A couple years ago I stated in a raging article, that when I can no longer take the floor to fight another trained man that it would be time to die.
So here I am, dead.
James LaFond—a little prick I never much cared for anyhow—is dead, and I am the ghost animating his tottering corpse.
I am no longer fit to fight with fists or stick, a decrepit state that caught me quite by surprise.
Survival is a constant process of measuring yourself against the environment and against your foes. Lately I have found myself wanting. Over the past year my combat capacity has halved three times. I am on a steep decline, speeding toward fragility and decrepitude. But still, I have measured myself favorably against the mostly adolescent threats I face.
I have recently suffered a pair of injuries that are so bad I doubt if I shall ever again be a viable combatant in the ring, whether boxing, stick-fighting or blade-dueling. In terms of brawling I rate myself even lower, as my strength is greatly reduced.
I must adjust.
I will only go out at night to work, for as I continue to age I will appear a tastier target by the year.
Now, the question I have to ask myself, is, am I willing to be taken down by a pack of hoodrats?
The answer is no, absolutely not.
This then begs the next question, am I willing to get locked up or do time?
In the past I considered this an option, as I judged myself capable of surviving a corrections facility. Now that I feel confident that I no longer possess the level of physicality necessary to preserve my autonomy in such a situation, the answer is no, I will not submit to detention or arrest.
The application of these two principals to my reoriented life will be twofold:
1. I will begin carrying knives on my person as I once did, decades ago. This means that if I am attacked by a pack of hoodrats then the residual husk of my life will end then and there. No white man in Baltimore will be able to remain free after icing a choir of its angels.
2. Submission to the pigs is no longer an option. Any time I put myself at the mercy of a law officer this may result in me being jailed or imprisoned. These are options that, to me, are now infinitely less desirable than death by cop.
Beginning tonight I live by a new set of rules, which reflect my changing circumstances. If I am attacked by savages or cops, it’s all over, just a bloody mess.
I feel good, no longer wondering how effective I will be in combat if and when my avoidance efforts fail me and I am forced to fight. I know what I can do with a blade. Until last week, I knew I could KO most men with my hands, quickly. I also knew that some men I could never KO, and wondered if I would have the bad luck to hit that speed bump outside of the gym. But a three-inch deep and 12-inch long pressure cut, nobody takes that. A man can have the hardest chin in the world, but when his head is dripping in my hand its density will avail him nothing.
I will still coach by appointment, free of charge.
I will not corner fighters.
I will try to be of use as a stick sparring partner.
Boxing is behind me.
Machete duels are behind me.
I have fought my last stick fight, never to see the 700th I was hoping for, or even the 670th, which I thought was a sure thing.
I will try and lose 50 pounds to stave off the inevitable bad end long enough to complete as much of the writing I have committed to as possible.
Thank you all for your support. This website has amazed me; that kindred spirits would search me out and care about my odd investigations and inquiries.
I am at peace.
Sorry to hear of this turn of events. I really like this blog and hope it continues. Why not move to Texas? We all carry guns and nobody seems to get too upset when you have to use one. Take care of yourself, my friend.
Thanks for the kind words my fellow Browsing Simian.
I am glad you find this site useful, and intend to pick up the writing pace now that I no longer have to maintain combat conditioning.
I have calculated my habitat to feed my writing.
There will probably be a little less Harm City and a little more ancient combat and fiction.
I am not looking forward to using a knife to defend myself, and know I will, because I have cut and stabbed men before. So, I am reducing my exposure by not going out to socialize with the older fellows that I interview, which will reduce Harm City postings, but keep my ass in the chair writing more of the other stuff.
I would really like to visit Texas some day. As far as a residence, my family—although they have all left this city—live nearby in Maryland and I'd like to be around for my grandson. Last Saturday I drove around with my youngest son for hours helping him pick a neighborhood in the country that would be least likely to suffer urbanization. So I have more such commitments to fulfill until I check out.
Have a great day down there in that gigantic state.
Bro, you know after saying this you are going to live to your 90's now..
They way I look at it I stepped off the suicide train in 2006 when I decided to put my youngest son through college, and just forget to offload. I had forgotten how relaxing it is to have solid exit points.
This is very nice.
90 is ridiculous. If I manage to make it to 65 on the stone age medical plan I think it will be time to attend a rap concert.
Welcome James to decrepitude. Age and treachery. The big blade feels comforting in the pocket.
Thank you!
I was expecting to be angry, not resigned, when this happened.
I used to carry all illegal blades. I will, since I'm supposed to be an adult now, carry three inch blades. I swore off knives before they invented these thumb posts, so am looking forward to making my selections at the flea market on Saturday. Until them I'm still carrying a bunch of point steel pens.
Manspeed to you. I have found your writing this spring and found it of the greatest value in becoming a more complete man. Your writing has also been beyond value in understanding the hazards of the midwestern urban malaise that threatens me.
Perhaps ghost you may find an opportunity for refuge that allows you to continue writing. I know I will be disappointed if "Poet" never ends even if it may be better if it doesn't. As a ghost you get to enjoy choosing your writing projects, perhaps even more freely than you did before for the rest of your haunting. May your haunting be long.
Now that you have become a ghost consider transcending to Lich. Loosing the pauch may help with that, as you are dead surrendering to the gear so un-actually helpful to the living may offer some extended ability, if not opportunity.
I wish you the very best in your period of undeath.
Thank you, Bingo.
I too am looking forward to being less vested in kicking ass, and once again returning to the ranks of emaciated twerps from which I clawed myself hither.
I am so glad you like Poet—because no one else does! I plan on finishing the story in early November.
I have often found that walking is best for writing in my head, and since that is pretty much what I am left with physically, the writing should improve. Also, the part of my combat arts life that feeds the writing is not so much the sparring and fighting, but the coaching, so perhaps that too will improve as well.
Stay safe out there in the Mid Western Blight Zone.
I can attest to the fact you can still whoop a young ens ass with a stick.
Actually, our last workout, when I hit the bag with the double stick sweep, I felt my abdominal wall tear. That might have been my last power forehand. With a brace on I should still be good for tap sparring.
Your tribe awaits you in Valhalla warrior dude!
Or may you be in heaven before the devil knows you're dead!
Thank you for the support. if there is one thing washed up fighters like it is the support of smart white dudes!
This has been a surprisingly stress free about face. I thought a complete reversal of my operating principals would be stressful, but it is not. I will enjoy this serenity until I am attacked again, then I will have a fantastic time discharging my remaining worries down the gullet of our heinous social order.
James, remember that brick wall, well sounds like you found it. now get a ladder and climb over.
There was a time in the 90s, when my back was so bad I could barely get on and off the bus, and I only weighed a buck-forty. I always carried a blade, usually multiple ones, and sometimes even a bowie, once a daito sword. Since getting stronger and putting on weight I've been living without that stress of carrying knife, which is like having a suicide vest on. Now I just have to go back to being a different kind of survivor, and I am okay with that.
I will miss fighting. It was the biggest part of me and it is gone, a shadow in the past—but that's life. On the up side, now that I no longer have any enjoyable past times left, I can hopefully wrote even more!
Bummer! Yeah, it sucks to get old. Your tissues lose elasticity. You become more injury prone and you don't heal and recover as fast. Everything you do hurts more than it used to. Like the Lakota would say, better to die in battle, young and strong; old people have a hard life, eh? Oh well, if you can't get to Valhalla you still have a shot at Brimir or Sindri, where you can spend eternity drinking ale and telling tales. Actually James your decrepitude probably has made you even more dangerous to the hoodrats in your environment. Like the saying goes, don't fight with an old man, if he's too old to fight he'll just kill you.
The somber tone of this message is depressing, but I digress:
I plan to continue my blade/stick sparring 'career' for another 15 years. I think that's fair. I turn 29 in a few weeks, and despite my back which is bothering me as it did a decade ago, I will overcome and see to it that I put in *at least* another 10 years of combat training. It's in my blood and it drives me crazy not to participate. If I need to seek out the stick gods, so be it. However, I'd like to think that I can rely on you as a coach, passive if he may be.
We'll be talking, old man with a website.
Big up to the man who's next goal is death.
The next journey is watching youtube videos of BT-1000s and hood rats destroying the society you've helped build. Sit back and have a cold one, and fuck it.
Strength and Honor.
I'll still be working with you guys, and should be able to spar with the sticks. It just doesn't make any sense for me to spend time alone at the gym conditioning for a fight that is not going to happen, and if it does maybe puts me in an expensive hospital bed.
Spiritually, giving up combat is a kind of death, worse by far than giving up sex or human conversation, but something I have to do.
Time to get out of the ghetto. Maybe a change of pace in the barrio. Get yourself a senorita someplace who likes rum. Hispanics love the sweet science and haven't been taught that machismo is one of the seven deadly sins.
Whatever you do, keep the blog going. A song in your honor:
"my body says you can't do this boy, but my pride says yes you can."
youtube.com/watch?v=ldQrapQ4d0Y
Thanks, Bro.
Senoritas?
I was born catholic you know...
Thanks for the song—will view the video.
The blog should pick up actually, without me going out at night and training to fight.
For dieting you might want to look into the potato diet. You could do it over the weekends. It also seems to have some of the advantages of fasting. Good link, abet a bit lengthy.
vegetablepharm.blogspot.com/p/the-potato-diet_14.html