I’ve been here before. For the 10,000th time I’m down to my last 2 grand. Most would say it’s dysfunctional. I say living life on someone else’s terms is dysfunctional.
Waltz into the coffee shop at 6am. Packed house. A liquid cigarette (espresso) slides into my hands. Tastes like motor oil. It makes me irritable. My first victory every morning is one over myself.
I’m at 2x the speed of every passerby. I’m a SPEARHEAD of purpose in a crowd of aimless wanderers. Daily occurrence. Strangers are constantly startled or jolted by my presence. I turn corners fast, I exit doors faster. Nitroglycerin in my veins.
I have a flight to catch. For the 4th time this week I’m flying into Las Vegas from Los Angeles with my net worth in my pocket.
As long as I have ammunition, I’m sending rockets into the abyss.
By 4pm, all my last cash will be in a straitjacket hitched to the outcome of multiple baseball games. I’m going all in. Hoping to get lucky. If I don’t, so be it. Luck only lends, never gives.
See, money doesn’t bring me peace of mind. My stronghold does. If I go broke, I’ll wake up a hellhound the next day and get right back into Olympic weightlifting, I’ll be at my steakhouse for dinner, I’ll make an appearance at the lounge.
My network is a zoo with exotic creatures. “Normal” people don’t make the rounds at these places.
I don’t take money seriously. I always have it because I always need it. I eat what I KILL.
I take my routine seriously. Take away my routine and nothing else is possible. It’s the Great Equalizer. It’s made me the creature that I am.
I don’t let rage combust inside me like dynamite in an apple core. I enslave my demons and make them push ridiculous amounts of weight. Don’t kill your demons. Put them to work.
Whatever damage your demons have dealt you, they deal double when unleashed on obstacles.
Understand that if you are not as physically strong as possible, you are leaving free health reserves on the table. You need all the health you can get for hardcore voyaging.
Strength is a narcotic. A perfectly strong man is a brutally simple creature. Everything else is play.
—-plane screeches down on the tarmac and I deplane like a thunderbolt from Zeus
I’m in the Holy City. There’s no sin here like the great myths say. Risk taking, sex, spirits, and smoke. Uncaged. Primal desires are virtuous, not sinful. Denial of the beast within is pretend. Pretend is sin.
I Gallup into the casino like a bull with nostrils flaring. Claws pawing at the ground. Look of a madman painted on my face. I have a no research policy when picking games. I don’t care about trends, pundits, “information.”
I demand FULL ownership for my wins & losses. Can't offset blame to anyone else when you go with your gut. I'm the master & commander of this ship.
I’ve been eviscerated with my net worth on the line thousands of times. I’ve been dropped to my knees by every buzzer beater, every last second fumble, every bottom of the 9th home run you can dream of. In a past life I was fazed by this. Not anymore. I’m primed for this occasion. The outcome is meaningless.
I pick 5 baseball teams and bet $1800. If all 5 win my payout is $57,000. If one single team loses, my payout is 0. Yes it’s wild. Yes the likelihood of winning is crippled. I can’t stress how little I give a fuck. The reward is in the adventure. I’m playing life on my terms.
Most people don’t have the stones to make this play once in their entire life. This is the 4th time I’m doing it this damn week. Lady Luckdoesn’t just fall into the lap of the timid and stagnant men that wish for her. Only the man that seduces her with such boldness, ferocity and vigor that it transcends the LIMITS of his very soul, has the chance of feeling her passion for a night.
The rush is fucking Herculean. I can feel my receptors fill with electricity. I’ve got a lightning storm inside. Win or loss is irrelevant. The point is my army is working for me, my money is in the aether.
Because the odds of winning are so low, I don’t bother to wait around Vegas for the outcome.
3 hours later I’m back in Los Angeles, games have already started, and I’m headed to my steakhouse where I’m the #1 regular. $200 to my name now. The last of it will be gone in an hour. So I think.
A cowboy rib eye, beef heart, and a dragon's milk (beer) later, I tip 60% and have 0$ to my name. What’s to be afraid of? I know tomorrow all I have on my schedule is weightlifting, coffee shop where rich folks linger, and another steak dinner. I’m so well known here now, I have a house account. If I need to I can open a tab every night if I have to and pay it at the end of the month.
I ALWAYS MAKE BIG SCORES.
I inhale the last bite of steak like a Rottweiler and check my phone. 4 of the 5 games are already in. Straight green across the ticket. All wins.
Down to the final game to potentially win $57,000 for a day of work. Keep in mind before I boarded that plane in the morning I had NO CLUE what teams I was even picking. Now the dream is a little more real. I live for this shit, the rush is like none other.
I’ll never forget the day. Bottom of the 7th inning. Diamondbacks vs Dodgers. I’m riding Diamondbacks. I’m down 3-2. Bases loaded. 2 outs. Jake Lamb is up at the plate. I’m watching live on the MLB app. My muscles are fully flexed. I can rip a parking meter out of the earth at this point - I’m so juiced. Golden opportunity here.
The GM of the resto comes by to check on me. I show him my ticket. He looks at me dead pan right in the eyes and says you’ve got this. Of course I do. When you’re a G the world twists to your favor... it has NO OTHER CHOICE. He bends his head down and watches the at-bat alongside me.
The next pitch gets delivered and it gets crushed off the sweet spot of the bat. Sonic boom. The camera pushes in and you can see the ball lasering into the outfield. Clearly looks like it’s going to be a foul ball. Seems to be traveling forever. All we hear is a giant GONG. It’s my heart exploding against my chest cavity. My neck balloons an inch. Nope. The gong isn’t my heart. It’s the ball slamming against the foul pole. In baseball, if the ball hits the foul pole (extremely rare) it’s an automatic home run.
Just like that, 4 runs in an instant. It’s a grand slam. I’m now winning 6-3. 2 innings to go. I was Down, but never out. GM goes nuclear. He jumps into my booth and starts rocking the joint like a cannonball in a canoe. I can feel my adrenaline leaking like a steampipe blasted open with a sledgehammer. I’m trained for calm. Stay classy. Act like you’ve been here before. A lot of game left.
Amateurs celebrate early.
He declares me the big winner and I roll my eyes. Brother doesn’t understand the Dodgers can still come back and win. Nonetheless I’m a huge favorite to win the Big Cake. Diamondbacks hold on to win. 6-3 final.
Had that ball curved a CENTIMETER right or left this story wouldn’t have been born. You realize after a while the inches we need are all around us. They’re everywhere. $57,000 cash awaits me back at the cage in the casino. I was the better man today. But only today. I’ll be back on a plane the following morning to collect. You might be wondering if this is exhausting. Of course it is.
Even the most energized man is exhausted in the background. Man is naturally a tired beast. It’s the default setting. Understand that being “tired” is an identity. The ultimate victimhood. The easiest to justify.
Strip a man Of his desire to conquer and all he’s left with is sleep. If I let go of my obsession to win for even a second, I can feel the exhaustion go for my jugular with a vengeance. Intensity is the ONLY way through hell.
The next day, going to collect that $57k would unleash what would become the most improbable spree of luck & self discovery of all time. Truth is stranger than fiction. I meant to come back home the same day but ended up staying 9 months. Threw all customs and protocols OUT THE WINDOW. Recreated my routine in Vegas. Every single day - I was willing to risk every dollar to my name and every last ounce of life in me to figure out the meaning of possibility.
My life is a story of a hundred resurrections. I died a hundred times on this journey. Every heartbreak, every gut-wrenching loss, every legal battle killed me. But every single time... I came back a different ANIMAL. A bigger SAVAGE.
Never cared about the losses. Money is easy to make. But a man... a man is hard to make. Fortunes were gained during my stint in Vegas that would make most men set for life. Fortunes were lost that would send most men to suicide. I had to shed and kill 100 selves to endure.
I’ve ripped steel off the floor and over my head with enough anger to burn empires to the fucking ground. I’ve gripped barbells and pulled them so hard i could tear open the jaws of a lion.
But the ferocity with which I used my money like an army of barbaric crusaders to make more during this spree made all that look like child’s play.
I wasn’t gambling in the world. I was gambling AT the world. I was hell bent on finding out what the meaning of possibility is. The luck I had will never happen again. I flipped probability on its head. Bent reality to my Will. Earned obscene amounts of money over and over again. And When it was over, I'd pissed all the money away. all of it. And to this day... I don’t regret a mother fucking thing.
A lot of men on twitter ask me for coaching. Some offer large amounts of money to meet me in person and train them. They always ask how they can live like me.
Throughout my life, I’ve trained loads of people and learned from even more. I’ve found that most of you motherfuckers only like the IDEA of the life I lead.
When shit gets real, is when a man’s true character shows. Anyone can be a happy go lucky “G” that eats right, lifts heavy, stacks cash and gets broads when the times are good. When you’re facing jail time, when you need to pay rent but all your bank accounts are in the red, when EVERYTHING GOES WRONG... you find out who you really are.
The highs of this life are something the mass majority of men will NEVER even fathom, I promise you that. But they come with some of the most gut-wrenching lows this world has to offer. To get there you can’t just be twiddling your thumbs “thinking” you’ve made progress.
You need to make a conscious decision right NOW... to kill your wretched self. Be brutally honest with your own analysis. The biggest lie we tell is always to ourselves. Are you content? Is this life you lead now how you want to live in 30 years?
The gruesome truth that sits below the surface of all our psyches is that life DOMESTICATES 99.99% of men. Child prodigies, star athletes, men with passion, men with dreams, men with a spark in their eye and lust for life... the grand majority of em end up fat, weak, jacking off to porn, playing video games, getting bitched at by a boss, eating shit, and coming home to a bitchy wife.
All their dreams of adventure, crazy ideas, and beautiful women fizzle out by the time they are 30, forever unrealized.Going to the grave with them.
I’ve found that the unrealized dreams of men manifest as an ugly, impotent rage. Hollow shells of men lose their temper at pixels on a screen, politics, and minimum wage cashiers. It’s the only fucking outlet they have left.
The unconscious mind has a thousand ways to terminate a life that’s become meaningless.
And the truth is... if you do nothing and WAIT for life to happen, the same fate awaits you.
No sugarcoating it. I’ve known many G’s with “potential” that life absolutely mangles. Unrecognizable after 5 years.
There is no running away from it. It catches everyone. You can feel it creeping in around you. The only escape is THROUGH. Use your fucking rage, use all the times you’ve been slighted, been fucked over by life, and make the world GIVE you what is yours.
You have to make the DECISION now. There is no easy entrance into the pits of hell. Rip the BANDAID off. The only way you survive this journey is if you plunge into the deep end head first, no fucking lifeline. Remove all your earthly attachments - and KILL your old self.
For those that are truly serious about CHANGE...
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For those that are... See You Inside.
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