Shopping for the Party

The sun rose like rock-n-roll, and Chris was loving himself in the sunlight when Zen walked downstairs.

“We’re having a party tonight, so read-up on how to act around girls,” Chris laughed.

Zen gave him a sour look. “Is the milk still good?” He asked.

“It was, but I finished it off. You’ll have to eat Chex Mix with water.” There was sadistic delight in Chris’s eyes. He enjoyed control.

Alex walked downstairs. He was the opposite of Chris. Laid back. Everything Alex did, happened twice as slow.

“You ready to socialize, mate?” Chris asked.


“That’s the problem with you; that’s why your life isn’t working out.”

“How do you know?”

“You’ve got no girl; no job; and no prospects.”

“That sounds pretty good to me; I’m free,” Alex smiled.

Chris was stumped. It hadn’t worked. Perhaps, if there was an undercurrent of defensiveness, he would’ve felt superior, but it was the opposite.

“Come, we’ve got to go to the store.”

“What for?”

“What else; alcohol, lots of alcohol.”

“You know I don’t drink.”

“And why is that?”

“I’m an addict.”

“Have you even taken a drink?”

“I just know I’m an addict.”

“That’s the problem with you; you don’t try things.”

Alex looked at Chris. He knew Chris had a fear of missing out. Nothing was ever enough. He pushed and forced and moved through the world, never quite getting where he wanted to go.

Alex never pushed up against anything, and the world opened doors for him. If one closed, he walked in a different direction. His path could not be explained, and he was more interesting to Chris because of it.

“Zen, are you coming?”

Zen quietly took up the rear. At the grocery store, they got the stuff on their list, but not before they met the Russian girl.

“Anna, are you coming over this evening?” Chris asked.

“Oh, sure.” She looked like she wanted to get away from him. She was carrying a big birthday cake.

“Who’s the cake for?” Alex asked.

“Oh, nobody.”

When they got into the parking lot, Chris looked up at the sky. “Your birthday’s coming up, isn’t it?”

“Next week,” Alex said.


Later that evening, Alex and Zen met Chris’s friends. One, was like a flower to the bees. She was from Lebanon. Alex saw something dangerous in her. Chris saw what he wanted.

“So, you work in education?” Alex asked her.

“I’m a Mathematician at the University.”

“Oh, what branch?’

“I’m a Geometrist.”

“We both work in education. Why do you do it?”

“Excuse me, but we don’t do the same thing.”

“Well, we educate young minds.”

“We aren’t the same.”

Alex looked at her; she reminded him of Chris, but rather than thinking murderous thoughts like Zen, Alex was amused. He knew he was free, and the people struggling to be higher, were not.

To be continued…

The Delusion of Greatness


Every man is great in his own mind, in his own way. The plumber is the best plumber. The intellectual is the best intellectual. The psychologist is the best psychologist—in his own way. If he is friendless, he believes nobody can understand his lonely mind—a mind waiting for someone who can. If he is humiliated because of a mistake or some fault that is expressed at the wrong moment, he takes pleasure in hating his mockers who cannot appreciate his dormant ability.


The philosopher looks inside himself to change, whether or not the fault outside is his.


The world is unfair. There are plenty of people complaining about it. This is the way of the world, and not the way of the philosopher.


Greatness can be defined as the top of the pyramid, standing alone, recognized or not.

Social Value

When a man does great things, he knows it. He knows if he still has his soul or he has lost it. One could say the spiritual realm is subjective, little more than a passing feeling, but there are objective ways to measure greatness. Because man is an animal, he must take his cues as animals do. When the female is attracted to the male, there is a cue taken by the group. When earth values one of its members, it is recognizing the emergence of an eruption. Prior to that, it lay dormant, building, or not. Women desire value, and a man knows his value based on this criterion.

Female Sexual Attention

Men know where the affections of women are placed, and that man is held up to a higher place. Most will shy away from these sorts of men, immediately recognizing they are unworthy. With no female sexual attention, a man loses esteem. He wonders what makes some men attractive. The automatic conclusion is his body, so he works out incessantly, but still does not draw looks from women. He does not realize that a man is a spirit; his spirit is what attracts women. The world markets to man’s insecurities. So, he buys more and more things, but these symbols only show he can provide security to women, and women do not desire him sexually.

Dangerous Men

Why are dangerous men desired? Why are evil men, serial killers, cult leaders, and dictators attractive to women? They have a strong spirit. Women are attracted to strength, and the vast majority of muscular men who work out in gyms are not spiritually strong, and not attractive to women. They are spiritually insecure. They might get one woman, but they will never have a spirit that attracts hundreds. The reason being, they are shackled to the earth, and not spiritually free. Any one of them can be bought by a beautiful woman, money, power, or admiration. Men who defy laws and live by their own, are spiritually free. This type of dominance is obvious among men who take life, and guide others with their own spiritual philosophy—that philosophy which comes from within. But when men trade their spirit for what they want, their spirit is severely limited. The spirit of man is his seed. He must retain it, and not trade it, for the world.

Spiritual Things

So, the test of a man’s spirit is spiritual things; not what he can get, but what he can give. If you listen to men and their conversations when they become competitive, they talk of what they have; even a woman is something they possess, but really… man cannot possess anything. He is on the earth for only a short time. Then his body dissolves, and what he owns will be given away. Even his woman, will go on to another man. Why does he define himself by what he has?

The Spirit of Man

Man must devote himself to spiritual greatness. His purpose is not to worship women. He must turn away from the world that offers things that weaken his spirit. To understand spiritual things, and the things to focus on, man need only turn to the character of God. He must be a creator. All of his needs come from within. He has the ability to love unconditionally. He must exercise faith in himself and his enterprise. He takes joy in the works of his hands. He has peace from his philosophy. Man is patient with himself. He is kind—a model for other men. And above all else, he exercises self-control over his passions.

Eye See

Eye See



you cannot see

even the creator of the universe

is ignored

Eye give love or hate

or need




into depths

the ocean


when the rain


my darkness

is a blessing

when the sun

doesn’t come out

what’s hidden

is my own

and the worst is waiting

but it will just have to wait

Eye See


my energy


to dominate

so, I don’t






other Eyes





A Slow Afternoon

I’ve always been in the slow lane

on the slow track

because the freeway fights

are not for me

Ferdinand the Bull

smelling the flowers

dreaming of the fast lane

without effort.

I’ve missed high-speed crashes

going places

too fast

where I thought I wanted to go

but given time

to think

I took the turn-off.

There were women

I dreamed about

but I went too slow

and somebody always got there first


I’m thankfully alone

given time, to think for myself

letting others rush

into things.

I watch them

on a slow afternoon

from a safe distance

as they yell and scream in pain

even their compassion is cruel.

Now, I’m not even moving

I’m waiting

and waiting is a delight.

I’ve done things so differently

more intentionally

learning the music I like

wearing clothes two decades old

then buying new ones.

Somehow, not being in a hurry

is a decadent rush

I’m god

watching everyone

go fast

appreciating the details that are never seen.

I didn’t choose to go slow

I just got left behind


delicious desserts and expensive dinners

belong to people who eat prestige.

I see no point in trying to catch up

I talk to the people who’ve been left behind

some are bitter

some are sweet

some are bland

few care

how blessed they really are.

Going slow should be studied in school

but those who go fast

would never slow down for it

they are always trying to fill their minds with facts


my mind is totally empty

like a clear blue sky

on a slow afternoon.

Life Style


should give your life


People are always buying clothes

something for every occasion

their cheap wardrobe

is outdated

like the clearance rack

at the second-hand store.

Better to have limited style

beautiful clothes

you enjoy


and colorful

out of place

And, when others say

“You’re out of place.”

Your clothes say, something about you

they are finer

than the man or woman

of every occasion

who never considers

not fitting in

your style

belongs to you

and not to



or places

don’t be the chameleon

in the jungle


you are different.

If you like your style

your clothes make a statement

even if,

you don’t want to say anything.

Society judges itself


it’s never smart enough

or in style


it seeks a standard

outside of itself.

Would I choose to be anonymous

a man in a quiet room

not talked about

or the focal point

of positive and negative


tearing at my clothes

with envy or praise?

I wear clothes I love

I operate by a logic that makes sense to me

the girls gossip

saying all manner of nasty things

turning the boys against me

even the odd independent

believes them

they’ve stopped being friendly

their eyes don’t smile

they’ve stopped inviting me

I’m constantly on their minds

“His clothes have no style.”


the old power pole

growing in the forest

covered in moss

and weathered like the trees.

Give nature time

and she will do her worst

but the invisible man knows

he once carried electricity

and he wants to


The Intellectuals and the Absence of the Superman

The house was held together by bad ideas, and supported by pride. There was a living space, and three bedrooms. The occupants spent time together on the weekends, and argued during the evenings. Each member had a different reason for being there. Shawn was a retired soccer player and teaching English as a second language. When he argued, it was to get what he wanted. He could hardly be called an intellectual, but he felt right at home with the other two. Chris was a mathematician, and despite his continuous research and publication, it bothered him that only 17 people understood what he wrote, and even less read it. That was the price of being smart. Zen was from China. Being with the other two Americans was helping him to become more American, and less Chinese. Not that there is anything wrong with being Chinese, just that the Americans said what they felt, and never backed down from a fight. Chris loved to fight. He was more American than John Wayne, and Zen felt that he was strong around them, even though he felt weak inside.

They all paid rent. Each one of them was single, and perpetually so; not that they couldn’t get a girlfriend, but they were holding out for different reasons. Shawn was waiting for God to tell him who to marry. Yesterday, he met a girl, and heard the audible voice of God, or so he claimed. He proposed, and she said “yes.” Chris was waiting for a woman who was good enough for him. He had matured slowly, which made him undesirable in college, but now that he was a Doctor, he looked 21, and he could date women even younger. Two fathers were after him, and an older brother who wanted his blood. He had five women chasing him, and even though they were 10 out of 10, Chris wondered why they were so interested. There had to be somebody better. Zen was insecure, but since he had been hanging around the alpha Americans, he started to listen to self-help books written by Asian men who had overcome the trauma of being overlooked. Now, he was contemplating a family and future, despite being socially awkward. In time, anything was possible with the right theory. He too, was a mathematician, more gifted than Chris, but depressed, because being smart hadn’t worked for him, and Chris had developed a formula to make his dreams come true.

Our story begins by a singular event that altered the dynamic. Shawn got married. And like an explosion in a print shop, Zen and Chris were covered in ink, and unsure how to write the next chapter of their lives. They had more rent to cover, and an empty room to fill. It soon became apparent, that Shawn was the glue that had held them together.

“Zen, you’ve got to push yourself,” Chris said. “We’re soldiers and we have to develop bodies that girls want.”

“But I’m tired Chris, and I gave up overeating; what more can you want? My body hurts every day.”

“That’s because you don’t have any muscle. Look at these guns.” Chris flexed, and Zen admired his muscles. The pandemic had forced these two to live in close proximity for 8 days. The apartment was making it difficult to breath. Chris’s ego needed to make other egos as big as itself. He needed other people to take-on his likeness, and then he would change. He was always three steps ahead of everybody, and he couldn’t help but turn around and laugh.

Chris’s best friend was moving to Israel to live with them, to take the place of Shawn. Zen had heard many things about Alex, each one more impressive than the next, but Chris still looked behind him when he talked about Alex, which caused Zen to think… some men need God—an ever-watchful eye to make sure they don’t do wrong. Shawn had always kept Chris in check, but now Chris was God, and he was going to devour the whole world, so that it would be like him.

“That’s the doorbell,” Chris said. “Alex, how was your flight?”

“I made it from one country to the next and avoided getting lost. I found you, and that’s what counts. Good to see you, man.”

“I love you man, and no gay.”

“Sure, whatever.” Alex wiped his tired eyes. “Is this Zen?”

Zen offered his clammy hand, and even after six months, he hadn’t learned how to shake the American way.

“You probably want to unpack and get some sleep,” Chris said.


“Zen, why don’t you move into Shawn’s room? Give Alex the larger room,” Chris said.

“But he’s not paying rent.”

“Don’t argue with me. He’s our guest.”

Zen tucked his head between his shoulder-blades and slunk into the smaller room. He started journaling hateful thoughts, so he could understand his frame of mind. It wasn’t his idea; it was the self-help book. And when Zen went to sleep that night, he dreamed violent dreams—dreams of murder and getting rid of bodies.

To be continued…

It Might Take a Lifetime

The room quaked. The yellow walls pealed. The inside of my head hurt. The roar outside was so loud that I could’ve been screaming and I would not have known it. Ordinarily, the unstable bedsprings meant vacation— not the modern-day vacations I took with my family, but the vacations I went on as a boy. My father believed in seeing the scenery as quickly as possible. My childhood was a blur, and it was inexpensive. My father got a good deal— a wife who loved him— a family that didn’t disappoint him— and even if he coped with the 12-hour day that stole the rest of his day with poison, he took it like prescribed medication, and as he got older, he became a baby, taken care of by his wife, and respected in small ways, like the child who gives his lunch away when he doesn’t need it. People liked him, but nobody wanted to be like him. Not that being emulated is any great thing, but it is a marker for how tall you walk, and walking tall is all a man has.

I couldn’t remember who I was in that room. It was like a dream that left me, and waking up further, would not cause me to remember. Going to sleep is no guarantee, and waking up, well… waking up was where I was right now. It felt like I was standing in the sky, so close to people who travelled thousands of miles and wondered why they didn’t change. The jets were roaring. I had to get downstairs, away from the noise, away from people taking trips, and bragging about them, or complimenting themselves. To see someone who has left and come back, who has decided, rather than shooting off in all different directions, and complaining about the weather. I walked down the red staircase to the dimly lit bar with crystal arranged glasses, upside down. The bartender knew something was different. I guess there are a few people who actually watch; not that they care, but watching has given them something to do; they can observe themselves in some small way, and they’ve realized that works better than a psychiatrist.

“We serve coffee, espresso?”

“Yes,” I said.

“What seems to be the matter?”

“I don’t know. It seems like my mind is catching up with me. It feels like the weekend, but that can’t be right.”

“It’s Wednesday. Do you work?”

“I think so, but it must not be important.”

I must’ve been his most interesting customer. He looked amused. He was one of those types that becomes his job. It happens to all of us, if you walk the hallways of a hotel, dry enough glasses, listen to enough gossip, and manage enough people, your hair and face take-on the character of that place.

“Are you a teacher?” He asked.

“I think so, but no, that’s not quite right.”

“Would you like to order breakfast, eggs? perhaps?”

“There is someplace I need to be. I’ll leave you to it.”

Walking through the hallways was like walking off an airplane through the tunnel leading to the boarding gate. It was not home. There was so much anxiety and so much routine there—red carpets, long mirrors, industrial paintings. The rental car caused me to wonder if I owned a car. The traffic was light. It was almost the middle of the day. I drove, listening to smooth jazz, forgettable music. There was some blue sky, and like a blueprint that comes into focus on microfilm, I knew where I worked, in a school, where the walls talked, because the people stayed the same.

When I got there, the secretary looked my clothes over, like she was wondering where I came from, like I was dressed differently, not poorly, but differently. In a place that needs security, you can upset the natural flow if you do something different, and the tides will wash over you like stories to explain what happened.

“It’s been a long time…”

I looked at the teacher, a foot shorter than me. He was smiling, but it was a nervous smile. I wondered who I was, and could I rely on this guy to tell me? Would I get a different answer, depending on who I talked to, and did anybody really know? You can’t just ask someone that.

“How was your vacation?”

“Good, I guess. Say, Randy, where did you go for the break?”

“Hawaii; I told you. Man, don’t you remember anything? How was Paris, with Mary and the kids?”

The thought of a family, was beyond me. I didn’t know where they were. And I thought about answering, but thought better of it. People are always putting the pieces of a puzzle together, but they are always missing one or two or half the picture, and they’ll shove a piece where it doesn’t belong. You can feel trapped by people’s questions. And even if you answer them, they think something else; and if you explain yourself, it doesn’t explain anything.

“Nice talking to you, Randy.”

I left, because people knew what my numbers added up to. Like they had the solution, and I was a negative number. I never wanted to be quantified, because I did not want to know what my number was. I guess I didn’t want the answer. Being moved along by instinct is better than numbers. Instinct feels right.

So, I quit my job without quitting, and I found a green golf course next to a library and the sea, and I played, and read, and lay in the sand, taking in the clouds and words like God was speaking to me. I was not strong enough to face the conditions.

Survival, and self-reliance in the harsh cold is one thing, but loving unconditionally when the rest of the world has so many conditions, they so easily change, is like a legal contract that always finds you guilty and rules in their favor… well, no. I can’t sign that. I am waiting on that beach, watching the waves wash in, waiting until I am ready. It might take a lifetime.

The End

The Power Within

If we start with the premise that man is made in the image of God, we can deduce that man is like God. Afterall, Jesus was the son of God, and he embodied particular traits that made him great! Now, what is this god-like force that some men possess? Is it charisma, which quite literally means a divinely conferred power or talent? And if Jesus had charisma, and I think he did, then this quality might be interpreted as divine. But the problem is that Hitler also had charisma, and most people would agree that Hitler was not good. So, what did Hitler and Jesus have in common? The ability to speak to crowds and resonate with individuals on a deeply emotional level, and on a primitive plane through the use of story-telling and parables.

The most lasting cult-like figures used stories. Stories are as old as humans. We must look to the origins of human nature to understand where power comes from. It comes from moving towards God and away from flesh and blood. The most potent power a man can possess is a sublimation of the sexual energy and a retention of the vital essence. The spirit is in complete contrast to the desires of the flesh, or desires that exist outside of the self. If you satisfy the body, you will remain hidden. If you satisfy the spirit, you will become great!  When Jesus went into the wilderness to be tempted, he told Satan that “Man does not live on bread alone, but on every word that comes out of the mouth of God.” His physical body broke down after 40 days of fasting, while simultaneously connecting to his Father in Heaven, the divine. Listening to God and following God, while turning away from the body will cause men to have the powers of God. A man follows a vision, through the power of his creative imagination, and brings it into being through faith. This is similar to a connection with God.

A leader articulates a vision through the power of imagination. This source of power does not rely on limiting patterns from the past, but comes from the infinite source. It is limitless, in the way that God is infinite. It will require unconventional behavior and extreme risk-taking. Jesus was continuously tested by religious leaders, which would have resulted in his death if he answered incorrectly. Before Hitler was anybody, he stormed a beerhall and declared his political philosophy while firing a gun into the ceiling. He was consequently imprisoned.

What sort of spirit would possess someone to make claims that would lead to their death? It is the transcendence of fear for what might happen to an earthly body, and an expression of the spiritual one. On more than one occasion, Hitler compared himself to Jesus, the savior of Germany. These claims would be ludicrous, if they did not come true, and Jesus would be a liar, if he did not rise from the dead.

Why do crowds respond to these individuals? Freud thought that the moral center of consciousness is overridden by a crowd controlled by a charismatic leader. When we become part of a crowd, we lose our sense of self and become unrestricted, and free. On a primitive level, people desire to be a part of crowds, to give up cognitive control, and allow a charismatic leader to be in control. This contrast of wanting control and wanting to give up control is an element of human nature. It is most obviously an expression of the sexual energy that desires both bondage and submission. It is man’s desire for adventure and security, which is in constant conflict with each other. Desires are always in conflict. They originate from the earthly body. To overcome desire, one must give up desire, and follow God, and all of the things of the earth will be added unto you.

Chapter 3 The longer something lives, the longer it has to become evil…

The sky was threatening, pink with purple flush, like a whirlpool of clouds, funneling into heaven.

“Oh Greg, you’re here.”

Gregson looked at his mother, her peppered-white hair, and smile that lit-up the dark clouds floating above the family.

“Jon wants to talk to you,” she said. “He has something to give you. Is this your girlfriend?”

“No, this is my attorney. Now, I’ll let you talk.”

Gregson walked through the tall grass, jumping with ticks and crawling with coral snakes. It was good to be home.


“That’s your birthday present.” Jon pointed to a double-barrel shotgun resting on the bed of his beat-up pickup truck. There were four flounder fish and two dead ducks lying next to it.

“Just put the shells in here, like so?” Gregson asked.

“Yeah. I shouldn’t have to tell you.”

“This is a woman’s gun.”

“Do you know a lot about shotguns?”

“No… I know a few things about women.”

“Then, maybe you can help me understand your sister better?”

“I don’t think so. She’s impossible to figure out. You like to solve problems, and you married a big one.”

“That’s no way to talk about your sister.”

“What’s that?” The chocolate lab was swimming after a dead duck floating in the bayou.

“Third times the charm.”

“Not the duck or the dog, but that.” Gregson pointed out to sea. An enormous scaley tail from the blue water swam into the black.”

“That’s a croc!”

“You’re going to lose a dog.”

“Can you run an outboard?”


“Well, gun it!”

Gregson got into the rear and Jon stood in the front with his double barrels ready, gaining on the dog.


“I hit the bastard!”

“The dog?”

“No, the croc, and he’s bugging out. Now, slip your hand over the side and grab his collar.”

Gregson’s arm touched the water, and the croc went under. The dog jumped into the boat without encouragement, and they quickly turned it around. That’s when the head emerged, twice the width of their craft, with amber eyes, prehistoric, and malevolent.

“The longer something lives, the longer it has to become evil. If it’s true for a man; it’s true for that croc,” Gregson said.

Introduction to Dark Energy

This book is written for the man who does not feel like a man. Perhaps, people have told you what a man is, but agreeing with them has not brought you closer to understanding yourself. The premise of this books suggests that man has forgotten who he is, and the “why?” is not so important as helping him to get back to who he might become. It is the writer’s belief that man can be optimized. He is a spiritual being made in the image of God and crippled by a culture that celebrates passions that weaken him. The notion of a “superman” is incorrect; man must know how he can get back to who he was originally meant to be. By society’s standards this will make any man who learns the principles in this book a “superman” revered and hated. Most won’t choose this path. So, what is the attraction of becoming a man? It is not to serve society. It is not to serve one’s self. But it is to devote one’s self to a purpose. This book is unorthodox. It will focus on great men of history, most of them being classically termed evil. This book does not wish to celebrate evil, but to help ordinary men understand why some evil men possess extraordinary powers. There are good men with power, but these examples run the risk of being clouded by the good character of these men. This book is focused on power. Not power over others. Not manipulation. But inner strength, boldness, faith, charisma, influence, and persistence—all the traits that seem to be lacking in the well-ordered corporate world where men fear losing their jobs and succumb to following the rules. They have been taken so far away from who they were meant to be as predators, warriors, and leaders, that the man is barely recognizable. He does what people tell him to do because he is unable to direct himself, independently from society.

Why is it that good citizens willingly follow evil men? Could it be that these men of power tell the naïve what they want to hear? And what does that say about so called “good people” when these leaders appeal to their inner narcissism rooted deep within their own human nature? We must admit we are good and evil, and the forces that govern our behavior are not good, but simply forces. Jim Jones, the leader of People’s Temple appealed to social justice, as a philosophy to unite followers of different backgrounds. Hitler united Germany before trying to take over the world. Before that, he was a failed artist and vagabond. So, how do men like this, rise to power from seemingly out of nowhere? How could a bum on the streets of Seattle become President of the United States when previously being incarcerated? I propose it has to do with tapping into hidden energies or primitive technologies of mind. The progressive world dismisses anything that is ten years old as being out of date and backwards. I propose that religions and cultural traditions hold truths about human nature that will allow men to rise to power when they are optimized. This book is about revealing the wisdom that has been hidden from the modern man, and showing him how obscure nobodies rose to power because they stumbled onto historic truths.