand dollar cars yet they could give a fuck what their
bodies look like. I mean, I plan on making some money in my day and
living the good life, but you better bet your ass that when I’m 50 and
livin’ large, lounging at the beach with my family, I’ll have been to
the gym that morning. When I walked up on my lady, who was lying on her
stomach with her pink bikini-covered booty smiling at me and her top
untied, I thought for a second that I had been transported to a beach
in Rio--the stunning realization that I was still in Jersey struck me
when I realized that was the only pleasing sight I’d see for the rest
of the afternoon. In my camouflage board shorts, sipping a protein
shake, I was the only dude with a physique for a mile in either
direction. That’s a damn shame. After catching a quick shower, I was
out the door and on my way to play ball with my boy Anousone (aka “The
Big Asian”) and his crew. This was the first time I had touched a ball
in a year and the first time I played with anyone there. Thus, I was
determined to bust some ass. You see, after you reach a certain size,
people think you’re too big to do anything with grace, coordination, or
finesse. They see you as a muscle bound meathead. But growing up,
basketball was my life. Six plus hours a day—rain, sleet, snow, hail,
whatever. It was my passion the way bodybuilding is today. So there is
much pride that I still attach to handling my business on the court.
When I step on that asphalt, I’m no longer a 27 year old, 240 lb.
bodybuilder. I’m a skinny 13 yr. old with a chip on his shoulder trying
to take it to the brothers in Atlantic City. As much as shit changes,
it all stays exactly the same. My boy’s brother-in-law said, “Damn, I
didn’t think a dude your size could move like that.” Good to hear that
kind of shit, cuz I never wanted to just be big, I wanted it all to be
useful. Remember, if we want people to consider bodybuilders as
athletes, we need to be athletic. So go out, live life, break a sweat,
breathe the fresh air, be athletic… Use that body you’ve been working
so hard to build. Life’s too short to spend your Sundays indoors.
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Entry #22
As
Americans, we have certain concepts engrained in our psyche. Most of
these are noble and well-intentioned, but aren't always universally
applicable. So many of us live under the impression that if some is
good, then more is better--especially when it comes to training.
Bullshit. I'm here to tell you, more ain't better… Better is better. I
was once the proponent of the marathon workout: exercise after
exercise, set after set, rep after rep, all in the name of being
thorough (and doing more than the next guy). But recently I've come to
the conclusion that the more advanced you become, the more intensity
you can generate, and the less volume you need to do. Now believe me,
I'll never be a Heavy Duty or Doggcrapp guy--I love training too much
to do that few an amount of sets… I like to be in the gym… I like
mixing it up. However, the days of doing 20 sets for biceps have come
to an end. I'll always be thorough, I'll always use variety in my
training and hit each muscle from multiple angles, but the idea is to
do the perfect amount of work in order to stimulate growth-- no more,
no less. That should be every bodybuilder's quest--annihilate the
muscle in the most efficient fashion possible and get the fuck out of
the gym. If I wanted to stand around with my dick in my hand, I'd stay
at home.
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Entry #23
Meticulous.
It is my term of choice… It is what I aspire to be in all aspects of my
life, but most especially when it comes to my nutrition. To always eat
what I must when it must be eaten. To take my supplements appropriately
and at the ideal times in order to maximize efficacy. This is my
example of a day of perfect eating and supplementation--what I strive
for on an average training day. Breakfast: I pay attention when the big
boys talk, and learning from Bulldog and Machine, I've gotten myself
accustomed to drinking whole foods. Saving myself about a half hour of
cooking, cleaning and eating time every morning, and adding to my
sleep, I have devised a shake that kick starts growth in no time: 4
whole eggs, 1 cup raw oatmeal, 3 scoops whey protein isolates, 10 oz.
milk, 2 tbsp. peanut butter, 1 banana. Blend that shit up and bang it
down along with an Animal Pak. Breakfast is served. A couple of hours
later I'll have a shake, a protein bar and some fruit, in preparation
for my training. Also, I'll take a pack of Animal Nitro with some
Storm. On days when I need a kick in the ass, I'll take Animal Cuts or
drink an energy drink. After laying waste to the weights, it is
recovery time: first I take Animal Nitro G and another serving of Storm
followed by glutamine, and some EFAs. I follow that with a 60g protein
shake. About a half hour later it is time for lunch--10 oz. of steak
and a cup of rice at my girl's apartment. 2 hrs. later another shake or
maybe a protein bar. This is followed by a dinner of sushi or maybe
some chicken and rice. A couple of hours after dinner it is time to eat
again, usually a snack, but trying to keep the junk food to a
minimum--something tasty to keep my sanity, but also something
bodybuilding friendly. Before I hit the sack, it is time for another
protein shake with glutamine and some EFAs all to ensure that I am
growing and recovering while I sleep--a steady trickle of
muscle-building nutrients must constantly flow through the bloodstream,
even when I'm out cold. I gotta rest while I can because that alarm
clock will be screaming soon and it will be time to do it all over
again. Beep… beep… beep. Fuck.
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Entry #24
Did
you ever want something so bad that you felt it in your core--in the
fiber of your being? Have you ever been so driven to achieve that you
could barely express it in words? Felt so strongly about your quest
that you could break into tears just contemplating it? There is a beast
in the belly of every champion. This beast needs to constantly be
nourished. You feed it your hope and your despair, your anguish and
your anger. This beast must remain caged, he must remain internalized
because the outside world could never handle his hunger. You bottle up
this menace until you are ready to explode. Just as you need to walk
your dog, the gym is a place to let your beast out to roam. Let it
breathe. Channel your hate, channel your love, focus your frustration
and disappointment. Turn your emotions into a white hot rage and let
them flow. Let the beast see the light of day just long enough to turn
you into a freak. Society makes us cold and numb. The world mutates us
into drones and automatons who cannot feel. I'm thankful for the beast
in my belly. When that beast dies, when that fire goes out, life is
over. I'd rather die than not feel. I'll sacrifice it all to feed the
beast. I offer my life. What are you brining to the table?
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Entry #25
It's
in the air. Can you feel it? It is the current of free flowing energy
that passes right through our beings to our very core. You can feel the
tingle in your fingers. It gives you goosebumps and makes the hair on
the back of your neck stand up. It is the spark of inspiration, the
ignition of life… It is the catalyst of great achievement. And it is
constantly there, surrounding us, waiting to be tapped into. Begging
and pleading for our attention. This energy's purpose is to help us be
the best we can be. It is recycled power, born out of the dying dreams
and broken spirits of so many that have come before us. It is the
kinetic force emanated by those that have seen the top of the mountain.
It is the electromagnetic mojo exuded by those who put it all on the
line in the name of following their destiny. The vision or idea, the
commitment, the ability to execute a plan and bring the abstract to
fruition… This is the path of greatness. This life force is fueled by
the vibes put out by unwavering confidence and a positive mental
attitude. It is the heat given off by winners. We each have the choice
to channel this vigor and ride the wave or to be neutralized by
negativity and be defeated… To be mere footnotes to history, driven
into the long dirt road traversed by giants. Like a cool autumn breeze,
I can feel it in the air. Standing over the precipice of eternity, I
have chills.
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Entry #26
They
say sleep is the cousin of death. Bullshit. If you are a bodybuilder,
sleep is the grandfather of gains. Unfortunately, however, life allows
us opportunities for less and less of it. Most of the time, the more
busy and productive you are, the less you rest. I’ve learned this the
hard way of late. In my teens and early twenties, like any growing
bear, I hibernated. The more sleep I got, the more I grew. You figure,
the bigger the animal, the more rest and calories necessary to sustain
normal life processes. That luxury--to sleep as much as needed, slowly
evaporates as we get older and our responsibilities grow. So here I
find myself, the biggest I’ve ever been, sleeping the least I ever
have. When you have to juggle training, eating, job, career
aspirations, girlfriend, family and a four hour daily round trip drive
to and from work, something’s gotta suffer… For me, that has been my
sleep. But, you suck it up and make due. Your weekends become sacred. I
know “catching up” on your sleep is impossible, but I prefer to live in
denial… I get in as many hours of shut-eye as possible between Friday
night and Monday morning. At the very least it recharges the battery
and prepares me for the ensuing chaos that is the Monday thru Friday
grind. That grind, I remind myself daily, is essential. It is the
integral part of the success I so covet. To get ahead you gotta hustle.
And once you’re on top somebody’s always trying to knock you off that
mountain peak. Plus the more money you’ve got the bigger your bills are
and the more power you have the more headaches there are to deal with.
There are plenty of hungry motherfuckers out there ready to cop what’s
yours while your taking your fuckin beauty nap. That’s life. It’s fuck
or walk. You don’t like it? Hit the bricks. There will be plenty of
time to sleep when you’re dead.
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Entry #27
To
train with a partner or go solo… That is the question. There is an
upside and negative aspects to each scenario. When I train with a
partner, there are two prerequisites: one, be good people… If I am
going to share my favorite endeavor with you, ya can’t be an asshole.
Secondly, you gotta be hungry. You don’t necessarily have to be as big
and strong as me, but you do have to have that burning desire to
improve. You have to be willing to push yourself, to go to the edge.
Training with a partner is a plus because it provides safety and the
option to push your limits because you now have a spotter on call at
all times. To train with me, you have to be willing to push the
envelope and try new things—whatever it takes in the name of getting
big. The downside to training with a partner is that it requires more
time… The more people involved in a workout, the longer it takes. I’ve
done chest or legs with 3 or 4 partners at a time and it takes forever.
My girl, my Ma, they’d always bitch at me, “Why do you have to be at
the gym for 4 hours?” Ya know what? They’re right. There is no excuse
for that kind of time wasting. Which leads me to my second point, the
more friends you have at the gym, the more distracted you’ll be, and
the more bullshitting you’ll blow time doing. I’m as big a gym rat as
anybody, but, for example, when I train at the gym I currently go to, I
am in and out. Wanna know why? Because I don’t know anybody there. Nor
do I care to. I go in, with my headphones on and take care of business.
Legs, back… Whatever. I’m ghost in less than an hour including calves
and abs. The only drawback is that I can’t go into the sub 5 rep realm
safely on the bench or squat cuz I don’t have anybody there to keep an
eye. It’s a tradeoff… Ya gotta give up to gain. But that ain’t nothing
new.
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Entry #28
We
call the town where I grew up “The Rock.” It is a little suburban
island outside of Atlantic City and much like Alcatraz, it is a very
difficult place from which to escape. Bear in mind that I’m not bashing
my hometown. I do genuinely like it there and all things considered it
is definitely a clean and safe place to raise your kids. However, like
a million other places, the small town outlook on the world prevails. I
was lucky enough to grasp that fact as a kid, when I’d talk to the
natives about my plans and I’d watch their eyes glaze over in wonder.
It was kind of like there were two factions growing up: the stoner
types who wasted their summers at the beach and the athletes who spent
their free time playing ball. I’ve always had friends from all walks of
life and I try not to judge, but I knew early on, that if I planned on
carving out the future I had in mind, I was going to have to march to
the beat of my own drum. There were no real role models (beyond my
folks) to look up to as a standard. So I had to become my own. If I
wanted to have a future in politics, athletics, arts or entertainment
or all of the above, I was going to have to find my own way. It was
almost as if the crew from the basketball courts found their way to the
gym, and the dudes from the beach ended up hanging at the neighborhood
pub. It wasn’t necessarily a conscious decision, but more like an
evolution, and a logical one at that. The gym is a haven for those with
direction and a sense of purpose. It is a place for those committed to
self improvement who abhor wasting time. I traded my youth as a
ballplayer for the manhood of the bodybuilding lifestyle and the
discipline and self investment that comes along with it. I will take
that routine and commitment with me wherever the road of life may lead.
It was drinking protein shakes at the gym or Jack at the corner bar. It
is the choice we all have to make. Be a winner or a loser. Sink or
swim. Break the chains that hold us or stay imprisoned. As I write this
I think of all of my boys: Pots & Pans, Tank 2000, Big Naytch, The
Dogg, Bonanno, Napoli, Scotty, Biddy, Hooligan, The Big Asian and my
countless other brothers out there (most of whom I’ve never met) that
have made the right decision. Everyday that you make that drive to the
gym, know that you’ve chosen wisely.
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Entry #29
Time
management is a motherfucker. But it is a necessary evil as a
bodybuilder. And mastery of this art will make your life a lot less
hectic and stressful. You’ve got 168 hours in a week, and you ain’t
ever getting them back, so you’ve gotta do what you can to maximize
each passing moment. I’ll use my recent daily routine as an example.
Getting a new job I’ve found myself driving about 200 miles round trip
daily, so I pretty much sandwich an eight and a half hour work day
between 2 driving stints of 2 hours per. I know that sounds crazy, but
it’s worth it, and such a drive is really not that uncommon in Jersey,
where you have commuters traversing the Garden State Parkway 24/7 on
their way to and from Philly and NYC. On my way to work, I eat. At my
desk all day, I eat. On my way home… You get the picture. Then I use my
lunch hour for running errands--going to the bank, going to the store…
When my work day is over, I go straight to the gym. This allows me to
duck rush hour, using time I’d spend losing my mind in traffic to
train. That way, after languishing 2 nauseating, cramped up hours in my
truck, I don’t have to worry about getting to the gym. When I finally
get home, I spend a little time with my lady, get my food and clothes
ready for the next day, take care of any projects or business matters
that need to be attended to and maybe get in a half an hour of TV time
before I’m ready to crash. About 20 seconds after my head hits that
pillow, I’m out like a light, which sucks, cuz in the blink of an eye,
it’ll be 5:30 AM again and that alarm clock will be singing my song.
Fuck it… My great grandfather said, “You’ve gotta eat a bushel of dirt
before you die.” Fine with me, paying dues is part of who I am.
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Entry #30
I
have a chip on my shoulder. For that, I am thankful. It nourishes my
drive for success. To make the most of myself creatively, as a
businessman and as a bodybuilder, that is my quest. To control my
environment, manipulate life’s variables to work in my favor and to
illuminate for myself the reality I see in my mind’s eye… this is what
I must do. There is no “do over,” no reset button on this game. It is
all out, balls to the wall, pedal to the floor. Bring your “A” game or
be a “has been” or a “never was.” It sounds harsh, but that’s life. And
we should expect no more… you get out what you put in. The nose to the
grindstone visionaries who bring their dreams to a boil in a pot of
blood, sweat and toil will rule the world, cuz bottom line they will
out work you. You can question my motivations, shit, you can even
question my sanity- but you’ll never question my commitment. Because if
I’m in, than I’m in to win, in for life, 110% until they bury me huge
and ponder the legacy of a great man. In the meantime, I’ll be here
handling my business… driving forward past negativity and
insecurity--past the doubters and the haters and leaving only rubble in
my wake.
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Entry #31
Muscle dysmorphia is a bitch. And it is a part of every bodybuilder’s
life. If you train hard and your goal is to get big, odds are you see
yourself as small. Call it “bigorexia.” Call it what you will. But it
is a fact of life. Why do I endeavor to be huge? What was it in my
formative years that skewed my vision of the ideal human form? Was it
He-Man? Was it the comic books? Is that the same reason I look for the
Jessica Rabbit figure in women? Something went wrong somewhere along
the way. Part of it comes from the fact that I seek balance. I’ve
always seen myself as an intellectual, but I’ve always sought to have
my exterior match my mind. I also think the outer shell serves as
armor. It protects the inner nice guy. It allows me to be a sheep in
wolf’s clothing. As you progress, your goals change. I remember being a
junior in high school and being excited to be 165 cuz I weighed the
same as Allen Iverson. Then I recall being in college and trying to
break 200. Now I’m 240, imagining what 250 would look like. What the
fuck?!? The other day I was in the gym, and an athletic looking college
kid walked by me while I was doing abs. He said, “Looking good, man.
You should be in the magazines.” “Thanks, bro. I’ve got a ways to go”
was all I could muster in reply. Then I smiled and looked in the mirror
and wondered what was different about what each of us saw. I couldn’t
do much more than shake my head. That drive, that desire. That need to
be better… To never be satisfied. It’s both a gift and a curse. What’s
250 gonna look like? I’ll let you know when I get there.
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Entry #32
My
boy Scotty told me that I should write this entry, so here we go...
I've put on about 15 lbs. in the last 5 months. That is a ton for me.
I'd attribute these gains to several factors. Number 1, I didn't get
caught up in the "leaning out for summer" craze. So instead of eating
extra clean so I could see six abs instead of 4, I stayed focused on
putting on size. My inclination is often to diet come the warmer
months, but I realized that all this really did was derail my gains and
set me back for no good reason. Secondly, I've paid more attention to
eating whole foods and have backed off on the shakes a bit, cutting a 5
shake a day habit down to about 2-3. I eat steak everyday now and my
carb intake is way up, coming primarily from potatoes, yams, bananas,
oatmeal and carb drinks. Another new dietary trick I've implemented of
late is adding liquid egg whites to my diet. I buy them in 16 oz. jugs
and drink one to two of them a day straight which gets me anywhere from
16-32 egg whites all the while being a million times easier than eating
them. The third factor contributing to my new gains is my efficiency in
the gym, I blast my target muscle group in a thorough fashion, but I do
it quickly. Focus and intensity is my mantra. I'm in and out of the gym
and growing before I have a chance to slip into catabolism. I know this
approach is working because my strength is through the roof. Another
factor that is worth mentioning is the simplicity of my current
supplement regimen--Animal Pak, creatine, Animal Nitro,
flax oil, liver tabs. Nothing exotic, no gimmicks... Just the tried and
true shit. Keeping it simple has me growing again... Pushing into the 240s
with no plans of stopping any time soon. Fuckin' right.
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Entry #33
This is a declaration of war. For far too long, the status quo has been
tolerated. In fact, being average is not only allowed, it is
encouraged. Your peers chastise you for striving, for struggling, for
wanting more. They paint you as a dreamer. They want you to quit, they
want you to fail, so they can feel better about their sorry lot. The
less you make of yourself, the less they will be expected to
accomplish. These are your sworn enemies. And while they may smile to
your face, in private they pray for your demise. You must cut these
cold, empty vessels out of your life like a malignant tumor and move on
without hesitation. Waste none of your energy on these parasites who
expect a free ride. Know that there are no birthrights. The only thing
you are guaranteed at birth is death. You have a right to that. The
rest is earned. You are entitled to nothing. Fuck a lottery ticket… I
prefer to get mine the hard way. There is a war going on outside your
cozy bedroom window-- An epic battle between the murderers of spirit
and the architects of history. The critics vs. the conquerors. Which
side are you on?
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Entry #34
So
what are you bro? A bodybuilder or some kinda powerlifter?” Shit, I get
that question all the time. From my perspective, I see myself as a
little bit of both. I haven’t taken the stage yet and endured the
rigors of the precontest routine, as I’ve been committed to putting on
mass since I became serious, and have gotten myself to point where I am
pushing 250 naturally. This has been the result of several factors.
Namely, serious eating, meticulous supplementation, good genetics and
heavy ass training. I’ve always felt that it was pointless to be big
but to not be at least as strong as I looked. I’ve prioritized the
movements that bring about brutal strength and size: deads, bench,
squats, military press, leg press. I’ve done power cycles where I train
in the sub 5 rep range. Shit, I do singles on the bench every couple of
months. Nothing gets you growing like balls out, heavy lifting and mega
calorie eating. That is as simple, basic and old school as it gets. I
cherish the bodybuilding ideal: broad shoulders, a tight waist, the
classic “x frame.” But at the same time I think it is vain and empty to
look good and be weak. What am I? I’m a power bodybuilder--getting
bigger and stronger by the day, with a foot in both worlds. I can’t
imagine doing it any other way.
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Entry #35
The
idea isn’t to just blow up indiscriminately. You aren’t supposed to
just fluctuate in soft, bloated poundage… Up 20 lb. in 2 months, down
20 lb. 2 months later. “I’m doing a dirty bulk and then a 3 week crash
cutter for my trip to Cancun.” Give me a fucking break. The idea is to
gain quality size and hold onto it. To raise your baseline weight to x
amount of lb. and keep it there. Allow your body to adjust to carrying
that amount of weight and refine it. Harden it. Walk around with it,
train with it, make the most of the increases in strength. Lose the
gut, lose the big St. Bernard melon… Remember, you’re still a
bodybuilder. You should be able to bend over to tie your shoes without
your head looking like a giant cherry tomato. Keep eating big, but
clean it up. Add a little bit of cardio for your metabolism and your
ticker. Once your body is comfortable at your new size, then it is time
to bulk up again. You can’t sprint a distance run. Bodybuilding is an
odyssey. It is a damn marathon. Pace yourself.
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Entry #36
Everybody’s
looking for a shortcut… A path of minimal resistance. Newsflash: There
is no easy way. At least there is no shortcut to true progress and real
gains. I graduated high school at 175 lb. and 9 years later I’m 250.
That is a 75 lb. progression. That works out to about 8 1/3 lb. a year.
Slow, steady, incremental progress. Constantly pushing to increase my
weights in the gym… Eating more and eating better… Experimenting with
new supplements, new exercises, new foods. You just have to hunker down
and prepare for a long haul. That overnight, physique in a bottle pipe
dream has ruined a lot of lives and broken a lot of spirits. That is
one of the things I like about bodybuilding… It weeds out the mentally
weak. If you don’t have the balls to pay your dues and stay the course,
eventually you’ll fall off to the wayside and get left in the dust.
You’ll get chewed the fuck up and shit out half digested. This is a
pursuit for those who can think big picture; those who can set goals
and look far down the road into the future; those not easily
discouraged… Those willing to suffer and struggle for years on end.
Respect the game and respect yourself. Do it right. Otherwise, there’s
the fuckin’ door…
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Entry #37
Just got back from the NPC Nationals in Atlanta and let me tell ya, I’m
fired up. I’m motivated and inspired like I always am after going to a
show. Ready to get big, ready to train like an Animal, ready to
compete. I’m up to 250 right now... Big fuckin’ deal. That’s pipsqueak
status from where I’m standing—remember it is all about perspective.
From shooting the shit with a massive, offseason Victor Martinez, to
seeing Jay in the lobby in a 4X Shaq jersey, to observing and
conversing with competitors from all over the country from different
backgrounds and disparate walks of life that bleed the bodybuilding
ethic and make countless sacrifices just to stand on that stage—that’ll
light a fire under your ass. Working the expo was a blast, cuz after
hearing my Northeast accent people make all sorts of assumptions. But,
after you talk with them for a second, those Southern cats realize that
we are all a part of the same underground culture, somewhat of a secret
society, who all live the life. Hanging at the booth, I drank about a
gallon of Nitro G and 2 Proteon bars a day and then I ate at the hotel
restaurant’s bodybuilding friendly buffet seemingly countless times in
my short stay. I trained chest and calves at Gold’s on Peachtree St.
and chatted with Mike Morris on my way out. Even just chilling in the
lobby was cool, cuz I recognized every other face I saw. To most normal
folks, it would be a freakshow, but to me, it was my home away from
home. What will 2006 hold? Will that be the year of my NPC debut? Can’t
say for sure, but I know this… The day of reckoning is fast approaching.
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Entry #38
It
is seemingly a tormented existence. But, you play the cards you are
dealt. Knowing my personality, I’ll probably never be satisfied, never
settle, never feel successful. It seems that there will always be new
mountains to climb. Whether I’m on top of the world or just barely
keeping my head above water, the goals remain the same. They say that
no matter what level you reach, you should treat every day like your
first day on the job, your first visit to the gym. Stay hungry, stay on
the grind, keep hustling. Putting those late nights in, doing that
extra work… Just the same as doing those extra few sets after the next
guy has left the gym. It’s easy to pay dues when you are young and
ambitious. It just comes naturally to work harder when you are
stressing paying the rent and putting food on the table. When you are a
buck fifty soaking wet with shit in your ass and have a neck that looks
like a stack of dimes, it doesn’t take much to find the motivation to
bust your ass in the gym. But what happens when you have a couple of
trophies on the mantle, a nice car in the driveway, a few more 0’s in
the checking account? Will your fire still burn? Or will it still be
that same old, sorry tale, “I coulda been something, I coulda been a
contender.”
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Entry #39
Over
the years, I’ve noticed that there are two kind of bodybuilders. Real
bodybuilders and then those who work out, but don’t train legs. I can’t
tell you how many new training partners I’ve burned out in my training
tenure. Most of these cats simply just didn’t have the fortitude or
genuine interest in the lifestyle to stay the course. For the first few
weeks, they would show up eager to train chest or arms... And would
endure some sick shit in doing so. But like clockwork, when leg day
rolled around… Crickets. Those motherfuckers were always conspicuously
absent come leg day. Either they had a fight with their girl, or they
had to pick up their grandma at the airport, or sometimes, they would
just fall off the face of the earth. No call, no show. How fucking
convenient. I mean, in all honesty, fuck them… I was usually sick of
stripping my weights off after every set anyway. But damn… Have some
fucking pride. I mean go ahead and punk out and bail on me, but you
still have to look yourself in the mirror. Who really cares what anyone
else thinks--you still have to face yourself. I know, like Chapelle
says, keeping it real can go wrong. But being a man of honor and
principle can never be wrong. Everyday, I have to live my life to my
own standard, and that, in and of itself keeps me in line. I feel I
carry a sense of duty with me at all times to live up to the imposing
stature of my own ideals. Go ahead and be a punk… Some of us just don’t
have that luxury.
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Entry #40
“You
hear talk about how people are all inherently good or virtuous…
Bullshit.” My boy Bonanno was on a fucking roll. “The only thing human
beings naturally are is lazy. A bunch of lazy fucks. You want something
done, you go fucking do it yourself. A bunch of big talkers… But nobody
does shit.” While laughing hysterically as I barreled down the Garden
State Parkway, my boy struck a chord. His words resonated. And while he
was merely venting, talking about just another day at the office, he
was so profound. What Mike was ranting about is an impulse we all
battle daily. Whether it is jousting with the snooze button or shaving
a set or two off of your back workout, laziness is an insidious malady
which plagues humankind. The more often over the course of your life
you defeat this, the more successful you’ll ultimately be. It is so
much easier to talk and not act. It is second nature to procrastinate
and rationalize. But bottom line is, we are responsible for what we
make of ourselves and we ain’t achieving shit parked in our recliner
watching game shows. You want to be something? You got a plan? Then
shut the fuck up, get off your lazy ass and get to work. There is a
toll to be paid to cross the bridge to greener pastures. If you ain’t
willing to ante up and cough up the fare, you forfeit your right to
complain about the steaming pile of shit you’re standing in.
Entry #41
As the New
Year approaches, the day of reckoning is upon us. Fuck the mindless
impulse of a hundred broken resolutions. You hear that shit all the
time, losing a couple of pounds or running a 5k... That shit is fucking
child's play. Don't insult me with that bullshit. For me, it is do or
die in 2006. Step up or get stepped on. The time is here to wipe the
slate clean and attack your goals. Fuck waiting and hesitating, forget
doubt and insecurity. In the gym, the stacks of dusty 45s, your destiny
awaits you. In your dreams--the detailed, vivid ones that you don't
talk about at cocktail parties, your future lies in wait. It is a
matter of splashing some cold water on your face, staring into the
mirror and realizing that time will pass, opportunity will fade, and
your day will never come if you don't take the bull by the fucking
horns... Today. Be in the mix, be a player in the game. Immerse
yourself in the process. There is no time as valauble as the present
moment, no mission more crucial than the task at hand. With this
approach, and a solemn internal pledge to never let your dream die on
the vine, you can be unstoppable. Fuck all the disappointments of the
past. The day is here. The time is now.
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Entry #42
Every so often, though the news is constantly wrought with tragedy, a
story will pop up that strikes a particular chord. Being that I grew up
in Northeast Pennsylvania, I have coal miner roots. Seeing what
recently happened in West Virginia broke my heart. It also gives you a
little perspective and makes you realize that as shitty a day as you
may be having, or how things just haven’t gone your way of late, you
ain’t got it so fucking bad. I remember being a kid and my Ma telling
me about her grandfathers, both of whom she never met. They would work
12 hr. shifts, 7 days a week, with no days off, a mile underground.
Then when they eventually died in the mines—in a collapse or from
carbon monoxide poisoning, their companies would drag their bodies to
the porches of their houses and leave them there for their families to
find. That is the tradition I carry with me everyday. That is who I am.
At the same time, however, I have been pampered. I’ve been so lucky to
grow up with endless opportunities, illuminated for me a few
generations back by men who did what they had to do. Men who gave their
lives to take care of their families, because it was the least they
could do… It was all that they knew. They busted there asses day in and
day out and eventually paid the ultimate price, so I could be here
today with the luxury to follow my dreams. It is to them that I say,
“Thank you.” Not through mere gratitude in words, but in action.
Everyday that I pay my dues and pursue my destiny in the face of
obstacles and resistance, I am paying my great grandfathers homage.
Every day that I make the most of the blessings I’ve been granted, it
is a gesture in their honor. The way I see it, it is the least I can do.
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Entry #43
You have to start every New Year right. The best way is with a sick,
demented training session designed to usher in a new year of growth and
progress. This usually took the form of a nearly coma-inducing leg
workout. This year, however, my annual tradition had to be delayed. For
whatever inexplicable cosmic reason, I spent this holiday season in the
midst of a relocation that was more complicated and frustrating than
almost any endeavor I’ve ever undertaken. Not so much so as to make me
miss a training session, but distracting enough to put my usual
priorities a bit out of focus. Note to all my brothers out there: when
it comes moving time, bring a lot of help and never schedule a move
over the holidays, if you have any intention of enjoying yourself. Now
that I’m settled, however, I’ve got the itch. It is time to tear this
motherfucker down, with a workout for the ages… Something to talk about
for years to come. Remember, one trip to the gym can set the tone for a
whole year of training. I’m ready to set this motherfucker off properly.
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Entry #44
Being a bodybuilder, while no doubt one of the nobler and more
challenging endeavors in athletic culture, has some drawbacks--many of
which are comical to the inhabitants of normal society. Just some of
the little things can prove to be a pain in the arse. Dressing oneself
can be taxing. For example, taking a tight t-shirt off can be an
awkward looking struggle. Also, fixing your collar or tying a tie… Not
so easy. Sometimes bending over to put on your shoes can provide a nice
little head rush. With the constant influx of nutrients often to the
point of force feeding also comes consequences. Eating and drinking
like a bodybuilder brings with it the enjoyable frequent bathroom
trips, gaseousness and the fun little stuff like having your butthole
bleed from frequent wiping—always a good time. There are the little
joys, like having to ball up your pillows into twisted knots in order
to compensate for the extra distance between your shoulder and your
head when laying on your side or waking up with your arms numb from
cutting off your circulation with your own mass while you sleep—nothing
as pleasurable as the fleeting sensation of dead limbs. These are some
tiny insights… Bizarre, often inexplicable occurrences in the
bodybuilder’s daily life. Insanity. But there is a thin line between
the insane and the genius, between the profane and the divine.
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Entry #45
A wise man once said, “You can’t sing the blues from no penthouse.”
This doesn’t infer that you can’t still have problems if you are
well-off. It simply means that true inspiration often can’t be tapped
into without despair. You see that shit all the time. The musician or
filmmaker or author who did their best work when they were unknowns,
only to lose the spark of inspiration once they were wealthy and
famous. The creature comforts do that to us… They rob us of our hunger,
they make us soft and weak. I had a friend who once, in a moment of
amateur psychoanalysis, told me that I essentially was so convinced of
the need for adversity to achieve greatness, that I actually built
obstacles to overcome. He theorized that I essentially made my life
harder for the sake of heightening my eventual accomplishment. A
diamond is, after all, formed from dirty and crude coal, and becomes a
priceless jewel by means of constant, unyielding pressure. That pain
you endure each day in the gym, pushing past the threshold as that set
continues and you begin to ache… That is where the growth occurs. It is
the difficult, the overwhelming, the seemingly backbreaking loads that
we shoulder that will one day lead us to greatness. It is that pressure
that will one day allow us to shine. There is no glory without toil… No
grandeur without hardship.
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Entry #46
When
contemplating my daily nutrition, I came to a startling revolution. So
much of the food I consume on a daily basis, I fucking hate. Plain
tuna, dry chicken breast, cheap steak, oatmeal, yams, cottage cheese. I
spend so much of my day choking down food, it is ridiculous. Diet soda
is the impetus that flushes that raw material down the gullet. Without
that priceless liquid, I’d be up the proverbial creek, sans paddle. I
chew as much as necessary and then wash it down, attempting to prevent
the food from making too much contact with my tongue. If you see me
eating without constantly slugging away on a beverage, bet your ass I’m
eating something damn tasty. Don’t get me wrong, I fucking love food.
But I hate eating bodybuilding food… That is a chore, a job. I love
what the food does to my body and the effect it has on my performance,
but I hate the tastes, the smells, the textures. It is truly a love and
hate, binge and purge relationship I have with food. If I eat food that
tastes great, food I crave I feel like shit… If I eat food that tastes
like shit, I feel great. Just another of the many conundrums of
bodybuilding. Excuse me now, there’s a can of tuna calling my name.
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Entry #47
Bodybuilders
are superstitious by nature. The repetitive routine, coupled with the
dangerous work loads we handle daily lead to these psychological
dependencies. Often this manifests itself in wardrobe choice. I’ve got
a few safety blankets myself, I’ll admit. For example, I have a couple
of tanktops that I’ve had for years, shit that should have been
discarded years ago. These tanks are literally holding on by a thread.
Shit, if they rip I’ll get my girl or Ma Dukes to do some emergency
stitching. I also won’t train without some kind of headwear. I hate
sweat in my eyes and pretty boys with “product” in their hair. I
usually avoid a baseball cap, cuz they tend to get funky after a few
workouts. Instead, I’ll rock a bandana during the warm months and a
bandana with a skully during the winter. The worst of these tendencies
shows itself on leg day. On leg day, I always wear the same undershirt…
My gray Nike basketball t-shirt from my sophomore year of high school.
It has holes, paint splashes and deodorant pit stains and seems to have
the consistency of tissue paper—I fear that it will soon evaporate and
disappear into the atmosphere. I’ve done a lot of growing in that
shirt—probably 100 lbs. since the day I got it and if it has been my
apparel on every leg day for 7 years or so, it has been warn and washed
upwards of 360 weeks in a row. 360 leg workouts… That shirt has seen
some shit. I also always wear long sleeves on leg day, since my upper
body lacks a pump… I sometimes find myself half sarcastically shaking
my head at the guy who squats in a tank top. I’ll say, “Man, I can’t
wait until I’m big enough to wear a tank top on leg day.” My lower half
has a similar form of armor. While my friend played for an arena
football team, he stole a couple of pairs of compression pants that the
players wear under their uniform pants. He got them from the clean
laundry, leaving the distinct possibility that some defensive lineman’s
hairy beanbag once occupied the same real estate as my goods, but I try
not to think about that. Instead, I use them for support, not only to
hold my jewels in place but to keep my quads warm and snug. It may seem
like trivial bullshit, but the gym is a dark, gloomy place full of
weights bent on my demise… I’ll capitalize on any advantage I can get,
even if it is all in my head.
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Entry #48
Those
moments are fleeting… They are few and far between. But shit, we’re all
human. Sometimes, it is completely unavoidable. On occasion we must ask
ourselves, “Why?” “Why do I do this to myself?” “Why fucking bother?”
It is not normal or natural or openly accepted to strive to be more.
That sentiment is universally applicable. Being exceptional, or
extraordinary (just look at the construction of that word:
extra-ordinary) takes sacrifice and has consequences and sometimes
seems like more fucking trouble than it is worth. Somedays, I’ll lay in
bed barely able to breathe from practically force-feeding myself… Other
times, the alarm clock will be screaming incessantly as I lay
motionless, drained and aching from another extreme workout. When I’m
driving to work, after staying up most of the night doing a little
extra, paying my dues working on a personal project after working all
day instead of just laying on the couch with my hand on the joystick.
These are the times I ask myself “Why, G? What is the point?” The point
is that there is only one life that we are each blessed with, once
chance to push your chips to the center of the table and beat the
fucking house. You either take down the mark or you are one yourself. I
haven’t the energy or the inclination to pity myself in moments when I
feel the effects of being a mortal making a swipe for immortality. I
will only allow those feelings for those who waste their gifts or for
those too blind to see the potential that comes with each new day.
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Entry #49
Arriving
in Columbus on Wednesday, I had much to do and little time to make it
happen. I was stressed that I’d miss my training and throw my whole
week out of whack, plus, what meathead with his weight in protein would
dare walk around the Arnold without a pump? I was on a revised out of
town schedule and had chest and abs to train before heading out for
dinner. I hauled ass up High Street to the World Gym on the corner of
High and Long. I paid for my week pass and proceeded to warm up on the
incline bench in the middle of the main gym floor of this converted
early twentieth century bank. A few minutes passed as I got loose,
observing Chris Cook doing light circuit training to get a pump as he
was three days out from stepping on the Arnold stage. Witnessing this
made it clear that I wasn’t in Jersey anymore. This fact became all the
more apparent when right before my very eyes, literally feet away from
me, saunters The Champ--8x Mr. Olympia Ronnie Coleman. Clad in a white
Jordan brand jumpsuit with red trim and matching sneakers and t-shirt,
with his blue tooth ear piece in place, Ronnie made the kind of
entrance only The Man can make. I was stunned and motivated
simultaneously. As I got a spot for my set on 315, Mr. O warmed up on
the smith machine for some shoulder presses. I followed up with some
Hammer Strength incline presses, flat DB flyes and cable crossovers.
This is where Ronnie and I crossed paths. He asked to work in, to do
overhead rear delt cable laterals in between my sets of crossovers.
This is where our conversation started, finding out that Ronnie had
just had a three and a half month layoff and was making his return to
the gym. Only back two weeks, he was weighing about 285 with veins
everywhere. We talked about building a base, his turning pro at the
Team Universe, longevity and how so many guys burn themselves out so
young because of impatience and lack of commitment. I let him know that
I couldn’t mentally handle a three and half day layoff let alone
fourteen weeks. He said in his Texas drawl, “I couldn’t at your age
either… You’re doing it right.” Finishing my last set of cables, which
was two more than I had originally planned, I said “It’s your world,
Ronnie” and conceded him the machine. I had only been in Columbus a
couple of hours and my week had already been made… I had a year’s worth
of inspiration and my airplane had practically just touched down.
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Entry #50
Upon
moving to the Philly outskirts, only a stone’s throw from the “Trenton
Makes The World Takes” sign, I took special notice of a peculiarity
only yards away from my bedroom window. Several times a day, but
especially in the wee hours of the night, a freight train rolls
through. Staying up late to work from time to time, I’ll hear the iron
horse rumbling by in the nearby woods. It sounds its horn as it blows
past, plowing through the crisp winter air. That sound is comforting.
It gives me perspective and it lends me strength. Its frenzied rush is
energizing. I know what it is to be that train… To push on undeterred,
oblivious to the elements--the cold, the wind, the driving rain or
mounting snow. To not give a fuck whether it is three in the morning or
three in the afternoon… To only be concerned with the destination, with
hauling my load, with staying on track. Born of hard labor, forged of
steel, barreling forward toward the horizon, that train and I are
kindred spirits. When I feel the poisoning effects of indolence, apathy
or the ever-tightening noose of the status quo constricting around my
neck, I think of that train on its thunderous charge and I’m right back
on point again.
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Entry #51
This is the number one rule for your set
In order to survive, gotta learn to live with regrets
On the rise to the top, many drop, don't forget
In order to survive, gotta learn to live with regrets -“Regrets”, Jay-Z, 1996
This is dedicated to the memory of my friend John Rock. Yup that was
his real name, no bullshit. And like an actor playing a fictitious role
in a movie, he was a character. He was a dedicated bodybuilder and when
he'd introduce me to friends in his circle he'd say, “This is my boy
Greg… Not a drop.” This was a nod to my unenhanced status and his
perception of my genetic potential. But he had depth beyond merely
bodybuilding, he had soul, he had heart and a reckless spirit. This
wild nature may have played a part in his early demise, were it not for
the recurrence of a childhood illness that did the job for him. The
greatest thing about John was his approach to life, his view of the
world. When speaking with him about my goals and aspirations I saw
nothing in him but the spark of inspiration and genuine
positivism-belief and faith… No where to be found was the requisite
shrouded doubt or envy I know so well. He looked in my eyes and
believed. He saw what I saw. A few weeks before he passed he left me a
voicemail at an odd hour. He was his usual self, talking to my computer
automated mailbox passionately about the strange new job he had picked
up as a taxi driver and how he had this great idea for a documentary.
Shrugging my shoulders, I thought to myself, “Fuckin' Rock” and shook
my head. I never called him back that night, figuring I'd just run into
him at the gym and we'd talk shop. Less than a month later, he was
gone. I never did have a chance to have that conversation with him.
This, one of my greatest regrets, is a burden I carry because I took a
person, a moment… Life in general for granted. Never again.
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Entry #52
A
few weeks back, I was in the midst of a grueling leg workout, but my
eye continued to wander, preoccupied with the movement of the hands of
the clock. My alma mater was playing in the finals of the Atlantic-10
tournament, the game was about to start, and I still had a third of my
workout left to endure. It was at this point that I had a revelation.
What I was doing right now, was my championship game... My big game
day. And while I was figuring out a way to rush and cut corners to make
it home for tip time, I realized that my beloved SJU Hawks weren't
avoiding fouls to let the clock run so they could get home in time to
watch me train wheels… No matter how entertaining it may be. While I'll
forever be an athlete and a huge sports fan, priorities are priorities.
I remember Bill Maher saying, “When you're a kid, baseball cards are
treasured keepsake portraits of your idols, but when you're an adult
they're just pictures of men.” Yeah he was being a smart ass, but in a
way he had a point. I'll always scope the sports page and I'll always
be down to watch the big game… Cuz after all, what is life without
sport? But there is a time that comes in every man's life when he needs
to start being his own hero.
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Entry #53
"If
a man has not found something worth dying for, he is not fit to live."
That is a heavy quote, it was uttered 40+ years ago by Martin Luther
King, Jr. It reminds me of a rap lyric from a late '90's Gangstarr song
that goes “The righteous man sacrifices to get what he deserves”. The
further my mindset strays from this kind of philosophy, the less likely
I'll be to reach my goals. That word… Sacrifice. It means so much. It
is so easily thrown around, yet it is rarely considered in its full
gravitas. To remind me of the significance of that concept, as I've
mentioned before, I had that word tattooed on my back. There it would
endure and never be long forgotten. I feel its weight upon my mortal
frame. As the years pile up and time passes, the responsibilities of
adulthood and the lure of the creature comforts make sacrifice seem
less and less of an option. We often find it difficult to justify doing
without, if not to ourselves, then to our loved ones. This is where so
many get off track, and who can blame them? That's life… Right? That's
the bill of goods we're sold. Is it selling out or simply growing up?
Depends on your perspective, I suppose. But there is one thing I know
for sure… There is no reset button on life, no “do-over” in this game.
If I don't go for mine, I have no one to blame but myself. We organize
our priorites, we decide what takes precedence. If it is to be, it is
up to me. If its not… Well, I guess that's my choice too. And the way I
see it, that ain't no kinda choice at all.
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Entry #54
Transitioning.
That is what goal setting is all about. Survive and advance. Achieve
and push forward, on to the next challenge. When you reach a particular
short-term goal, you can't rest on your laurels. Shit… You can rest
when you rest in peace. Save the back patting for the sweaters and dick
riders. Think several steps ahead, focus on the task at hand, execute
and move on. Never be satisfied, never settle. It is so easy to decide
to define your life by a certain moment, leaving everything to follow
to be postscript-a fuckin' afterthought. This retards your development,
freezing you in a seminal stage of growth, leaving you stagnant as life
passes you by. And in the blink of an eye, twenty years have been
wasted. We must constantly evolve. Forever striving and failing and
learning… Recovering, adjusting and achieving; and then starting the
whole cycle anew. Make that transition, move seamlessly from conquered
challenge to new redoubtable objective. Brush off admiration and
accolades with the same swiftness that you discard cynicism and the
ass-scented opinions of critics. Remember, you are the author of this
tale. You are also the hero in this story. You have only reached the
summit when you decide you don't want to climb any higher, you only
arrive at the conclusion when you don't want to write another word.
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Entry #55
“Manifest
destiny.” Pushing onward and outward, I was lucky enough to find myself
in the bastion of bodybuilding, Venice Beach, CA. This was my first
trip to Cali and there was a decent dose of culture shock on the menu
for this Jersey boy. But aside from the palm trees and laissez-faire
state of mind of the locals, it ain’t all that different out there.
First of all, I think I brought the bad weather with me, as it was at
no point all that warm and sunny… In actuality, the weather, while
pleasant, was not much different than that of my beloved South Jersey
shore during this time of year. On my second night there, I trained
arms at the original World Gym on Washington Boulevard, the first one
that Joe Gold opened. Later on that week, I would return there to hit
legs as NPC star Mike Ergas trained one of his clients. World is
strange in that it has no music, and is very stuffy and hot inside with
no air conditioning. At the same time however, it has a family
atmosphere, full of members who’ve trained there for years. The best
aspect of the World in Marina Del Rey is the outdoor portion of the gym
that you can escape to, to train in the cooling ocean breeze when it
gets too stifling inside. On two other occasions, I trained at “The
Mecca”, Gold’s in Venice. My first time there, I trained chest with my
boy “The House”… The dude is a beast, believe me. This was best
illustrated by the fact that my 250 lb. ass struggled to stick with him
rep for rep while he had just finished a hellish dieting stint of 2
straight months of eating 50g of carbs a day in order to prep for
photoshoots. He’d be frightening to train with offseason. We followed
our session up with a trip to two Venice bodybuilding “must-stops”—a
meal at the famed Firehouse and a stop at Dave’s Max Muscle store. The
following day, I made similar rounds, this time flying solo and by foot
(which is the only real way to learn your environment—any New Yorker
will attest to this fact). I trained delts, traps, calves and abs at
Gold’s surrounded by NPC cats like Lionel Brown, Abbas Khatami, Dave
Hughes and the like as well as Peter Paul (the Barbarian Brother), Mike
Christian, Tom Prince and recently drafted Colorado wideout and Olympic
star Jeremy Bloom. I followed this up with an egg white and ground
buffalo scramble with cilantro, mushrooms and tomatoes at the
Firehouse—now that is some authentic Cali eating. Cramped in my seat
for my 5 hour flight home, I imagined what it would be like to live out
that way year round... The training, the food, the lifestyle in
general. As my plane descended from the clouds, so did my head and
reality punted me in the nuts as I touched down in Philly. “Time to get
back on the grind…” I thought to myself. They say you need to live in
LA until you get too soft and then get the hell off of the East Coast
before you get too calloused… Good advice. But there ain’t nothing
wrong with getting a little taste of that “soft life” every now and
again, no matter how much of a hard rock you are.
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Entry #56
Moments
come and go quickly, but they often leave indelible impressions. I
remember being 13 years old, scoring 30 points in my grade school
basketball game and being caught up in the adolescent trivialities of
girls, status and bullshit that tend to swell a young cat's head even
when his second nut has yet to drop. Getting dressed after the game, I
remarked something to this effect: “My life can get no better.” The
next day I got my skinny fucking ass kicked. Walking home after playing
hoop in the Jersey February chill, I parted ways with my boy Pots &
Pans at his crib on 44th St. With two of my other friends, I continued
on my way to the apartment building where my folks lived. As we walked,
I heard somebody creeping up from behind me. In a flash, I had to make
a decision… Stand my ground or run? My boys bailed and I stayed. Three
15 year old high school kids rolled up on me and jumped me… Beat my
cocky eighth grade ass. Was it my attitude? Was it a girl or some other
beef? Was it my UNLV Starter jacket? One never knows… Who gives a fuck?
What I did know was that it wasn't in my make-up to run. I stumbled up
the steps bleeding, toothless, face blown up and piss running down my
leg. The next day my living room was ground zero, about 30 deep with
different, assorted characters from my youth ready to go to war. Those
kids never did cross my path again. I learned a lot about life in those
few days in my formative years. I learned to never give up your ground…
Never run. I learned that sometimes you need to get your fucking ass
kicked to get some perspective. I learned to never tempt the fates by
verbalizing how great your day or life has been. I realized that you
find out how many people truly have your back when the shit hits the
fan. I learned what a giant my father was. I learned to never bully
people… To never prey on those smaller and weaker… To always defend the
underdog... I learned that the best fucking deterrent to those who wish
you harm is to cast an imposing shadow and wield a big fucking stick.
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Entry #57
Why
are you really in this game? What motivates you? What drives you? Is
your level of commitment 100%? Maybe 75% or 50%? I mean, if going to
the gym regularly was all it took to succeed, then every gym would be
teeming with monsters with great physiques. The difference is between
really living the lifestyle and merely living a lie. Do you plan your
workouts? Can you say the same for your meals? Do you prepare several
meals ahead of time? Do you lie in bed at night thinking of your next
workout and the particular exercises involved? Do you bring your food
with you when you leave the house? Do you train when you are on the
road? These are the things that cumulatively make the biggest
difference and that ultimately separate the best from the rest. The gym
shouldn't be a fucking social gathering… It isn't a place to see and be
seen. It isn't a device designed to hone a contrived image or bolster a
feeble ego. It is too important to be relegated to such trivial,
mundane status. The cat who enters the gym with these intentions
reminds me of the selfish, vindictive prick who robs, cheats and steals
all week and then shows up faithfully for Sunday service. Who the fuck
are you kidding? You can either walk the fuckin walk or front. You can
sell the whole rest of the world your bullshit bill of goods and see
who's gullible enough to buy it. But deep down you know the deal, and
when it is all said and done that is the only opinion that truly
matters.
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Entry #58
You've
heard the phrase “Those who can do, do… Those who can't do, teach.” I
consider that to be a loathsome message to send people, especially
those that are uniquely gifted or accomplished in their chosen field.
Our world desperately needs their involvement in the lives of those
seeking to improve their station. I often say that all of my heroes are
dead. Aside from my folks, this is a sad fact. Leadership and
individuality are rare qualities to find in a person these days. The
desire to live by a personal code of conduct and ethics is lost on
those so caught up in the rat race. Feeling the duty to instruct and
provide an example to those younger or less inclined; this is an honor
and a privilege… It is a calling to be blessed with, not a burden to be
bore. And it isn't a concept confined to the four walls of some fucking
classroom. Emerson spoke of “the exemplary status of noble action.”
This is the effect, so difficult to gauge, that you have on society as
a whole simply by being a positive role model out in the real
world-someone people can look to for inspiration or go to for guidance.
By carrying yourself in a manner worthy of imitation and aspiration,
one can make their mark… Even in a country that turns out in greater
numbers to vote for American Idol than to vote for the president.
American Idol? My only idol in this realm is the motherfucking man in
the mirror and even he has to prove himself on a daily basis.
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Entry #59
When
I first met my girl, I had just short of 101 stereotypes to dispel.
Being a Jersey Italian bodybuilder, I had my work cut out for me. You
see, lookism being what it is, we all arrive in moments of human
interaction with our own preconceived baggage. I know for a fact that
the initial attraction between two people is physical--only after
getting to know one another in a deeper or more meaningful fashion can
something greater grow. I remember hearing of a dude who was so
insecure, he never wanted a girl attractive enough that she could draw
attention away from him. How's that for weak minded? My boy once stated
“G always wants a girl to make him look better than he already thinks
he looks.” Gotta love that shit. I once heard Tony Curtis say, “part of
the lifestyle I value is having a beautiful woman by my side.” That old
school cat was dead on the money. So much of the pursuit of
bodybuilding is built around that initial impression, that momentary
spark, that first encounter. For as noble an endeavor as bodybuilding
is, it is nonetheless a skin game. At its best, it is the sport of
self-secure, alpha male iron warriors, not the pastime of vain pretty
boys. But even in such cases, we are visual people, sensory
junkies-addicted to the sensation of the pump, the post-workout
endorphins, the electric charge elicited by witnessing the ideal or
even exaggerated human form. Bodybuilders are by nature sexual
beings-our daily gym exploits coupled with all the shit that we have
coursing through our veins lead us to literally be more man than most
and more than likely more, um, “motivated” than the average joe. This
is the price a bodybuilder's significant other must pay. But shit, she
knew the deal when she first caught your gaze from across that crowded
room.
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Entry #60
Let
them underestimate you. The term “meathead”… I embrace it in the same
fashion members of a particular race, ethnicity or creed adopt a slur
or hateful moniker. On one hand, it is a positive, because it lumps you
in with those of a noble ilk. It means that off of a mere visual
assessment “the normals” have identified you as a bodybuilder. You
cannot hide from what you are nor would you if you could. The time you
have devoted to crafting your physique has paid off. You are what you
chose to be… Mission accomplished. This for me, however, will never be
enough. As Picasso once stated, “My mother said to me, "If you become a
soldier, you'll be a general; if you become a monk, you'll end up as
the Pope." Instead, I became a painter and wound up as Picasso.” This
mind frame, arrogant as it may be, is the only way to approach every
facet of life. Let those that do not know you judge you… Welcome their
scorn and stereotyping, knowing in your heart that you are so much
more. They paint you as stupid and vain, shallow and insecure. You are
bigger and stronger and as such they must chop you down to size. Use
their prejudice to your advantage. To them, it is OK for you to be
physically superior, for they assume that this is your solitary
dimension. God forbid they discover that you are also articulate,
humble, educated, worldly, motivated and well rounded... Even, dare I
say, more intelligent than they are themselves. Use your physique and
the preconceptions of the small minded to gain the upper hand. Crush
their bias and at the same time crush their feeble spirits.
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Entry #61
From
what source does inspiration flow? Are we simply born into this
lifestyle? Or are there greater social and developmental influences
that channel us in this direction? It ain't nature playa… It's nurture.
Was it Masters of the Universe and DC Comics? Was it Hulk Hogan and the
Macho Man? Where was that first seed planted and how did it flourish
into the passion it ultimately has become? Can't say for sure… But
something in the external world latched on to an element of my
personality and wouldn't let go. It made me neurotic about never
missing training, planning my meals and making constant progress. As a
skinny kid growing up obsessed with success in the traditional team
sports, I always felt a void. I wanted a reward for the extra time and
diligence I put in. I hated depending on the work ethic of another to
ensure my own success. I detested seeing athletes peak in their
twenties to so often become irrelevant shells as their thirties loomed.
I found a home in bodybuilding because it is a quest for life. There is
no age requirement, no need to be surrounded by a talented team, no
time limit or ending season. There are only goals, time invested and
hard work-a journey. There is only you and the precious moments you
have on this planet. The Hagakure, the code of the samurai, states “A
man exists for a generation, but his name lasts to the end of time.” I
believe in this truth down to my very core. How wisely we spend our
time, with what degree of ferocity we attack our goals not only in
bodybuilding but in life in general-this will determine the legacy we
leave. Will your name be a mere whisper on the lips of your descendants
or will it echo in eternity for all to hear?
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Entry #62
It
is all a matter of degree. Some of us are looking to pack on mass in
the shortest amount of time imaginable, simply to take up more space
and push the most ponderous poundage possible. Others are looking to
get shredded, peeled, contest ready and razor sharp. These are the
extremes, in a sport built upon polarizing edges. Others fall in the
middle-maintaining and refining their physique, satisfied with
incremental gains, immersed in the process. My goals are different, but
probably not unlike so many of you hungry cats out there. The idea is
to get huge, to be freaky, to build an awesome physique, but this
process, for me personally, is cyclical. Fuck the bulk/cut/bulk/cut
nonsense that I hear about so often… Dudes are spinning their wheels.
To hell with becoming a fat fuck or a skinny twig or bouncing back and
forth between these two antithetical states of being. In my quest to
get big, there are periods in which I ramp up the calories (while still
mostly clean) and cut back the volume, prioritizing mass above all
else. My other phase, is not an extreme departure, but like I said a
matter of degree… A period of tweaking and fine tuning. A couple of
months designed to hone the raw mass I've built without halting my
progress by restricting and depleting myself into catabolic
waifishness-if I'm going to go there, I'll be stepping on stage. The
alterations I speak of are more subtle: less steak more fish, less rest
between sets, increased volume, increased reps, mild thermos like green
tea extract. During such a period, I work to improve my physique-to
craft and mold it, to make it hard. After dropping a couple of
percentages of bodyfat, it is time to hop right back onto the mass
train and to become reacquainted with the caloric onslaught and the
heavy iron. That transition hits me like a ton of bricks and before you
know it, I'm five lbs heavier than I was the last time… Just like I
fuckin planned.
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Entry #63
I'm
a pussy. There ain't no two ways about it. I recently got an email from
an old acquaintance--a high school roommate of one my best friends.
Educated kid… Highly intelligent and articulate. Currently serving in
Iraq. Dealing on a daily basis with unimaginable circumstances, having
dire scenarios unfold before him hourly, he is mired in that hell on my
behalf. Throw my personal politics out the window, my views on
colonialism, preemptive warfare and all of that fun shit. Bottom line
is, there are kids (literally kids-younger than 20) in godforsaken
lands spilling blood and coming home in fucking bags, just so I can go
about my daily business and pursue my dreams. Here I am, using all of
my war metaphors and belligerent language to talk about training and
life in general and these kids are thousands of miles away from home,
living it. In principle, they are there in defense of my liberties,
putting their shit on the line for my sake. I don't expect you cats to
become news junkies, politicos or activists… Shit, I'm not even telling
you to give a fuck. But, truth be told, at the very least, when you
feel like giving up, quitting or bitching out, consider people who
don't have those luxuries, those who show up to do a job without
question or equivocation, too brave to back down. It is to them that I
say thanks.
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Entry #64
The support structure. Roots. A foundation. This bodybuilding game may
be an individual pursuit, but it is not one in which the credit for
progress can be attributed to any one single person. The man I am today
and the man I'll be tomorrow is in large part thanks to the
contribution of several people. Ma Dukes and my Pops. My lady. My
friends-who, to me, are like brothers-they are the ones who have been
here for me when I've needed them most. Behind every great man, there
is a great woman and it takes a village to raise a child and all that
good bullshit... I know its cliché. But it is true. From shit like
encouraging me when I'm down, removing doubt when I fail to little
seeming trivialities like cooking a meal when I'm dead tired... That is
what it is all about. These are the things that in the end, fortify a
champion, allowing him to stand tall, if only on the shoulders of those
who have built him up. I am blessed, in that, I have always been highly
motivated and driven internally to achieve and make the most of my
gifts. Dreaming big and working toward a goal has always been a
dominant character trait of mine. But that isn't to say there haven't
been and won't continue to be several stops along the road where I need
a swift kick in the ass. Luckily for me, next time I need one, I know
who'll be wearing the boots.
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Entry #65
"Man is no more than God in ruins." These words, written by
transcendentalist author Ralph Waldo Emerson, set the bar high for
humanity. Struggling, striving and stretching for something more is the
only path to immortality. This reach for greatness, however, brings
with it much potential for calamity. As such, these lofty ambitions are
so often avoided and cast aside. Within the common realm which
champions that which is safe and conservative, the risks necessary to
achieve are generally considered all too perilous. Nonetheless, every
so often, there is an individual who, fundamentally, at his core, feels
the need to be more. This individual is naturally compelled to take
what he has been endowed with and expand, leave the environment from
which he comes and explore. His odyssey navigates the road less
traveled and as such is a dangerous thoroughfare. Failure is his
co-pilot, sitting shotgun on the road to greatness. If the great man
does not know well this bitter traveling companion, he will forever
come up short of his potential. Life is an adventure, Animal. You must
be bloodied and battered. You must stumble and fall. You must be faced
with great resistance and every turn. And from all of this you must
rise. You must survive. You must persevere, ascending from the ashes.
Put the pedal to the metal and keep your gaze on the horizon. Let
nothing slow you down.
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Entry #66
Recently when forced to summarize my life philosophy, I laid it down like this…
“If one begins from the premise that 'not getting it done isn't an
option', every other foreseeable outcome is 'getting it done'.” I know
that kinda language can be a little bit hard to follow, but you catch
my drift. Approaching any endeavor worth investing time and effort in,
one must decide that no matter what the obstacles, no matter how much
turmoil and angst lies ahead, the result at the bitter end will be the
same… Success. Plan B, as I've long characterized it, is “die trying.”
With this frame of mind, there is no alternative to triumph. But one
must be careful what they wish for, because that reach for the brass
ring can be a motherfucker, and that extravagant jewelry comes with a
hefty price tag. Many may hesitate, get rattled and soil their
proverbial drawers when the chips are down. For this same reason, they
shrink from a challenge--closing up shop when times are tough or even
more likely, they never have the balls to open for business in the
first place. At the end of the day, they lack the scars, scabs and
callouses earned enduring life's battles. They are pretty, polished,
prim and proper… They'll live to a ripe old age and retire to greener
pastures. But did they ever truly live?
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Entry #67
Excuses, excuses, excuses… We all make a million and one of them.
Rationalizing and deluding ourselves into a state of helpless denial.
“It's my genetics…” “It's the drugs…” Blah, blah fuckin blah. “If only
I didn't have to work a real job and pay all of these bills.” “If only
I didn't have these responsibilities.” If only this and if only that…
Save that bullshit. If “ifs” and “buts” were candy and nuts than
everyday would be Christmas. Life ain't a fairy tale, it is a war
story--the epic tome of a warrior who must again and again overcome
adversity with no guarantee of eventual triumph or glory. The glass
ceiling that restricts our progress exists only in our minds… That
confining force is only as oppressive as we allow it to be. Your
approach to life and your daily mental state needs to be a fucking ball
peen hammer capable of shattering those see-through barriers the moment
you feel them closing in. We can blame external forces and societal
norms-the suffocating effects of the status quo I'm always preaching
about. But, truth be told, we are our own worst enemy… Our most vile
nemesis… Because we are the only ones who can impede our rise. We must
find that alter ego, that loser element of our psyche and wring his
scrawny fucking neck. To truly grow and flourish we must kill that
cold, miserable part of ourselves so bent on stagnation. Let go of
doubt and hesitation, rid yourself of negativity and fear. Forge onward
undeterred in the direction of your dreams. If you ain't game, just
toss in the white towel and let the main eventers mix it up.
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Entry #68
It all began so innocently, so humbly. I remember my Pops taking me to
the local drug store where I grabbed a copy of Ironman with Dorian on
the cover-back when he had the blonde, curly, British semi-mullet going
on (maybe like 1993). Obsessed with hoops, I was willing to do whatever
I could to improve my game and I saw weight training as a potential
edge, so I needed to learn. Plus, my friend (the only one that I still
kept in touch with from PA after I moved to Jersey) and his brother had
gotten into training seriously and eating clean and had subsequently
peaked my interest simply through observation. The way they completely
changed their bodies, the discipline…. There was something there that
spoke very deeply to me--that appealed to me at my core-that ability to
change, grow and improve. Unbeknownst to me, Ma Dukes would buy me a
gym membership in the summer of 1994 for my 16th birthday, but I was
still a year or so out from that, so I was gonna have to make due. I
scrapped some concrete filled plastic weights together and traded my
friend for the one sided bench he had from a busted Bowflex. This bench
had been affixed to a central unit, so it only had legs on the front
side. I got an old 70's metal chair that was padded and covered in
pleather and leaned the “headside” of the bench on the seat. It was
perfect because it had arms, which I used to hold my barbell. I also
had a set of cheap, adjustable dumbbells. It certainly wasn't much, but
in my head, I had all I needed. Now it was up to me… Go to my room,
close the door, put my bootleg Wu Tang tape in my boom box and go to
work. How far I would get was directly related to how much effort I was
willing to put forth. That, to me, has always been the bottom line. As
much as shit changes, it all stays exactly the same.
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Entry #69
Fear. Each human psyche is full of so many. Some learned, some inborn,
others cultivated and developed over the years, reinforced by constant
submission and avoidance. Some fears are healthy… They keep you aware,
alert, alive. The fight or flight response, gives you that impulse
where you calculate the odds on the spot-tabulating the chance for
survival and the ability to live to fight another day. Other fears are
evil... Fear of “the other” produces hatred and intolerance. Similar
wretched fears produce insecurities and tentativeness-fear of success.
We must dominate our fears, identify them and become familiar with
them… Casting aside those that impede our growth. The logical question…
What do I fear? I fear stagnation and lack of progress. I fear never
reaching my potential and being average. I fear being forgotten…. The
past… Yesterday's news. I fear giving up and being passed by, going
softly into that good night. I fear letting those I love down, letting
myself down. I fear settling, giving in to the “that's just the way it
is” mindset. I fear dying without leaving my mark. I fear not feeling
these fears anymore and just floating along. These fears feed me, they
nourish my drive. I love my fear.
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Entry #70
Can you help a brother out? “You ain't that big, man… And you never
will be.” That is what I remind myself, when those selfish and
egotistical impulses wash over me. Never too big, literally or
figuratively, to lend a hand, give some advice or toss a couple bucks
at a worthy cause. You reap what you sow, bro. That is the real shit.
Maybe it's karma or the balance of the universe… Call it what you will,
but that energy you put out there will find its way back to your
doorstep. It will be returned to sender, cash on delivery for a sum
your ass just might not be able to pay. A simple exercise that Ma Dukes
taught me when I was knee high to a fly's eye… Put yourself in the next
guy's shoes. Take things in from the next man's perspective before you
pass judgment. How many missed workouts or shitty meals away are you
really from being the skinny, timid guy in the gym struggling to find
his groove? How many bad breaks away are you truly from being the dude
on the street corner looking for a handout? What goes around comes back
around my friend. Keep that shit in mind next time you turn your nose
up at a person in need. Do you defend the underdog or are you a just a
frontrunner in the game of life? So I ask you again, can you help a
brother out? Or are you just too big?
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Entry #71
Recently, I watched a documentary about Tupac Shakur featuring an
interview that occurred shortly before his death. In it, and I'm
paraphrasing here, he said something to the effect that about a year
earlier, he had a frightening vision in his dreams that his death was
imminent. As such, he had made a promise to himself to make 3 songs a
day, everyday, for his remaining days. That way, when his time came,
there would be no regrets, nothing would be left in the reserve tank.
When his number came up, all his cards would be on the table. What
better motivating factor could there be? What an awesome approach with
which to enter each day. Call it paranoid, call it self-fulfilling
prophecy, call it what you will… But, to me, it is the shit legends are
made of. If I live every day as if my days are numbered, and air it all
out--trying to make the most of each moment, cramming every last bit of
legacy-creating action into my daily life, it would be impossible to
not achieve great things. It is that lazy, lackadaisical, carefree
cycle we get caught up in, where the future seems so far away, where we
can con ourselves into believing that time is on our side… We mosey
along like slothful snails as the world passes us by in the blink of an
eye. It ain't a penny saved is a penny earned, it is a life wasted is
gone forever… Spend your days and nights, your minutes and hours paying
the price for something of value. Expend your life force in the pursuit
of your destiny. Each breath wasted is one you'll never breathe again.
What are you saving it all up for?
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Entry #72
“You don't know what you've got til it's gone.” This is a matter of
fact and existence as guaranteed as death and taxes, yet so often
unconsidered. We take the blessings of health and youth, of wisdom and
experience, of love and family for granted, as if they are some
inalienable rights that will exist into eternity, subject to our whim.
Bullshit. Life and its many trappings are fleeting fancies, constantly
evaporating into the air like mist from the roaring sea. Live in the
“now”, never underestimating the value of your life or overestimating
the world's preoccupation with your own personal survival. As I sit
here and contemplate the magnitude of life and my potential to
contribute to history I am given pause. Not for the greatness and glory
of all yet to be achieved, but for the scarcity of the moments I have
left to do so. Time waits for no man. Remember that when looking too
far into the future and shrugging off the moment that you're living in.
Express your feelings to those you love, hug your mom and dad, kiss
your daughter on her cheek. Walk your dog… Read a book… And be thankful
for these little things. When you fail on a lift or critique your
physique in the mirror, never settle. But at the same time, be proud of
all of the pain and sacrifice it took to get to this point. Because
this moment, right here, that has your balls in a vice, may be as good
as it ever gets… So make the most of it motherfucker. If you haven't
realized it yet, this struggle is your life. This knockdown, drag-out
brawl is your journey… It ain't a segment on Entertainment Tonight. You
are dust and unto dust you shall return… Will the cascade of your
cinders be littered with the fragments of precious metals or merely a
cloud of dirt on the wind?
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Entry #73
The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep. -Robert Frost
Promises… We've all made more than our share. To friends and family, to
God and country. But the most solemn vow is that which we make to
ourselves… Not that which is shouted in the town square or professed
from the pulpit for all to hear. That contract we make with ourselves,
internally, in private quarters with those we love… That pledge that
echoes in the four chambers of our heart-reverberating with each beat.
To do what we must… There is no higher calling. To give all that we
have in the name of something bigger and more important than ourselves.
To know that no matter the weight of the load across our shoulders, no
matter how great the force that bears down upon us we will do what we
must to get the job done. No matter wicked wind or torrential rain,
regardless of the pain and drudgery of earthly existence we will plow
forward… Not unbreakable or immortal by any means but simply a
testament to the indomitable spirit of man. Weathered, weary and worn
the warrior wills the next step, summoning the courage to forge onward
toward destiny. There are miles to go before you sleep, Animal. Be
resolute.
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Entry #74
That morning remains vivid in my head, like it was yesterday. I'm sure
that it always will. My phone rang incessantly. Having just graduated
from college, working a grave shift and being that I was keeping
“writer's hours”, I didn't see that many 8AMs-Anyone who knew me well
was well aware of this fact. Nonetheless, my cell phone continued to
ring. As I gained a groggy consciousness, it became obvious that
something was afoot. My roommate banged on my door. Startled, I jumped
to my feet and grabbed my phone. 8 missed calls-all from my Pops. Our
nation was under attack, planes being used as missiles. The age of
innocence had come to an end. It was as if at that very moment, my life
had taken a sharp right turn. In a flash, all of the youthful
trivialities, idle preoccupations and bullshit that seemed so important
went out the fuckin window. I went to sleep the night before a kid, I
woke up that morning a man. Those that I cared most about-my folks, my
lady, my hard knock boys-people from all different walks and cultural
experiences, took it hard but in unique and very personal ways. That
terrible morning had a profound impact… The bells of war had been rung.
It was a call to action, for so many it was motivation to enlist in the
armed forces-to be above rhetoric and be about the business of selfless
bravery. Personally, it stimulated a different part of my being… The
portion once interested with politics and world affairs now became
obsessed-desperate to find meaning in this tragedy, looking for hope
hidden within such despair, seeking reason and understanding in a world
of chaotic confusion. I sought a leader or a voice to guide me through
these troubled times, but those in places of power let me down… Those
of rank, esteem or prestige who saw things as I did were few and far
between. I realized that the only man worth following was myself. So
now, five years later, as I go to bed every night with the 24 hr. cable
news networks permanently locked--in case I miss something as I sleep,
I dream of what I can do with this one solitary life to make a
difference. Will I change this cold, scary world or will I allow it to
turn my heart a bitter cold and render my spirit feeble and frightened?
This was the question we were all forced to ask ourselves on September
11, 2001. How we choose to answer is no big deal… I mean, it's not as
if the fate of the world hangs in the balance.
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Entry #75
“It is better to be the hammer than the anvil.” This Chinese proverb is
my latest mantra. Running through my head in the midst of the daily
grind, it perfectly summarizes the ideal approach to life. This ain't
fortune cookie wisdom… These are words to live by. It is better to be
an agent for action than an object to be acted upon. Better to strike
than to absorb blows. The decision each day is that of accepting
personal responsibility for your own destiny as opposed to being at the
mercy of fate, watching your life unfurl like a mystery novel. You can
be malleable like silly putty, taking the form that the external world
sees fit or you can pound away at life until it adopts the shape that
best suits you. You can dominate your surroundings or submit to their
whim and be granted no quarter. In the gym, on the street, in matters
of business and leisure, drop that hammer. Get yours. If not, you
better buy a fuckin helmet.
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Entry #76
In a moment of weakness, of defeated acceptance regarding the chaotic
and tumultuous world in which we live, I threw my arms up and uttered
the statement, “I guess when your number's up, it is out of your
hands.” My Pops looked at me steely eyed and without hesitation
retorted, “Fuck that. If that day comes you take somebody else's
number. Then their time is up.” Damn man… That immediately resonated,
reverberating within my core. I was disappointed in myself at that
moment for giving up so easily, for being so laissez faire with regard
to my own destiny. Shit fellas, we all have our bad days. Thing is,
when I find myself in an instance of vulnerability and self doubt, I
hold on to the moment. I store it away in my heart and in the recesses
of my psyche in order to remind myself. It reminds me of the
destructive train of thought I cannot abide. It echoes the fragility of
humanity and the need for the strong and powerful to defend the feeble
and timid. Those days when you are dragging your ass, when getting to
the gym seems like more trouble than it is worth, remember this ain't
about being a pretty boy, looking big in your tight t-shirt at the
tavern or hitting a more impressive most muscular. That daily beautiful
struggle with the iron is your training; your combat in the gym is
practice for the constant conflict that is everyday life in the new
millennium. It ain't about looking good… It's about survival.
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Entry #77
Watching Ronnie and Jay slug it out last weekend and the ensuing
backlash, I realized how the position each were in was a metaphor in so
many ways for all of our lives… These two warriors, the elite standard
bearers of our sport were experiencing emotions and being faced with
challenges we each encounter everyday. First there was Jay. At first a
phenom, a pro at 23, won the NOC at 26. Then he came out of no where in
2001 to challenge the champ. From that point on, little by little he
chipped away. Grinding it out, steadily progressing, paying his dues.
Until finally, the impossible became reality. Then there was Ronnie,
turning pro at 29, serendipitously stumbling into bodybuilding. A
full-time cop, a mid level pro toiling in relative anonymity for years.
Then like a bolt of lightning he struck. I remember being at the Garden
in 1998 when he upset Flex to assume Dorian's vacated throne. After
beating Flex in '96 and Levrone at the '98 NOC he put himself on the
map. Once again, he epitomized consistent progress toward the apex of
the sport. When he reached the top of the mountain, he set up shop and
put down roots. For eight years he would remain there virtually
untouchable. Still training in the same ratty, dusty dungeon that he
did when he was an unknown. Working even harder to stay on top than he
ever did to make that great ascent. As they each stood there awaiting
the announcement, the gamut of emotions was run-dread, anticipation,
disappointment, shock, vindication, elation, inspiration, mutual
admiration. We all know these feelings well and could relate to the
mind states of both the seasoned champ and the young lion. We've all
been there-either the guy trying to prove that he's still got it, or
the guy attempting to prove that he has it in the first place. I don't
think this rivalry ends here… I feel each hasn't yet made their most
dramatic statement. For the sake of our sport, I hope I'm right.
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Entry #78
“You wish it was one way. But it's the other.” Man, hearing those words
on my favorite TV show, “The Wire” last week I was struck… Practically
dumbfounded. So simple. No bullshit, no flowery language. Just concise
and profound language. That's good writing. Know why? Cuz it is so damn
real. Marlo Stanfield used that statement as an alpha male signifier…
To mark his territory, to establish the food chain, putting a weaker
being in line. But this state of mind doesn't merely apply to a
fictional representation of Baltimore's mean streets. Such a potent
dose of realness rings universal. I know that sentiment well--to desire
a certain existence, but to belly up to a cold bowl of reality. This is
the internal crossroads we each navigate all so often. It is at this
point where each of us chooses either to continue down the boulevard of
the mundane with our shoulders slumped and our head hung low or to
instead negotiate the path less traveled and in the end decide our own
fate. Truth is we all wish it was one way, whether we decide to do
whatever it takes to illuminate this reality… Well, that choice is
entirely our own. I wish it was one way… And come hell or high water
that is the motherfuckin way it will be.
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Entry #79
In the mail just recently was the invitation to my 10 year high school
reunion. Pulling that envelope from the mailbox triggered a moment of
reflection and self examination as I would assume certain anniversaries
do for everyone. But it is different for me. Since I was a kid, I knew
the pressure. Since before I could even articulate it, I felt the
weight of the world on my shoulders. That burden of expectation and
desire and aspiration. That innate need to be more, to be
extraordinary. I put it upon myself when I was a mere young buck, wet
behind the ears, and I've strained underneath it ever since. Not sure
why, but that is just me… Be it a character flaw or the defining
characteristic that will ultimately result in my success, it has always
been there. Shit, when I was about 20 or so, I used to cry on my
birthdays. Moved to tears, my family would struggle to understand this
emotional response. There was joy in surviving another year, pride in
achievement, pain in disappointment, release of frustration and sadness
at the loss of youth and the acceptance of worldly responsibilities.
All that shit, coming to a head. Looking back 10 years ago, if you
asked me where I'd be today, I can't imagine what my response would
have been. Ten years gone by, in the blink of an eye… Many conquests
made, many goals achieved, with the scars, chipped teeth and white
hairs to prove it… But there is so much further left to go. Shit, on
this journey I've just pulled out of the driveway. What will the next
10 years bring? Who knows? But it should be one hell of a ride. Buckle
up...
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Entry #80
Shit happens for a reason. But don't plan on figuring it all out… Don't
waste another precious moment of these numbered days you've been
blessed with. Fuck asking “why me?” or “what if?” In the spinning chaos
that is our life do not seek rhyme or reason-that search will be in
vain. Existence on this planet can be a cold bitch some days, sticking
that dull blade in slow and twisting it. Those hard times are
inevitable but they are integral in making us who we are. To become a
great warrior's sabre, the mighty sword must withstand a grueling
forging. Like a raw metal alloy heated until red and parched over hot
coals, then dipped into a cold water bath, our bodies, our minds, our
very souls must endure these stressful extremes in order to become
stronger… To become more than what they once were. From meager and
common to mighty and priceless. Do not shy away from the great
challenges… Be not too modest to love deeply and lose, be not too timid
to fight gallantly and hit the canvas, getting caught blind winding up
for your knockout blow. Make no mistakes, this is the life you chose
and just like in the gym, pain is the critical component in fostering
new growth. In every facet of life, if you aren't growing (physically,
intellectually, emotionally, spiritually) you are dying. Grow or die…
The choice is yours.
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Entry #81
At some point in his life, every bodybuilder should work at a gym.
Coming up, I got my first job working at the Brigantine Fitness Center
in South Jersey… I was a senior in high school and the only available
shifts were 4:45 in the morning on Wednesdays before school and 6am on
Sundays. So for a whole year, I worked at those ungodly times, until I
worked my way into the rotation with normal human hours. Then during
college, on odd weekends and holidays and for several years after, I
worked at the very least one shift per week and usually much more. As
several of my friends also gained employment at the gym, the place took
on even more of a family atmosphere. During the summers one year, I
covered the graveyard shift when the gym was open 24/7. I'd be in there
training chest or wheels at 3am when only the freaks come out. Working
there, you learn gym etiquette like never to hover over somebody while
you are waiting for a piece of equipment or never, ever to leave your
plates loaded on a machine when you are done. My gym had our “Midnight
Society”, our extended network of friends that didn't exactly,
technically have memberships, so they could only train on off hours.
We'd “pillage” from time to time, embezzling the odd bar or shake, but
it was no different than grabbing a sandwich outta Ma Dukes' fridge. It
was a place we were all viciously defensive of, it was our place of
work, of refuge, our place to gather. It was both a battleground and a
safe haven. It was home. As I've moved out and moved on, I've seen many
fitness megaplexes and have torn it up at great gyms from coast to
coast, but I look forward to the occasions that I go to visit my folks,
because not only do I get to see my Mom and Pops, I get to spend time
at the “Mom and Pops” gym that made me the man I am today.
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Entry #82
Style… It is completely subjective and in large part trivial. But when
it comes to bodybuilding, it has to be addressed. Man, there have been
some fucked up looks over the years… Baggy, balloon pants, neckless rag
top sweat shirts, Otomix shoes with wig wam socks, sleeveless flannel
shirts, skin tight YMLAs for the flared lat crew and the ubiquitous
fanny pack… Ah yes, that is hardcore bodybuilding at its
finest-atrocities and all. Men, well, men should wear shirts that fit
them… I haven't worn a size L shirt since I was 18 years old. Nothing
worse than the 10 lbs of shit in a 5lb bag look... Sure it is OK on
occasion to show off what you've been working so hard for-the ladies
love it. But in general, keep that shit under wraps. There is no need
for the UnderArmour mock turtle neck in the gym with the Ipod Nano
around the bicep mini… That makes a brother look like a spin class
instructor, not a bodybuilder. Yeah, I wear compression shorts-under my
sweats on leg day for support… No dudes in spandex, please. I've seen
Ronnie and Jay wearing spandex pants on leg day in their videos-they
can afford to, look at their legs. They are the exception, not the
rule. What do I wear in the gym? Layers. Hooded sweatshirt in the
winter, bandana and/or skully underneath, depending on the time of
year. I wear a baggy t-shirt on most days or a long sleeve tee on leg
day. Somedays I'll have a tank underneath for a potential unveiling,
just to see if anything is growing under there. On my legs, baggy track
pants or sweats or maybe some long shorts for those sweltering months.
On the feet, sneakers-either running shoes or hoops kicks and on the
occasion of inclement weather, my work boots. Simple, yet completely
suited to my sense of style and personality. Let your physique cause a
commotion, let your feats of strength be worthy of spectacle… Don't
allow your defining characteristic be the attention garnered by your
multicolored clown suit.
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Entry #83
Self preservation. It is perhaps the most basic human instinct. The
desire to stay safe, free of harm, to survive, there is no more inborn
impulse. If this fundamental God-given mandate to protect one's own
life is at the essence of humanity, why is it that we do what we do?
Hundreds of pounds on a bent barbell digging into our shoulders,
thousands of pounds loaded onto the leg press, daunting dumbbells
hoisted overhead… Winded and breathless, sore and beaten, we push
ourselves to the precipice of our breaking point and often beyond. Is
this because we are inhuman or is there a faulty circuit in our genetic
hard wiring? I say no to the former and the latter. We do our due
diligence in the gym as preparation… It is quite literally our
training-survival training for the warfare of the modern millennium,
better known to you as daily life. In order to exist, to set ourselves
up to prosper, we must be stronger than the rest… Physically, mentally
and emotionally. Inside and out, body and soul. Like the smart little
piggy, we built our house with motherfuckin bricks. When the time
arrives and the big, bad wolf comes a-blowin', we'll be ready and
waiting.
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Entry #84
It is a mental game… Like poker or chess, except in this battle of
wits, your sole opposition is the self and common sense. Head games,
the kind you have to play on yourself when you are neck deep in the
pain of a rough set or faced with an imposing challenge… These are the
tricks of the trade. “You'll never amount to shit… It will never happen
unless…” As the darkness would fall and I'd be shooting free throws in
the moonlight, this is what I would tell myself… 20 in a row and then I
could go home. Twelve years later I hear that same voice, it whispers
in my ear as my body screams at me to stop squatting at 15 reps and
here I am passing number 40, ass in the grass, lightheaded with my
fingers tingling from lack of blood flow. Two at a time. Not counting
in fives or tens… Just two at a time. Two ain't shit, seems like
nothing, down and up twice, no big deal. But 2 + 2 + 1 = 5, and that
adds up fast. Your mind will not let you fail if you are convinced that
the straits are dire enough… Imagine the worst of fates, the most
critical of conditions and envision these outcomes being what awaits
you if you fall short. There is no obstacle too great to overcome, no
terrain too rocky or treacherous to cross, if you can only conquer the
most formidable territory known to man-the eight inches between your
ears.
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Entry #85
Tis the season… So in that spirit, I will take this opportunity to give
thanks. Not in the traditional sense of the gesture however. While I am
truly blessed with health and opportunity, a strong support system of
family and friends and the talent and free will to make of my life what
I wish, I will instead give thanks for the hard times. I will show my
appreciation for the stress and struggle and all of the beautiful bumps
in this rocky road that I have encountered on my way to this very
moment in which I currently live and breathe. Bow your heads
motherfuckers as we count our blessings. I give thanks for the
heartache… The disappointment and inequity. The letdowns and the
losses. It is from these defeats that I will gain the knowledge and
experience to win. I give thanks for the imperfections… The stretch
marks on my chest, the fake fronts in my mouth, the calcified knot on
the bridge of my nose and the gray hairs on my head. It is these flaws
that have taught me that the value in life does not come from being the
butterfly, but instead from the grimy metamorphosis of the larva that
brings me ever so slowly towards glorious fruition. These are not
flaws, but instead proof of survival. I give thanks for the dearly
departed that left long before their time and for the grim visage of
addiction reflected in the mirrors of those I love… They taught me that
it can all be over in an instant, that we are all too mortal a species,
that one man’s life, for another, ain’t living at all. It is for them
that I carry the flag, for them that I have no choice but to stand
strong and press onward. Be that they are the constant specter of a
cautionary tale, the invigorating muse that illuminates my path or a
guardian angel hovering above, through me and my deeds they will live
forever. It is for the pressure, the pain, the yoke upon my neck that I
give thanks, for these hardships have forged me by fire into my current
form. What are you thankful for?
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Entry #86
Say what you mean and mean what you say, be a fucking man. Grow a pair
and conduct yourself as an individual of consequence. Allow your words
to have purpose, your actions to be wrought with meaning. Be not an
empty vessel, the emasculated post-millennial male carrying on
conversations about fragile feelings and feeble emotions like some
whiny episode of Friends. Give me a fucking break. Seek your Dr. Phil
council elsewhere, pal. Be not a living, breathing IKEA catalog like Ed
Norton in Fight Club--your worth on this planet being determined by the
laundry list of trendy shit you’ve accumulated. There is great freedom
to be found in letting go of the material trivialities of life in this
society. One of my greatest reasons for desiring wealth and financial
independence is the ability to sincerely say “Who gives a fuck?”
without being bitter or envious. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I like
nice things. But there is so much more to existence than crossing off
another entry on the predetermined success checklist we are each handed
as we cross the threshold of adulthood and enter into the real world.
Fuck the empty words spoken, the shiny toys hoarded. You can’t take
that shit with it with ya brother… What you leave behind is the legacy
of the deeds you’ve done, the lives you’ve touched, the changes you’ve
made to make the world a better place. The rest is a mere illusion,
trinkets designed to distract us from the fact that we are wasting our
lives away.
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Entry #87
“Winners have simply formed the habit of doing things losers don't like
to do.” Words to live by… As true as the sky is blue and as sure as
water is wet. Making habitual that which is arduous and challenging and
often times uncomfortable is a sure-fire recipe for success. We are, as
people in “decent society”, preconditioned to avoid instances of pain
and hardship. To endure as a species we are taught to run in the
opposite direction of danger, to avoid confrontation and scenarios of
great adversity. Bonded by this common approach to existence, the flock
flourishes, a homogenized mass fanning itself in the cool tranquility
of the status quo. There is no pressure in the shade, no great
struggle. Knowing this, we realize that in order to achieve beyond the
limits intended we must leave the confines of that which is safe and
challenge what we know to be the accepted norm. We must unlearn and
devolve. We must stand in defiance of our predetermined limits. There
is a word for those who go against the grain, those who turn left when
the rest of the world turns right. Champions. They are the winners… Win
or lose.
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Entry #88
It is a fucking morose practice, I know. But bear with me. Imagine that
you were gone tomorrow and what followed was your wake and funeral,
your eulogy and obituary. How would you be remembered? What have you
left behind? What have you really done? You've heard me say it
before... I don't compare myself to the people I see everyday. In every
facet of my life, I measure myself against the best and even more
imposing a standard, I strive to live up to my personal vision of my
ideal self. It is so easy to fall into the big fish/little pond, big
dog/little pound way of thinking that you can delude yourself into
believing you aren't pissing your life away playing it safe and close
to the vest. So I'm the biggest, strongest dude in my tiny, local gym.
Wow… What an otherworldly accomplishment. My mama would be so proud.
That and 35 cents will get me a phone call, but not to anyone who gives
half a shit. I look forward to the Arnold, the O and the NPC shows--not
only for the revelry and spectacle but for the lethal dose of reality
such gatherings inject, like a sledgehammer blast of perspective to the
side of my dome. I love training with guys like Wrath and The House or
shooting the shit with Machine, cuz it reminds me of how much more work
I have left to do, how far I have yet to progress, how I can't afford
to cut corners or take days off. Never settle, Animal. Never accept
“good enough” or “that's just the way it is.” Demand more of yourself…
Demand more of life. There is a thin line between flying in a G5 jet
and renewing your bus pass, a mere matter of points, inches or moments
between a championship title and missing the first cut. In a world of
sloth and apathy, immorality and ambiguity, be the guy who goes the
extra mile, not the one who just gets by. Pursue the you that you long
to be… In the end, when you're dead and gone, nothing else will matter.
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Entry #89
Legendary naval commander John Paul Jones once stated "It seems to be a
law of nature, inflexible and inexorable, that those who will not risk
cannot win." As the New Year approaches, again we arrive at a moment of
reflection. It is at this point that we must ponder all that has been
gained and lost. For every pound of muscle, friend and dollar gained we
are richer, but for every day that we have allowed to pass without
chasing our dreams we are infinitely poorer than the day before. How
"new" will this year really be? Or will it just be the same old shitty
routine of the past-with nothing ventured, nothing gained and so much
lost. Playing it safe and close to the vest is easy. It is comfortable
and common and encouraged in most quarters. It takes effort to risk...
To step outside of the confines of the mundane and attack life as if
today was your last is not normal. To make of life what you desire, to
accomplish epic things, this great risk is necessary. Put it all on the
line in pursuit of the uncommon life. The time for resolutions and
declarations has come and gone. The moment of decisive action has
arrived. Do work in 2007... Make power moves. You are running out of
new years in which to be resolute.
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Entry #90
There are two kind of people in this world: you and “that guy”. Each
day when we roll out of the rack, wipe the crust from the corners of
our eyes and scratch our nuts on the way to the shower we make a
decision. Continue upon the path which we've chosen, no matter how
arduous that journey may be or instead, we can be “that guy”. In all
honesty it is a simple choice, cut and dry if you will. To be who we
have chosen to be, to be a warrior, to be a leader… Or to merely be
“that guy”. You know him well. He takes the easy way out, he cuts
corners. He talks a big game but disappears when the shit hits the fan.
He lacks honor and integrity, shrugging these ideals off as antiquated
notions too lofty to be concerned with. He prefers notoriety over
respect, quantity over quality, sizzle over steak. He has chosen the
path of least resistance, the easy way out. “That guy” is the weak and
insecure, the scheister or swindler, the cheater who so often grifts
his way to the spoils. He feels he has the game figured out… He's got
the house beat. But in the end, in the final chapter, when you come
face to face, nose to nose, he'll know in his heart that he has no
chance. He'll be beaten before the bell ever rings. When it comes down
to brass tacks he knows the deal and the bottom line is that you're
made of different stuff… Forged in fire, weathered in the elements,
you're battle tested. When the bells of war toll, “that guy” is shit
out of luck and he knows it. Don't be that guy.
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Entry #91
De Oppresso Liber… Latin for “free the oppressed.” I found the phrase
on the pin on my Pop's green beret. Tucked away in a plastic bag in his
underwear drawer for years it sat. I used to behold that hat in awe
when I was a kid and marvel at what it took to wear it. The strength,
the fortitude, the commitment. As I grew older those three words from
that dead language became my ethos… Words to live by, a life's purpose.
From my Pops, a man who'd cut his own hand off before taking a hand
out, who'd give his dying breath to give me a better life, I realized
that we are each put here for a reason. My purpose was to do what he
did with his special forces brigade years before I was even born… Free
the oppressed, but in my own way. If not with the sword, then with my
words and deeds… With my actions and the ink that bleeds from my pen.
Liberate the enslaved by spreading knowledge, speaking truth to power
and leading by example. We are so often held down… If not by any
physical or social force, then by life circumstances. We must free the
hearts and minds of those in need and educate those that do not know so
that we, as a people, can grow. From the gym floor to the street corner
to the class room, this is my challenge to you… Free the oppressed,
break the chains and let no man hold you down.
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Entry #92
I'm an emotional guy. Heart on my sleeve. What you see is what you get.
I take shit personally. Can't help it... It is part of my personality.
Always has been. When I'm involved in something that I care about, I
commit myself to it on every level... Physically, spiritually,
intellectually, emotionally. Things that I pour myself into gain my
full attention and become, in a way, an extension of my person. Be it
words and ideas, art and literature, or even my training, eating and
the fruits of my labor as they pertain to bodybuilding. These elements
are not mere aspects of another guy's life, but instead as I see it,
brush strokes of my signature on the face of mankind. Thoughts and
actions both massive and miniscule, manifestations both in the abstract
and physical world that will bear my mark once I'm gone. If the
greatest gift we can ever receive is this life we have been granted,
and our only ability to show our gratitude for this priceless present,
is to cultivate our abilities and work diligently to reach our goals
and maximize our potential, then what the fuck right do we have to
bitch and moan, to procrastinate and bellyache? Answer: none. Yet and
still, I hear this same sorry shit all the time, "Fuck it. Who cares?
What impact can my little life have?" With that attitude? Same
answer... None. Either make your mark or you are a mark. Maybe you
think I take this sort of shit too seriously. But I submit for your
consideration the distinct possibility that perhaps you take this shit
too lightly.
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Entry #93
“Abandon all hope, ye who enter this place.” As I penetrate the doors,
I feel the fire and smoldering brimstone, the cavernous darkness
engulfs me. Stalagmites dangle ominously from the ceiling, shackles
hang chained to the walls. Is this Dante's version of Hades or am I
simply that fucking far gone? Have I just walked into my local,
neighborhood family fitness megaplex or have I stumbled into the belly
of the beast? Perhaps it is all in my head, maybe I'm the only one who
takes this shit to heart. The pit of hell it may not be, but it sure as
shit isn't the bastard child amalgamation of a dayspa and a nightclub.
Fuck that. This is a place of work, a place of business, a place for
real motherfuckers to do real things. It ain't a fucking fun park for
twenty somethings. Just like I wouldn't walk into a courtroom or house
of worship drinking a Big Gulp, putting my feet up on the lectern or
hitting on the court stenographer, I expect the same sort of reverence
to be shown to my most hallowed of halls. Quit camping out on the
machine, clear your fucking weights off when you're done, stop tweezing
your dainty little eyebrows in my mirror, cease curling in the power
rack and stop wasting all of my good oxygen. I can put that shit to
better use. I say live and let live, but if yours is an existence
without purpose, stay the fuck out of my way.
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Entry #94
“Is that motherfucker crazy?” “Who the hell does he think he is?” “Give
it up man… Get with the real world.” Fuck it; I've heard it all before.
Having a vision, demanding more… These states of being have a cost.
There is a toll to be paid for an outcome that is not guaranteed and as
such, most ain't willing to ante up the buy-in. It has been that way
since I was a kid… I did my own thing, followed my own path and never
let the small-minded brain prisons that confined the people in my
neighborhood dictate how big I could dream or how far I could strive.
You can see it in their eyes-doubt, fear, condescension, intimidation,
inadequacy, envy. The jealousy on their face mirrors that in their
heart. To them I make no apologies, but instead I make this admission,
and perhaps from this they can one day come to understand. To them I
say, “I'm not like you. We are of different compositions. While we are
comprised of the same stuff, layer by layer-skin, muscle, marrow, we
are very different inside. I've known since the first day that I can
remember that mine was a life of purpose. I knew that I was here for a
reason. I was put here and commissioned with an undertaking from which
I could not be swayed. My life is not the mere redundant cycle of an
evolving pile of protoplasm shuffling towards conclusion, but instead a
mission with a continuously narrowing window of completion. Do not
begrudge me my freedom of thought or my ambition. It is the burden I
must bear and a weight I would not want you to have to shoulder.
Instead, wish me good day and good luck and let me go about my
business. What I do, I do for you.”
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Entry #95
“Don't try to carry your friends on the wings of your dreams.” I
remember that sage advice from my Pops when I was about twelve years
old. I knew that the hard worker, the dreamer, the one willing to put
in the extra time would eventually prosper. I believed this to be fact
to my very core. I felt that if I wanted it more and was hungrier than
the next guy, everything else being equal, I couldn't be denied. For
some reason, I expected the same of the other people I encountered.
Looking back, I now know it wasn't fair, but I thought that I could
simply look in their eyes and infuse them with my passion, expecting
them to match my commitment. Running miles in Strength Shoes, doing
drills past midnight, shoveling the court when even my school cancelled
practice because of the weather. Even as a young buck, I knew what it
took to scratch and claw for something to call my own. There was the
odd soldier that saw what I saw, and they are still my brothers to this
day, but they were the rare exception not the prevailing rule. As I
matured, my perspective might have changed, but this aspect of my
personality did not. Trying to pull people along on my career
aspirations, dragging them around the gym against their will. Shit… It
is an exhausting task in and of itself and one more prone to agita than
achievement. Give back, do your part, save those that want to be saved.
But make no mistakes, this is a solitary journey and alone you must
forge on into the darkness if you're to ever reach your destination.
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Entry #96
“The best revenge is to live well.” Advice more easily espoused than
heeded, but truer than the wind blows cold on a Jersey February night.
The predilection for wrath, retaliation or the old school “get back”
must be swallowed and stomached like many a bitter pill. That cold iron
chip on your shoulder must be melted down into ore and cast yet again,
this time forged to the shape of dominant victory. So many times to
gain that reprisal you must take a humble… Going back to the drawing
board, back to the dungeon, to the darkness and shadow to toil. To
struggle and strive in silence. To change and grow and improve. Only to
reemerge, born anew, crushing all that stands in your wake. The last
laugh will be yours despite the attempts of the naysayers and doubters,
the pessimists and the critics, the losers and lackeys. Your day will
come despite their actions but you will not allow your shining moment
to be sullied out of spite for these lesser beings. There is much honor
in being the bigger man--not only literally, but also figuratively.
Doing your dirt, grinding it out in the muck of the gutter. Staying in
the streets and true to your roots, but always above the fray. Live
well, young man, live well--but suffer no fools gladly.
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Entry #97
During my latest Cali sojourn, I found myself in an old school South
Central boxing gym. On the wall were many pithy motivational phrases.
This one jewel in particular caught my eye. “Nothing in the world will
take the place of persistence. Talent will not… Nothing is more common
than unsuccessful men with talent.” Being honest, I know that many a
day I have hung my hat on my potential, my inherent talents, my
personal belief in some sort of epic destiny. But in actuality all of
that shit is empty… Mere meaningless words if not supported by an iron
will and undying commitment. The thought of a common life makes me
shudder, leaves me reeling, turns my stomach… But such a reality is
likely, even a given if that talent and potential we become so fond of
referencing isn't backed up by some thick skin, calloused hands, broad
shoulders and a big pair of balls in your bag. Put those boots to the
pavement and get on your grind cuz all of the talent in the world won't
mean shit twenty years from now if you do nothing with it today. I'm
thankful for the bitter cats, lounging at the local watering hole
bitching and bellyaching about how they never got their chance. They
have set the clear cut standard for what I never want to be.
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Entry #98
“Big dude… Little dog.” Is what some random girl observed out loud as
we walked by. I get that a lot when I'm taking my 10 lb best friend to
have a piss or shite. It is funny, but I feel that kind of diametric
opposition brings balance. As you grow bigger and more powerful, it is
as if you carry with you this hurtling, crushing momentum which blasts
through life leaving rubble in your wake. This is only amplified by how
people react to you, often cowering or granting you a wide berth. It is
in this sense that we become dehumanized, almost immune to the
elements. That has never been my goal, to be so calloused and
overbearing that I can no longer feel. Instead my goal is to be more
human than human-to have heightened senses, greater command of my
surroundings, being in tune with the conditions of nature and humanity.
So often that which is small and weak can impart the utmost strength.
The greatest joys in life so often are the tiniest things, finding
comfort with their fragility in the sheltering safety of your shadow.
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Entry #99
Heredity vs. environment. The age old question. Am I a product of the
whole of my genes or of the holes in my jeans? Am I merely the random
result of the amalgamation that makes up my descendents? An eye doctor
going scalpel to iris in the 1930s or a factory worker working a double
shift during the depression… A green beret turned closer mixed with
equal parts nurturing mother? Is it the coal miners or college types?
The rosary rollers or the racketeers? Is who I am now simply determined
by who all those before me were? Or is all that shit irrelevant? Are
our roots simply another shackle, binding us to the cold dirt from
which we first sprung? Perhaps who I've become is a direct response to
what has gone down around me. What I've seen and lived through, the
knowledge to which I've been privy, the friends and enemies accumulated
along my journey. These are all elements that contribute to a final
product, but they are not determining factors. Self determination is
the critical component in a man bringing his life to glorious fruition
or conversely in that old crash and burn. Whether god or clod, the
bottom line is the same… You are the architect of your destiny and you
alone are responsible for how your story will end. Let go of the safety
net that is your genetics or your decrepit surroundings... Fuck these
mundane details and the slaves who are ruled by them. It is ironic, you
will find, that the hand most responsible for sculpting the finished
masterpiece is attached to the statue itself.
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Entry #100
On this, milestone entry one hundred, I will offer up a piece of
priceless advice. Accept criticism and compliments with equal regard.
Place dick riders and player haters on the same rung of the hierarchy.
Put no greater emphasis on the glorious tales of your victory than on
the tragic accounts of woe that document your defeats. Never be too
full of yourself but do not abide for a single second another's attempt
to steal from you your inherent worth. Put your confidence in a select
few, but your faith in only one man-yourself. Many will call me a king
and for each of them will be several who dub me a heretic… For those
that revere me a genius, many more will dispel me as a fool. Fuck em
all… From the back patters to the back stabbers, from the glad handers
to the head hunters. As the Ides of March passes, I will meditate on
the words of Sun Tzu, “Keep your friends close, and your enemies
closer.” I hope that I, unlike Caesar, have the ability to distinguish
between the two.
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Entry #101
An artist. It is the way I have always seen myself. Be it with the
written word, moving picture or simply the conceptualization and
execution of ideas-bringing what was once abstract to fruition. It is
that same imagination, analytical eye and spark of inspiration with
which I approach my bodybuilding endeavors… I know in my mind how I
want to look, how I want the weight to move and then via analysis,
strategy and good old fashioned elbow grease, make it happen. From
something comes nothing… From the darkness comes light… From little
comes big. It is in this way that we are all artists. Finely applying
the brush strokes, honing craft and refining our masterpiece. Think not
of yourself as a mere laborer, an automaton simply plodding along. You
are not the unskilled craftsmen, but instead the creator, the virtuoso…
The artisan with the calloused hands, broad shoulders and furrowed brow
born of back-breaking toil. The architect of all things possible, yours
is the master's touch. Let not your singular vision be wasted.
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Entry #102
Debt. What is it that you owe? Neck deep in bills… Lint in the pocket,
checks in the mail. Turning that bottom line from red to black-it is
what we each endeavor to do on the daily. But fuck a bank or lender,
the landlord and utilities. We owe so many others so much, in a
currency far more valuable than federal notes… For a sum much greater
than the weight of the gold in Ft. Knox. We owe our parents, for the
fact that we are here in the first place. For wiping our asses, wiping
our tears, providing the raw material-the crude matter from which we
evolved. We owe our underpaid teachers and the forgotten pillars of the
community, like the brothers in Iraq spilling blood and taking back
their lb of flesh. We owe those that followed the wrong path or that
never had a chance in the first place-locked in the pen or confined to
a hospital bed, who'd give a lifetime of tomorrows just to breathe free
today. We owe all who paved the way and the generation to come… We must
do their hard work justice and provide the example for our children to
pattern. We owe those that died too young, that left too early… It is
for them we must carry on and endure even when things are most bleak
for we know well that the worst day standing on the ground is better
than the best day lying underneath it. Above all else, we owe the
snot-nosed eight year old version of ourselves… The little guy that
never imagined anything but a future full of promise and endless
possibilities. Potential met and goals achieved. The one who saw only
greatness and victory over the horizon and couldn't conceive of
anything less. To him we owe our utmost effort, our grit and
determination, our unwillingness to ever surrender. With the last beat
of my heart, the last breath of my lungs, with every positive thought
my mind can muster and every forward action my body can will, I
solemnly vow to pay what I owe.
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Entry #103
We train each of our bodyparts. We spend time isolating muscle groups,
blasting our target tissue with strategic bombing designed to elicit a
growth response. So often we are in the moment, white knuckling the bar
as we yank it from the floor; our arms compressed as we struggle to
turn the descent of that loaded barbell on the bench from a negative to
a positive. It is at this point, this exact moment that we make a
decision--drop the bar, signal our spotter or grind that shit out. In
this split second, out the window are the concepts of muscular
contraction, forced reps, ATP and glycogen reserves within the muscle
cell, dynamic strength vs. the training load… Fuck force, momentum,
velocity, mass and even gravity. In this instant it is not an issue of
mind or matter but simply a test of will. In this solitary instance all
that is left is a man and the strength of his will. Are you a man of
will or merely a puppet subject to the whim of the elements that
surround you? In the end, those that win the wars, those that rise to
prominence, those that survive and prosper are not simply the most
powerful or the most talented. Instead, they are those rare men of
volition, those of steadfast determination and indomitable will who
abide no outcome but to be the last ones standing. As you chalk up the
bar, as you approach life's myriad challenges, as you live and breathe
in this cold, cold world, do not run your mouth, do not merely train
your muscles. Instead, exercise your will.
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Entry #104
Politics as usual. Put two people in a room and you will wade knee deep
into the muddy waters of the political process. These affairs of the
state are rarely so grandiose as to involve the legislative or
executive branch, but instead represent the social interactions of
everyday people, looking to “one up” or gain an advantage over their
neighbor. This power struggle is amplified and distorted to an extreme
degree when those in power move to manipulate the masses--the common,
hard working, decent folks who make the world go 'round. These are the
ones who are under attack… Under siege by opportunists who could care
less if they lived forever or died this very instant. It is why I
cannot sell my conscience at a discount… Why I'm not so fast to pledge
my allegiance to any political party or corrupt organization
masquerading as my benevolent surrogate parents. In the end, right or
left, it is just a matter of which bent dick we're getting fucked by.
Some of us want to be lied to... It is often easier to simply watch the
funeral procession pass through our pink hued glasses, and tell
ourselves it is instead the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade. We ignore
the hearse and the mourners, the casket and the black roses. But deep
down you know the truth, and so do I. We've been sold a lie by the
hypocrites and grifters that pose as our leaders who know that the more
divided we are, the easier we are to oppress and hold down. They've got
us right where they want us and they're moving in for the kill. Whether
or not they succeed is entirely up to us and the dictates of our
collective will-emboldened by individuals who will not abide another
second of tyranny and suppression. Someday soon, the chickens will come
home to roost. In the meantime, I'll be here, sharpening my blades.
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Entry #105
Today, for your consideration, I pose the possibility that the food
chain is skewed… That the natural order is inherently fucked. As a
preface, for purposes of full disclosure, I must note the blatant
hypocrisy present in my daily existence-I'm a rabid carnivore, yet I
won't hunt. If you want to level the playing field, go after a wild
boar or grizzly with your bare hands and a bowie knife… I'm all for
marksmanship, but hiding camouflaged in a bush and killing a doe from a
country mile away just never seemed all that sportsmanlike-just one
meathead's opinion. Observing the wonders of nature, I am given pause.
Watching the noble action of animals… Killing only as a means to
survive, sacrificing to take care of their young, living life for the
best interests of the pack, herd or their given community. What could
be more honorable, honest or true? Too pure for deceit or corruption…
Too good to pollute or waste, the animal kingdom puts mankind to shame.
Majestic in their simplicity, these creatures by merely existing,
amplify the narcissistic, arrogant complexity humans have assumed as a
means of proving how important we are. George Carlin once postulated
that Mother Nature would shrug us off “like a bad rash.” I want to
believe he was wrong, but then again, when was the last time you saw a
polar bear shoot up a school?
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Entry #106
This is for the hustlers, the ball busters, the brothers on their
grind. This is for everyone out there who dreamt of something bigger
than their surroundings and were willing to pay the price to get it.
This is for the underdogs, the have-nots, the disenfranchised… For
those who never got their fair shot but went for theirs regardless.
This is for those born into disadvantage without a silver spoon or
trust fund, taking risks, living on the edge with no safety net below.
This is not a world of entitlement, ours is not a life of bequest, but
that does not mean we are without a birthright. What we have inherited
is far more valuable than wealth and treasure-we have inherited a
responsibility. It is our responsibility to spit in the face of
convention and conformity, to surpass the little that was expected of
us and to shock the world. To rise from obscurity to change the
accepted order. The new aristocracy will be born of the muck in the
gutter. Like civilizations of antiquity, it again will be the hungriest
and strongest among us who rule the rest. Yoking up those lounging in
the lap of luxury, pulling them from their warm beds to pay reparations
for the many trespasses of the past. Fuck a hand out… Fuck charity.
Expect nothing… Take everything.
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Entry #107
Dreams. What is real and what is simply a figment of our imagination?
How do I know that I am actually sitting here typing this? How can I be
sure that the sum of my sensory perceptions are not in fact a mere
hallucination--the whim of a greater being's unconscious mind? How do I
know that this is all not a trick, a fallacy? How do I know that life
as I have come to conceive of it is not simply a ruse--the passing
fancy of an evil genius to whom we are all mere actors on a stage,
pawns on a cosmic chessboard? I am alive. I think and breathe. I act
and conceive. I know for sure that I am here because of the one single
most avoided component of the human experience. Pain. Be that of the
emotional variety, deep in the recesses of my psyche or the very
visceral, real kind that you would feel, say, when you slam your nuts
in a car door. Pain does indeed remind us that we are alive, because it
forces us against our will to feel. Pain breeds existence. From the
pain of your mother's labor, to the pain of a fistfight in the
schoolyard, to the pain endured in the squat rack… Pain is critical to
the advancement and continuity of the species. Pain is crucial to
growth and development. Do not run from pain. Instead, embrace it.
Truth is, it may be the only proof you have that you're even here in
the first place.
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Entry #108
Are you living a lie? When you stare into the mirror, wiping the
morning fog from your eyes, who looks back? A mysterious visitor,
vaguely familiar, who you struggle to fully recognize? A complete
stranger perhaps? What went wrong? How did you end up here? Often, an
interesting exercise, in a rare moment of silence and tranquility is to
take in your surroundings. Pause, look around, breathe deeply and
meditate on the place, moment and situation in which you currently
reside. Think of all of the twists and turns, wins and losses, scars
and bruises that find you where you are right fucking now. Contemplate
how very different this reality is from what you had envisioned. Give
thanks for the experience and lessons learned during this arduous
journey. Scream to the skies in joy that you are still here, feet
planted firmly on the ground, defiant to the elements. Pool together
the pain, the loss, the disappointment. Gather these resources,
imagining containing this angry torrent of emotions behind an airtight
dam. With the waves crashing against this rock hewn fortress, picture
all of the obstacles that lie before you, imagine all of the critics
and doubters-the pencilneck wannabes who pray for your downfall. Feel
the pressure mounting against the levy walls, the tidal surge
compromising the concrete seams. And then… In a moment of enlightened
awareness, let it flow. A crushing blast destroys everything in its
wake. Crumbled rock, twisted timber, bodies tossed asunder. Flooded
away is all that once stood in your way… All that is left is plowed
terrain, flattened soil and a horizon so bright it is blinding.
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Entry #109
Life is but a dream. And I guess, for that matter, so is death. A
recurring dream that haunted my slumber began in my formative years.
While the locale changed, the basic outcome did not. Be it in a dark
Atlantic City alley or on the dew soaked lawn of a sprawling mansion, I
would find myself at the business end of a revolver, riddled with
bullet holes, crumbling to my knees. There was not death, there was not
pain… Just an eerie warmth and a calming numbness. Beyond that there
was urgency. I would not awake from these visions full of fright or
fear. Instead I would shake myself conscious, relieved to know that
there was still time to do the work I had planned. You see, my greatest
fear is not death, but instead checking out before I have done what I
set out to do. Be they the manifestation of one too many gangster
movies viewed or an egomaniac's romanticized conjuring of his own
demise, these figments of my unconscious mind are a reminder… An aide
memoire that these monotonous days we string together and a call “a
life” are finite. The Japanese character that I had tattooed on my
shoulder blade at 18 reads “Live for today.” Live in the here and now
with your senses in a state of heightened awareness. Soak it all in and
act deliberately as if you were building a legacy, not merely plodding
along making ends meet. The grandiose or mundane status to which your
life on this planet is relegated is entirely up to you. The depth of
your imprint on the face of humanity is completely in your hands. I say
live as if you were to die this instant. Because, in fact, you just
might.
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Entry #110
There is no honor among thieves. It is an old saying about those who
live on the fringes of the law, just out of the reach of the long arm
of justice. That said I've often found the opposite to be true. In my
time, coming up, I've rubbed elbows with enough killers and hundred
dollar billers to come to an understanding. Most times, they live by a
code, never boast about their wealth and are too smart to tempt the
fates with superficial excess as they know they are on borrowed time,
simply waiting for the other shoe to drop. This is in diametric
opposition to another nefarious segment of our populous. Far too often,
those who we place as pillars of social prominence wear masks. Their
solitary purpose is to deceive, to pull a fast one, and to get over.
While their activities are no more or less criminal, their sins are far
more egregious, for from the pulpit or lectern they invoke patriotism
or the name of the almighty to veil the evil within. With a sense of
untouchable entitlement they consider themselves above the law and as
such they act accordingly. They answer to no one and prey upon the weak
and underprivileged for a living, leading them astray to the benefit of
their own self interests. These capped tooth, hair spray coiffed crooks
would throw their own moms under the bus for a piece of that pie--all
the while smiling for the cameras and telling us how much they love us.
My moral code being what it is, I'll take an honest thug over a shifty
saint any day of the week… At least that way I'll know to brace myself
for the blade in my back.
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Entry #111
Above all else, love thy self. Arrogant. Cocky. Conceited. Whatever.
Call me what you like. Truth is I'm as humble as they come and I know
my place in the world and how much work there is left to be done. I
don't count my chickens, rest on my laurels or pat myself on the back.
I know how long a road lays before me and I've committed my life to
leaving every last thread of tread on the asphalt. I full well
understand my potential and feel the vertebrae snapping weight of
expectation and aspiration. There is no doubt, however, that without
confidence, I would be nothing. In a world of disappointment and bitter
misery, he that does not love himself will perish and be subject to an
existence marked by subjugation and humiliation, as life knocks you on
your ass and steps on your throat. Believe in yourself; know who you
are, for so often you will find yourself your lone ally, your solitary
corner man. When the fake friends fade, loved ones pass and the bunnies
return to the mansion, will you still be who you are or is your
identity defined by those that surround you? Invest in yourself, spend
time with your thoughts and bask in the metaphysical vapors of your
soul. Love the person you are and lust for that which you are becoming.
Embrace your ego; love thyself, because when the shit goes down, you
may very well be the only one you can depend on.
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Entry #112
Unquenchable. A term I would use to describe my thirst for
accomplishment… A word that perfectly summarizes my approach to the
challenges I have undertaken. To never be satisfied, to never quell my
hunger-this inability to settle or be content may ultimately be the
most integral factor in the eventual conquest of my goals, both
mythical and mundane. However, quite literally, it describes my actual
thirst. As a power bodybuilder, I'm always fucking thirsty. Whether in
the midst of a training session, postworkout, during meals, between
meals or in the wee hours of the night a beverage always remains at
arm's reach. From hard training, frequent feedings and elevated
metabolism and body temperature, supplement ingestion and the requisite
sweating and pissing, my mouth stays on Sahara desert status. Water,
Crystal Light, diet soda, Gatorade… The flood never stops yet the
ground stays dry, soaking up all available nutrients and fluids quickly
enough to remain fertile before the barren wasteland again becomes
parched. Today the temperature is 95° and the oppressive heat seems to
bake the flesh in waves of convection emanating from the sizzling
Jersey asphalt. As ancient farmers once prayed for rain and our Native
American forefathers danced to appease the great spirits, I too take a
moment to reflect on that which gives life and with that I gladly pour
yet another glass.
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Entry #113
Change the game. I may be wearing a camouflage t-shirt, but the last
thing I'm looking to do is blend in. A wise man once told me that “When
the whole world turns right, you turn left… That is how you stand out
from the crowd.” That is fucking gospel-the most critical aspect of
leadership, the vision and balls to blaze your own trail… Not to be
different for the sake of being different, but instead to be
comfortable being the man you were meant to be. Don't for a second
think that shit is easy. Going against the grain can be rough for the
uninitiated… Splintered and fragmented, they become worn and beaten.
For others, that constant rugged drag in opposition to the current
smoothes and polishes, sharpening their persona to a razor's edge. Just
as the heavier the weights handled become the stronger the individual
bearing them, the rockier a road the traveler endures, the more
formidable a character that man becomes as his journey unfolds. Society
beseeches you to join the flock, to be part of the homogenized wave of
humanity that goes with the flow, all too timid to rock the boat…
Society requires conformity in order to endure. My destiny is not tied
to ensuring the maintenance of the status quo. Instead, I've come to
set what is accepted and revered on its ear. Remember, the one who is
most comfortable in discomfort, staring down the barrel of a loaded
gun, swimming upstream against the tidal flow--he is the one who will
one day be fit to wear the crown. Fuck the flow, cast aside the
pressure of your peers, decide to be that which you've always dreamed
and never relent. In a world of followers, lead. In a world of haters,
love. In a world of talkers, act. Stand apart.
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Entry #114
I pledge allegiance to hip-hop. If you don't get it yet, you never
will… And we don't want you to. Since my Pops bought me my first
Run-DMC tape when I was in 3rd grade at a ticket shop in PA that was a
front for a bookie operation, I've been hooked. The melodic bass
keeping rhythm with the beating of my heart… The sprawling tapestries
woven of inspired poetry… The voice of the forgotten and downtrodden
screaming out in the darkness. Since that very first day when I was
eight years old, hip-hop has been the soundtrack to my life. So much of
my view of the world, my openness to other cultures and value systems,
my defense of the poor and oppressed has been directly influenced by
the content found in the music to which I have grown up a devotee.
Cinematic to its very core, hip-hop has made the colors of my visions
all the more vivid, my love of words and expression all the more
intense. Its driving audio blasting through my tympanic membrane,
hip-hop has been the theme music to every training session, the
adrenaline and endorphin soaked melody that served as the background
noise at the cosmic construction site of everything I've ever built.
Angry and visceral, raw and profound, hip-hop is rebel music, the
renegade's strain--the perfect theme for a revolution.
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Entry #115
We have nothing to seek but fear itself. The cold sweat, the rapid
heartbeat, the panic and frenzy. We've all felt it at one time or
another… Some of us more often than others. It can be debilitating,
paralyzing and crippling causing undertakings from the most mundane to
the most extraordinary to seem insurmountable. Causing many to cower
and hide from sight. That mechanism, that instinctual fight or flight
response… It is what separates the legends from the lost souls, the
heroes from the hopeless. Fear is the character foil of the greatest
protagonist… The sultry mistress of the mightiest conqueror. For it is
fear and its propensity for making quaking puddles of the tough guys
and talkers that allows the real warriors to step out of the shadows to
save the day. You must embrace fear; you must charge at it head on and
cast it aside like an overmatched foe. Allow it to reveal itself for
the vacant coward it truly is-full of sound and fury, signifying
nothing. When that chill goes down your spine, when the hairs stand up
on the back of your neck, when your peers run for cover, know that this
is your moment to shine, to be that to which you have long aspired. The
only fear I will abide is that of a life lived without valor, without
the courage to face my fears.
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Entry #116
Celebrate our differences. Something in the way my mother raised me has
long caused bigotry to be a source of instant rage. Ignorance in its
purest form, I could never wrap my mind around judging another
individual without knowing them or placing some sort of extra emphasis
on a biological factor determined in utero or before. I've long
despised stereotypes and the inclination of the small minded to attach
them to all those who are not kin-for that which is different is
frightening. That which is unlike them they find to be threatening,
perhaps because it illustrates how plain and average they are
themselves. So often factors of race, creed and sex have brought with
them massive inequities and grave injustices that a man of true
principle and decency could never simply stand by and abide… Many times
revealing the dark hearts of supposed men of the cloth or social
leaders, removing their veil of righteousness to lay bare the hypocrisy
and hate that hides just beneath the surface. Always a champion of the
underdog, I've come to realize that the future will not divide us by
our ethnicity or religion-mere trivialities so long used as tools to
oppress us and consume our thoughts. The war just beyond the horizon is
one between the haves and the have nots, those of privilege and those
left out in the cold, and this life or death struggle will render the
color of a man's skin irrelevant for right and wrong knows no spectrum
and we all bleed the same shade of red. When that time comes you best
know your place--with those that are hungry or with those that go to
bed fat every night. For some, when the great melting pot boils over
there will be hell to pay.
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Entry #117
Dead or alive. These are not simply the words that haunt the most
notorious outlaws. For me, they are a question of a man's worth and in
that sense, they haunt me daily as well. I say it is better to die at
30 as the one and only, on your terms, living your life than to live
forever trapped in an existence of no consequence. So often I
contemplate the weight of a life that in death has so much more impact
on society than that which so many make with a life, that is, at least
from a biological perspective, very much “alive”. This is a weight that
cannot be gauged by a scale but can only be measured by the ripple
effect of your actions on humanity. A heartbeat and warm breath are not
the lone factors to consider in terms of life... My criteria are
somewhat loftier. Do your words ring in the ears of those with which
you communicate? Have you done something to improve the lives of those
that surround you? Have you put your shit on the line for a fellow man?
Do you speak your mind and follow your heart, even at the expense of
your social status? Do you hold yourself to a certain standard, even
when alone, when there is no one there to impress? Do you live for the
conviction of your conscience or for the approval of others? You must
question whether you are making the most of the gift that is this day,
the here and now, or whether you are simply passing time waiting for
the inevitable. Life isn't a fucking beauty pageant; you haven't been
put here to curry favor with the judges. Life is a test and the only
teacher who determines whether you pass or fail is you. To exist is
simple, to die a mere organic process, but to actually live is
something quite remarkable. So I ask you again, who among us has truly
lived?
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Entry #118
Winning takes many forms. So often, only the most obvious is
cherished-that outcome which finds you on the middle platform grasping
the gold, on top of the world. What we often lose sight of and need to
be thankful for, are the small victories. Cuz no matter what, at some
point along this treacherous, winding road, life will catch you in the
gut, break a couple ribs and knock the wind out of you. These are the
days when being on top is no longer priority number one… Instead,
simply living to see another day is a glorious accomplishment. Some
days, there is victory to be found purely in survival. It is at our
lowest, most downtrodden times-in our weakest and most humble state
that we find our true strength. There is so much success in the tiny
triumphs some days… Dragging your ass out of bed, getting that overdue
bill paid, making that drive to the gym, doing the positive little
things in the face of adversity in order to right your ship. Staying
upbeat, and constructive and optimistic in situations that would crush
lesser men. Standing tall when you have every excuse in the world to
give up. Spinning your wheels in the mud with your foot on the floor,
willing your tires to get the traction necessary to pull you outta the
hole. Fuckin right that's a victory. Some say that character is found
in the champion atop the hill, breathing in deeply the fresh morning
air. I say the true warrior is found in the pool of water in the
valley, struggling with every fiber of his being to keep his nose above
the water's surface, scratching and clawing for the tiniest breath. I
pray you snatch victory from the jaws of defeat, you soon know wealth
and prosperity and good health. I hope you live the life of your
dreams. But if that splendid day has yet to come, if in your darkest
moments the rescue wagon has yet to arrive, I implore you to never lose
the will to survive.
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Entry #119
Forget your lust for the rich man's gold
All that you need is in your soul,
And you can do this if you try.
All that I want for you my son,
Is to be satisfied.
And be a simple kind of man.
Be something you love and understand.
Be a simple kind of man.
Wont you do this for me son,
If you can?
According to my lady, she sees this song as the theme to my life. That
somehow, Lynard Skynard captured this b-boy's journey better than any
MC ever could. These words, are not far off from those that I know my
mother wish she spoke to her only son. I'm sure part of her wishes I
was more conventional, more traditional, more by-the-book… That I would
save myself much pain and struggling and heartache, if only I could
play it safe and simple. Not demand so much, not expect so much from
life. The scars, fake fronts, gray hairs, aches and anguish … The
stress, the headaches, the blood, sweat and tears. Despite what my
mother implored me, for whatever reason, I could not oblige. This pain
has long been my companion and this quest, the yoke about my neck. It
is not for the rich man's gold that I lust, but instead for the
trappings of a life less ordinary and the peace of mind that my gifts
were not wasted, that my time on this earth not for naught. I know Ma
Dukes only wanted what was best for her only boy, but she also knew
that the great man must find his way and that the road he must navigate
is often the less common trail. All that I need is truly in my soul,
but it is that exact spiritual yearning that will not let me rest. To
be a simple man… Yeah, must be nice. But what fuckin fun would that be?
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Entry #120
Some feel that the belief in something without legitimate, concrete
proof is utter foolishness… That to believe in that which is not
obvious, that which you cannot presently see, is a simpleton's folly.
For these, the most literal of pragmatists, trusting in that which is
not evident, is an exercise in absurdity. For the others, the more
steadfast amongst us, this is known as faith. Not necessarily religious
in nature, faith quite simply is the fuel that feeds the engine of
accomplishment… Having an impenetrable confidence in self, knowing that
no matter how long the odds and how dangerous the risks, you'll land on
your feet-that is faith. Contemplating the down payment on your mansion
when the rent on your apartment is late, thinking of your first million
when your checking account is overdrawn, envisioning five pies on the
bench when you could get pinned under 225--yeah, that takes faith. It
is that exact faith, that rock solid, unwavering self assurance, if
combined with equal parts ball busting hard work that will some day
bring those daydreams to life. I feel for those too practical and
analytical for faith, for I know that while playing it safe their
potential for disaster and letdown is far less than mine, they will
forever be shackled to the mundane limits of their surroundings and
limited to that which their utterly grounded mentalities can conjure.
We must make our decisions and be resolute in our convictions, having
faith that we were meant to do something more. Each day I must remind
myself that while every great journey began with a first step and the
greatest novel ever written opened as the ink of the first word sank
into a single sheet of paper, the greatest life possible can begin with
a simple leap of faith.
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Entry #121
The critic. He is a formidable foe, but he too is a tool to be
utilized. Often lacking in motivation or self confidence, he is the
first to wield the casting stone. Existing only to “point out how the
strong man stumbles or how the doer of deeds could have done better”,
the critic is a necessary ingredient in the recipe of success. While so
often their attacks are baseless and weak, the fact that so many of
their barbs are born out of shallow envy does not completely revoke
their critical validity. Many times it is these “haters” who in their
venom spit the truth that the positive and perpetually proactive are
incapable of mustering. It is the words of those in opposition that
must be with equal haste considered and cast aside. I take solace in
the fact that I will never be so advanced as to have the energy or
inclination to be a critic of those whose development is so far beyond
my own. I am thankful for the critics; slinging arrows on the sidelines
of life, for the most battle tested of armor, the thickest of skin will
be donned by the warrior who so willingly runs that gauntlet. For he
knows full well that the one criticism they will most certainly be
impervious to is that which they cast upon themselves on their death
bed, never having to contemplate a lifetime of regret and opportunities
missed.
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Entry #122
Responsibility. Response ability. The ability to respond appropriately
to life situations, living up to a standard in keeping with your place
in the social order. This is the calling to which we all must answer.
To be accountable, to take charge, to protect, defend and nurture. To
achieve. To provide. We must be responsible for our actions and accept
the responsibility for our destiny. We must pay our dues and our debts.
For all the weight and expectation that comes from taking
responsibility, there is also a great burden lifted. To own our
circumstances, own our place in the world, to own our future and the
successes and failures that lay before us brings great freedom and
relief. Gone is the blame and the finger pointing, shed is the
albatross of accusation and indictment. Don't like the hand you've been
dealt? Tough shit. At least you have a seat at the table; at least
you're in the game. There is a critical matter of fact that we realize
at our own pace, at our own spot on the curve of self discovery. It is
a crushing revelation that the only “man” holding us down is us. There
is no shadow conspiracy, no forces working against us, no great spirit
in the sky bent on our demise… There are simply the choices we make,
the sum of our actions and the strength or weakness of our will. To
respond ably we must, to all of life's many impediments and
encumbrances. Let the buck that the next man is so quick to pass find a
home in your lap. Take the reins. Take responsibility. Own the moment,
and maybe for the first time ever, own your life.
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Entry #123
Stress kills. That is what the bill of goods they sell you claims. Sip
margaritas on a sun drenched beach on your yearly vacation, nap in the
hammock, watch the world go by on a lazy Sunday afternoon. Wait for
that pension, take it easy, take a load off--cuz stress'll kill ya. For
many, stress is the stream of water that douses their flame, the dog
raising his hind leg on the tree of their dreams, the wet blanket that
drapes and dampens their outlook. For me and those of my ilk, stress is
like cooking with gasoline… Pouring pure kerosene, nitroglycerin,
fuckin jet fuel on an open flame. It is this stress that sharpens your
edge, keeps you scrambling forward, that finds you staring at the
ceiling in bed at night with your heart racing and your mind sprinting
twice as fast. Stress forces even the most high minded among us to live
in the now, breaking our loftiest goals down into elemental form.
Living moment to moment, day to day, workout to workout, paycheck to
paycheck… Yeah that shit wears some brothers down. Others it builds
bigger and stronger and better than before. Live through this, survive
that, conquer the next challenge day after day and eventually you
become impervious, impenetrable, immovable, immortal. Stress will alter
your perspective. Five hundred lbs on the squat bar doesn't seem so
heavy when you carry the weight of the world on your shoulders everyday.
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Entry #124
Apocalypse now? I watch the news some days and I come away depressed.
The 24 hr news cycle spins as it drones on into infinity about one
catastrophic natural disaster, one atrocious crime against humanity,
one heartless act of violence after another. Murder, genocide,
colonialism, exploitation, raping and pillaging, poisoning and wasting…
The rap sheet rolls on ad nauseum as I pinch myself until I bruise,
just to keep from becoming numb. It would seem the end must be near. I
sneer in disapproval at our arrogance as humans. To think that what we
destroy is ours to do away with, to think that we are ever powerful
enough to truly kill. Such suppositions are a mockery. Death, as the
noble Native Americans once viewed it, was an invention of the higher
powers as a mere way of doing away with the most crude and least
evolved of us, a way of weeding out those unfit to share in this gift.
Problem was we were all so lowly. The idea being that were we to truly
be decent and honorable, we could live forever, but the vice and vanity
of man sealed our fate. We are so very mortal, we are eternally flawed,
this is undeniable. But the future is ours to mold. To be productive,
to be positive, to be fruitful. To give, to teach, to achieve wondrous
things. To create instead of tearing down. To construct instead of
endlessly consuming. To add instead of constantly subtracting. To leave
this place better than we found it… This is where the secret to
immortality dwells.
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Entry #125
Antiestablishment. I’ve never approached anything conventionally.
Perhaps it is arrogance, but I don’t enter into my endeavors assuming
that someone else has already mastered that discipline or found the
best approach. I don’t buy into the widely accepted ethos; I won’t
conform to the expected norms. I refuse to whore my conscience and
individualism in the name of public approval. Don’t tell me how to be a
patriot of my own country. Don’t lecture me as to how to worship my
God. Don’t preach to me about the validity of my goals. Don’t tell me
how to think, how to love, how to train, how to live. I know well the
dangerous status of the man with nothing to lose and everything to
gain. The man whose cause is more important that his life itself, or
your life for that matter. The man who is unbound by the conventions
that shackle the masses and is bent on reshaping the face of society.
You see, induction into your club means very little to me. Maybe I’ll
tear that bitch down and start my own club. Fuck an invitation to your
party. The time has come to kick in the goddamn door, burn this fucker
to the ground and piss on the ashes. RSVP that shit.
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Entry #126
Time waits for no man. Time is the raw material, the cellular matter
that comprises our lives. As the present is left in our wake, slowly
disintegrating into a trail of moments and memories, evaporating into
the vast nothingness that is the past, like the tail of a comet behind
us, so too does the future sprint towards our face at a lightning
bolt's pace. Pause for a second and contemplate your life 10 years ago
or 10 months ago. Where you were… Who you were. Ponder how vivid those
memories are. How it all seems like yesterday. How forever didn't once
seem so long and how tomorrow once appeared to be a lifetime away. How
so much has transpired yet it seems like nothing happened. How so often
you felt trapped, time froze and one day melted in the monotonous next,
yet it all went by in the blink of an eye. Waste not another second,
not another opportunity… Dream not of a better tomorrow. Embrace the
now, no matter how grim or challenging. Focus on today and all that it
promises from the grimmest and most challenging to that which brings
endless bliss and joy. This day that has finally arrived will soon be
gone forever as will the future you've so long envisioned. Like these
fleeting moments, you too will soon pass away. If it all ended now,
what would your life be worth? What will your contribution have been?
If it were all over in this very instant, how would you be remembered?
Time will tell.
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Entry #127
It's a cold, cold world. If you originate from parts unknown where
seasons don't exist, you can't relate. But waiting for the hot weather
to break can break a man. I have no interest in the heat, the sweating…
The air conditioning that conditions us to be soft and sluggish. Give
me the morning frost, the biting winds off of the Jersey Atlantic, the
frozen solid Delaware River. Like I said, if there is no winter where
you live, you can't relate. But being that I hail from the Northeast,
I'll be the first to attest that our winter makes you hard. It freezes
your resolve into a block of glacial ice. Skullcap pulled low, hoodie
under your jacket, work boots laced up, the frigid solstice demands
toughness and will not abide weakness or fragility. Without a hearty
spirit and a spiteful defiance to the elements, the concrete jungles of
the East will eat you alive. Breathing the cold air in deeply, allowing
my lungs to fill with the same icy oxygen once respired by the great
men who laid the streets upon which I tread, I am reinvigorated, I am
alive. Seeing my warm breath cinematically crystallize in the night air
before me, I humbly give thanks for being born an East Coast boy.
|
Entry #128
The new standard. The past is irrelevant. Your dead end town, the job
you hate, your friends that can't relate, the opinions of a family that
doesn't understand… All equally meaningless. Fuck the short change, the
dirty deeds and the tough breaks. Forget the lapses in judgment, the
flaws in character and the decisions you wish you could get back. The
new standard begins today. Born of the bubbling cauldron of dreams and
ambitions blended with your concept of an ideal life, mixed with the
manner in wish you always wished you'd presented yourself, this teeming
amalgamation must be allowed to boil over, to spill into the nooks and
the crevices of your existence, drowning out the failures of
yesteryear. So much of who we are is predicated on how others react to
us. So much of our perception of self grows forth from the reactions of
others. This new standard demands that you present yourself in a
fashion befitting your stature and in turn people will treat you
accordingly. Hold yourself to the dictates and demands of this lofty
archetype that you yourself have established. Be damned what the world
expects of you, it should pale in comparison to what you expect from
yourself. For when you demand only excellence, even your low points
will exceed the best days of your peers. Look in the mirror and be
proud of the man you've become, hold your head high enthused over the
man you're becoming. The future begins now. This is the new standard.
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Entry #129
The lab. I'm a prophet of progress and a product of the process. I've
long been enthralled by the concept of growth and development in the
shadows. Shutting out the external and isolating myself from the
outside world, closing ranks as I close the door, retreating to the
dark recesses to craft my magnum opus. This is the approach I take when
entering my many endeavors. I imagine Edgar Allen Poe feverishly
scribing a tale of troubled madness by candlelight in the wee hours of
a cold Baltimore night. I think of Jay-Z memorizing Reasonable Doubt
bar by bar on anxious white knuckled drives from Brooklyn to Virginia.
I consider Dorian Yates, leaving the public eye to take refuge in
Birmingham, England. Training in his musty dungeon, Temple Gym, bent on
changing the perception of what the experts said the human body was
capable of. Making something out of nothing, making more out of less,
creating feast from famine. In the shadows, in silence, under the
radar. Toiling, struggling, conceiving and executing. Burning the
midnight oil… Destined to emerge from obscurity to change the game
forever. Go to the lab, go to your secret lair, and perfect your
shrouded masterpiece. Pour your heart and soul, your joy and sorrow
into something greater than you, something bigger than your peers could
ever conceive and when the moment is right, when the iron is hot,
unleash it on the unsuspecting planet.
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Entry #130
An objection to objectification. I make this plea for I know too well
my flaws and frailties. From this knowledge I've gained uncommon
self-awareness and the strength born of pure honesty. I'm as guilty as
anybody. Superficiality is no stranger, vanity a frequent companion. To
be caught up in image and good looks, the beautiful people and the
shiny things, is the ultimate hamartia. To objectify persons and to
personify objects… To lend worth to that which is not worthy… This is
our very human inclination. From the comic books and action figures of
youth, the dusty unmarked porno VHS tapes, the music videos and the
rest of the incessant sensory deluge of commercial multimedia, our
perceptions become somewhat warped. Our values somewhat altered, our
tastes forever distorted, our ideals slightly askew. While this ain't
show business, it is a business of show. Consequently, we lose sight of
the fact that the physical is fleeting. Skin wrinkles and sags, muscles
atrophy, bones become brittle, teeth decay, saline leaks, hair dye
fades and what is left is that with which we were born--a feeble vessel
dependent on others to survive from day to day, hour to hour. From dust
we came and to dust we shall return. In the meantime, cultivate that
which you cannot see, build that which cannot be measured or
quantified. For in the end, the only strength and beauty of any
consequence will be that which the eye could never behold.
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Entry #131
Last man standing. In the end, he will be the one that wins. Not the
phenom with the meteoric rise. Not the overnight sensation. Not the
flash in the pan with his eggs in one basket. Not the privileged son or
the golden boy. Not the flavor of the month. Not the beautiful people
with the flashbulbs popping. The one who will ascend to the throne will
do so through sheer force of will. By means of grit and determination,
toiling in anonymity for years on end, fighting in the shadows, he will
rise. A man of the people, a champion of the oppressed, his will not be
a reign of glamour or elitism, his scope of influence not limited to
such mundane frivolity. The one that will soar to lofty heights is not
the man apt to bask in the warm rays of the sun, but the one that does
not cower from the most brutal cold, the most bone chilling of winter
winds. He is the one who not only accepts suffering but welcomes it,
for he knows that pain is critical to growth… That the victim must
become the victor if the balance can ever be tipped… That the price
must be paid no matter how costly. His is the unenviable position of
knowing that the value of his flesh and bone will never be as precious
to humanity as the principles upon which he stands. So he will expend
his mortal assets in pursuit of an undefined destiny that even he
cannot comprehend fully. He will beat the system. He will beat his
foes. He will beat the odds. But he has yet to reveal himself. Will you
be the last man standing?
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Entry #132
“Don't try to carry your friends on the wings of your dreams.” Wise
words my Pops bestowed upon me in my youth--his attempt to explain to
me that I couldn't expect others to be as motivated as I was.
Unfortunately, I never listened, and for some reason, as I developed, I
convinced myself, fairly or unfairly, that it was my duty not only to
build a better life for myself, but also for all of those I came in
contact with. So, as I sit here and write this, feeling all of the
pressure and responsibility normal folks feel simply to get by and make
ends meet, I have also somehow assumed the accountability to better the
lot of all of those who have touched my life. For this I am thankful,
for while this weight is great, I feel it is also a common experience
among a certain few. I remember hearing one faceless, soulless
politician spout that it takes a village to raise a child. In many
cases that is true. But every so often, I feel a child must step up to
raise a village. To pay my folks back for every sacrifice they made on
my behalf… To level the playing field for all of my boys that stepped
into the batters box already having two strikes… To restore hope to
those that feel all hope is lost… To bring joy to those that feel joy
is a luxury they can't afford. To give them peace of mind, I'll gladly
give a piece of mine. Am I my brother's keeper? Yes I am.
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Entry #133
If a tree falls in the woods… Often it is necessary to reflect on why
we do what we do. Ponder your motivations. Contemplate why you've come
as far as you have. For many, myself included, I sit and wonder if I
would be the man I am, if I would strive for the heights I aspire, if
no one was there to bear witness. Voltaire stated that if “God created
us in his own image, we've more than reciprocated.” If all concepts of
an almighty are limited by the finite parameters of the human mind,
doesn't it follow that our self image is an inherently flawed one based
simply on the responses of the equally imperfect beings populating our
external world? Our own concept of self is constantly at odds with how
others see us. To this end, I wonder how much of who we are is simply
the result of how others perceive us; I question how much of what we do
is done with the intent of eliciting a reaction from our peers. Too
often I find myself questioning whether anything in this world is truly
pure. Pure of heart and mind, pure of spirit-untainted by image or
artifice or convention. Can my motivations ever be pure again? I stare
out the window, my warm breath fogging the icy glass and I wonder where
all the real men have gone. In an age of blatant hypocrisy,
rationalization and shoulder shrugging acceptance, I'm an alien. Not
because I'm any better than the next man, but because I'm not yet numb
enough to ignore the fact that everything worthwhile around me is
dying. As I slap myself in the face to stay awake, as I bite my lip
until I bleed, I pledge to myself to never be that fallen tree,
unnoticed and forgotten, alone in the wilderness. Let your life serve
as a notice to all humanity that greatness endures and stands tall
until it finally crashes down and leaves the landscape altered forever.
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Entry #134
Thicker than blood… As conflicted as I am about the celebration of
Thanksgiving, I am eternally grateful. For while my beloved nation
fondly remembers the genesis of the extermination of one of humankind's
most noble races, it is nonetheless an opportunity to gather with the
ones I love. My concept of family is certainly not traditional
according to Western standards. I come from more of a tribal school of
thought, where common experiences and values mean just as much as
consanguinity. Being an only child, my inner circle are not only my
close friends, but are, in fact, my brothers. The fugazi and
fair-weather will come and go, but a solemn few are down 'til the
end-their kinship an invaluable blessing. My folks, to whom I quite
literally owe my life, are my mentors, my wise elders, those I can look
to when this cold world gives me the cold shoulder. Their support never
waning, their undying faith in me always but a phone call away. With a
thousand lifetimes and all of the gold in Ft. Knox, I could never repay
them for all they have sacrificed. My muse, my fiancée, who has seen me
in closed quarters in my darkest hours, riddled with doubt and fear as
I gaze upon the precipice of eternity and ponder how one man could ever
make a difference. It is for her that I must achieve, her presence in
my life motivating me to constantly strive to be a better man. My
daughter, whose blood is not my own, but whose heart beats at the same
rhythm, whose mind shares a common wavelength, whose stunningly
insightful and uncommon ten year old world view so closely mirrors my
own at that same age, I am given pause. My brothers, the wealth you
accrue will someday be spent. The shiny cars will rust, the fancy
clothes will tear and the house on the hills will crumble, brick by
brick. When it is all gone, when it all falls down… What will be left,
what will really matter, are the indelible marks left by the lives of
those we love. It is for these many imprints on my heart that I am
grateful. It is for them that I give thanks.
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Entry #135
You've gotta be soft enough to rescue a kitten from a tree and hard
enough to break the motherfucker's jaw that chased it up there. Far be
it from me to label myself as a moral relativist or as morally
ambiguous, but I feel there is a necessary duality of being, present in
us all. There comes a time when diplomacy behooves the gangster and
when the pacifist's lone course of action is punching somebody in the
mouth. Who knows fully the beaming warmth of the sun without
appreciating the frigid winter cold? Who knows the refreshing quench of
water without first being burned by the flame? One cannot be complete
without its opposite. One extreme is predicated on the necessary
existence of the other. This is balance. This is what I seek. In my
world, there are no angels or demons… No clear black and white, but
instead only shades of gray. It is within these long shadows that we
toil from day to day… It is here that the work that keeps the world
spinning gets done. While I seek to live only in the light, to only
walk the straight and narrow, I know well that such a righteous life
comes at a hefty price. It is the very life and freedom provided for by
those that have already made the hard choice between doing what is
right and doing what is necessary. Not all of us have the luxury to
live in the world of theories and ideas. Some must actually get their
hands dirty. Some must live each day with dirt under their fingernails
and blood dried on their knuckles. I say embrace your anger. Know evil
and fear and vengeance and sadness. For someday, they may be your lone
companions. Until then, I wish you peace.
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Entry #136
Vox populi. As ballots are cast and future-altering decisions are made
on a whim, as empty promises are sworn and hollow words are spouted
forth, I am moved to action. I am motivated to serve. I am compelled to
lead. I have come to pledge my life to you. I am not a rock star or a
box office hero... My scope is not so limited. I'm not a millionaire or
child of privilege. What I will have I will earn with my toil and
ingenuity. I don't care what God you worship or what art stirs your
soul. What you believe and hold sacred is your business and your divine
birthright. I am riddled by hypocrisy. I eat bloody red meat but I love
animals, I'm a white boy that rocks hip-hop and am a pro-feminist that
lusts for push-up bras and high heels. I'm more sinner than saint, more
revolutionary than reverend. I'm eternally, tragically flawed, but Lord
knows, I'm trying. I'm no model and I don't know my role, but I've
dedicated my life to being a role model. I'm knee deep in the shit,
grinding it out in the gutter, struggling to keep my head above water,
just like you. I know pain and heartache and disappointment. I have
found joy in the struggle and hope when despair looms large. I have a
chip on my shoulder, a vision for the future and an insatiable appetite
for change. Like you, I'm sick of being lied to; I'm tired of being led
astray. These glass walls around me are too thin to judge, so instead
of casting this stone I'll use it to build my foundation. I'm G Diesel
and I'm no better than you. I am you.
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Entry #137
“Everybody's got a plan, 'til they get hit.” My boy Iron Mike said it
best back in his heyday. That is the 100 proof truth right there.
Greatness doesn't come from devising a strategy or mapping out a game
plan. Any hack can do that. It isn't a matter of how much shit you can
talk or what you could accomplish in a perfect world. Experience isn't
gained in a vacuum. Shit doesn't happen… Life happens, and when those
unforeseen moments of joy blast you in the side of your dome like a
sawed off shotgun to the temple, will you have the resolve and
wherewithal to make it back to your feet and forge onward? To stick to
the script undeterred? For many in this world, packing it in and
calling it a day ain't an option. There are no sick days, no vacations,
no sabbaticals… Every fuckin' day is do or die. These are my heroes.
Following their example, I've come to the realization that having a
plan or goal is not in fact an accomplishment or a special status
worthy of praise. The real triumph is born of getting shit
done-executing in the midst of chaos, carrying on when others are
carried off on a stretcher. Have the courage to take your lumps, to
absorb the blows and move forward, committed to action today that will
create the tomorrow you so intensely desire.
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Entry #138
“Nah man, I'm alright.” If I only had a nickel… Just a tiny deposit in
the old piggy bank for every time I turned down a “friend” and his
gracious offer of life destroying behavior. None of it ever made any
sense to me. I never lived resenting my life; I would never spit in the
face of fate. I'd see those with such boundless potential so casually
throw it all away. Observing the troubled souls, so weak of spirit, be
preyed upon by those pushing poison and peddling pain. I'd witness this
and my blood would boil. As a kid, my folks taught me that you could
either be a leader or a follower… Being a leader would be tough, they'd
tell me, but nobody ever remembers a follower. “Cool” to me was never
an external impression, but instead a word used to describe that which
internally felt right. Marching to the beat of my own drum, I simply
grew used to the rest falling in line behind me. “Keeping it real”, as
it came to be known when pop culture leeched the phrase from the
hip-hop lexicon, was an unspoken mantra of mine before it could ever be
made a cliché. What was real for me, what felt right for me, what fit
with my code is what would resultantly become cool. I could never look
at myself in the mirror and be proud, knowing that what I saw was the
product of the will and whim of another. I guess it is hard to fall
victim to peer pressure when you're peerless.
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Entry #139
A hero ain’t nuthin’ but a sandwich. As I slowly leave some of the
illusions of youth and the blissful naiveté of childhood behind, I see
how extraordinary it is for a person to take a stand, to stand for
something, to stand for anything. It seems selling out is the new
paying dues. As a society, we’ve come to value the wrong things. We’re
guilty of the idle worship of worthless idols. We practically pray to
those who without praise would perish. I see multimillionaires, whose
empires are built on the dreams of working class children and the labor
of third world workers, stand mute to the atrocities of the world for
fear they’d sell fewer sneakers. Castrated pawns in a larger game, they
are happy to tap dance for the rest of their lives to please the
richest one percent, breakin’ their necks for another nickel in their
hat—as if their stack of change isn’t big enough yet. I’m hesitant to
ever again rock a jersey, wear some hack’s mug on my t-shirt or sport a
deified silhouette on my fresh pair of kicks. It makes me sick to think
that while the same kids that make them rich are dying in the streets,
these motherfuckers are too self absorbed to lend a hand and too scared
to say a word. They can game the rest of the world, but they can’t
front on me. I’m old enough to remember what it meant to be a hero and
young enough to swear that I would never be like them.
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Entry #140
Never settle. If you heed nothing else I've ever written, listen to me
now. The day that “good enough” becomes good enough is the day you no
longer matter--the day your story is written and that book is closed.
Society wants it that way. Your boss wants it that way. So does your
neighbor. They take and take your whole life under the guise of giving.
They want you hushed and pacified… They grant you a little tax rebate,
a tiny raise, you take a vacation to fucking Disneyland and all of a
sudden you're so deluded you think you're living the dream. But that
shit is a nightmare and I'm here to shake your ass awake. To be asleep
at the wheel as your life quietly dwindles away is the ultimate waste.
To be content is to die with a pulse. What you build with your hands,
what you conceive with your mind is yours and what is yours can never
be theirs. That which is solid and honest and noble will endure. But
those 0s in the bank account, those material goods, those empty
luxuries are but a passing fancy, a triviality. The widely prized
commodities and empty extravagances that will one day be yours are all
that the elite and empty 1% has to hang their designer hat on and when
you take it from them, you will treat it as nothing more than the
disposable shit it truly is. It is all they have and to you it is
nothing. It is all they value and to you it is worthless. This mortal
struggle is dog eat dog and I'll get mine no matter what. No matter who
doubts me or judges me or stands in my way. I'll plug away and
persevere. With bloodshot eyes, blood on my knuckles, calluses on my
hands and dirt under my fingernails, I'll grind this bitch out as long
as need be. I'll outlast, I'll outmaneuver and in the end I'll get my
due. There is only one way I'll allow the rest of this story to unfold,
only one possible outcome--the ending I envisioned from the start of
this motherfucker. There is only one decision that needs to be made.
Live forever for what is yours or die now for what is theirs.
|
Entry #141
Chivalry is dead. And in my humble opinion, that is a damn shame. The
practitioners of political correctness will postulate that are we all
to be equal, women should have no special treatment. If all are peers,
they say, any sort of preferential handling of the female persuasion is
considered to infantilize or demean the fairer sex. To this statement,
I strongly object. In all honesty, we are not equals. Women are quite
obviously superior. Women, on a chemical level, have an unparalleled
magnetic influence over men, bringing the most powerful among us to our
knees. Besides, when considering the nurturing instincts, emotional
depth and the biological strength allowing women to give birth, it is
strikingly apparent that the ladies are in a class all their own. It is
only right that I pay homage to that which has given me life, that
sustains life, that gives life meaning. To love and respect women is
not weak. It doesn’t make you soft. Hold the door, lend a hand and make
your mama proud… Conduct yourself among the girlfriends and wives,
mothers and grandmothers, daughters and sisters of this planet as any
royal subject would in the presence of the queen. Even a roughneck like
you can do the right thing. You don’t at all times need to be a gentle
man in order to be a gentleman.
|
Entry #142
"Why did one straw break the camel's back? Here's the secret:
the million other straws underneath it - it's all mathematics"
-Mos Def, "Mathematics"
Speak up, motherfuckers. The time has come. Tired of being
disenfranchised, disregarded, disillusioned and straight up fucking
dissed? Well it all changes now... Today is the day we begin to take
back control. The status quo has done you dirty for long enough,
mediocrity has haunted too many of your days. The moments of standing
on the sideline and playing the wall are over. Bitching and whining and
detached indifference are notions of the past. I remember those trite
"Vote or Die" t-shirts they peddled a few years back, trivilalizing one
of the few processes the working class among us have left to call our
own. The celebrity-infused, self-congratulating movement was wrong, but
the sentiment was dead on the money. In a world rife
with war and poverty and disease... In a nation wrought by
injustice, inequity and despair, our democratic process is indeed a
matter of life and death. If you feel passed over and forgotten, if you
feel your voice has been muted and drowned out, then take control. Get
in the fucking arena and be a game changer. It is no doubt an uphill
climb out of the gutter, it is a cold and dark march to emerge from the
shadows, but the stakes are too fucking high to give up now. I know it
takes courage to stand apart, it takes balls to go against the grain.
It is lonely and scary to swim against the current, but I assure you,
you are not alone. Public Enemy was wrong. It won't take a nation of
millions to hold us back. We are a nation of millions and we will
never be held back again. This is our chance to unite and take back our
future by force. Don't let it pass, cuz it may never come again. Speak
up. Let your voice be heard.
|
Entry #143
Planes, trains and automobiles. Set your watch by this one fact being
true--staying on your grind keeps you on the fucking move. A
rolling stone gathers no moss and a stagnant boulder does no damage.
I've learned all of this up close and personal over the past year. I've
used every mode of transportation there is... My jeep, my two feet, the
train, the subway and planes of all sizes. Philly, Atlantic City, New
York, Columbus, Charlotte, Dallas, Germany, Vegas and back
again. Dropped off at the Septa train station and took
that to Trenton. From Trenton I hopped the NJ Transit to Penn Station
in the city. On a given day, I'd head underground to take the downtown
A, then later catch the crosstown L to the Queens-bound R. My subway
commute was like alphabet soup. I've spent nights at the
Moevenpick Hotel in Essen, Germany, at Hyatt Regencies across the
country and slept on an Astoria floor for weeks at a time.
I've eaten at five star restaurants and had sushi for lunch
everyday... I've also scrounged enough change to buy a can of tuna.
I've stuffed my face to gain gluttonous mass and gone to
bed hungry, and bet your ass both extremes leave you with a
distinct hunger in your belly. I've seen it all, done it all and been
through it all and I'm wiser and stronger and a better man for it. I've
seen the top of the mountain, had a taste of the good life and felt the
despair of not knowing what tomorrow will hold. This is the life I
chose and I don't regret a thing, I simply expect more of the same.
More world to see, more lives to touch, more life to experience, more
dues to pay... And a shitload more plane, train and automobile rides
along the way.
|
Entry #144
Shoot the gift. The ability to communicate effectively through words,
those both written and spoken, in this life, is priceless. The real
power however, is not having a mere talent for stringing phrases and
sentences together, but to be able to connect with those you encounter
regardless of various societal factors. The true communicator moves
amongst social groups without detection. He can equally relate to the
heads of state or the brothers on the corner, to the CEO or the dude
working in the mailroom, to the priest or the prisoner… To those of all
walks of life in an honest and sincere fashion. The common man that can
feast among kings–his is a position of command. To be humble and
articulate and to bring people together with your words, this is
transformative strength. Speak your mind, speak from the heart and
shoot from the hip… Shoot the gift and spit the truth to all that you
encounter. Use your words as instruments of positivity. To unify and
uplift… To give strength to the weak, understanding to the
misunderstood and a voice to the forgotten. With our words we define
our times, we give meaning to our days. Words are our weapons. Choose
yours wisely.
|
Entry #145
The shit list. Nah, I don’t hold a grudge, but I remember. I commit to
memory their faces and names. The doubters, the traitors, the fronters
and the haters. I know them well and while I dismiss their empty words
and ill wishes with little thought, I never forget. I store that shit
away, I use it as my fuel. I go about my business on my grind
undeterred but the chip on my shoulder grows. All those who did me
dirty on my way up the ladder will get theirs, even though from me they
often get but a wink and a smile. Do me wrong now and in the final act
I’ll do you right. Ya see, life has a way of evening shit out. The
cosmos tends to balance itself and karma comes looking for those that
fuck with the good mojo that positive people exude. No need to go
looking for the get back, no reason to waste your energy tryin’ to sort
shit out. Rest assured they’ll get what they’ve got coming in the end.
In the meantime, do you. Do the work of building your human fortress,
galvanizing your psyche, becoming impenetrable, impervious, unyielding.
Battle tested and bulletproof. Know that the depths to which they’ll
sink are so often commensurate with the heights to which you’ll ascend.
Use their scorn to gauge your growth, their envious ridicule to measure
your progress. Chart their activities and watch your back. Kill them
with kindness and lull them to sleep, waiting for the moment to strike.
Walk tall knowing confidently that the last laugh will ultimately be
yours. Yeah, I’m making a list and I’m checking it twice. Do yourself a
favor and make sure your name’s not among those ill-fated few.
|
Entry #146
Spread the love. I’ve never had a fear of affection. In our world of
brooding alpha males, for too long the demonstrative display of care
has gotten a bum rap. So often I’ve seen the awkward mannerisms of
tough guys, struggling with their own socially-imposed baggage as they
go to give a pound, a pat on the back or God forbid, a hug. That stern
puritanical bullshit is a thing of the past. This is 2009, and the
self-assured American male needs to know that it is OK to love and be
loved and to show that love to others …A father to his child, brother
to brother, friend to friend. Be confident enough in your sexuality to
cast that Dirty Harry shit aside long enough to let the people you care
for know how you feel. The hug is a powerful fucking thing--an embrace
that aligns the hearts, that draws one into your inner circle, that
hits home. When you see me, you don’t have to guess where I’m coming
from, you know where I stand. In an indifferent world littered with
phony cocksuckers both hostile and passive aggressive, I have no
interest in leaving those that I love guessing. I refuse to take them
or this moment or the time that we have together for granted. I
appreciate them and the stars that aligned for our paths to cross. So
next time the opportunity arrives, seize it... Squash the beef, swallow
your pride and hug it out. Make the planet a better place one proud
display of affection at a time.
|
Entry #147
It is 2009 and I’m resolute without a resolution… The loaded revolver
on the eve of a revolution. When the clock struck 12 nothing changed in
my world. I didn’t have to wait for the ball to drop for my balls to
drop. The goals are the same, the responsibilities are the same, the
grind is the same and the stakes have only grown higher. The fleeting
moments, the winding down of minutes and hours and days and months--it
is an unstoppable force. The turning of a calendar year does not freeze
time, waiting for you to get your shit together and to finally get it
right in the next 365… You can party all you want, but standing
shitfaced in Times Square won’t give you back your time squared. What
is in the past has passed and the future is wide the fuck open-- it
can’t be predicted nor can it be accurately mapped out ahead of time.
You can’t bellyache over the raw deals and missed opportunities of the
past, you can’t lose sleep over how the past 52 weeks did you dirty.
2008 was a trip--a head trip, an ego trip and an experiential journey
all the same, a mere snapshot of the chaotic symphony that promises to
be our precious few tomorrows. The ’08 was no doubt epic, but it has
now been rendered irrelevant… It is dead and gone forever. All that
matters is the gift of the present and the presence of mind to make the
present mine.
|
Entry #148
“The world you desired can be won, it exists, it is real, it is
possible, it's yours. But to win it requires total dedication and a
total break with the world of your past, with the doctrine that man is
sacrificial animal who exists for the pleasure of others. Fight for the
value of your person. Fight for the virtue of your pride. Fight for the
essence, which is man, for his sovereign rational mind. Fight with the
radiant certainty and the absolute rectitude of knowing that yours is
the morality of life and yours is the battle for any achievement, any
value, any grandeur, any goodness, any joy that has ever existed on
this earth.” - Ayn Rand
These words hit me hard when I encountered them recently. It felt like
a mantra, a battle cry, a rebel yell, a prayer. It was a reminder.
Every so often, we get caught up. Lost in the maze that is our daily
grind—alarm clock, shower, commute, work, meals and supps, gym, phone
calls and emails, stress and bills, TV, bed, repeat. Our lives take on
this strained monotony whirling ad infinitum, that rarely is it that we
have a chance to step back, breathe and assess the direction of our
lives; that we can frankly appraise our own happiness. When I speak of
“happiness” I don’t dare use the flowery language of Hallmark cards fit
only for yuppies living their recession-proof, network sitcom lives.
Those with too much time on their hands, battling the great ennui, able
to take a long enough break from day-trading to contemplate such
trivialities as their own emotional contentment. Fuck them, this ain’t
about them and it never will be. Happiness, to me, means to have
purpose. To have direction. To be consistently progressing towards a
loftier goal, a day at a time. Happiness is having the will to get out
of bed in the morning and the good fortune to return there exhausted
that evening--your spirit spent in the dogged pursuit of your dreams.
You are not, in fact, that sacrificial animal existing to do the
bidding of another. You are an autonomous being put in this place, at
this time, to fulfill your destiny and in turn, to set a new standard
to which your peers and descendents must forever aspire.
|
Entry #149
Yesterday I called my grandmother to wish her a happy birthday. A
robust 86 years young, her voice crackled with vitality and permeated
through the phone with her signature warmth. From this simple woman,
over my 30 years on this planet, I’ve learned so much. She taught that
family comes first, that hard work is its own reward and that doing the
right thing is not a choice but our duty. She showed me that it is
better to give than to receive, that all men are created equal and that
we are only as strong as our care for the most weak and poor. Surviving
the many wars, a depression and the birth of five children, this coal
miner’s daughter demonstrated to me that you could be tough as nails
without ever losing our inherent humanity and our predilection toward
caring, gentleness and kindness. She imparted all of the most
invaluable lessons of religious virtue to me in my formative years but
did so not through dogmatic preaching, but instead through the quiet
power of exemplary action. I know that were I so lucky as to have her
read these words, her humility would preclude her from taking any of it
all too seriously, a laugh and perhaps the dismissive shrug of her
shoulders would be her only response to the heaping of such effusive
praise. Hell, they are only words after all, and in the end, they might
not amount to much, especially in comparison to the actions of a life
spent in service to others, in the shadow of years devoted to living a
righteous life. These are but mere words, my humble attempt to do her
justice, but the sentiment behind this passage couldn’t be more
sincere. To my grandmother, I only pray the decency of my actions and
the example I set can do your model justice. To my dearest Grandma Mary
I simply say thank you and happy birthday.
|
Entry #150
The call of the mountain. I was in the midst of a conversation recently
in which one of the participants complained that inevitably in each of
his undertakings, he found himself confronted by new obstacles. It felt
that as he would finally make it to what would seem like the peak of
the edifice he was “climbing”, a whole new zenith in the clouds would
present itself in front of him, demanding yet another even more
daunting ascent. It appeared that the constant challenge was wearing
him down, that he wasn’t cut out for this thankless, endless grind.
Hearing how discouraged he was by his arduous uphill trek, I simply
shrugged, placed my hand on his shoulder and said “I guess some guys
are just born to climb mountains.” At our very core, we are either one
or the other… The man meant to climb or the man left to marvel at the
magnitude of the mighty stone mass before him and shake his head in
disbelief—never to take the first step, never to spend himself in the
great effort. To me, this has never been a choice; I am simply drawn to
the mountain. My soul yearns for the pure struggle and the good fight.
I cannot explain my compulsion; I do not question why I am compelled. I
simply follow where my heart leads me, back to the mountain base, back
to the climb. In me the warrior archetype lives and breathes, for I
know well the choice we each must make. You can be the journalist there
to document the venture of the brave, the bard waxing poetic of the
hero’s great odyssey, or the photographer forever immortalizing the
champion as he raises his arms in triumph. You could take on any one of
these roles and live an exceptional life… Or you could climb the
fucking mountain, answer the call, and let the rest of mankind gaze in
awe at you.
|
Entry #151
The world is filled with missionaries and merciless mercenaries; those
who yearn to save us all and those bent to douse the planet in
kerosene, strike a match and watch it burn. I guess I find myself in
the vast gray expanse in the middle—torn between my love for all God’s
creatures and my anarchist’s streak that may be unquenchable by
anything less than chaos and an overturning of the social order. I’ve
spent my life holding only so much regard for authority figures.
Feeling compelled by my own sense of right and wrong, my own guiding
principles, my own march toward destiny, I have no time or inclination
to think inside somebody else’s box, let alone to be physically trapped
within its confines. I’ve dedicated my days on this earth to breaking
down limits and boundaries, borders and stereotypes, misconceptions and
bogus convention. Who we are or what we become is up to us, not the
mandate of our spouse, our boss, our parents or politicians. That
cookie cutter calamity of soccer mom suburbia is only as much of a
death trap as we allow it to be. We are not our house or job, our bank
statement or retirement plan. We are not the sum of the measuring
sticks society applies to us to determine our value. We are powerful,
decisive, autonomous beings capable of creation and great change, of
generating immense force, of exerting control and command. Be not
breakable. Be not subject to the will of your environment, but instead
subject your environment to your will, remaking the face of the earth
in your image. |
Entry #152
With my boots on. Recently, I had the pleasure to view the film “The
Wrestler” with my lady. While we both thought very highly of the movie,
we each came away from it with a different feeling. My girl seemed to
see it in a sad and depressing light whereas I found it inspiring in a
tragic and melancholic sort of way. Randy “The Ram”, while damaged and
reeling, was nonetheless a warrior who for all of his heartbreaking
flaws was intent to live and die true to himself, as he saw fit, the
judgment of society be damned. There is a somber beauty in that which
speaks to me. They used to say that the only way for a true gunslinger
in the old west to go out was to die with his boots on. That always
sounded right. There is a beauty in doing you until your day is done.
To wander aimlessly through life devoid of passion or dreams or goals,
bitter and unmotivated, broken and apathetic--that is no way to live.
To conduct yourself in accordance with the expectations and standards
of another is the ultimate sell out, the sale of your soul. I pray that
I can only be so lucky as to struggle and strive and fight. To rise and
fall, to bleed and sweat and cry to the heavens. To spend my numbered
days and expend my indomitable life force in the unyielding,
unapologetic, dogged pursuit of my destiny on my terms. To live like a
man, to die like a warrior. At high noon, in the warm rays of the sun,
smelling the smoke from my barrel, looking up at the bluest of skies…
With my boots on. |
Entry #153
There are instances in his existence where a man finds himself up
against the wall. Shoved there by society, leaned on by life, cornered
by circumstance. Lacking the headroom to breathe deeply, the elbow room
to move comfortably, the open space to spread his wings. The pressure
mounts as he feels his shoulder blades pressing against the cold brick.
The darkness envelopes him as he ponders his ever-contracting space,
struggling to focus on the thinnest sliver of daylight, his mind no
longer able to conjure a light at the end of this black chasm. His
lungs are unable to expand, allowing for only the most shallow of
breaths . At this, the most defining of moments, he is left to make a
choice. Fight or die. Cave, relent and fold up like a cheap tent or
continue on resisting, with no promise of survival, with no guarantee
that his most valiant of efforts will not be mere acts of futility. The
truth that reality TV, network sitcoms and music videos won’t tell you…
The fact ignored in your favorite celebrity’s self-aggrandizing blog is
that there is dignity to be found in struggle. There is honor to be
discovered in your pain and sacrifice, splendor in the ugliness that
defines human survival. Life, at its essence, is a war of attrition—the
paradoxical situation in which a man must be willing to give his dying
breath in his effort to endure, to lose it all in order to win. At the
dusk of our days, let the sun not set on your submission, for the true
victory you seek may simply lie in having never given up. |
Entry #154
Having turned 30 this past year, I certainly wouldn’t consider myself
old, but the life experiences of my teens and twenties lent to me a
wealth of wisdom. I’ve seen a lot in my three decades and in that way,
though in so many fashions a big kid, I’m something of an old soul.
Progressive, but in what I consider the important ways, I’m old school.
I’m not sure when it happened, but some kind of great generational
divide occurred recently, somewhat under the radar, and it has me
heated. Society and pop culture are lying to our kids. When I was
coming up, to be wealthy and well-known, you had to be good at
something and beyond that you had to pay your fucking dues to get
there. There was a certain respect that even the laborer who worked his
fingers to the bone could pay to the star athlete who came out of the
projects or to the blue collar kid who went to law school and vice
versa, because they both understood tough times and they knew that to
better their place in the world was going to take hard work. Little ill
will could be directed at somebody who recognized their gifts and then
busted their ass for years to succeed. However, the post-MTV, YouTube,
reality TV world in which we live has created celebrity out of
privilege, gluttony, immorality and negativity—teaching the next
generation that you can be a slacker and fall ass backwards into a life
of luxury. I’m here to call bullshit on every last one of these
charlatans selling this ugly lie. Success takes years of patience and
effort. It necessitates planning and determination. It demands
obsession and commitment. You must forge forward undeterred through the
darkest of hours, through doubt and ridicule, through failure and
frustration for years on end if anything of any consequence is to be
yours. You are entitled to nothing and nothing can easily be all you
can claim. Accomplishment will not just arrive addressed to you; left
neatly packaged on your doorstop with a pretty bow atop. Your dreams
are out there waiting in limbo, poised to be animated and brought to
life or to die and whither like so many raisins in the sun. These
beautiful dreams will not come to you… You must go to them. |
Entry #155
The well. Sometimes I consider those with lives of privilege with
nothing on the line, with no risk in their daily existence and I feel
pity. From the secure confines of their comfy pedestal they postulate
and pontificate but their words ring hollow. Living in a world of
thoughts and ideas is only valuable when execution enters the equation,
where experience gives words weight. In retrospect, I can give the most
sincere thanks for the pain I’ve endured. The struggle, sorrow and
despair. The doubt and anxiety. The burdens that never broke me paid to
me dividends greater than any federal note ever could. They filled the
well—the shadowy place in my being where my resources are pooled to be
tapped into only in the most dire of circumstances. To persevere
through crisis and depend only on self helps to differentiate a man. It
instills in him a hunger the ferocity of which few can ever know, a
stark authenticity constantly palpable in his very approach to life. My
well is full, dark and deep and I can go there when times are hard. I
can draw from deep within and find the strength and anger and
unquenchable thirst that I need in order to survive. Found somewhere
between the pit of my stomach and my infinite soul lies my bottomless,
emergency reserve—the well. When the shit hits the fan and times are
hard on the boulevard, can you go there? Can you dig deep? |
Entry #156
Lost and lonely. Funny how life works, ain’t it? A young prodigy is
born poor in Middle America. Sequestered, abused and sheltered,
channeled through a system designed to produce commercially viable
art--precocious brilliance meets a multimedia marketing machine. A
decade later, he’s the biggest celebrity in the world, an icon the
likes of which has rarely ever been seen before. Making records that go
a hundred times platinum and amassing unfathomable riches--treasures
that are the product of countless accolades garnered and boundaries
broken. Yet something was never quite right. It seems all the adoration
in the world means little where there is no love. It would appear all
the wealth of Midas amounts to nothing when the soul is impoverished.
It suggests having a million fans could easily be trumped by the care
of a single friend. Surrounded by sycophants and pariah, by leeches and
hangers-on, by paparazzi and star-fuckers who all want their seat on
the gravy train, the ring leader at the eye of the storm, the man with
the great loyalty of legions, stands alone. One wonders what is wrong
with our society. How those we raise to the loftiest heights and place
on the highest pedestals are the same people we tear to shreds with the
most primal of bloodlusts, frolicking in their demise, basking in the
streaming tears of their very public agony. We now hear the heartfelt
tributes of so many hypocrites who in the face of tragedy decide to
lace their venom with sugar instead of salt, angling for one last
paycheck, a final cashing-in. Trivializing death in the inane
disposable text of Facebook status and Twitter tweets, summarizing a
life of immeasurable accomplishment in a hundred characters, sandwiched
between the rest of the meaningless shit we’re so proud to share. I
can’t say it surprises me. You see, we are a people of extremes. You
can’t simply be great; you have to be the king. You can’t merely be
eccentric; you have to be perverse. You can’t just be an introvert; you
have to be a solitary, isolated figure without a single person you can
trust. I pray that one day our hard work will pay off, that our wildest
dreams can come to fruition, that we can see the top of the mountain
and touch people’s lives. That we can earn the right to be ridiculed
and marginalized and to eventually die, so lost and lonely. |
Entry #157
Having stacked up 11,315 days on this spinning orb you would think that
the 31st anniversary of my born day would have little effect, but
something about this yearly ritual tends to stop me in my tracks,
leaving me overcome by emotion. Seems like I must spend the previous
364 days bottling up the stress and frustration, the anger and
expectation, the joy and the sadness of the daily grind like a pressure
cooker simmering low and slow. You see, our opportunities are so few
and these dwindling days so valuable, that I live constantly cognizant
of the grandfather clock of eternity’s relentless ticking. Instead of
coming apart under the strain of the endless struggle and buckling
below the weight of the piling years, I take this annual occasion to
refocus and narrow my gaze more tightly on my aspirations, to center my
ambitions between the closing crosshairs. My thirtieth year on this
planet was an exceptionally eventful one wrought by triumph, trial and
tribulation each in sizable doses. A rollercoaster ride with no safety
harness, twisting recklessly at a frenzied clip. But born from that
madness was movement, from this gut-wrenching pain sprang progress. All
of this proof positive of what we always knew—growth hurts. It was a
reinforcing testament to mankind’s reliance on pain in order to grow,
on enduring breeding evolution. When I shed a tear today it will not be
only as an emotional release, it will not be a product of sadness or
melancholy. Instead, those salty streams will be trails of joy for on
my worst day I am truly blessed. Blessed to have the unconditional love
and the staunch support of my family, friends, cohorts and allies.
Blessed to be healthy and free, focused and determined, full of piss
and vinegar and fueled by visions so vivid. Blessed to live to fight
another day, to struggle another year, to scratch and claw a precious
inch at a time, forever drawing closer to my dreams. |
Entry #158
The Meaning of Life. We find ourselves pondering the great question,
asking the heavens why we’re here. We search for the little victories
in our daily war—tiny wins that give our days purpose. We instinctively
need to know whether mankind is a mere happy accident, a biochemical
anomaly caused by the random chaos of the cosmos or if in fact we were
specially designed by a higher entity, sent here with an express
purpose. The way I see it, either way, we’re here. Caught up in the rat
race, the paper chase, the droning monotony of existence. But fear not,
I have the answer, the response to that great query as age old as our
species itself. The meaning of life is progress in the face of
struggle, triumph in the face of doubt. It is that tear of joy, that
uncontrollable smile, that electric surge in the pit of your stomach in
a private moment of triumph knowing you did what they told you couldn’t
be done… Throwing a mental middle finger in the face of the haters and
doubters, the pessimists and cynics that littered your path up that
steep mountainside climb. Remember my brothers, life is very much what
you make of it and can be everything you have the audacity to demand it
to be. Do not compromise your integrity; do not make apologies for your
dreams. Live each day in bold defiance to the feeble-spirited souls who
don’t dare believe. Be proud of who you are, take rebellious joy in
what you’re becoming—your critics and their worthless opinions be
damned. One day they’ll all understand. This is the meaning of life. |
Entry #159
Play til you hear the whistle. If there is one life lesson I’ve carried
with me from my youth as a baller it was that simple axiom. Make your
move, go hard, take your lumps and finish. My pops taught me that. You
see, we pick up these little “and ones” here and there along the road
of life, every time we beat the odds, every time we weather the storm
undeterred. A meaningful life isn’t lived tiptoeing through the tulips
and running in between the raindrops, skating through our days
unscathed. Our time on this earth is defined by taking a fucking
beating, absorbing the meanest, most menacing blows this cold world can
dish out and finishing anyway. Many of us, in one way or another, live
hard. Some of us live for the contact, we take pride in our scars, we
welcome the pain. But that isn’t to say we should be so arrogant as to
spit in the face of the fates. With the dawn of each day comes fresh
opportunity. A chance to start anew, to right the ship, to finish
strong. To grow within by identifying the error of our hardheaded ways
and make a change. Something in the way I’ve been wired makes it
impossible for me to understand the sort of shoulder-shrugging
acceptance and resignation with which some people view their destiny.
Each day I’m blessed enough to open my eyes, as I see it, is square
one. Take advantage of this new chance, this clean slate ushered in by
the rising sun. Take back control, exercise your will and take measures
toward creating a better life, if not for this day, then for the night
that will surely follow. Every goal in life is the same as those many
brief moments of decisive action made on the Jersey blacktop so many
moons ago. Make your move, go hard, take your lumps and above all else
finish. I implore you to fight til you hear the bell. I beseech you to
play til you hear the whistle. |
Entry #160
Where God lives. The circumstances of my life have allowed me to arrive
at certain beliefs and truisms accepted as fact without the requisite
irrefutable proof I so often demand. The self-balancing ebb and flow of
the universe, the legitimacy of karma and the wonders of nature and
science have allowed me to comfortably believe in the existence of a
higher power—a benevolent force responsible for all that we see, one
capable of fashioning the sustenance that sustains us all. This greater
force, while surrounding us always, is not at home where we would be
most inclined to imagine. Far less is this Great Spirit in the majesty
of the highest mountain ranges or the roaring seas, I believe, but
instead where we are most elementally weak. God lives in the tears of
the neglected child, the sorrow of the grieving widow, in the forlorn
gaze of the abused animal, in the profound hunger of the homeless man.
The creator we pray to for wealth and accomplishment, for the winning
lotto ticket or the pay raise, resides where our neighbor is in pain,
where the weakest among us is in need, where we are too selfish to
care, where we are to self-absorbed to be concerned. Let this serve as
a reminder my brothers, that your power is only as potent as its
ability to generate change, your great stature only as impressive as
the shelter from the storm it can provide. Our greatest challenge is
not just to do what is right, but what is extraordinary… To not merely
do what is expected, but what our heart compels us to do for the least
of our brethren at the times it is the least comfortable or convenient.
For it is at precisely these moments, when humankind is at its weakest
that our humanity must be strongest; where the vulnerability of the
most broken, burdened and afraid among us can provide a glimpse of
where God lives. |
Entry #161
“So they made light of my type of dreams. They said wise up.
How many guys you see making it from here?
The world don’t like us, is that not clear?
Alright, But I’m different.
I can’t base what I’m gonna be off of what everybody isn’t.” –Jay-Z “So Ambitious”
Though Jay spit that jewel in 2009, such sentiment is the “blueprint”
by which I’ve lived my life for as long as I can remember. A barstool
in Brigantine, a cubicle in Manhattan, a poker room in AC, a pool hall
in Scranton, a prison block in Trenton, a corner in Philly. Yeah, many
of my peers have done lengthy bids at these various locales and though
my spirit exudes the blue collar ethic of these East Coast realities, I
always knew that they were no place for me. That terrestrial, everyday
bullshit just never had any allure. In fact, it always scared me to
death that I’d end up there—that my destiny would find me in the place
I’ve long worked to avoid. Hanging out, all the time too deluded and
distracted to notice my dreams hanging themselves. While I share in
every way the daily grind, the working class angst… While I’m neck deep
in that same pool of sewage, fighting to keep my head above the
surface, I know that I’m here. I can smell the sour stench, I can see
the excrement and decay, I can practically taste the waste. If nothing
else, I am aware. My senses are heightened. Fully conscious of the
endless possibilities of this single, solitary life, alert to the
ticking away of priceless time, cognizant of the grim consequences of
falling off course. My loftiest goal was to never lose sight of the man
I’ve always sought to be—a manifestation of chasing dreams, toiling in
obscurity and fighting the good fight. The one believing in the value
and dignity of my struggle even when the outlook is most bleak. The
contrarian who dares to dream that “more” is out there, that “better”
is possible. Knowing that I’m not simply the end result of my
environment or a mere cloned genetic facsimile, my birthright is to be
all that I intend to be in defiance to the odds and opposing factors,
in honor of those who laid a groundwork of blood, sweat and tears. To
illuminate my destiny in spite of what everybody else isn’t. |
Entry #162
The long internship. I feel life has its ways of preparing us for what
lies ahead. In an untold manner, far before it will ever make sense, we
are learning valuable lessons and building something of a “tool box”–a
very unique and specialized skill set that will pay dividends down the
road. It is truly a matter of perspective as to how you view the
various occurrences in your life. The trials, tribulations and losses
are mere learning experiences to later draw upon; the daunting
challenges meant there but to galvanize your spirit. The bizarre cast
of characters whose paths you’ll inevitably cross are case studies and
reference points and teachers from which to learn. The often arduous
and seemingly trivial tasks of the daily doldrums are there to impart
invaluable instruction that will indubitably come into play at some
later and unexpected date. When it comes to trivia and seemingly
“useless” information, as I see it, I “know what needs to be known”,
having access to just the right amount of information on varied topics
to serve me well when the moment dictates… Forever learning and
questioning and strengthening my base. No data is “useless” in a world
so wide, no tool in your utility belt insignificant when the situation
you’re in demands its deft utilization. Take no nugget of knowledge for
granted, sneer at no proficiency as unimportant, regard no friend as
disposable, no encounter as trifling, no task as fruitless, for life,
at its essence is but one big internship... On-the-job training for the
greatest of conquests that lies ahead--the conquering of your dreams. |
Entry #163
Find the good. One of my father’s greatest qualities, tough guy that he
was, was his ability to look past the quirks and flaws, the
shortcomings and imperfections in his friends and acquaintances and to
focus on the good in a person. To find that which had value and
worth--the inherent decency in a person’s character, and to allow that
to inform their relationship. All too often I have stood in judgment,
wielding hurtling stones within my glass residence, getting caught up
in external superficialities and my own bullshit existential crises,
often holding people to an unrealistic standard. Who am I to judge?
What right do I have to label and marginalize? I am my brother’s keeper
and if anything I must lend support and wisdom. I must nurture and give
guidance. I must key in on the elemental beauty intrinsic to humankind
and exert my energies toward helping it flourish and prosper. Trite
notions of New Year’s promises aside, this is my solemn resolution. In
the days that lie ahead, it is not enough to merely strive for
accomplishment and achievement for personal gain and satisfaction, but
instead to enrich your family, your neighborhood, your universe through
your own progress and development. To contribute to the greater good,
by striving to be greater than just good and to carry your brother in
his moments of weakness along the way. To embrace, accept and uplift.
In loving unconditionally we can better condition ourselves to be
loved. In finding the good in our brethren, we can rediscover the good
in ourselves. |
Entry #164
The urgency of destiny. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Smashing through my
tympanic membrane like an Apache war drum channeled through 12” Kicker
subs, I can hear Father Time tirelessly chasing me down. Ten years ago,
I was barely street legal just beginning to conjure my life’s pursuit.
Ten years before that I was a cocky guard with one too few passes
before a shot and one too many lines shaved in the side of my hair. In
the blink of an eye another decade will evaporate into the ether.
Believe that. The casual daze of our monotonous days will rob us of the
most valuable commodity we have—time. Wake. The. Fuck. Up. This day
that you’re currently wasting living a life that is not your own will
soon be gone, as will be the present moment in which you are reading
this rally cry. This is the only life you have—the only opportunity you
will ever get to take your shot, to do that which you are compelled, to
be that which you’ve only dreamt of being. Our precious lives are not
sitcoms frozen in time to live on forever in late night syndication. We
are feeling, growing, evolving, breathing, eating, shitting, creating,
aging organisms that like all animated matter on this planet will
eventually wither and die. There is no cosmic pause or reset button for
you to push when the moment comes that you begin to value how fucking
immeasurably fortunate you were to be able to get out of bed this
bitter cold January morning. I pray that you come to know the urgency
of destiny, that soon you’re able to embrace the fact that you were
destined to be here to do something of great consequence. This
miserable excuse for a life that you bitch and moan about each day is
the greatest gift you’ve ever been given. Make the most of it now,
because someday soon it will be no more. And that someday soon may be
sooner than you think. |
Entry #165
“If you would not be forgotten as soon as you are dead and rotten,
either write things worth reading, or do things worth the writing.”
–Benjamin Franklin
One of the truest of renaissance men coined the above quote and though
more than two centuries old, such words can’t help but resonate for a
brother such as myself. As the sands of time furiously filter through
my mortal hourglass, I am relentlessly reminded of my cause, of my
urge, of my innate predisposition to demand more of my life than my
neighbor sees fit, to expect more from a worldly existence than the
annual vacation, token gold watch or paltry pay bump, than the usual
trappings of success as our society deems to define it. My life is too
valuable for such mundane monotony, my days too precious and fleeting.
Where in my development did I have this epiphany? Where I come from
aspiration is born of desperation and inspiration is only worthwhile
when met with equal parts perspiration. “How bad do you want it?” my
Pops would rhetorically ask me, tapping into the fire he knew was
already raging in my adolescent belly. It is this fire that I could
never allow to be distinguished, simply fanning the flames over the
years and redirecting the waves of its heat over my ever-evolving
quest. I don’t know how I could ever survive without it. It is my
fueling and tending to that fire, I pray, that will keep me chasing my
dream to the ends of the earth, that will hold me forever accountable,
steadily logging my thoughts and words for you to read, meticulously
carrying out a plan of action meant to keep me from one day meeting the
fate of the forgotten. |
Entry #166
The fortune cookie read “Things usually don’t happen overnight. It
takes time and hard work.” Seems as if the cosmos was trying to tell me
something yet again. Patience, as much as I’ve displayed it over the
years and as often as I’ve reminded myself it was a virtue I’d need in
my moral toolbox, just doesn’t come to me easily. I want “it” now. In
all honesty, I want “it” yesterday. Regardless of what “it” is, we all
have our “it”. “It” characterizes our time on this earth and in so many
ways “it” makes us who we are. I’ve paid the price in patience, pain
and perseverance and I will continue to do so for as long as need be,
and though it may not be in my nature, I’ve come to love the grind, the
slow and steady almost imperceptible progress that happens one
well-spent day, one positive action at a time. Finding joy in the
process, dignity in the struggle and pleasure in the patience it takes
to work for something worth waiting for. This is the enterprising young
man’s great epiphany that we all arrive at in due time--that it is not
the triumph and wealth or accomplishment that defines us, not the shiny
car or house on the hill that gives us value but instead the thankless
gut-wrenching toil and back-breaking labor, the dark and doubtful
nights, the failure and fear that comes with the fighting the fight
that eventually makes us great. That, and a healthy dose of patience. |
Entry #167
Giving back. It’s the 2010 version of getting yours… Doing for others,
just a fraction of what you’ve been able to do for yourself. I’ve spent
so much of my life chasing my dreams, focusing on my personal progress
and providing for my peoples, that I’m aware how lucky I am to have
such a luxury on a planet where a third of the population lacks access
even to clean drinking water. It is truly a rare blessing, just to live
a life like mine, even on my worst of days. The fates, the gods and
destiny all smiled down one day to allow me to be born where I was to
the parents with which I was blessed. I, like all of my brethren, have
seen some tough times, but in relation to the reality so many face on
the regular, our dark days seem comparatively bright. I try to remind
myself of this fact when I bitch and moan about a bad break or
roadblock here or there or the minutiae I stress about on the daily.
I’ve been given much and as such I owe it to humanity to give much
back. To be a role model. To take the high road. To lead by example. To
give of my time, to give hope, to give a chance to those the rest of
the world would rather cast aside or lock away. Ushering in good where
evil so often lives, shining light where darkness casts a heavy shadow,
this is our challenge. How much could an hour of your time possibly
help? How much difference could one solitary life make? There’s only
one way to find out. |
Entry #168
“Under pressure like Lou Ferrigno on coke.” -Raekwon, “Incarcerated Scarfaces”
Yeah I feel that pressure. So much of it admittedly self-imposed,
fueled by my own goals and expectations. But it weighs heavily on me
from all angles with the external world incessantly dumping more than
its fair share upon my mortal shoulders. Society wants to box you in
and make you fit a mold. Your family and friends seek to twist and
contort you until you represent their ideal. Everyone wants you to be
who they want you to be, so often so they can still be comfortable with
the misery of being themselves. Consider yourself warned… Your dreams
are under siege, your goals are under assault on every front--with
social constructs, malevolent outside influences and the status quo
seeking to tear you down one shred of vitality at a time until there is
nothing left. The visionaries and dreamers of the world have forever
been and will remain under attack. Life is hard, achievement unlikely,
success a long shot. I resolved myself to this reality long ago and in
response committed my life to doing everything I could in order to
survive and prosper, the only logical way I knew how—by turning myself
into a fucking tank. I suggest you do the same. |
Entry #169
“Actions have reactions, don't be quick to judge. You may not know the
hardships people don't speak of. It's best to step back, and observe
with couth; for we all must meet our moment of truth.” –GangStarr
“Moment of Truth”
That day is coming for each of us. Others have already encountered this
moment face to face--the “fuck or walk” fork in the road where we must
face our fears, our doubts, our insecurities head on. Where we must
stare pain and loss and personal tragedy in the eye to see who blinks
first. The moment of truth arrives for each of us when the
circumstances of life challenge our goals and expectations, questioning
our sincerity and heart, demanding a response. It is then that we must
look deep within ourselves, galvanize our spirit and trudge onward
unflinchingly along the path we’ve chosen—without regret, without
second guessing, without reservation… Or simply cut our losses and walk
the fuck away. Not all are cut out for the thankless toil, not many
built for the road less travelled, so few willing to commit their lives
to an effort or purpose uncommon. For this fact, I am grateful. Let me
be the one. Allow me to hurtle myself forward in the direction of my
dreams with no regard for my safety or comfort. Let me smash away at
this rock, this monument to obstacles that is my destiny, one
determined blow at a time til the whole fucking thing crumbles and
turns to dust. Let me be the one resolved enough to remain, the one
brave enough to fight, the one worthy of his mission, the one fit to
meet his moment of truth. |
Entry #170
Why am I here? I observe my happy-go-lucky, care-free neighbors
aimlessly drifting through their days and I shake my head. Not out of
condescension or because I’m judging them, for who am I to assign value
to their lives? But instead I’m compelled to question, are they truly
enlightened or patently ignorant? I feel a certain envy for the lives
they lead, never seeming weighed down by expectations or choked by the
yoke of pressure. They seem content. To their existence I can’t relate.
My whole life has been one of aspiration. I’ve been hungry as long as I
can remember. My folks made sure I never went to bed on an empty
stomach, but there was always a void in my belly that couldn’t be
filled. There was a constant undeniable, indefinable desire to be more
than I should be according to circumstances. A haunting, nagging urge
to demand more from my life than my neighbors ever saw fit or
necessary. This is my plight. But in a conversation I had recently with
a trusted friend, I came to the realization that my desires, my goals,
my yearning for achievement may not simply be of ultimate importance
because of any specific personal ends. In fact, maybe, just maybe, all
of this isn’t about me at all. Perhaps what each of us is here to do is
not in fact to strive for the purpose of our own personal glory and
satisfaction or for the bountiful baubles of opulence, but instead to
stand as an example, as a standard. Through dignified struggle and
relentless pursuit, we can stand tall as a beacon for all those
wandering wayfarers longing for higher ground. To truly be a role model
for those who’ve lost hope in the idea of heroes. To turn years of
personal aspiration into inspiration for the masses. Perhaps, after
all, that is truly why I’m here. |
Entry #171
Chipping away. My entire life, this has been the only approach I’ve
known for attacking my goals. I’ve just naturally come to visualize the
obstacles that lay before me, standing in the way of my success in
tangible, terrestrial terms and to see myself as a steady,
forward-driving force that just incrementally pushes against the
barriers and roadblocks, hammering away at the walls. One day at a
time, one positive thought at a time, one productive action at a time
for as long as need be. It’s not sexy or flashy and it sure as fuck
isn’t glamorous, but paying dues never is. I’ve felt much pain in the
past year, come to see hardship and negativity and cynicism. I’ve seen
people broken and beaten and heard the voice of doubt and despair loud
and clear. I’ve handled it all in the same way I always have, with
dogged determination and uncompromising optimism, no matter how
frustrated or weary I’m left by the grind on any given dreary day. Roll
over and die or roll on. That is the only choice that remains, and it
ain’t no kind of choice at all. Methodically, decisively, confidently,
with a chip on my shoulder that would crush an elephant, I remain
defiantly resolute. My masterpiece in mind, my chisel in hand. Chipping
away. |
Entry #172
Stay hungry. Here’s yet another story of aspirational youth—informal
information about the forming of my formative years. As a freshman, I
had put my mind to walking-on to play D-1 college ball. At the school
at the time was a storied Philadelphia high school point guard who at
this point was now a senior. With the pedigree of a future NBA player,
he had entered the university four years earlier with much expectation
and fanfare. But by now, to put it plainly, he was a bum. Slow and
sloppy, lackadaisical and disinterested, he had taken the ride that was
his full ride and rode it into the ground. His heart wasn’t in it and
this was clear as day, so I put my mind to giving it to him every day
in fall scrimmages, and that I did. Daily. Nonetheless, his spot was
secure and my master plan never came to fruition. Since then I was able
to redirect that focus onto other bigger goals. However, these
experiences of more than a decade ago were not fruitless. For they
taught me something priceless. Here was a guy who seemingly gave no
thought to the privileged position he held, becoming so lazy, listless
and at ease; and there I was, so hungry for what he had that I
literally would’ve killed for his spot—and he didn’t even know it. The
life lesson imparted? Never get too comfortable. There is always
someone out there, laying in the weeds, observing at a distance, with
you in their crosshairs. Ready to take your gold, your girl and your
groceries… If you let them. If you let down your guard for a second.
This is the cycle of life. Those at the top of the heap find themselves
a little too fat and happy and they lose sight of what it was like to
be in the depths, constantly fighting and struggling to get their
piece. They leave themselves exposed and vulnerable, wide open to
attack, sealing their own fate. Wandering around in a haze of content
naiveté, until it is too late. Take this as gospel my brethren--no
matter what level you’ve reached, there is always someone two steps
behind who wants what’s yours and is waiting for you to fall off. Your
only recourse? Stay on point. Stay frosty. Stay hungry. |
Entry #173
Just wait. I used to see the dudes bigger than me, or those further
down the road in my given vocation and I’d think to myself, “Just
wait.” I’d look in their eyes and I’d analyze their commitment, I’d
eyeball their hunger and think, “Just wait.” I somehow instinctively
knew that I was inevitable and they were a flash-in-the-pan fad, even
back when I had no Earthly business to believe it to be true. I knew
that eventually one day, they’d be content or would simply move on to
another phase and I’d be waiting. Their passing fancy would no longer
pass as fanciful and I’d pass them and never look back. WhiIe they
rested on their laurels, I wrestled with mediocrity—besting it by
putting in the wrench work and the long hours, the cumulative effects
of which, I prayed, would one day be undeniable. This point of view is
still the same for me to this day and is an integral component of any
success I may be working towards now. While my peers are looking over
their shoulders or counting the next man’s cakes, I’m focusing on me
and the next tiny step forward in the journey that is my life’s work. I
learned early that life is not a sprint, but a marathon. Our goals are
not met via haphazard bursts of random activity but instead are
conquered through long, thankless labors of great endurance, a long
haul for which, truth be told, not all are built. The blueprint I’ve
laid out is intricate and for me in the occasional dark hour, has
seemed quite daunting—a master plan which many wiser than me have found
to be inscrutable. But nonetheless it is mine. Mine to fight and
master, mine to struggle with and conquer, mine to devise and alter,
mine to bring to fruition. Mine and mine alone. Though the critics and
skeptics may whisper and snicker, and those one step ahead may never
see it in their rearview, it’s coming. Maybe next week, maybe next
month, maybe next year… Someday soon, it’s coming. And when it does,
I’ll just smile cuz I knew it all along. Just wait. |
Entry #174
Real. “He’s the only person I know who is the same guy now that he was
when we were 10 years old.” That is what one of my oldest friends
recently told my fiancée, and it was among the highest compliments I’d
ever received. Sure we all go through our phases, but moments of
youthful idealism, arrogance or righteous indignation aside, I always
prided myself in staying real. In being grounded enough and honest
enough that regardless of the social setting or the prevailing peer
pressures, I could act in a fashion that does justice to the man my
parents raised me to be and most importantly of all, to my coldest
critic’s steely gaze staring back unblinkingly in the bathroom mirror.
I see it all the time and it breaks my heart, those out there fronting
a role and living a lie. The keyboard rock stars talking a good game,
spitting game at the world, trying to game us all, and in the end, they
rarely ever even step between the white lines. But that is the way of
the world in 2010—what you talk means more than what you do; who you
know and can namedrop means more than what you know and perception, at
the end of the day, takes precedence over reality. Hunger, humility and
hard work are old hat… Archaic concepts not glamorous enough for the
white linen-wearing beautiful people among us. But that is fine by me.
Truth be told, being true to myself has always truly meant more than
anybody’s praise or derision ever could. As I reach the age that my
dear father was when I was born, the stakes are high… Higher for me
than ever. Higher on a cosmic level, metaphysically, on a plane that I
can’t fully yet grasp. All I can wrap my mind around is the undeniable
fact that that the time is now. As it will be tomorrow, and as it will
continue to be each day that I’m blessed enough to witness a new
dawning day. Resisting the very human urges to become impatient,
discouraged or jaded, I must push onward as destiny demands. All the
while happy to be hungry and humble, and resolved to remain real. |
Entry #175
Fill the hole. There is a void within each of us, a vast emptiness
seeking to be occupied. A gaping expanse, left by failure and
disappointment. One dug by frustration and loss. One that in a blind
and rudimentary way, we wander through the darkness forever trying to
fill. To make a connection. To be loved. To love ourselves. Maybe you
always wanted to be tall, but you’re five foot nothing. Maybe you aim
to be the life of the party, but you remain all alone. Maybe you yearn
to be sexy, but you’re ugly as sin. Maybe you dream of driving a
Bentley, but you’re dirt fucking poor. Tough shit. This is your hole.
And either you can bury yourself in this bottomless grave within you or
you can stare straight into that echoing cavern and resolve yourself to
fill it. Not like your neighbors do with Facebook status drivel and
trite digital camera vacation pics, but with meaningful substance. Life
experienced, knowledge acquired, friendship honored, challenges bested.
This great chasm in your person can indeed be filled--it must become a
pit of productivity. The wretched refuse that abounds will be recycled,
all fuel and tinder for the blazing inferno within. The fire—that which
gets you out of bed in the morning and won’t let you sleep at night.
That call of the wild that whispers your name, that aching crave within
your belly that assures your finite run on this mortal coil is not
without purpose. Your dreams. Your destiny. It is to their calling you
must answer, and to their authority alone must you be accountable. Come
to know this fire, let it burn and smolder. Let it consume you. Stoke
the coals of this fire that rages within and use its scorching warmth
to fill the hole. |
Entry #176
Cinderella man. It is a great moment of empowerment and personal
freedom that arrives when you realize that the world doesn’t want you
to amount to shit. The planet has been collectively betting against you
from birth. You were meant to die exactly where you were born. Same
small town, same social class. No upward mobility, no bootstraps
pulling, no rise. Just a bill of goods you’ve been sold to pacify you.
The opium for the masses that we all smoke is that there’s a piece of
the pie in the sky set aside for each of us. And I’m here to tell you,
it’s all a lie. You were meant to have nothing and if you play by their
rules, to be nothing as well. The table scraps that we call our meals
will be fought for tooth and nail and will demand that we pay the
highest of costs and make the greatest of sacrifices if ever we are to
fill our perpetually empty bellies. We’re not supposed to eat well and
drink deeply. We’re not meant to have a seat at the table. Our voices
were never intended to be heard. Technically, we’re not even supposed
to be here, so fuck it. We’re playing with house money and in that
freedom, there is immense strength. For dangerous is the man with
nothing to lose and everything to gain, especially when he has the
awareness to know his true standing in the world. That he is staring
defiantly in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds and going for
his nonetheless, upsetting the natural order, overturning the status
quo. When the clock strikes twelve and pumpkin time comes a-calling, as
it will eventually for us all, you hold on to that glass slipper with
all of your might. Show those in power what real power truly is and
become your own Cinderella Man. |
Entry #177
Bounce. I once heard it said that some people hit rock bottom and they
splatter, others bounce. I’ve realized over the years that one of the
most integral elements of the champion that inevitably separates him
from the pack is resilience. Not giving in, not giving up. Sacrificing
their pound of flesh, eating their bushel of dirt and coming back for
seconds. Not that we all must endure a cataclysmic meltdown every other
day and be face down in the gutter, it all needn’t be so dramatic. But
whatever path you travel, there will undoubtedly be rocky terrain,
hurdles, potholes and roadblocks—some big and some small. You’ve gotta
let that shit slide, let it roll like water off of a jacked duck’s
back. Become slick and slippery, aerodynamic, impervious to the
friction and static that you’ll no doubt feel everyday living life
against the grain. You’ve gotta roll with the punches and hit back
harder. Like my Pops used to tell me as a kid, to make it you’ve gotta
have thick skin. Anticipate the bad breaks and hard knocks that will
come your way—the murmurs and whispers, the venom spit in your face.
Prepare with confidence for the hard times, knowing you’re harder than
any of the shit fate wants to throw in your direction. Remember always
that a man armed with a dream is a dangerous man indeed. When his
back’s against the wall, he doesn’t back down, when he eats the floor
face first he doesn’t stay down for long. He responds with a roar, he
comes back with purpose, he hits the ground with a bounce. |
Entry #178
Live fast and die young. They say age ain’t nothing but a number, but
in this instance, the “they” that comprises the clichéd masses have it
right. I’ve seen ageism permeate the thought patterns of my brethren
and I’m here to put an end to it if it’s not already too late. I’ve
heard brilliant youth told that they’re too young to know their shit
and sage elders marginalized to irrelevancy. I’ve known cats in their
sixties with their finger on the pulse and eighteen year olds that put
the “L” in lame. Cool comes with no shelf life and it knows no age.
Either you’ve got it or you’re ass out. “Young” and “fresh”, much like
“old” and “wise”, are not synonyms. To be youthful is much more a state
of mind than a literal tallying of days, weeks, months and years. It is
an expression of gratitude for the gift of life and health—a vibrant,
idealistic response to the hope that emerges from beyond the horizon
with the rising sun of each new morning. To be young, quite simply, is
to stay in the game. As I’ve been blessed enough to reach the age that
my dear father was when he had me, more and more I’ve come to
understand how precious our days are and how quickly the hourglass
grains of sand accumulate… How growing old with grace is but a quaint
rationalization for the sad excuse of giving up and giving in. Though
the mileage has accumulated on my ’78 Caddy sedan with the Lamborghini
guts, if you want to race, I’ll punch the gas and leave you in the
dust… Just as I did 10 years ago, just as I will 10 years from now, God
willing. Cuz you see, life moves fast, so you’ve gotta live fast to
keep up. And I pray we will all die young, even if we live to see a
hundred. |
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