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Does Henry Rollins juice
- Thread starter gjohnson5
- Start date
DannoMight
New member
he seems angry.
string_bean00
New member
his neck is pretty yoked
javaguru
Banned
Watch GJohnsons vid....I really don't think he has based on his physique/opinions but you could be right.msam76 said:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Henry_rollins
S
Spartacus
Guest
Iron by Henry Rollins
I believe that the definition of definition is reinvention. To not be like your parents. To not be like your friends. To be yourself. Completely. When I was young I had no sense of myself. All I was, was a product of all the fear and humiliation I suffered. Fear of my parents. The humiliation of teachers calling me "garbage can" and telling me I'd be mowing lawns for a living. And the very real terror of my fellow students. I was threatened and beaten up for the color of my skin and my size. I was skinny and clumsy, and when others would tease me I didn't run home crying, wondering why. I knew all too well.
I was there to be antagonized. In sports I was laughed at. A spaz. I was pretty good at boxing but only because the rage that filled my every waking moment made me wild and unpredictable. I fought with some strange fury. The other boys thought I was crazy. I hated myself all the time. As stupid at it seems now, I wanted to talk like them, dress like them, carry myself with the ease of knowing that I wasn't going to get pounded in the hallway between classes. Years passed and I learned to keep it all inside.
I only talked to a few boys in my grade. Other losers. Some of them are to this day the greatest people I have ever known. Hang out with a guy who has had his head flushed down a toilet a few times, treat him with respect, and you'll find a faithful friend forever. But even with friends, school sucked. Teachers gave me hard time. I didn't think much of them either.
Then came Mr. Pepperman, my advisor. He was a powerfully built Vietnam veteran, and he was scary. No one ever talked out of turn in his class. Once one kid did and Mr. P. lifted him off the ground and pinned him to the blackboard. Mr. P. could see that I was in bad shape, and one Friday in October he asked me if I had ever worked out with weights. I told him no. He told me that I was going to take some of the money that I had saved and buy a hundred-pound set of weights at Sears. As I left his office, I started to think of things I would say to him on Monday when he asked about the weights that I was not going to buy. Still, it made me feel special. My father never really got that close to caring.
On Saturday I bought the weights, but I couldn't even drag them to my mom's car. An attendant laughed at me as he put them on a dolly. Monday came and I was called into Mr. P.'s office after school. He said that he was going to show me how to work out. He was going to put me on a program and start hitting me in the solar plexus in the hallway when I wasn't looking. When I could take the punch we wouldknow that we were getting somewhere.
At no time was I to look at myself in the mirror or tell anyone at school what I was doing. In the gym he showed me ten basic exercises. I paid more attention than I ever did in any of my classes. I didn't want to blow it. I went home that night and started right in. Weeks passed, and every once in a while Mr. P. would give me a shot and drop me in the hallway, sending my books flying. The other students didn't know what to think. More weeks passed, and I was steadily adding new weights to the bar. I could sense the power inside my body growing. I could feel it.
Right before Christmas break I was walking to class, and from out of nowhere Mr. Pepperman appeared and gave me a shot in the chest. I laughed and kept going. He said I could look at myself now. I got home and ran to the bathroom and pulled off my shirt. I saw a body, not just the shell that housed my stomach and my heart. My biceps bulged. My chest had definition. I felt strong. It was the first time I can remember having a sense of myself. I had done something and no one could ever take it away.
You couldn't say s**t to me. It took me years to fully appreciate the value of the lessons I havelearned from the Iron. I used to think that it was my adversary, that I was trying to lift that which does not want to be lifted. I waswrong. When the Iron doesn't want to come off the mat, it's the kindest thing it can do for you. If it flew up and went through the ceiling, it wouldn't teach you anything. That's the way the Iron talks to you. It tells you that the material you work with is that which you will come to resemble.
That which you work against will always work against you. It wasn't until my late twenties that I learned that by working out I had given myself a great gift. I learned that nothing good comes without work and a certain amount of pain. When I finish a set that leaves me shaking, I know more about myself. When something gets bad, I know it can't be as bad as that workout. I used to fight the pain, but recently this became clear to me: pain is not my enemy; it is my call to greatness. But when dealing with the Iron, one must be careful to interpret the pain correctly. Most injuries involving the Iron come from ego.
I once spent a few weeks lifting weight that my body wasn't ready for and spent a few months not picking up anything heavier than a fork. Try to lift what you're not prepared to and the Iron will teach you a little lesson in restraint and self-control. I have never met a truly strong person who didn't have self-respect. I think a lot of inwardly and outwardly directed contempt passes itself off as self- respect: the idea of raising yourself by stepping on someone's shoulders instead of doing it yourself. When I see guys working out for cosmetic reasons, I see vanity exposing them in the worst way, as cartoon characters, billboards for imbalance and insecurity. Strength reveals itself through character. It is the difference between bouncers who get off strong-arming people and Mr.Pepperman.
Muscle mass does not always equal strength. Strength is kindness and sensitivity. Strength is understanding that your power is both physical and emotional. That it comes from the body and the mind. And the heart. Yukio Mishima said that he could not entertain the idea of romance if he was not strong. Romance is such a strong and overwhelming passion, a weakened body cannot sustain it for long. I have some of my most romantic thoughts when I am with the Iron.
Once I was in love with a woman. I thought about her the most when the pain from a workout was racing through my body. Everything in me wanted her. So much so that sex was only a fraction of my total desire. It was the single most intense love I have ever felt, but she lived far away and I didn't see her very often. Working out was a healthy way of dealing with the loneliness.
To this day, when I work out I usually listen to ballads. I prefer to work out alone. It enables me to concentrate on the lessons that the Iron has for me. Learning about what you're made of is always time well spent, and I have found no better teacher. The Iron had taught me how to live. Life is capable of driving you out of your mind. The way it all comes down these days, it's some kind of miracle if you're not insane. People have become separated from their bodies. They are no longer whole. I see them move from their offices to their cars and on to their suburban homes. They stress out constantly, they lose sleep, they eat badly. And they behave badly. Their egos run wild; they become motivated by that which will eventually give them a massive stroke. They need the Iron Mind.
Through the years, I have combined meditation, action, and the Iron into a single strength. I believe that when the body is strong, the mind thinks strong thoughts. Time spent away from the Iron makes my mind degenerate. I wallow in a thick depression. My body shuts down my mind. The Iron is the best antidepressant I have ever found. There is no better way to fight weakness than with strength. Once the mind and body have been awakened to their true potential, it's impossible to turn back.
The Iron never lies to you. You can walk outside and listen to all kinds of talk, get told that you're a god or a total bastard. The Iron will always kick you the real deal. The Iron is the great reference point, the all-knowing perspective giver. Always there like a beacon in the pitch black. I have found the Iron to be my greatest friend. It never freaks out on me, never runs. Friends may come and go. But two hundred pounds is always two hundred pounds. " -Henry Rollins
I believe that the definition of definition is reinvention. To not be like your parents. To not be like your friends. To be yourself. Completely. When I was young I had no sense of myself. All I was, was a product of all the fear and humiliation I suffered. Fear of my parents. The humiliation of teachers calling me "garbage can" and telling me I'd be mowing lawns for a living. And the very real terror of my fellow students. I was threatened and beaten up for the color of my skin and my size. I was skinny and clumsy, and when others would tease me I didn't run home crying, wondering why. I knew all too well.
I was there to be antagonized. In sports I was laughed at. A spaz. I was pretty good at boxing but only because the rage that filled my every waking moment made me wild and unpredictable. I fought with some strange fury. The other boys thought I was crazy. I hated myself all the time. As stupid at it seems now, I wanted to talk like them, dress like them, carry myself with the ease of knowing that I wasn't going to get pounded in the hallway between classes. Years passed and I learned to keep it all inside.
I only talked to a few boys in my grade. Other losers. Some of them are to this day the greatest people I have ever known. Hang out with a guy who has had his head flushed down a toilet a few times, treat him with respect, and you'll find a faithful friend forever. But even with friends, school sucked. Teachers gave me hard time. I didn't think much of them either.
Then came Mr. Pepperman, my advisor. He was a powerfully built Vietnam veteran, and he was scary. No one ever talked out of turn in his class. Once one kid did and Mr. P. lifted him off the ground and pinned him to the blackboard. Mr. P. could see that I was in bad shape, and one Friday in October he asked me if I had ever worked out with weights. I told him no. He told me that I was going to take some of the money that I had saved and buy a hundred-pound set of weights at Sears. As I left his office, I started to think of things I would say to him on Monday when he asked about the weights that I was not going to buy. Still, it made me feel special. My father never really got that close to caring.
On Saturday I bought the weights, but I couldn't even drag them to my mom's car. An attendant laughed at me as he put them on a dolly. Monday came and I was called into Mr. P.'s office after school. He said that he was going to show me how to work out. He was going to put me on a program and start hitting me in the solar plexus in the hallway when I wasn't looking. When I could take the punch we wouldknow that we were getting somewhere.
At no time was I to look at myself in the mirror or tell anyone at school what I was doing. In the gym he showed me ten basic exercises. I paid more attention than I ever did in any of my classes. I didn't want to blow it. I went home that night and started right in. Weeks passed, and every once in a while Mr. P. would give me a shot and drop me in the hallway, sending my books flying. The other students didn't know what to think. More weeks passed, and I was steadily adding new weights to the bar. I could sense the power inside my body growing. I could feel it.
Right before Christmas break I was walking to class, and from out of nowhere Mr. Pepperman appeared and gave me a shot in the chest. I laughed and kept going. He said I could look at myself now. I got home and ran to the bathroom and pulled off my shirt. I saw a body, not just the shell that housed my stomach and my heart. My biceps bulged. My chest had definition. I felt strong. It was the first time I can remember having a sense of myself. I had done something and no one could ever take it away.
You couldn't say s**t to me. It took me years to fully appreciate the value of the lessons I havelearned from the Iron. I used to think that it was my adversary, that I was trying to lift that which does not want to be lifted. I waswrong. When the Iron doesn't want to come off the mat, it's the kindest thing it can do for you. If it flew up and went through the ceiling, it wouldn't teach you anything. That's the way the Iron talks to you. It tells you that the material you work with is that which you will come to resemble.
That which you work against will always work against you. It wasn't until my late twenties that I learned that by working out I had given myself a great gift. I learned that nothing good comes without work and a certain amount of pain. When I finish a set that leaves me shaking, I know more about myself. When something gets bad, I know it can't be as bad as that workout. I used to fight the pain, but recently this became clear to me: pain is not my enemy; it is my call to greatness. But when dealing with the Iron, one must be careful to interpret the pain correctly. Most injuries involving the Iron come from ego.
I once spent a few weeks lifting weight that my body wasn't ready for and spent a few months not picking up anything heavier than a fork. Try to lift what you're not prepared to and the Iron will teach you a little lesson in restraint and self-control. I have never met a truly strong person who didn't have self-respect. I think a lot of inwardly and outwardly directed contempt passes itself off as self- respect: the idea of raising yourself by stepping on someone's shoulders instead of doing it yourself. When I see guys working out for cosmetic reasons, I see vanity exposing them in the worst way, as cartoon characters, billboards for imbalance and insecurity. Strength reveals itself through character. It is the difference between bouncers who get off strong-arming people and Mr.Pepperman.
Muscle mass does not always equal strength. Strength is kindness and sensitivity. Strength is understanding that your power is both physical and emotional. That it comes from the body and the mind. And the heart. Yukio Mishima said that he could not entertain the idea of romance if he was not strong. Romance is such a strong and overwhelming passion, a weakened body cannot sustain it for long. I have some of my most romantic thoughts when I am with the Iron.
Once I was in love with a woman. I thought about her the most when the pain from a workout was racing through my body. Everything in me wanted her. So much so that sex was only a fraction of my total desire. It was the single most intense love I have ever felt, but she lived far away and I didn't see her very often. Working out was a healthy way of dealing with the loneliness.
To this day, when I work out I usually listen to ballads. I prefer to work out alone. It enables me to concentrate on the lessons that the Iron has for me. Learning about what you're made of is always time well spent, and I have found no better teacher. The Iron had taught me how to live. Life is capable of driving you out of your mind. The way it all comes down these days, it's some kind of miracle if you're not insane. People have become separated from their bodies. They are no longer whole. I see them move from their offices to their cars and on to their suburban homes. They stress out constantly, they lose sleep, they eat badly. And they behave badly. Their egos run wild; they become motivated by that which will eventually give them a massive stroke. They need the Iron Mind.
Through the years, I have combined meditation, action, and the Iron into a single strength. I believe that when the body is strong, the mind thinks strong thoughts. Time spent away from the Iron makes my mind degenerate. I wallow in a thick depression. My body shuts down my mind. The Iron is the best antidepressant I have ever found. There is no better way to fight weakness than with strength. Once the mind and body have been awakened to their true potential, it's impossible to turn back.
The Iron never lies to you. You can walk outside and listen to all kinds of talk, get told that you're a god or a total bastard. The Iron will always kick you the real deal. The Iron is the great reference point, the all-knowing perspective giver. Always there like a beacon in the pitch black. I have found the Iron to be my greatest friend. It never freaks out on me, never runs. Friends may come and go. But two hundred pounds is always two hundred pounds. " -Henry Rollins
S
Spartacus
Guest
"That's the way the Iron talks to you. It tells you that the material you work with is that which you will come to resemble."
"Most injuries involving the Iron come from ego."
"When I see guys working out for cosmetic reasons, I see vanity exposing them in the worst way, as cartoon characters, billboards for imbalance and insecurity."
"Most injuries involving the Iron come from ego."
"When I see guys working out for cosmetic reasons, I see vanity exposing them in the worst way, as cartoon characters, billboards for imbalance and insecurity."
S
Spartacus
Guest
By A. Russell.
A personal tale of how I discovered individualist freedom in a world of conformist collectivism.
You have probably seen them, skulking around the city doing their best to look as horribly depressed as they can. You may even laugh at them, or think that they cut themselves or worship the devil. If you are of the evangelical persuasion, you will probably demand that they accept your religion or they will spend their lives burning in the fires of hell. Either way, you observe this strange species, his or her (trust me, its hard to tell) meticulously done black eyeliner, painted fingernails and wonderfully elaborate clothes of black velvet/leather. As they sit there, bemoaning their angst/latest personal crisis/latest breakup with a sex partner you probably snicker and forget them, merely leaving them as a sideshow odditty.
The Suburban Goth/Freak/Punk/Rivethead/Glamrocker/Cyberhead or whatever label you can think of is the species I am talking about. Hated at school, unpopular amongst any group and worrisome to their normally suburban middle-class parents, they are seen as a peril to society. They only exist to politicians when a school shooting takes place, and even then only the militant religious conservatives go kicking them about as a political football. However, these strange creatures of the night are actually the natural allies of Libertarianism and Capitalism, although many of them do not know it yet.
I am one of these freaks. I have practically monopolised Brisbane's supply of black, red and purple business shirts. I listen to underground electro music (not techno) from an American record label that you have never heard of (Metropolis Records, www.metropolis-records.com) and I am a male that wears makeup (although I find females very sexually appealing). If I ever show up at one of the ALS dinners, im the guy in the top hat and/or pinstriped pants and/or the two-toned mascara. You may all think of me as some demented Marxist at first, but suprise suprise, I support Laissez-Faire (or coming very close to it) Free Markets.How did I reach this situation? When one is indoctrinated with such bilge as "Capitalism creates conformism, and you are unpopular because of Capitalism" it is very hard to be a Freak for Free Markets.
I was always an Individual. I decided not to conform. I decided to be myself. A note to all parents reading this: Telling your children that "people will like you if you be yourself" is nothing less than shameless deceit. Either way, I wanted to be myself. I decided not to lie and cover up who I was. In embracing my individuality, I committed social suicide and damned myself to having my head flushed down the toilet, my lunch money stolen, and having religious conservatives telling me to accept Jesus. My response to the latter was usually an enthusiastic, if blasphemous, 'F*** Jesus Christ'. I saw through the lies perpetuated by the group, all of these being mechanisms of control. The first of these was religion, which by its very nature demands unquestioning conformity. The second of these was Society, which is merely a construct of individuals, yet for some reason, held precedence over its members. After I rejected society, I rejected higher powers. I decided to live for myself. I decided to enthrone Andrew Russell on the throne that 'God' once defiled. I placed by purpose in life into this world. As a result, I had become what Neitszche would have called the Ubermensch/Overman, I destroyed God, re-evaluated old ideas and traditions, and overcame nihilism. I now had a will to power, where I could create my own values and ethics, and that I did.
As I raged against the tyrranny of the collective and tried to free others from its iron grip, I eventually reached my last two years of purgatory/high school. I began studying economics, and over those two years, I began to convert to Laissez-Faire Chicago School Free Market Capitalism. It was cemented in my soul when I doscovered the website of the United States Libertarian Party, the only American Political Party that sounded remotely sane. After reading their literature and analysing it with the strict economic reasoning that had been given to me by years of note taking and drawing Demand/Supply analysis graphs, I discovered the fundamental truth behind economics. Specifically, everyone is better off when they are free to make their own choices without being annoyed by bureaucrats. It was like an epiphany to see this made real, and to see the transparency of the Trendy Left's arguments.
However, I was left with two vastly contrasting doctrines. Remember, I was taught from a young age that Capitalism was synonymous with banning drugs, censoring media, being a racist and protesting Marilyn Manson concerts. I was then told that equality of races and genders, freedom of thought and the legalisation of drugs were embodied within Socialism. I felt like a political schizophrenic, and a paranoid one at that. Even though I supported Libertarianism, I never knew how "economically right-wing and socially left-wing" could be logically reconciled with my non-conformist views. I was trained to belive that my black-painted fingernails were Marxist! Eventually, however, I combined my hatred of conformism with my love of Capitalism into my own personal ethical system of Individualist Egoism. For helping me bridge the gap, I must thank Ayn Rand and Objectivism.
The answer was right in front of my eyes all along, especially since I had a copy of Atlas Shrugged in my bookcase. Command Economics is like conformism. In both cases, the average is exhalted and the outstanding is despised. In both situations, difference is seen as a hazzard and in both situations, the group was seen as more important than the individuals that made it up. The link was simple, and although I technically made it before I read Rand, I never saw it. I had denied external authority. I had denied society. I had denied god. I had enthroned myself, and hence my own self interest, as my object of devotion. Thanks to Ayn Rand, it all made sense. Capitalism was the will of the individual applied to economics. Capitalism wasn't about skyscrapers or advancing society. It was about empowering the individual and applauding his achievement, and better still, the system benefitted everyone. Individuals, supreme over their own affairs, and I, with a renewed sense of vigour, began celebrating my individuality. I picked up my eye pencil with the same vigour as I would imagine John Galt picking up his pen to sign a contract.
I saw the world nowm torn between two opposing forces. The first was the forces of the group, demanding unquestioning conformity to their whims. They demanded the greatest good for the greatest number and the destruction of the individual ego. The second was the force of Individuality, which said that I am an end in myself. It was the force of true rebellion, running through history. I saw figures ranging from Ayn Rand and Frederich Neitszche to Anton LaVey and Marilyn Manson, telling me that I could be myself and not a pawn of the masses. Just for the record, I was not on LSD at the time.
And that is why Captialism is the system of the individual. I embraced it wholeheartedly and I now vigorously defend it from the attacks of the student left (hypocritical trendy-lefties with no taste in coffee or clothing). What does my story mean to Libertarianism? What does it mean to all who belive in the Individual? It means this; when you see a freak in the city, or you see a strange kid being picked on in school, don't hate them. Tell them that you support their aesthetic choices. Tell them that Captialism is not slavery to the whims of the group (and in fact, its the total opposite). On an ethical level, freaks and outcasts are the natural allies of libertarianism. Dont be afraid of them merely because the boys wear more makeup than the girls.
A personal tale of how I discovered individualist freedom in a world of conformist collectivism.
You have probably seen them, skulking around the city doing their best to look as horribly depressed as they can. You may even laugh at them, or think that they cut themselves or worship the devil. If you are of the evangelical persuasion, you will probably demand that they accept your religion or they will spend their lives burning in the fires of hell. Either way, you observe this strange species, his or her (trust me, its hard to tell) meticulously done black eyeliner, painted fingernails and wonderfully elaborate clothes of black velvet/leather. As they sit there, bemoaning their angst/latest personal crisis/latest breakup with a sex partner you probably snicker and forget them, merely leaving them as a sideshow odditty.
The Suburban Goth/Freak/Punk/Rivethead/Glamrocker/Cyberhead or whatever label you can think of is the species I am talking about. Hated at school, unpopular amongst any group and worrisome to their normally suburban middle-class parents, they are seen as a peril to society. They only exist to politicians when a school shooting takes place, and even then only the militant religious conservatives go kicking them about as a political football. However, these strange creatures of the night are actually the natural allies of Libertarianism and Capitalism, although many of them do not know it yet.
I am one of these freaks. I have practically monopolised Brisbane's supply of black, red and purple business shirts. I listen to underground electro music (not techno) from an American record label that you have never heard of (Metropolis Records, www.metropolis-records.com) and I am a male that wears makeup (although I find females very sexually appealing). If I ever show up at one of the ALS dinners, im the guy in the top hat and/or pinstriped pants and/or the two-toned mascara. You may all think of me as some demented Marxist at first, but suprise suprise, I support Laissez-Faire (or coming very close to it) Free Markets.How did I reach this situation? When one is indoctrinated with such bilge as "Capitalism creates conformism, and you are unpopular because of Capitalism" it is very hard to be a Freak for Free Markets.
I was always an Individual. I decided not to conform. I decided to be myself. A note to all parents reading this: Telling your children that "people will like you if you be yourself" is nothing less than shameless deceit. Either way, I wanted to be myself. I decided not to lie and cover up who I was. In embracing my individuality, I committed social suicide and damned myself to having my head flushed down the toilet, my lunch money stolen, and having religious conservatives telling me to accept Jesus. My response to the latter was usually an enthusiastic, if blasphemous, 'F*** Jesus Christ'. I saw through the lies perpetuated by the group, all of these being mechanisms of control. The first of these was religion, which by its very nature demands unquestioning conformity. The second of these was Society, which is merely a construct of individuals, yet for some reason, held precedence over its members. After I rejected society, I rejected higher powers. I decided to live for myself. I decided to enthrone Andrew Russell on the throne that 'God' once defiled. I placed by purpose in life into this world. As a result, I had become what Neitszche would have called the Ubermensch/Overman, I destroyed God, re-evaluated old ideas and traditions, and overcame nihilism. I now had a will to power, where I could create my own values and ethics, and that I did.
As I raged against the tyrranny of the collective and tried to free others from its iron grip, I eventually reached my last two years of purgatory/high school. I began studying economics, and over those two years, I began to convert to Laissez-Faire Chicago School Free Market Capitalism. It was cemented in my soul when I doscovered the website of the United States Libertarian Party, the only American Political Party that sounded remotely sane. After reading their literature and analysing it with the strict economic reasoning that had been given to me by years of note taking and drawing Demand/Supply analysis graphs, I discovered the fundamental truth behind economics. Specifically, everyone is better off when they are free to make their own choices without being annoyed by bureaucrats. It was like an epiphany to see this made real, and to see the transparency of the Trendy Left's arguments.
However, I was left with two vastly contrasting doctrines. Remember, I was taught from a young age that Capitalism was synonymous with banning drugs, censoring media, being a racist and protesting Marilyn Manson concerts. I was then told that equality of races and genders, freedom of thought and the legalisation of drugs were embodied within Socialism. I felt like a political schizophrenic, and a paranoid one at that. Even though I supported Libertarianism, I never knew how "economically right-wing and socially left-wing" could be logically reconciled with my non-conformist views. I was trained to belive that my black-painted fingernails were Marxist! Eventually, however, I combined my hatred of conformism with my love of Capitalism into my own personal ethical system of Individualist Egoism. For helping me bridge the gap, I must thank Ayn Rand and Objectivism.
The answer was right in front of my eyes all along, especially since I had a copy of Atlas Shrugged in my bookcase. Command Economics is like conformism. In both cases, the average is exhalted and the outstanding is despised. In both situations, difference is seen as a hazzard and in both situations, the group was seen as more important than the individuals that made it up. The link was simple, and although I technically made it before I read Rand, I never saw it. I had denied external authority. I had denied society. I had denied god. I had enthroned myself, and hence my own self interest, as my object of devotion. Thanks to Ayn Rand, it all made sense. Capitalism was the will of the individual applied to economics. Capitalism wasn't about skyscrapers or advancing society. It was about empowering the individual and applauding his achievement, and better still, the system benefitted everyone. Individuals, supreme over their own affairs, and I, with a renewed sense of vigour, began celebrating my individuality. I picked up my eye pencil with the same vigour as I would imagine John Galt picking up his pen to sign a contract.
I saw the world nowm torn between two opposing forces. The first was the forces of the group, demanding unquestioning conformity to their whims. They demanded the greatest good for the greatest number and the destruction of the individual ego. The second was the force of Individuality, which said that I am an end in myself. It was the force of true rebellion, running through history. I saw figures ranging from Ayn Rand and Frederich Neitszche to Anton LaVey and Marilyn Manson, telling me that I could be myself and not a pawn of the masses. Just for the record, I was not on LSD at the time.
And that is why Captialism is the system of the individual. I embraced it wholeheartedly and I now vigorously defend it from the attacks of the student left (hypocritical trendy-lefties with no taste in coffee or clothing). What does my story mean to Libertarianism? What does it mean to all who belive in the Individual? It means this; when you see a freak in the city, or you see a strange kid being picked on in school, don't hate them. Tell them that you support their aesthetic choices. Tell them that Captialism is not slavery to the whims of the group (and in fact, its the total opposite). On an ethical level, freaks and outcasts are the natural allies of libertarianism. Dont be afraid of them merely because the boys wear more makeup than the girls.
i-Supplements
New member
jerkbox said:
I love that flic! Seeing Arquette's beautiful breasts made it that much better!
S
Spartacus
Guest
yupblueta2 said:
we idolized him in his early black flag days
about a half dozen of us in the frat were already into punk music
and then I started lifting weights in march '82 and brought some guys into the fold
henry rollins was the only puck with size and "presence"
S
Spartacus
Guest
25 years of weight lifting
back then all we had was caffeine and it's coffee delivery system
some protein powders
that's it
back then all we had was caffeine and it's coffee delivery system
some protein powders
that's it
