A War of Two D(J)avids
How I Accidentally Destroyed Myself and Became a God-King
Tangoing Twins
Look who’s finally returned. It’s my most favorite of readers.
Don’t tell the other readers I told you this. They all think they’re my number one guy, too. But it’s true when I tell it to you. I swear it. On my pet narwhal’s existence. Or else he’s an otherworldly entity I summoned during a coke binge and haven’t been able to banish from my mind ever since. But that would be crazy talk.
Now, do me a favor. Give yourself a little twirl. Lift your arms.
Don’t strut. What the hell are you doing? This isn’t a fashion show. It’s a hygiene check.
Lucky for you, you seem to be fairly spunk and spam. You’ve washed behind your ears. The stench of guilt and shame seems to be less.
This is good. Carry on then.
...Hm?
Are you still here? I was dismissing you.
You can go now.
No lesson today.
Bye bye.
Oh? You’re adamant to continue learning today, you say? I suppose you did show up for a reason, my oh so loyal student. But what you want, I refuse to accommodate. It would seem we’ve reached a point of friction.
You want to continue developing the kingdom. I want to waste away the day with fine drink and the sweet pink of brothel babes. However shall we resolve this? Should we battle it out?
I think you already know how that would turn out. Don’t sell yourself short though. Yes, you’re correct I would win, but you’ve also been learning from the best:
Me.
So, it’s not like you’d be completely decimated. Just somewhat.
Let’s pretend you are on par with me. You’re my evil twin, Javid Dagger. (Fuck you Javid, there can be only one.) We battle on the ramparts, blades screaming, babes drooling from their lower lips as they spectate these two bad boys staring death in the face and grinning back.
Who wins the battle of equals?
Me technically. Because I’m the hero of the story. And the good guys have always won historically. All the textbooks say so.
But in this little fantasy of the mind, neither of us wins. These two beautiful bastards are evenly matched. Neither will accept a stalemate. Neither will win. So they are both destroyed.
What is left in their absence is a power vacuum. He who remains to utilize it, if he’s intelligent, can harness this power for himself. Should he direct it properly, the kingdom can become an empire. A holy one. Perhaps even the next Rome.
This is the power of Friction.
Did you really think I didn’t have a lesson for you? How little faith ye have in your teacher. Why, I oughta kick you out of the cult cadre of compatriots for that.
We Are Javid Dagger
If you’re thinking that Javid is some literal flesh and blood man to be battled, let’s tally out that totally stupid way of thinking. I don’t have any siblings anymore. I’m the last of my name. The one and only. (Unless you catch me in an act that would besmirch my good name. Then we’ll agree Javid is a corporeal guy and a real cocksplat.)
This, however, does not mean Javid is not real. You have a Javid within you, too. We all have a Javid. Your Javid is not as handsome as mine, but he’s there alright.
In this world, everything has an opposite. For every thesis there is an antithesis. For black, there is white. For up, there is down. I am charming and debonair, and you are... Well, you’ll get there.
This is the spectrum we have already discussed. This is Polarity.
Friction is what happens when the two opposing forces on the spectrum come into conflict.
Two forces. One body. Locked in eternal battle with each other, neither ever truly gaining ground. Both painfully unaware of the paradoxical reality. Just like most people. But not you, reader. I know you’re smart enough to see the truth. That’s why I write. For you. Only for you. Your eyes only. So we can circlejerk over the truth that only we know. We’re jerking it so good right now.
Any idea you can hold is subject to this paradox. This includes your self. Anything you can pin down into concrete terms is merely an idea. When you conjure to mind an idea, you inevitably conjure to mind its opposite. You can only know ideas relationally, so this is natural.
You think you are nice. You think you are smart. You think you are important.
By thinking these things, you simultaneously think the opposite about yourself. You bring Javid to mind. And then you do something mean. You do something stupid. You encounter a situation that makes you feel insignificant. You embody each of these ideas that are “not you.“ This sparks war with Javid, who is all of those things.
Because most people are unaware of this codependence, they come to hate friction. It becomes a source of suffering. A reminder that they are more than what they think they are, even those qualities they deem lesser. They get it in their head that only one side can be right. The one they’ve chosen to champion is the one that must prevail. The destruction of their enemy is the only way to secure their existence.
Little do they know that their enemy’s destruction is impossible. The more they rail against him, the more they strengthen and necessitate his existence. They even come to resemble him.
He who fights with Javid might take care lest he thereby become Javid.
Friction, however, need not be a bad thing.
What happens when you take flint to stone? Sparks.
What happens when man meets woman? Also sparks. Clothes come off and we get a little bedroom friction, baby.
Friction reveals the seam. The seam is where you find your Self. Remember, the Self is the revitalizing, sacred lake of your kingdom. Always thread the seam.
Things Are Not as They Seam
Javid and I were both destroyed in our battle.
Our two wills collided, fire and ice, and between those two forces the seam burned bright white until it tore asunder, swallowing the both of us. In the vacuum that remained stood a golden god of a man, neither David nor Javid. But just as handsome. Kind of enlightened, like a Buddha, but without the slanted eyes. Oozing sex appeal. The brothel babes desired him as they desired David.
This is where you want to find yourself. This is the power of the seam. Capable of providing immense clarity, energy, and the burning yearning of every fair maiden in a five-mile radius. Honest about that last one.
Strap that brain in and lock your eyeballs tight on the screen because I’m bestowing upon you a new ability.
Friction is to be cast any time you’re taking things too seriously. It’s not exactly a quick cast. You can pull it off on the fly, but I caution getting caught with your fly down.
When you catch yourself aggrandizing or catastrophizing, it is a sure sign you are taking things too seriously. Practically speaking, let’s say your goal is to talk to the cute goth at the bar, but you are unable to commit to the act.
“She’s too pretty,” you say.
Or you think, “I’m not good enough.”
You’re taking one of these too seriously—either yourself, or her. Guess what? She shits from her butt too, same as you.
Do you see the (sacred) tree I’m speeding towards, reader? The idea that she’s “too pretty” is merely that. An idea. One you have bubbled up to the point of nearly bursting, bubble boy. What you need now is an opposing idea. Something that matches the importance you placed on her beauty in equal and opposite regard.
Shitting is about as disgusting as it gets; but if you’re a scat man like John McAfee, maybe pick another gross out. She’s beautiful, huh? Do you see how much make up is caked on? Enough to scratch it off her face like dry wall. And that voice? Jesus, help me, it screes through your ear canals and scrapes your brain smooth as a beardless eunuch. She’s an absolute nightmare to converse with. And did you see the stains on her shirt? If that’s how she cares for her clothing, imagine what she smells like.
“David, this is all conjecture. You don’t know any of those claims are true.”
No shit, Shirley Temple. That’s the point. Neither can you say your claims of her beauty are true. Take it from a degenerate philanderer, nothing will dampen your fascination with a woman more than familiarity. The point of Friction is to build up the opposing idea and hold it together in your mind with the other.
Let the ideas battle like David and Javid until they are both destroyed. The seam is a state of negation. Neutrality. In that space, you are free to act naturally and receive what comes to the moment without expectation.
This applies to every facet of life. That career your life supposedly hinges on, for instance. You’re so afraid it won’t happen. Terrified that if life doesn’t go exactly to plan, it won’t work out at all. Aw, poor baby. Wittle baby boy is afwaid of failure.
Maybe that failure leads you out of corpo cuckoldry and into the sweet light of freedom beyond the walls of the Black Cube. Out into the great unknown to spread the influence of our most holy kingdom, so that it might become the holiest empire.
Hold these ideas together until they dissolve. Suddenly, neither one is such a big deal, and you can inhabit the only moment that matters. Right now. The only place where you can find the clarity to act in the way you truly want.
Loving the Rub
Learn to love friction. Everyone should. Friction is love. Who doesn’t want a good rub?
Our kingdom was birthed by friction. First, between the Cuck-King Systemus and the Chad-Barbarian Jagger. The seam intensified until it tore asunder, leaving us with a swagocracy to fill the vacuum. Now, the friction between David and Javid has birthed your god-king Jagger. Still second to the J-Man, of course. But you can trust that everything he tells you is by decree of the King of Kings.
Consider yourself blessed by the god-king, for he hath granted you yet another ability to aid you in your quest. Add it to your hotbar, so you can remember to spam it at every possible opportunity. Not that I would know what a hotbar is. I’m just fishing for words you gamer boys like. You nerds. Fucking nerds.
You don’t understand how powerful Friction is. The seam is paradox. Paradox is where you can ever-so-gently touch the Great Mystery. Like cupping water in your hands loosely enough that you can take a sip. Big Jeezy can be found at the seam. Son of Man and Son of God. Alpha and Omega. King and servant. The seam is the place of theosis.
Your homework this week is to start looking for the seam. Start casting Friction.
When you find yourself reluctant to act, whether it’s the goth girl at the bar, ditching the corpo-cuck chair for the bed of freedom, or anything in-between, cast it. Find the core idea of your reluctance, find its opposite, and goad them both until they meet at the center. Continue to hold them there until neither makes sense anymore. Until you could care less.
Take as long as you need to. Sleep with it. Wake with it. Make out with it. When it finally busts, see how you feel in that moment of post-bust clarity. See what action you want to take.
The more you practice this, the better you will come to know your Self. Like Big Jeezy, you find your Self at the seam. Think of it like your weekly visits with your valuable friend, David. You’ll come back a little more authentically You every time.
Now, I’m dismissing you for real this time.
Go, find the seam. You may not be able to find the clit, but this you can. I believe in you.
Te iubesc.