Ever feel powerless in today’s world? Ever feel like you are being personally oppressed by life itself? Don’t cow down and become powerless in the face of this juggernaut called life, go to war with it! There is now a definitive strategy that I will make available to you; all the tools needed to win your life and the future! I am here to make this strategy available to you for free, so read up and drink it in, life should never ever be the same and that’s a good thing!



This is right for people who have or may think they have the following: Low self-esteem, Low motivation, Social anxiety, General anxiety, An overall feeling of hopelessness, A fear of the future, Loneliness, Suicidal thoughts, A feeling of being left behind, Past trauma, Phobias, and well just about anything else you think is wrong with yourself, but isn`t!



The beginning of our journey and training begins with pragmatism and a definition of Metaphysical; without material form or substance; "metaphysical forces." In short the forces at work in your life without a physical form, I.E; your thoughts and Ideas, Emotion, and everything in between that can be named and not seen, all essentially fit into the realm of the ``Metaphysical.`` Logically speaking the metaphysical has no real relevancy to what you do on a day to day basis right? Wrong! Metaphysical forces may just influence your life more than anything tangible and logical. I for one have had "those days" where everything just seems to go wrong and no matter what I do, everything just seems to go the way of making my life not worth living, as if no matter what I do I am essentially going to end up paying for my actions one way or another and almost assuredly I do. This in my opinion is a metaphysical force best personified as "Murphy's Law" (everything that can go wrong will). Our world and lives are permeated by all metaphysical forces simultaneously, it would be most un-wise and almost damning to not know how to use such forces to benefit and enrich this human experience we call life.



The basis of my strategy lies within this timeless wisdom from Friedrich Nietzsche; "Where one despises one cannot wage war; where one commands, where one sees something as beneath one, one has not to wage war - My practice in warfare can be reduced into four propositions. Firstly: I attack only causes that are victorious. Secondly: I attack only causes against which I will find no allies, where I stand alone - where I compromise only myself... I have never taken a step in public which was not compromising; that is my criterion of right action. Thirdly: I never attack persons - I only employ the person as a magnifying glass with which one can make visible a general but furtive state of distress which is hard to get hold of. Fourthly: I attack where any kind of personal difference is excluded where there is no background of bad experience. On the contrary, to attack is with me is a proof of good will under certain circumstances of gratitude. I do honour, I do confer distinction when I associate my name with a cause."



That being said let me re-say it. Firstly: I attack cause that only I can win. Secondly: I attack causes where I will stand alone and be grateful for it. Thirdly: I do not attack persons, I employ persons as personifications of their beliefs whatever they may be and use that as my method of not only understanding the person but the belief. Fourthly: If it isn't broke, we need to break it. Sometimes somethings are too good to be true and the truth is exactly what is needed.



Now the fun begins! How can you employ this game-breaking strategy into your life? Well it is as easy as anything else you do, maybe even easier, just think about it and start small. The place where I always start in employing my battle plan is my own conscious perception of the circumstance. How do I perceive this? How do I perceive this as opposed to another person; how do I perceive this as opposed to someone I know well? This is done entirely to gain a contrast about how permeating the "problem" is, how well and how completely this is tied to your consciousness and inexorably how much it exactly affects you. Once you have gained the contrast as to how much exactly you put conscious effort forth into your perceived problems, attack!



Firstly: This is all in your head, where it began, where your problem will end. Secondly: Only you can win this fight against something you created in your own head. Thirdly: Don't cast blame, not even on yourself, things are for you to overcome, this is a blessing! Although it won't seem like until you have total victory. Fourthly: Smash, rip, tear, don't be afraid of what is in your own head, ever! Everything in there is just like everything physical in one important sense; it can be either a weapon or a tool in your own head you are indeed beyond good and evil.



As much negative energy is brought upon you by your own thoughts, as much as you feel constricted it is a challenge to turn that on it's head by thinking positively, and here is the fun part of that no one can judge you for the thoughts that you keep in your own head, only you and well just don't, it is that easy just let it flow. If it feels positive and is in direct opposition to the negative aspects of your "problem" then battle won! But remember this is a War! No retreat, No Surrender, You literally have nothing to lose and everything you thought you didn't have to gain!



Let`s redefine what it means to LIVE!

It was around three o’ clock in the afternoon on a bone dry day in the middle of the desert.

There was a diner, an old fifties joint that had over the years been converted into a truck stop.

In the quaint but desolate eatery there sat a middle aged woman on her way home from a cross country business meeting.

Muriel Gibson was her name. Muriel was by all accounts an average woman. Muriel sat quietly and read her romance novel while sipping on her black coffee. Everything about the day seemed to be average but a strange feeling came over her as if someone has just gently blown on the back of her neck. She quickly turned from her novel to find that she was alone for two tables in every direction, just a draft she thought. She delved back into her novel.

Miles away there is a distraught young man in his early twenties pacing alongside the road in the scalding desert sun. The man had looked like he had just come out of clothes dryer filled with pumice; his cargo pants and floral print shirt had the impression that it had been almost instantly dissolved by the numerous small rips and tears accented by small blotches of crusted over blood.

The waitress sets Muriel’s food down in front of her, “There you go doll.” The waitress chirped with a wink. Muriel broke her transfixion on the novel and replied to the waitress with a smile and a nod.

He thought his eyes where deceiving him. Finally after six hours of walking in desert heat the man saw the roadside diner. Tears welled up in his eyes, relief! He broke into a dead sprint.

Muriel was taking her time eating and reading her novel, she was in no rush. Muriel had taken the position that she had with her particular law firm because of the travel, because she liked to be in transit, in motion, anything was better than the nothing she had waiting for her every night.

The man was crawling by the time he got to the door; he stopped in the fetal position and caught his breath. Ok act natural, go straight to the bathroom and get yourself cleaned up. The pep talk recited in his head gave him the impetus to come to his feet.

Muriel felt a sudden surge of energy that took her breath away, she looked up from her book and stared ahead quizzically as if trying to calculate exactly what suddenly coursed through her body and made her hair stand on end.

The man limped forward to the bathroom no one even looked up at him, good, he thought. He made it into the bathroom after plunging his head under the faucet while swallowing as much water as he could, he began cleaning as the dried blood and scabs off of his face and clothes. He pulled a switch blade from his back pocket took off his pants and cut the legs off of them, using one leg as a cloth and the other as a bandana.

The waitress had taken Muriel’s dish and left her with a fresh cup of coffee, as she fingered the last few pages of her novel the man sat down across from her.

“Am I a son of a bitch, ma’am?”

“Excuse me ?!” Muriel spoke softly with an edge.

“Am I a son of a bitch? I mean I am still young and can’t stop wondering am I that? Am I the worst and not the best of what brought me into this world? I mean I have been on my own since I was sixteen sleeping on the streets and begging for whatever I can get just to live and I wonder am I supposed to be this way? Am I the delinquent child of two morons who won’t even think about the life they created? Is this my fate, to wander aimlessly and be at the mercy of every thug with an appetite for hate? Look at me I woke up this morning in the middle of the desert because I was thrown from the truck that gave me a ride but when I refused to suck his cock he threw me out, literally now here I am broke, beat, with one foot in the grave and I have barely just come out of puberty. The one thing I have been called more than anything is a son of a bitch. So I begin to wonder am I?”

“Well, umm, young man I am not quite sure what to say.”

“Don’t worry you don’t have to say anything, all I want to know is, what the hell can I do when I am literally bound by nothing?”

Muriel’s jaw dropped, she had never once before been so taken with someone so young besides his rough condition she felt as though he had just spoke the very problem she had been suffering from since her second divorce. Every night she went to sleep alone in her two story home she had progressively noticed the silence and void, the absence of anything meaningful; The Nothing.

“Once again, I am speechless, I have often felt…”

“So basically, where do I go? What do I do now that everything I was told as a child is meaningless, what do I do now that I don’t have a piece of paper listing my address, because I don’t have an address. What do I do when my most valued skill is protecting myself? What do I do when I have nothing? Where do I turn to? My parents have all but disowned me, no other family and nothing but a blade.”

“I guess you have to do what is right for you, nothing else matters at that point, I can’t speak to that because I have never been in that situation although, my son…”

“Is everything ok here ma’am?” Asked the waitress while she placed the bill on the table

“Yes, everything is fine, please get a menu for this young man, and put it on my bill”

The waitress had a half-crossed look as she looked at the young man, but quickly it shifted into a heart-warming smile when her eyes came back to Muriel, “Sure thing.”

The man kept his gaze on Muriel.

“Thank you.”

“No, problem it sounds as though you have had a rough night.”

“No. Thank you for answering my question.”

“I’m not sure which one I...”

“I’m not a son of a bitch… Mom.”

“Or else what?”



“Or else we will kill you.”



“Oh? Let's play a game of Russian roulette, I'll load the gun, you place the bet. Tell me who will make it out alive.” In mono-tone, as he pulls a snub nose revolver out of his pocket, with the flick of his wrist the chambers clack open he shows her the five empty chambers and one full.

“I know that you know that, I know that you know. Can't call a bluff with a dead man’s hand.”



Her eyes open wide, the hairs on the back of her neck rise, “Don’t.”



“You know you can go, you can give up trying. I know you better then you ever could.” Followed by the click of the cylinder locking back into the body of the revolver.



Her mind races, how did it get this far? there isn’t any way to get the gun out of his hands… six feet away there’s no way she could stop what was going to happen. She wasn’t about to waste the last two years of her life.



“Don’t do it, I… I Love you.”



“Love? We started off with a one night stand, lingered to a fling, then two years had gone by, the sirens and the sergeants don't seem to mean a thing. Hide your fangs all you want, you still need the blood. Tell me what is different now that I have a .38 Special in my hand. You're up to no good.” His thumb fans the hammer back, resounding in the tell-tale sound of a gun waiting to be fired.



A tear is shed from her right eye, the mascara pacing down half her face. She drops to her knees,



“Suicide won’t change anything.”



“You say this is suicide? I say this is a war!” He points the gun at the floor and spins the chambers. With one fluid motion he puts the barrel in his mouth and pulls the trigger.



CLICK.



“There's no need for enemies with friends like you, there's no need for anything, truth be told… I mean you were always a prick.” Staring deep into his eyes, she knows one look can end it.



“Should of just called it quits…should of just called it quits, leave before it's too late. Get out of my life and stay that way, or come closer and tell me those three little words.” His hand slowly drawing a line through the air with all the gravitas on the gun, he puts the barrel to his temple.



As she brings herself back to her feet.



CLICK.



“Odds just got a little better that we are meant to be” he spoke through a sinister smirk.



“Don’t fucking play with us!” She screams.



“Us? Who is us exactly?” Spinning the chambers once again.



A blank expression draws over her face… she knows she has been made.



“You look tense… you see for me, this happens all the time, this happens every day but I never seem to quit and the wolves never stay at bay. I hate to say I told you so but fuck it, I told you so and don't say a word, I already know.” Once again he puts the barrel to his head.



She moves to take a step closer.



CLICK.



She stops dead.



“Don’t move. Now it’s one in three this room will have a new paint job.” Spinning the chambers once again.



“I'm no saint, your no martyr, one more night playing heart piñata? How do you say goodbye, when you've hardly said hello?” The words slightly stunned her as they came off of her tongue.



“The only way we know how… Drop the gun let’s fuck.”



“You’re learning girlie, but the sad thing is I've come back to old remedies” He sticks the gun in his mouth.



CLICK.



“Looks like it’s fifty-fifty. One last ‘round the world for old time’s sake?” Wiping his saliva off the gun on his arm.



“YOU MISERABLE FUCK! What the hell do you think you’re doing!?! Do you have an Idea what is really at stake?”



With the flick of his wrist, the chambers spin… as if in slow-motion the cylinder locks in place. With a dead stare that could stop a raging bull in its tracks,



“My dear… Do you?”



“OK! I can’t tell you but I can tell you this… I was sent here to recruit you… but I do Love you” With a panicked grimace over her face.



“Well I know I was a cunt in the final days, it just filled me with venom, filled me with rage to see someone I was with not give a shit, despite of all of this I won't see you around, I couldn't give a fuck.” Gun at his side, his weapon; his gaze,



“Is this what you call Love? This is a war I can't win.”



She breaks. Throwing herself at his feet,



“You can’t do this! You are needed!”



“For what?”



Sobbing uncontrollably, gasping for breath, tears blanketing his leather shoes, she can barely calm herself knowing if she fails it is her life at stake, she remembers the words that she agreed to before they met: “Failure, is not an option if he finds out who you are and what your mission is, it is your life on the line.” Taking a deep breath, she barely has the composure to steady her shaking hands but somehow summons the strength to speak,



“If I let you in… you'd just want out. If I tell you the truth, you'd vie for a lie. If I spill my guts, it would make a mess we can't clean up. If you follow me, you will only get lost. If you try to get closer, we'll only lose touch. Yes you already know too much, and you're not going anywhere.“



“You’re in no position to make threats.” As he presses the barrel to the back of her head.



A familiar calm comes over her.



“Go ahead I am already dead. I’ll gladly die at your feet, better then what I already have waiting for me.”



CLICK



Her whole body flinches, her head jolts ninety degrees up, seeing the gun once again at his head.



He smiles. Spinning the chambers once again,



“Looks like this is it doll face.”



Her whole world turns to a brilliant white.



As if the words emanate from within her and all around her; it is his voice,



“I’m recruiting you.”



Eyes open to a stainless steel room, she sits facing three figures at a table she can’t make out due to the extremely bright light shone directly into her eyes.



“It won’t happen again, I swear! Please give me another chance, I don’t know how he knew, you said I was the best, I thought I could do it, there is no way he is that good, I was compromised, I remembered all my training I did it by the book! I can still get anyone, for free! In two years I can get anything with a dick to marry me.”



The three figures simultaneously get up from behind the table, and leave the room. The light dims revealing the revolver on the table, followed by the sound of the door being locked.



She remembered this; this was in her training… The new recruits had to watch these snuff tapes, as she looks to the camera in the corner of the room, the red light blinking letting her know the tapes running. She remembered watching someone else blow their head off for failing, now it was her turn, these are the things that were beaten into her: Success or death. She pulls herself up from her chair and steadily moves for the gun. Her hand grips the revolver.



“Drop it. You’re in.”



Her head spins so fast in the direction she just came from she nearly faints.



There he is. Standing inches behind the chair she just got up from.



“This is love to me, honey.” he spoke with a icy stare.



“Two years… it took me two years, but you are the closest thing to perfect I have ever seen.”



She just stands, dead on her feet.



“You can't run with the foxes and yet hunt with thee wolf.” He paces toward her. She just remains still and silent, eyes fixated on her former mark. He takes the gun from her hand, flips the cylinder exposing the five empty chambers and the occupied one.



“Every time the chambers spin it’s still one in six, more than an acceptable risk… to get you.”

He saw his own blood inches away from his eyeball, for that split-second it hung there, a perfect sphere made all the more brilliant by the clouds of tear gas and the pulsating blue and red lights in the immediate background. Followed immediately by crippling pain of the officer's club on the highest part of his cheekbone. The last thing he saw was pavement.

A cascade of images washed over him, his first temper tantrum, his first skinned knee, his first time in the penalty box, his first car crash, his first witnessed death.

Once again pavement. He felt two hands grab the back of his arm, all of the sudden he was back to his feet, everything was in slow-motion, an angry mob and riot police. Molotovs exchanged with rubber bullets.

"Don't fight me son." A voice said so close to him he could feel the breath. The chill of defeat radiated up his spine from the ratcheting shut of handcuffs on his left wrist. Like a flash, without hesitation his right fist met the face that was restraining him, the officer winced and took a knee, as the tip of a steel toed work boot met his throat and forced him on his back. choking on his own blood he grabbed his radio and garbled "fifteen at three o' clock."

Turning around, the young man shouted "WE ARE NOT NUMBERS, WE ARE NAMES!" Met only with the empty shrill of sirens and a voice over the loud speaker "cease and desist you are all under arrest." A trail of smoke and a hissing sound accompanied by the twang as a fresh tear gas can lands at his feet, the young man scoops the can bolting ahead of the crowd, and throws it right back. "WE ARE NOT CRIME REPORTS WE ARE HISTORY!"