The power of running

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The other day, on my run I noticed thunderclouds gathering and the sound of thunder getting louder and louder. I have often heard stories of people getting struck by lightning , and, typical coward that I am, began to sprint home. Out of nowhere I felt a push and continued to propel my legs forward, faster and faster and faster. It felt like the ground was moving under my feet. I felt like the world, my house, the trees, were rushing forward to greet me.

In the confines of my home I was finally able to slow down, but my breathing continued, faster and faster and out of control. I never realized how much I was exerting myself. But something primitive kicked in, a drive to survive, and it carried me home.

I’m not a hippy. I’m not someone who’s willing to dump all signs of a capitalist, mainstream, conformist life to go live in the woods alone. But I’ll admit that I’ve never felt more alive, than when I’ve felt like I was running for my life.



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One of the brilliant things about the internet is that it’s the one place you can be genuine with what you think of people. There is no need to limit what you say to avoid hurting someone’s feelings because they are pixel people. They might not even be who they say they are.

It’s hard to have a hidden motive on the internet for anything. These people aren’t going to meet you, they aren’t your boss, they aren’t anyone important. So there’s nothing like getting a kick out of actually being honest with someone for once, and telling them who they are.

Most people hate criticism and hate the thought of self improvement. It’s the American way. Instead of working harder, Americans want to blame someone else for their short comings. It’s feminism. It’s the patriarchy. It’s religion. We’re a culture of professional victims. Everyone is entitled to marrying a 10 and living happily ever after. Everyone is entitled to making the most money.


The fact is, and this is evolution, from day 1, even if you work harder, you might not get it. You’re not entitled to it. Some of that is luck. A lot of it is in your genes. If you’re of average IQ, and most people are, good luck. Have fun. There are people wayy above you. If you’re of average attractiveness, good luck. Most people are of average IQ and attractiveness. Luckily, they have each other. But they don’t want each other. They want more. More. More money, more houses, more cars, hot chicks. Well, sorry. Not everyone gets that.

Be happy with what you have. Some of the most miserable people I know are some of the wealthiest people I know in terms of money and success.



The Irony of Fight Club


Fight Club is supposed to be the movie for our generation. Angry, deprived youth, robbed of their dreams, forcefed the proper way to live, the right destiny, the right “this is what you do” attitude…rebel.

The rebellion is supposed to be against the oppressors. Credit card companies. Employees. The system. The go to college. Get a degree. Get a shit office job. Make some cash. Get married. System.

The system is bullshit. The system works. And we are a slave to it.

But to seek liberation by becoming a slave to another idea? Humans enslave themselves. We make these choices. We evolved these great minds to only be enslaved by our own limits. By our own opinions and biases. By our own ideas. And the strength of an idea can be a testament to its survival even after its leader has died.

“Extremist” groups are only the ones that die out after the death of the primary motivator. The status quo is established by those who ensure themselves immortality by expressing a founding idea that is propagated through generation after generation. Natural selection of human ideas and human choice. It exists.

These angry men, the men who cook your food and take out your garbage, those men, are only slaves. Slave to capitalism. Slaves to Tyler Durden. Slaves to Fight Club. They haven’t freed themselves and they will never be free. The recipe to freedom is nothing human, and nothing we will ever learn from another human. Their recipe to freedom is only a recipe to your enslavement to them.

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