The Price of Genius

In the 33 Strategies of War, Robert Greene discusses how one's study of warfare must translate into practical application.  In order for it to truly work, you have to practice was it preached by the masters.

For years now, I have studied and applied the work of Robert Greene - and, more recently, Dr. HAHA Lung - to life's daily battles and struggles.

"Philosophy, as I have so far understood and lived it, means living voluntary among ice and high mountains, seeking out everything strange and questionable in existence, everything so far placed under a ban by morality.  The ice is near.  The solitude tremendous, but how serenely all things lie in the light.  How freely one breathes.  How much one feels lies beneath oneself."  (27:35 - 28:15.)

In a way, I see my life as a potential echo of Nietzsche's concept of eternal recurrence.   I can't help but imagine that Nietzsche would see my visions of the future as not just Ubermensch-like, but almost as redemption, almost as if he is going to vicariously experience greatness from the grave.  What other soul in human history deserves a dedication of this rise?  I am aware of none.

And so, having made my way up from the basement of the abyss, now approaching the gates of hell - ready to open them from the inside - I take a moment to look back at the demons that tortured me so thoroughly.  And I smirk and sneer at the same time.  Thank you.  I will not forget the lessons I learned down here.  


It is the height of wisdom for the tortured man to thank his tormentors for making him stronger, forcing him to evolve, and giving him the power to rise.  Pain sculpts the soul.  This is the price of genius.  So few are willing to pay the cost of this glory, for at first glance it seems equivalent to selling one's soul to the devil.  Rather, though, it is merely enduring his worst so that you can get the better of him.

In this moment, I feel a profound sense of gratitude and love for whoever and whatever it is that is responsible for the fact that I am going to be able to live out what most niggaz only dream about.

Ubermensch Warmup

Just getting warmed up...

I don't think I am; I know I am

The closer I get to my destination, the more I reflect upon my origins.  In college at 13, I never questioned the superiority of my intellect.  It was self-evident.  Not only did my professors themselves describe me as a genius, I could see for myself how my mind soared light years beyond my so-called peers.

I scored so many perfect scores in one of my mathematics courses that I earned 709 points in the class, and 700 were required for an A+.

Looking back on this, it almost puzzles me that - for the past several years - my self-belief has wavered and stood on shaky ground.  I say almost, because I do, in fact, know why it happened.

No need to go in-depth.  Life is harsh.  People say mean things.  The sting of failure - and the criticism (from voices within and without) that accompanies it - can prove fatal to self-confidence, and your sense of self.  At times, it seemed the destruction of my soul was so complete, that I wondered if I would ever regain hope, let alone return to my former glory.

Today, I realize that my former glory is but a shadow of what I am about to obtain.  The sharpness of my mind has returned with a vengeance that feels stronger than any force that has ever acted against my mind.  Psychologically speaking, my thoughts are images and words.  And at one point, those images and words seemed to revolve around defeat, and my inability to rise.

Friedrich Nietzsche asked:  Is it better to out-monster the monster, or to be quietly devoured?  

For the past several years, I have had the sense that I was being eaten alive, being nibbled to death by the words from small mouths attached to small minds.  It was almost as though I was infected by the mediocrity around me.

Most people will never understand what it feels like to close a six-figure deal, let alone make six figures in a year.  The opinions of such people remind me of the masses in The Matrix trilogy.   They are plugged into the system, and don't realize it.  So unaware, that they are unaware of how unaware they are.

The above video begins with Cornell West quoting Nietzsche:  "God is dead.  Love is dead."  This is one of Nietzsche's most infamous statements, which reflects one of his greatest ponderings:  Once you realize that the beliefs that you thoughtlessly accepted early in life are false, what do you do?  The answer, according to Nietzsche is that you do.  You will yourself to do the actions that are right.  What is right?  That is up to you.

Nietzsche's Ubermensch is a creature that is to man what man is to the ape.  He is the next step in the chain.  And as the video above so eloquently states, the Ubermensch is awake.  He is enLIGHTened, and we as see with Zarasthustra, living among the unenlightened is a nightmare for the Ubermensch.  But in despite this, he does not think he is, he knows he is.  He knows, he is the Ubermensch, and he wills to do what he is to do.  It is really that simple.  And it does not matter that the baying flock of sheeple doubt him, misunderstand him, and misinterpret him.  Like Zarasthustra, he knows that proper companions await him once he ri$es to prominence.  He knows that is fate is to be associated with a memory of something tremendous, as Nietzsche himself did.  He knows that this something will be "a crisis without equal on earth, a most profound collision of conscience, conjured up against everything that had been believed, demanded, hallowed so far."

Nietzsche was a brave soul.  I can only hope for his courage as I rise into the light.

This Song is For You

“I do not intend to tip-toe through life, only to arrive safely at death.”

I do not know who first penned this immortal phrase, but it sounds like a passage from one of Ayn Rand’s eloquent hymn’s to the greatness of human potential, glorious calls to arms that exalt the power of mind and body. Calls that fall on deaf ears.

Imagine yourself in a concert hall, listening to a beautiful symphony. Every note composed by the mind of a genius. Every forte, every pianissimo, every crescendo, every decrescendo, paying homage to all that is beautiful in man. Then you look around at the crowd in the hall and see the music fall on deaf ears. Fully functioning ears, but unable (or refusing) to hear the meaning in the music. They have fully functioning ears, but, like animals, cannot listen and understand. You have a sense that you are surrounded not by fellow men, but by walruses, wildebeests, and dogs. You know that they cannot appreciate what you do, and imagine them performing the only task possible to them - baying and barking mindlessly, loudly, with abandon. You cannot hear the music anymore. You find yourself wishing that this concert hall was your living room.

“It does not matter that only a few in each generation will grasp and achieve the full reality of man’s proper stature - and that the rest will betray it. It is those few that move the world and give life its meaning - and it is those few that I have always sought to address. The rest are no concern of mine; it is not me or The Fountainhead that they will betray: it is their own souls.”

So spoke Ayn Rand in the introduction of The Fountainhead.

Ayn Rand is one of the most widely read authors of our time. As such, her works have fallen on many a deaf ear - or many a blind eye, rather. For me to read this address is to hear the orchestra conductor say of the zoo in the audience: They are of no concern of mine. It is to have the symphony’s composer declare: On the road of life, as you sprint past the tip-toeing scaredy cats too afraid to live - and, thus, have already arrived at their intended destination (the coward dies 1,000 deaths, the adage goes) - pay them no heed. They are of no concern of yours. To you, the swift, the runners in the race, the leaders of the pack - this song is for you.

And what a perfect distillation of one of Objectivism‘s great edicts: Men do not share souls. In principle, every man abides in his own living room.

In Defense of the Creators

The following is a response to a friend of mine - a friend who happens to hold a master's degree in economics from one of the most prestigious universities on the planet - who stated that, in a capitalist system, only the creator benefits from his creation. 

When the thinking man creates, his fellows receive overwhelming benefits. In a free society, the wealthiest men do not carry the biggest guns or cry the largest pools of tears; they are the thinkers who think up the greatest ways to assist their fellow men. They earn their profit; they benefit by benefiting others.

The legitimate capitalist, unlike the statist and his "taxation", does not give the ultimatum: "Your money or your life;" he does not offer a stickup. Rather, he says, "How about your money for your life;" he offers a handshake. By this, he means that his product or service makes his customer's life better, happier, more full - or even longer; a capitalist benefits by benefiting others.

In some cases, the creator helps save human life. Consider the scientist who discovers a cure for a life-threatening disease. What sort of reason deprived mind would argue that only the discoverer of, say, cancer's cure, receives the benefits of the cure? Each of the millions of lives saved will beg to differ. For further clarification, the reasonless individual need only discuss the matter with the loved ones of the lives saved. Let him try to convince these people that "all of the benefits of creativity go only to the creator," and no one else.

A musician may create music without benefiting others, if he does not allow anyone to hear it. A businessman may run a venture without benefiting others, but not for long. Without income or customers, any business will bleed to death in the red. A creative man may exist without benefiting his fellows, only if he devotes himself to a life of hermitage - or if the statist gets his way and puts him in jail or a concentration camp, for having the gall to benefit by benefiting others.

Money is a tool of exchange and, in a rational society, it is exchanged for value. A fool and his money are lucky to get together in the first place, but a rational man and his dollar are not soon parted; when he spends, he thinks about it. It follows that he who amasses and earns great wealth offers great value. Besides those few "lucky" souls who play the lottery (the idiot tax) and win (usually just to lose it), who ever went from rags to riches by offering nothing?

Selfishness - rational selfishness - is not a mental straitjacket that traps a man inside his own wants and needs, making him bitterly and cynically self-exploitative, rendering him incapable of considering and taking into account the concerns and interests of other men. A properly selfish man, indeed, will put his interests first. If those interests entail creating wealth, perhaps he will start a business, conduct market research, find out what other people want and then advertise a fitting product or service on WIIFM radio (What's In It For Me?). If a rational, selfish, moral, free man sets out to benefit by benefiting others, a rational, selfish, moral, free society will reward him by bestowing wealth on him.

A rationally selfish man is not a misanthrope who puts "looking out for number one" at the top of his to-do list, then contemptuously scribbles every name he knows on an assassin's hit list. A rational society is not a "dog eat dog world" where men must "kill or be killed" and "eat or be eaten." It is the antithesis. It is the world of the right to agree or disagree, not agree or die. It is the land of the free and home of the brave, not of coercive cowards. It is voluntary trade, not force; handshakes, not stickups. This calls to mind Zig Ziglar's witticism: "You can have anything in this world if you just help others get what they want."

To blossom, a creative man only needs an environment of freedom. He merely needs other men to keep their hands off of him. He needs protection from the rotten pollution of statism, the creed that men are pawns in a chess game that the dictator or majority rule get to play. He needs protection from those who view people as sheeple, sacrificial human lambs to be herded by the self-declared shepherds of men. He needs others to recognize that he should benefit when he benefits others and that he benefits because he benefits others. And if his needs are not met, he needs to shrug.

My friend began by imploring me to understand that he is a "mouth and not a pen"; he prefers auditory discourse over textual debate. His contentions are built upon unchecked premises, and a misunderstanding of how men interact in a free society. Such arguments will always collapse, whether communicated by lips, pen or typewriter.

In Defense of Ayn Rand and her Defense of Capitalism

These few paragraphs were a response to an individual who had some misguided takes on Ayn Rand and her views on capitalism. One wonders if he ever capitalized on my clarification...

Ayn Rand defines capitalism as "a social system based on the recognition of individual rights, including property rights, in which all property is privately owned." An Objectivist advocates a society free from force, a true "laissez faire" system, where men (whether in private or government positions) cannot coerce one another. Instead, they trade volitionally and freely. Here, the government would not favor or hinder any man. The Objectivist views humans as people, rather than sheeple; he does not see man as a sacrificial animal to be bled dry. He does not see life as one great big hospital, where transfusions and transplants can be taken by force. He deplores, in Ayn Rand's words, "the infamy of paying with one life for the errors (or even accidents) of another." He does not seek to pay for Paul's mistakes, problems, poverty, and setbacks by robbing from Peter his achievement, success, money, life or liberty.

When the statist whines that "we are all in this together," the Objectivist shrugs. Of course, he embraces the benefits of, in the words of Isaac Newton, "standing on the shoulders of giants." He who trades with and learns from rational men will surely rise to admirable heights. Only a misanthrope would opt to live on an island, instead of amongst such men. However, the Objectivist rejects the idea that his achievement and wealth - a token of his successful trading with men - suddenly becomes a mortgage on his life; you have no moral sanction to tell him that he has "earned enough money," anymore than you have the right to say that he has had enough food to eat, breathed enough air, or lived enough life. Even if he has $100M, you have no right - with a sob story or a stickup - to demand one penny of his wealth. The same principle applies to one second of his life.

To attain equality of results, one must arbitrarily force down those who excel, while elevating those who do not.

In America, the haves pay the majority of the nation's taxes. The top 1% pay about one third, the top 5% pay about half, the top 10% pay about two thirds and the top half pays over 95%. Most people consider this just, because "the rich have enough money, anyway." Would these same people approve of foisting the loin's share of taxation on a specific group of people, based on terms other than income - say, religion? One wonders if these same moral heroes would advocate that Jews pay one third of taxes, as recompense for their choice of religion. Perhaps they champion a "black tax," where African Americans pay half of the nation's taxes, as a punishment for their genetic makeup. Why not? After all, the productive must pay their "debt to society," for having the gaucherie to produce. This is what Ayn Rand eloquently deems as "the hatred of the good for being the good."

To those who whine about the have-nots, and of "duty to our fellow man," the Objectivist says: Just because one man has a bleeding heart does not mean another should seek the help of a cardiologist. Any obligation the former feels is his issue and he has no right to draft the latter into a so-called "army of compassion."

When pulling yourself up by your own bootstraps, you cannot force anyone else to do the heavy lifting; the only helping hand you deserve by right is the one at the end of your own sleeve. However, the land where the term "bootstrapping" was coined is home to the most charitable people on the planet. According to the American Association of Fundraising Counsels, Americans annually give $200 billion to charity. It is important to note the difference between charity and digging into your fellow man's pockets with one hand, while holding a gun to his head with the other. Objectivism condones the former, but regards the latter as evil. 

So Close

Quietly dealing with the pain, biting my tongue, screaming "Ubermen$ch over everything" in my head.

I never knew that I would grow up to live out this twisted, beautiful story.

I didn't know that I would experience so much pain that I would want to die.

I didn't know that my loved ones were going to crucify me.

I didn't know that my life's circumstances would make me stand up with both middle-fingers raised and yell:  "Fuck you middle-class millionaires, with your wack ass businesses, and all the people who are impressed, idiotically confusing your mediocrity with superiority."

I didn't know that going to college so young would eliminate my childhood, and turn my adulthood into a resurrection movie.

I didn't know, while in the depths of hell, that God would smile down on me from the heavens.  I didn't know that right when it felt like I should give up, I would be filled with the power, light and glory of all the stars in all of the galaxies.

They have no idea that I will have the opportunity to conventrate the living fuck out of everyone and everything that dared to stand against me, that dared to do dirt behind my back, that dared to think that I would not rise all the way the fuck up - (FUCK all of Maya Angelou's poems by the way, I used to think they were special, but they're just nectar for the nitwitted masses) - and completely obliterate every vestige of my enemies.

They have no idea what's coming.  Some might think they know, but no one does.  When King Alexander and his army finally invaded the walled city of Tyre, it is said that his men were finally able to satiate the hatred and rage that had built up during the development of the siege.  So shall it be when this money comes in.  They have no idea what's coming.

You have no idea.

Success, by Berton Braley

If you want a thing bad enough To go out and fight for it,
Work day and night for it,
Give up your time and your peace and your sleep for it
If only desire of it

Makes you quite mad enough
Never to tire of it,
Makes you hold all other things tawdry and cheap for it

If life seems all empty and useless without it
And all that you scheme and you dream is about it,

If gladly you'll sweat for it,
Fret for it, Plan for it,
Lose all your terror of God or man for it,

If you'll simply go after that thing that you want.

With all your capacity, Strength and sagacity,
Faith, hope and confidence, stern pertinacity,

If neither cold poverty, famished and gaunt,
Nor sickness nor pain
Of body or brain
Can turn you away from the thing that you want,

If dogged and grim you besiege and beset it,

You'll get it!

Lose Yourself

There is raw power in this scene.

To truly appreciate that Jimmy found the strength to persevere in a moment like this, one has to really contemplate the weight of the pressure on his shoulders.  Seriously.  Think about the odds against this poor guy.  First, he has no family support.  His father is completely MIA, and his mother is a drunk whore.  Add to this the responsibility of providing for his baby sister, and you have a situation that plays itself out across America everyday.  Almost - almost - always, a guy does not rise from this situation.

But it gets worse.  His first love interest in the movie, Janine, claims to be pregnant and they breakup.  This forces Jimmy back to the house where he grew up, a very humiliating experience.  And it is there that he breaks out the pen and pad, jotting his lyrics, thoughtfully scribbling rhymes that so eloquently express such hard times.

And it gets even worse.  After he gets booed off stage, after one of his friends is shot, he keeps going.  He keeps fighting.  And after all of this, on his trip to the music studio, he finds his new love interest - played by the now-deceased Brittany Murphy - he finds out that she is not only running around town getting drunk with some nigga... he finds actual visual evidence that she's fuckin' this guy.  He walks in on it, and sees it with his own eyes.  The truly messed up part about this is that this is the same girl who looked him in his eyes and told him that he was going to be great, and helped him believe in himself.  And here she was, handing her pussy out to some lame, wack ass nigga not going anywhere in life.  As Jimmy whooped the dude's ass, whatever pain he felt in the moment was probably heavily outweighed by intense anger.

All of this should have broken the main character.  His so-called friends are nowhere in the same galaxy of talent, and their laziness, stupidity and lack of ambition clearly begin to bother and anger him.  Combined with the indignity and disrespect of seeing his girl fuckin' some dude... this is enough to psychologically cripple the man, enough to literally crush him emotionally.  In fact, it is difficult for me to imagine what could have possibly gone worse.  With friends like these, who needs enemies?  With loved ones like these, who needs haters?

A misunderstood, pissed off, betrayed, lonely, hurt, extremely talented genius focused on success.  That is the main character in this movie.  And what makes this scene so raw and powerful is the fact that we know how this story ends.  His circumstances do not crush him.  His enemies do not beat him.  His hoe's disloyalty does not flatten his soul, as it very well could have.  He does  not give up.  He refuses to lose, no matter what.  He fights and fights until the very end, until that glorious moment when all of the years of hard work pay off, when the light finally illuminates the darkness.

He went after the moment with everything in him.  He seized the "once in a lifetime opportunity," and he lost himself in the music.  Despite everything, he won.

That's why this scene is so raw and powerful.