Tag: Personal Goals

Happiness is a Warm Gun

I see the colors changing.

I’m finally realizing that life is like a giant kaleidoscope with its plethora of color and its fading blur to brilliant clarity. In amongst all of the chaos is everyone we know, everyone we have known. For a reason or for a season the experiences wilth these particular people influence us a great deal.

I have finally removed the negative aspects from my life. Most of the time my brutal honesty gets me in trouble. I feel I have nothing to hide even though this tends to scare the vast majority of people off.          

Of course I will not share many of my dreams with a whole lot of people because friends, strangers, and most of humanity will try to bring us down. They will tell us that our goals are unattainable, that we will inevitably fail. The people that tell we will succeed,  we keep closer or we regard as friend or at the very least we regard them in a positive light.

You see, I firmly believe the reason people put us down is not simply to put us down. It is their morose attitude towards our dreams because their dreams have failed them for whatever reason. They feel too old and too tired to move on and their dreams become stagnant.

   

Yesterday, I was fascinated by something I heard by two different individuals. Both were in their 40s and one of them is definitely not lacking in personality. Yet the boredom confused me a great deal. Sure, I have been bored at various times in my life but mostly because I hated the whole world. I let the malaise, the hatred, the general feeling of frustration, you know name it and if it was negative I somehow let it effect me. Boredom never though. I have too much to discover and explore and do. I will not give up like the rest of them. I will not be the drone the world expects and the world expects so many drones. They want us all to be drones.

The paradigms are shifting. The world is turning upside down. I can feel the light from certain people and it envelopes me. It effects me so much just like the negative. I sometimes feel it through every bone in my body. And then I smile.

   

I had forgotten what a smile was.

But back to the kaleidoscope. I have been through enough frustration to throw the whole kaleidoscope down to the ground. I tried to break it but it would not break. I always felt the light, the presence of something else inside of me. A shred of love, a shred of color. No matter the situation, we all still have the color inside of us, the love inside.

And that is all for now. Hope everyone has a Splendid Day, and may your hearts not be heavy and your cup somewhat full (at the very least).

 By SpaceDog

1/365

All through out My Life I’ve heard various People parrot the cliche “A Writer Writes” which is a pompous way of saying Never Stop Writing. I mean it sounds like something that a pretentious asshole like James Lipton would fucking regurgitate in an attempt to look Intellectual.

Also I never fails to astonish Me that People can’t seem to wrap Their fucking heads around the Fact that it doesn’t matter how fucking creative someone is CREATIVITY CAN NOT BE TURNED ON AND OFF at will like a fucking Light Switch for fucks sake. No to mention the ominous and every present Writer’s Block lingering over every writers shoulder just waiting to strike.

I know it’s called Writer’s Block but thats kind of bullshit. Writer’s Block is like being asked a question You damn well know You know the answer too, BUT Your mind goes completely Blank. Writer’s Block only gets worse like fucking Quicksand. Once You fall in the Harder You try to think/create Your way out of a Battle with Writer’s Block the more amnesia like it leaves You feeling.

Thats wasn’t My point though. My point is that this temporary creative paralysis can happen to EVERY TYPE OF ARTIST in the World NOT just Writers, but Painters, Sculptors, Graphic Designers, etc. Unfortunately They don’t make a Medication for Creative Impotence.

Fast forward to a few Days ago. I was driving around completing a list of Lives more mundane tasks (such as buying fucking Dog Food) and found Myself pondering the Principle behind the saying “Writers Write”. I started playing with My perception of the subject at that current time to see if I could get a better understanding. Then it suddenly occurred to Me perhaps that it wasn’t an Egotistical Statement but rather a Piece of Advice.

What if I simply took the saying Writers Write at Face fucking Value, and didn’t try to read shit into it (something have NO GREATER MEANING They are what They are and thats all They are) to find a deeper meaning or intellectually analyze it to the umpteenth degree?!

    

I believe as of now that the Point of this particular saying is You don’t have to Write a fucking Novel, or fucking Shakespearian Sonnet or a Super BlockBuster Screen Play on a Daily basis just because You’re a Writer. Basically don’t Pressure Yourself as Pressure Crushes Creativity.

Thats why I could never write for a Magazine or Newspaper (online or otherwise) because the Dead Lines would inevitably destroy the quality of My work, and more than likely My Health and Remaining Sanity as well.

Getting back to the Point that You don’t have to be Shackled to Premeditated Creative Ideas/Concepts (Large or Longterm Writing Projects) A Writer can just Write for the shear sake of Writing and the Enjoyment of doing so.

   

It also helps fight Procrastination since the number one cause of Creative Procrastination is Not having a /any Creative Subject Matter to work with. If You don’t have proper tools it makes Building something  not Impossible Yet it DOES make it Insanely fucking Harder as well as MUCH MORE Time/Soul Crushing for the Artist/Writer (I thinks its fucking Stupid that People “And Or” Writers and Artists. Writers are Artists and Artists can Tell Stories Through The Visual Art Mediums. They’re the SAME.)

I found this New view of the cliche saying “A Writer Writs” to no longer being a constrictive load of crap, and now found it quite Freeing. The idea of Writing again without the bullshit Drama like Deadlines, Writers Block, Assorted Outside Pressures, Continuing Creative Concerns, and all the other annoying/troubling  Hullababullshit.

   

So here’s the Deal I will be writing a Complete Story 1 Page a Day for the following Year. I have NO IDEA what it will be about or how it may or may not Evolve over the Span of a Year BUT, that’s the fucking Point isn’t it.  I’m just going to sit down, and start writing with NO FORETHOUGHT WHATSOEVER . The Literary equivalent to Throwing Paint at a Blank Canvas with Your Eyes Shut.

I will Start this Little Acid Test Tomorrow Wednesday March 27th 2019 as it is 2:23am as I’m writing this.

Thanks for Reading,

  Les Sober

Fat Shaming is Motivation You Fucking Cowards by Spacedog

It was 4 in the morning at the end of December, but the one thing I was not doing was writing a letter. I was a bit mortified of what stared back at me in the mirror. Mainly because it was a lot larger then I was used to. With a great deal of sloth and investments in GrubHub, I had packed on roughly 40 pounds in the past year. I wasn’t quite sure what I said about a year before that resulted in the great big “Fuck It” but it happened.

So as people began their New Years resolutions trying to better themselves, improving the world and living with more virtue the only thing that struck me was this. Let’s go all in. I wanted to see what would be like to be super fat. Well on the edge of morbidly obese that is. I decided to get started right away.

For the next month I wanted to see what it would take to do so. More then likely I probably ate roughly 6 months worth of food and consumed 2 years worth of alcohol compared to what I was accustomed to at my normal weight of 160. The goal was to pack on enough weight to hit 250. I ended up at 248 for a staggering gain of 28 pounds in one month. I tried hard at those last 2 pounds but honestly I felt horrid and miserable the entire time and needed it to end as soon as possible.

I cannot fathom how one would willfully ever decide to get this large on their own without going into a complete freak out panic mode. I literally was going into one the second week in. Sure if I had stayed drunk the entire 30 days, I probably could have gained more weight but I wanted to at least have some idea how these extreme excess weight made me feel and not be in some perpetual blackout.

The somewhat average weight and height of 5’10 and 200 pounds being a male in their late 30s gives one a certain anonymity. As I got slowly heavier and heavier it gave quite the opposite effect.  I got disdainful stares. I no longer could slink my way into doors at the convenience stores with people next to me. I no longer received the same niceties when frequenting retail establishments. I got stuck wedged between a toilet and a door on a bathroom floor. It goes on and on.

I signed up for a fatty cattle call hook-up meat market app called Bigger City. I really ginned up my profile, well instead of interests or anything interesting I just listed food. Instead of a headless torso, I just put up a picture of my giant ever-growing gut. Immediately I got 5 responses. I was a bit taken aback but willing to listen to what these “chasers” had to say. For those of you unfamiliar with gay slang, a chaser is someone that specifically desires a fatty. I will not bore you with the first 4 responses but the response number 5 was a humdinger.

Apparently, this is a thing. I shouldn’t be surprised that anything is a thing these days with the billions of people living in our world. I’m sure someone out there shits in their meatloaf and feeds it to their unsuspecting family or there is someone that only eats bagels they allow to soak in beer overnight. This man wanted me to come over and basically feed me copious amounts of food. I really thought about doing it for the sake of the blog but discomfort and a preference to feed actual whales rather then this whale being fed turned it a big hard NO.

Another harrowing encounter was at a nightclub. This was one I totally brought on myself early on evening before the drunken blackout occurred. I went with a sober friend to a local nightclub called The Raven. My goal. Attempt to find the hottest guy in there, preferable younger, to just make overt sexual advances at in the hopes of rejection. While being more of a local stop and less of a destination for perfect tens, I found someone that reasonably looked like a 9, though my sober friend said 7 or 8. Good enough I thought. I casually passed by and for the first time in my life I sorta made a half hearted “woof” sound at him. Personally, I think that gay mating call is not only retarded but like retard with an IQ of 70 so not like functioning retard.

It all happened quite quickly and fast after that. Much I do not remember. The drinks are quite strong at the Raven, enough so there is a 3 Long Island Ice Tea max and you are cut off. I’m pretty sure I must have been somewhere deep in my third. Anyway I’m not really sure what was said but eventually I go out for a cigarette with this guy after buying him a drink. He went into some winded diatribe about how I personally was what was wrong with the gay community and why would I ever think someone like him would ever consider a beached whale such as me. Now normally, this would leave me dejected but it was exactly what I was looking for. Mission accomplished. Thanks for the motivation green eyes.

So now that I am morbidly obese (I just barely made it at 35.4 BMI and probably higher body fat at least in the middle) it is time to cut out the bullshit. It really will not be that hard. While a bit disconcerting that I cannot really handle doing more then 5 minutes of my Insanity and Tapout DVDs nor 98 percent of the crossfit activities I am foaming at the mouth to do I kind of accept it. Losing weight is honestly the easiest thing in the world. I am completely fucking tired of people who moan and groan and bullshit about this all the time.

The worst are the ones who say, “I hardly eat.” Hi, if you are 300 pounds and staying that way and not bound to a wheelchair or on some shitty medicine then guess what you eat too much you gluttonous fuck. Get up, move. Shut your pie hole.

Even worse are the women who gab and gab and gab on the treadmill while walking at not even 3.0 mph, try 2 mph. If you are 500 pounds you or can barely walk you get a pass but seriously no pain no gain. If you do not bleed, do not sweat, do not get the chubrub thighs, or get a little bit angry move along. I hear the diner down the road has great cream pies.

I’ve done this before. Lost 60 pounds, gained 80, lost 100 gained 120. I am officially done with the seesaw. I wanted this time to be more dramatic though. I have personally visited three of my exes in the past week so they can experience the full glory of the horror. I want to smear myself in their faces when I am through. Well not really. It just is some great motivation. What good is it to do something completely dramatic if no one is there to bear witness. It is no fun indeed.

Anyway this is easy people. This isn’t finding your Romeo and Juliet soulmate. This isn’t searching for the ultimate orgasm. This isn’t auto fellatio on your tiny little dick. This isn’t going from a homeless mute to an Academy Award winning actor in less then a year. It is too fucking simple.

One last thing I’m actually no longer 248 pounds. Down to 233 now in a little under 3 weeks. I’ve entered a few cash weight loss competitions and sadly I may have to eat more then the 2000 calorie a day diet I am currently on as to not lose too much weight and get disqualified from one of them. It is a bit ironic that I may have to literally stuff my face again because I am doing too good of a job. I haven’t a drop of liquor in 3 weeks and fear I may have to drink quite a lot of rum to even have the desire to consume so much food. Life is not always fair, even for those who choose to thrive.

By SpaceDog