It stems from missing school as a child, and then finally attending only to be picked on and not knowing how to push back. By high school I figured out that punching somone would end it and that worked until I entered the workforce. 

[Train with your work tools as weapons. Build a scrap training dummy at home and murder it with your work tools, using all of your unarmed combat principals. These will not win duels against trained fighters but will serve to make you a monster to sides of meet that beg to be tenderized, boned and carved.]

As an apprentice for the power grid I realised how feeble I was against grown men who towered over me. In one incident at a Christmas party I had one of these thugs hassle me to get him a drink. when i refused he got in my face and challenged me to hit him. I refused and he wouldn't leave me alone. I said "whats the point?" to which he replied "there is no point. This is all there is." 

[Never talk to such men. Eye fuck them and let them strike first. When they are doing time, be a good mate and deliver groceries to their wife or girlfriend.]

He taught me the most valuable lesson that sissy society refuses to believe. That there is no point to this masochistic domination. its purely law of the jungle and always has been.

[Either be quiet and take the beating and then either play the legal game or come back on him with a knife and butcher him. Or just cut his throat with a razor the next time.]

I was frozen in this moment, because I knew that wringing wet 60kg me would have no chance to deliver a blow to knock out a 120kg bear of a man. 

[Stab him 48 times, starting with his nut sack.]

Neither did I want to back down. I ended up just staring at him and he eventually got bored or drunk and I left.

[That was a good resolution that would have been better if you said nothing. While you are doing the “I refuse to be your punching bag” staredown, kill him in your mind over and over again until you thirst to bone him like a Christmas ham. Eventually, his lizard brain will figure out that you are plotting his much deserved demise and he will leave you alone.]

I think he may have gotten into a scrap with someone else that night.

[If you are willing to kill bigger men with a weapon you may keep them at bay or even quietly rule them. One man that I worked with who challenged me to a fight knew I was armed with a knife in 1993 and hid inside while I waited on the parking lot. I cut my hand and smeared blood on the handle of his pickup truck. His mouth magically stopped running about me at work. Yes, if you have to cut his throat, your life ends in state custody. But, these instinctive creatures help you out once you decide quietly in your mind to kill them, by sensing it. It’s a bet in your favor that could end in disaster for you and him if his instincts fail. But his instincts seem to be on point, don’t they?]

This and other incidents have shattered my confidence and more or less ruled my life. Its destroyed relationships I've had because I could not really back myself. And how could I?

[Become a psychopath. This world drives all of us insane and so we do drugs, get drunk, fuck women with low self esteem, play video games and write books. You might as well engineer yourself as a psychopathic vengeance golem dedicated to purging the world of the psychopath who finally fucks up and touches you. The knife should inhabit the center of your universe. If you dropped me in a cage with Brock Lesner and gave me or even both of us a blade, he would below like an ox as I butchered him before the altar of my boundless hate for modernity, the nursery of my monstrous transmogrification at age 11, when I looked into the mirror where mommy dressed her hair and beat myself in the face with a half pound stone, careful not to crush any bones, but determined to drive the sissy out of my fleshy cage.]

This sick world, poisoned me from birth, made it impossible to reach my full potential and then left me at the mercy of the psychopaths who inhabit it.

[Me too, so I became a psychopath. Today I take 5 buses to shop for a little girl and visit her MumMum. I will be surrounded by larger, younger, psychopathic chimps. One of them, Rob the Neighbor tried to rob my host The Brick Mouse this time last year. When he came to the bus stop full of swagger, dressed like Kid Rock and blaring hip hop music, I eye fucked him and he cringed as I thirsted to shatter his lantern jaw with the flat war club in my back pocket. He offered me to board first and declined to follow me to the back of the bus where I sat with the hyenaman criminals. You can do it.]

Its been the hardest path to walk. understanding the reality of violence ruling the world and not being built for it. 

[I’m still not built for it but I use it, like Jane Goodall’s chimp that dealt with bigger bulls by rattling a gas can.]

People are not equal (despite the lies of the feeble) and they judge you on what they see. In order to get the treatment I required I have had to attend pointless psychological appointments where some nerd tries to tell me not to be around these people or that its my perception.

[Forget the psychological appointments and get a face tattoo, a tattoo that means something sinister and committed to you. I do not support tattooing unless that tattoo represents a commitment to die for the symbol inked into your skin. Bro, this world does not deserve our good will. By that I mean the human world of sloth, sin, cowardice and sadism of which Western Civilization in the form of Modernity is its apex satanic expression and of which America is its shining jewel. The land whales that blubber, bellow, mew, lounge, prattle and slither about in this stinking snivilezation, deserve only to be terrorized by us, terrorized in silence, stalked into spiritual extinction. This takes commitment. I do not permit myself to leave this place in Baltimore, to travel across town, until I have killed a hoodrat and a cop in my mind and then run tactical scenarios constantly as I move. Baltimore is a hunting ground I have been stalked across for four decades. It hates me and I hate it. I am here to fight it.]

And the overly feminised hippies that inhabit most of coastal australia also tell me the same nonsense in a different way. about how there are other ways and that its about the journey and that im better person for not being like them. 

[These faɡɡots need to be discarded.]

Its been maddening until i realised that all of this fluff is how faɡɡots justify their lack of agency in this world.

[See, if you go to prison for shanking Bearman, there will be plenty of these sissies there offering blow jobs to the brutes while you make a shank in case they get out of line and need to loose an eye.]

I know that only I can fight for myself. that no one is coming to my rescue.

[Don’t even think in terms of rescuing yourself—you must be the aggressor, the blight, the terror, the darkness. There is evil inside of you. Find it and kill the good that is left and join the hunt. It’s the only worthy thing I have done in this world, to kill the good part of me and embrace the inner dark. When I’m kind, it is a calculation, an aspect of the hunt that permist me to focus on the enemy.]

I also know that I'm not a coward, I've jumped into a situation to take a girl out of being abused by some street thug only to take quite a beating in the process. In this instance I was lucky that I didn't recieve a full hit on the chin, as it may have really messed me up. As for the combat, I loved it and felt so alive, although I didn't do very well. I mindlessly charged in and ate punch after punch trying to grab him.

[It would have been even more fun if you had a shishkabob skewer mounted in a thread spool and threaded in the lining of your jacket so that you could have run that thing up through his guts!]