First there were storms, and with them came cyclones. Then the sky cleared, and there were earthquakes. Then the skies turned to grey and we could see in the distance a wall of water, a wave higher than mountains. It was miles offshore and seemed frozen in time, but it was moving faster than anyone could imagine. It was inevitability incarnate. It would drown the world of men.
Some people fought, some people fucked. Some took their lives, some fled the coast though they knew it was futile. The wave was the end, and we could literally see the end approaching. We were forced to come to terms with our mortality and the destruction of everything we knew. Most broke down, went mad. Their world was material, their self was distinct. Loss of both was incomprehensible. Only the sages were at peace.
What will survive the end of the world? What will remain true when men are gone? These are the things we should put stock in. A philosophy that holds good only for the living will do no good when we are dead.
Paul Winter – And the Earth Spins || 1990/Earth: Voices of a Planet
Men know they are sexual exiles. They wander the earth seeking satisfaction, craving and despising, never content. There is nothing in that anguished motion for women to envy.
-Camille Paglia
Men are more creative than women. But let’s not start there; let’s start with sex.
Some time ago nature discovered it could vastly accelerate the process of evolution by dividing species into different sexes. One sex, the selector, would be the gatekeeper of reproduction. The other sex could now only reproduce via the selector. With one simple change the evolutionary pressure on a species effectively doubled. Survival of the individual no longer ensured survival of its DNA; if the male is not chosen to reproduce, he dies a different, more permanent death. On top of natural selection now lay sexual selection.
All the world’s a stage, and women are the audience. All our discoveries, accomplishments and works are offerings to the Goddess. Choose us. See what we’ve created, see what we’ve built. Choose us. Men have held many kinds of power, but sexual power – the power of reproduction – is the domain of women. Men only briefly participate in something women embody.
So men are more creative than women. Because if we don’t create, we die.
At no time in your training should you decide that your progress is “good enough” and elect to back off on your intensity to “maintain” your present level of size and strength. We have found that whenever this occurs, the inevitable result is a regression. We’re not sure why this is, but we have witnessed this phenomenon enough to conclude that the body needs a continual challenge.
-Doug McGuff/John Little
The above quote refers to weight training. Couldn’t you say the same about life? We dream of reaching a point where pain, stress and struggle are behind us, but such a point would mean our death. Literally. Life isn’t a task that can be accomplished or a goal that can be reached. Life is a continual process of catabolism and anabolism, a continual process of challenge and the successes and failures that result. Without progress we regress.
As of now I’m self-employed, and I plan to be for as far ahead as I care to plan. When you’re self-employed you pay twice as much in taxes, you don’t get a 401k, you don’t get cheap insurance, and you don’t get a pension. People don’t want you to be self-employed. They’ll remind you that you need those things to have a comfortable retirement.They get a little worried when you tell them you don’t give a shit about a comfortable retirement.
Most people work safe, incorporated jobs for 40-odd years, saving up their sick days to take a three-week vacation one year. Retirement’s the carrot on the stick, the milk and honey for a lifetime of work. And then they spend most of it sleeping and watching TV. Sure, I could do that. Or I could live like I do now.
I have an extremely low cost of living, mostly because I’m not in debt and I don’t feel the need to buy useless shit or throw money into funnels like smartphones and mixed drinks. I live in a gorgeous area where everything I need is within biking distance. I’ve mastered a skill that allows me to earn money without a college degree. If I want, I can pay the bills working 30 hours a month. If I feel like saving up for something worthwhile like a month-long road trip, I’ll work a little more. I love what I do, so I don’t mind if I have to work three hours a day.
Sure, I could work 40 hours a week, make twice as much. Math: that’s a 400% increase in labor for a 100% increase in earnings. Besides, I don’t need the money. Nothing I want costs $20,000. I’ve got no desire to buy a house. If I want, I could do this for the rest of my life. If I felt like it I could save for retirement. I could get a Roth IRA; $100 a month would make me a millionaire by seventy. The thought makes me laugh – I’d have even less use for a million dollars at that age than I would now. Nope, I’m not doing either of things, not now. I don’t give a shit about retirement.
What’s retirement, anyway? Twenty years of not working with a little travel thrown in? That sounds exactly like what I’m doing now, only I’m in the prime of my life when I can truly appreciate it. I don’t need anything a retirement has to offer; I have it already. Everything I want to be doing I’m doing. I’m pursuing my happiness in the present, not the future. I could die today with no regrets. I feel like I’ve lived. To have this for thirty, forty more years? So much life – the thought almost scares me.
I could go on living into old age, if I’m in good health and feel like sticking around for things. Still, those of us who make their mark on the world do it in youth and adulthood; rarely is something notable accomplished in senescence. Nor do I have any desire to linger on past my due; when my health, strength or mind reaches its limit, so do I. I look forward to dying as much as I look forward to living. After a life like this, I’ll be happy to retire permanently. That’s my retirement. Choose yours.
Brokenchord – A Girl of 13 Summers || 2011/A Girl of 13 Summers/Orion
The August God drew the blade from its sheath and moved towards the wolves. The man who was Wàngjì found himself breathing very heavily. To weep in front of the God-King was to show weakness in the presence of the highest order. He did not avert his eyes.
There were throngs of people on the hill; senators, retainers, priests, their robes flowing in the breeze, their jewels shining in the golden sun. No one spoke. The blade flashed and the first of the wolves fell. The remaining two sat on the grass, panting. They had not seen, or did not understand. The hand of the God showed neither mercy nor hatred, for he was beyond men. When the three wolves lay motionless, he turned to the man on the hill. The man was shaking. He was tall, and heavily muscled, and his hair was long. He was a fine specimen of man, but there was a great fear in his eyes. He bowed his head.
The blade flashed, slicing off the top of the man’s scalp, sparing the brain. There was a short silence, and then the man jerked back with a scream. He would not have a quick death. Quickly the August God moved, catching the man’s face in his hand, carving off his lips and nose with the blade. The screams were constant now, and blood began to run down the hill. The man who was Wàngjì felt his stomach turn, his heart pound in his chest. Slowly he rose to his feet, gathering his robes.
