Losing Self

Losing Self

Look at the watch, the watch that is ticking, ticking down, down into the ages, down the corridors of time. Down. Down. Counting down.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

The voice plays over the speakers as I lay on my bed, staring up at the massive mirror mounted to the ceiling overhead. It is a familiar voice, albeit a little higher range than I remember.

Deeper and deeper.

I’m clutching my shirt, keeping my watch in plain sight. My pupils are shrinking. I can see them as I watch the watch. That means it won’t be long now. Maybe a few seconds, maybe a few minutes. They’ll expand soon enough.

Tick ... Tock ....

The subtle click of my own watch’s hands seem magnified as I listen. Of course, it’s just the recording, but my unconscious mind doesn’t know that. I even went so far as to magnify the sound of the watch hand to ensure it was exactly the same.

Counting down the seconds. Counting down the moments. Counting down to that deep, deep sleep.

Tick ... Tock ... Tick ... Tock....

Whoa. That was a rush. Forgot how good this felt. I can see my lips twitching into a hint of a smile.

The sleep that lets you change. The sleep that lets you listen to my voice, listen as it whispers and fixes and repairs. You remember, don’t you? You remember what we talked about last time.

Oh, yes....

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. That little click sounds so much like a hammer, doesn’t it? The hammer of my voice, striking the chisel, the chisel that chips the stone, the stone that gives way so effortlessly under the hands of a master crafter....

Master ... crafter....

You are that stone.

I am the stone.

I am the master crafter.

Yes....

Time to sculpt, my little blockhead.

I am ready to be sculpted, Master Crafter....

Last time, we agreed you would look better with some stubble, and would maybe grow a proper beard to complement your features. Have you done this?

Yes, Master Crafter....

Good. That is good. You have modified your diet. You have changed the clothing you wear. Now is the time to focus, to focus on my voice, to focus on the instructions I am to give you next.

Focus....

It is time to move on to the next phase. Remember, you asked for this. You wished me to change you, to mold you, to remake you. That is my purpose as the master crafter. It is your purpose to accept my changes.

Yes, Master Crafter....

Now that you are trim, it is time to get fit. You will go the gym and work out three days a week to start. You will seek assistance from a trainer if the need arises. You will push to grow stronger, grow bigger, grow buffer.

Yes.

And the more progress you make, the more you will become entranced by the gym. You will want to spend more time there. You will want to continue to make progress, continue to grow. And the more you grow, the more time you spend there, the slower your thinking will become. Slower and slower, dimmer and dimmer, dumber and dumber....

Dumber....

The only exceptions to this part of your change will apply to the gym, fitness, anatomy, and other masculine things of the musclehead stereotype, including exercises, diet, plans, sports, weights, manual labor, and other affiliated items.

Yes, Master Crafter....

Your body will react positively. Your muscles will expand quickly with mass and strength. Your manhood will increase in size with the rest of you. Your voice will continue to deepen, because of the growth you will experience. And it will all feel so very good, so good to let these things happen, to make them happen, because you are being molded, sculpted by my voice, by my hammer, by me, your master crafter.

Yes.

Sculpted into a true meathead in every sense of the word.

Yes!

Good blockhead. You will not remember our conversation, only that we had success in this session. You will follow the instructions I have given you, despite not remembering them. And as always, you will have found great pleasure in our sessions. You will become a musclehead. You will become a meathead. You will become.

I will become....

Good boy. Now, it’s time to wake up. Remember, blockhead. The clock is ticking. Time to get to work.

...

...

...

Wake up, blockhead.

...

Whoa. That was ... wow. I ... I really outdid myself, didn’t I? I really don’t remember it. Haha!

Yes!

 Complete success! Can’t wait to upload this one online! ... Hmm. And maybe start searching for a gym, while I’m at it....

Well That Just Happened

Someone named Alphapuphypnous sent me a message just a short while ago with a hypno gif as the main attachment. I worried he may have been trying to hypnotize me or that it was a spam bot, so I rapidly typed a response to get the gif out of view on the message box as I typed. I basically warned the guy I don’t take kindly to people trying to hypnotize me without permission and then warned him or her I’d report them to tumblr if such a thing repeated itself. I explained it was out of courtesy and not hostility that I mentioned this, since I figured they may have just been overly exuberant in wanting to talk with me. The user responded rapidly with apologies and saying they were meaning to type to someone else. The curious thing is that shortly after the person wrote this apology, the account was deactivated. That seems highly suspicious to me, especially given the nature of the blog itself, when I checked it out to see what it was about. In case you were wondering, it was all about hypnotizing to enslave those who follow the hypnosis prompts. I checked my follower list and this person had also just begun following me. I’m not sure if the infamous Trey was trying to get me or if it was a sincere mistake, but as I’ve said before, be careful guys. You never know who you’re dealing with or what they may try to do to you. Given the closeness of the name to a previous account identified as him, I’m inclined to believe it may have been Trey thinking I might be an easy mark for him to put under. Please be careful, guys.

Muscle Cab

“Often referred to as an illness, what do you call the process by which a person undergoes a metamorphosis into a familiar gym stereotype?” the driver asked as they came to another light. The lights in the ceiling continued to flicker and pulse in a series of slow patterns ranging from ripples to spirals and more. The two passengers leaned close to each other to council over the matter. “I totally read a series about this,” the first whispered. “Chad, we already missed two questions.” The second passenger yawned. “I don’t know if ... if ... uhhh....” He furrowed his brow in confusion. “Damn, lost my train of thought.” “What’s to lose, Brett?” Chad asked. “Our smarts,” Brett countered. Chad rolled his eyes and let out a longsuffering sigh. “Brett, that can’t happen in real life. That’s for fiction.” He wiped his sweaty brow, oblivious to the stubble that had begun to grow in on his chin and upper lip. Brett’s head lolled and bobbed like a cork on water as his jaw slackened and his eyes became glassy. “Who’s Fiction...?” he asked in a low voice. Chad’s eyes darted over to his sleepy friend, then back at the driver. Bright white teeth were borne in a grin through the rear view mirror. “Would you care for a visual aid?” the driver asked. The strobes were getting brighter, faster. “Uhhhhh....” Brett’s head bobbed on a sudden speed bump. “All right, then!” the cabby boomed excitedly. “Turn your attention to your screens, and watch.” The screens flashed to life, first portraying the image of a smaller young man with a hint of a pudge and glasses. In a matter of seconds, that image morphed into a new shape. The boy’s torso was flat now, and he’d begun to gain some muscle definition. Next, the image morphed to show the kid wearing compression gear as he pumped a set of dumbbells. Veins had begun to bulge on his arms, and his face had become more defined and angular. His once longer hair had been cut back to bare stubble. Then it transitioned to the final stage, where a complete muscle stud stood with a vapid grin, posing for the camera. His chest was bare for all to see the chiseled six-pack and swollen pectorals. A bulge pressed at the crotch of his compression pants, and his legs were like carved marble slabs. His trapezius muscles had expanded to the point where they curved over his broad shoulders and transitioned smoothly into the deltoids and other muscle groups farther down the arms. Chad panted as a sudden wave of warmth washed over him. The cab felt so small. His head kept spinning. “Ten seconds, boys.” A gleaming trickle ran down from the corner of Brett’s mouth as he took deep, steady breaths and stared unseeingly at the screen. “Brett? Come on, man. This isn’t the time for sleeping.” He grabbed his friend’s arm. FLASH went the strobes. Chad’s mouth dropped open. His hands recoiled as his eyes widened and his pupils slowly began to expand, rather than contract as they adjusted to the lights. “What the fuck?” he whispered. “Five seconds,” the cabbie lowed. Brett’s arm swelled. His skin tightened as a vein began to snake its way along the anterior compartment of his forearm. His shirt creaked and strained as his shoulders began to expand and his frame grew inexorably out from his place behind the driver’s seat. “G-get me out of here! Let me off. I don’t wanna play anymore!” “What’s the matter, big shot?” the driver asked in a menacing tone. “Don’t know the answer?” He sneered. “Four....” Brett’s hands rested over his crotch as his body slumped back and his eyes began to close. Chad’s breathing grew labored. “I ... I don’t wanna be a meathead!” “Should’ve thought of that when you agreed to the game, kid,” the cabbie purred. “Three...” Everything began to slow as the rapid thumping of his heart matched the rapid strobe of the lights. Come on, Chad. Think! he thought. The door handle was locked, and he couldn’t engage the window. He pounded his fists against the window, but to his horror, his arms swelled with every blow. Even his pectorals puffed up as he tensed and released them. “Two...” The number crawled through the air, like a cheap movie sound effect. Only Chad knew he wasn’t in a movie. His cheeks flushed. He felt a sudden mass pressing between his thighs. He looked at his crotch as the bulge swelled. His eyes darted to the transitioning images and he gasped as he watched the same swelling taking place in the subject on screen as the photo morphed. Please. Please, God. No... No. N-- FLASH “One.” The voice was so slow, he could hardly understand it. His face, once contorted in anguish, now lay slack. His eyes, once alive with fear, now stared unerringly at the screen. His pupils dilated farther. “Uhhhh.....” “Zero.” A loud snap sound effect coincided the final flash as the panels died and Chad’s head slumped back automatically. His arm touched Brett’s, and Chad’s growth accelerated dramatically. Tears shredded through the air, coinciding with the loud pops of reinforced seams bursting, all while their arms, torsos, and legs inflated with dense muscle. The driver chuckled as the lights on the walls pulsed a dull white and the tattered remnants of his passenger’s clothing reassembled into a pair of tank tops: gray for Chad, blue for Brett. A darker tan suffused Brett’s skin with a healthy glow, while his hair retreated into his scalp to leave a simple buzz cut. Every piece of exposed skin was smooth, not a hair in sight. A pair of bluejeans manifested on Brett, while a set of black gym shorts appeared on Chad. “Sorry, gentlemen, but the answer was Meatheadosis.” The driver chuckled to himself as he watched his handiwork settle in. A few minutes later, he nudged the men. “We’re here, Sirs.” The two newly reborn men slowly came to and grumbled. “Uh ... wuh?” Chad lowed in a dull bass. “We’re here,” the cabby said again. A large gym stood outside with the illuminated figure of a muscular man flexing both arms on either side of his head as his legs spread out to brace him. The words Meathead Oasis glowed dully, and the A of Oasis flickered. “You didn’t win, but hey, you got a free ride. And besides that, as a consolation prize, the both of you get a month’s free gym membership.” He handed both men a gift certificate. “Have fun, boys.” Two identical grins widened on the boys’ faces. “Fuck yeah!” they roared together and slapped their hands in a high five. “Thanks, bro,” Brett said happily as they hauled their much larger frames out of the back seat. “Don’t worry about it. You two have a great day. Get a sweet pump for me.” “Huhuh. You’ve got it,” Chad guffawed. Then he slammed the door shut and the two advanced on the gym’s doors.The driver turned toward the hidden camera mounted by the rear view mirror. “These two failed, but you never know who might succeed to win that big money prize. Find out next time, folks, on the Muscle Cab, brought to you by Meathead Industries. See you then.”He winked, then turned off the camera.

The Word

Amazing, isn’t it, the power that a jumble of letters can carry? It is said that the pen is mightier than the sword. But it is what the pen creates that is so compelling. Words have held power and sway over the minds of men and women from the very beginning. If scripture is to believed, before there was anything else, there was The Word. In short, words have existed from before this world ever was. Words give voice to thoughts, shape to ideas and emotions. In short, words, much like an artist, have the power to create, to destroy, to mold, all at their creator’s whim. In politics the use of The Word is called propaganda. In journalism, it is called truth, though whose truth is a matter of intense debate. As for me, well, I’ve discovered my own manipulation of The Word. No, I am no novelist or journalist, no politician, though as you can see, I am a wordsmith of a sort. No, in this case, I have learned how to tap into the primal essence of The Word. In short, I am what you might call a wizard, a witch, a magician, a sorcerer. There are many names that seem to apply to what I am, though I don’t know how accurate they all are. It’s proven a most useful gift for me. I can do almost anything, provided I can put it to words. I could fly, breathe underwater, travel through time. Oh, the possibilities are far too vast for me to explain in one sitting, but I believe you get what I’m trying to say. As such, I’ve dedicated much of my life to the understanding of names and words. There’s a reason why they say power over the name is power over the thing itself. Take my neighbor over there. He asked if he could borrow some of my power tools for a big project of his. Naturally, I agreed, but doubtless, you can see how ... unfit he is for the task. Forgive the pun. Obviously, being that pale and overweight would make this endeavor exceptionally difficult for him. As such, being the kindly neighbor that I am, I decided it would be best to give him a little hand.  You’ll note that I only use some of the best products. I particularly enjoy this brand of jackhammer for its choice of wording. Now, watch. You see how difficult it is for him to wield at first. His whole body is shaking from the effort. Now keep watching. Note how his shirt is starting to droop. His biceps and pectorals are inflating. Surprised? I thought you might be. He’s becoming quite ... jacked, wouldn’t you say? Forgive the pun. It seemed appropriate at the time. You’ll note how his complexion is changing. His skin is gaining more color Dirt and dust are flying all over his shoes and pants. Ah, and there it is. See how the material shifts. No more sneakers for this worker. Thick, sturdy construction boots are the way to go. Steel toes glinting dully under the coat of dust. Ah, and there go the features. His jaw really is shaping up now, wouldn’t you say? So ... rugged. Ah, forgive me. It seems I may have crossed wires. Ah well. It plays into the role he’s taking, anyways, so it’s no true loss. Yes, that’s at least a month’s worth of beard growing in at once. What more did you expect? Ah, and there goes the shirt now. Note how it’s paling more and more, getting so tight against his skin. Ah, but it’s such a hot day, isn’t it? Why would a hard laborer burden himself with such long sleeves, especially when they’re so constricting on his arms? And there we go. The shirt is gone now, and much the better for it. I see you gaping now. Or is that perhaps a bit of drool? I’ll hail him, if you like. Just wait till you see how he reacts. Hey, Brute! Ah, and there it is, my favorite part. Look at that smile. See that bicep tense and swell as he flexes for us. He knows what he is now, and he revels in it. A worn snapback, some protective goggles, a pair of earmuffs to dampen the noise, and he’s finished. Tell me, do you like what you see? Do you enjoy his burly frame? Did you enjoy watching him change? I thought you might have. *Chuckle* Just wait until he starts it up again....

VIP Treatment

Michael had purchased the highest membership possible. This

Meathead Oasis

had the most consistent customer satisfaction reviews. It was ... surprising, given the shoddy appearance outside the building. Still, he supposed it was due to the nature of the trainers. Most people said it didn’t matter about the facilities, more about the person and the trainers.

The shirt they’d handed him draped like a nightgown, but they’d insisted he try it on for size, to “picture his goal.” He sighed and went along with it. They strode past all the roid bros and meatheads to a single door that led into a simple room with dark cushioned tiles and a radiator on the side to offer extra heat and induce sweating.

His trainer guided him to a large floor-length mirror.

“Now, then. I want you to imagine what you want to look like. Close your eyes. Visualize. Picture the form you want to take. Imagine your growth. Imagine how much your muscles are going to inflate as you pump those big, heavy weights. Imagine how sharp your focus becomes on those simple, repetitive exercises.”

Michael could practically hear the weights clanking as the plates knocked against one another. His muscles tensed. His breathing became sharper.

“Feel the heat, the burning heat causing you to sweat, burning outside, burning inside as your muscles continue to swell and expand. Expand as you repeat. Repeat those simple exercises, focus on simple exercises. Because weight lifting doesn’t need thinking. Weight lifting needs doing. Do me a favor and repeat that for me, won’t you?”

“Weight lifting doesn’t need thinking. Weight lifting needs doing.” Michael shuddered. It hadn’t sounded very convincing, but if this mental stuff was to help prime him for his first session, he might as well go along with it.

“Doing lifts, doing curls, doing squats, doing weights. Doing lifts, doing curls, doing squats, doing weights. It’s an endless cycle, an endless spiral, and endless climb of repetition. Over and over. Just like when you flex. Because lifting is flexing and flexing is lifting. Both strain your muscles. Both push them to pump, to swell, to grow....”

Michael let out a raspy breath as his muscles tensed. It felt ... so hot.

“Flexing and growing, growing bigger, growing hotter.”

Michael’s cheeks flushed. He’d wanted to keep that aspect out of the discussion.

“So very hot. So hot, burning away all those other thoughts you don’t need in the gym as you focus on that simple repetition. Because weight lifting doesn’t need thinking. Weight lifting needs doing.”

Michael felt dizzy. “Wh-wha--?”

“You’re not done with this exercise yet, Michael. Repeat,” the voice ordered.

The harshness startled him. “W-weight lifting doesn’t need thinking. Weight lifting needs doing,” he stumbled.

“Eyes closed,” the voice snapped again. “They open when I say for them to open. We start after this simple exercise is complete, and not until.”

Michael winced as he felt to massive hands engulf his shoulders and quickly closed slammed his eyes shut. Wrinkles of stress showed on either side as his muscles tensed with the force he used to close his lids.

“Good.” The hands came off. A single pat tapped gently on Michael’s shoulder. “Now back to the exercise. It’s designed to help you relax and accept the boredom that comes from lifting. Most of our regular customers either take to it or get disgusted by the need to endure. Since you’re our VIP, we’re here to make sure you’re able to do the former, not fail in the latter.”

“But how is talking supposed to--”

“Talking alone won’t. It requires more. In fact, most serious lifters hardly talk at all during their sessions. It’s listening that matters. Listening to the clack of the weights, the rhythm of your heartbeat, the ebb and flow of strain as your muscles push and pull and swell in time. Because lifting doesn’t need thinking. Lifting needs doing.”

“Why do you keep--?”

“Because it’s true. And the more you lift, the truer it gets. Truer as your muscles get heavier, heavier because you’re lifting more weights. Lifting more weights, because your muscles are stronger. Stronger, because you repeat your exercises. Repeat your exercises, because they are simple. Simple, because lifting doesn’t need thinking. Lifting needs doing.”

“I ... I don’t feel so--.”

“Doing more, thinking less. Less as you repeat your exercises. Less as you repeat your mantra. Repeat your mantra and flex.”

Michael groaned. So hot, so dizzy, so ... spinny as the voice swirled in his head, swirled and repeated, repeated like a spiral.

“Doing lifts, doing squats, doing curls, doing weights. Doing lifts, doing squats, doing curls, doing weights....” the trainer repeated in his deep, smooth voice.

Repeating.

Repeated.

Repeat....

“Doing lifts, doing squats, doing curls, doing weights....”

“Now flex, and repeat.”

Michael huffed as he felt his arms raise, his biceps tense, the fabric brush against his skin as it rode up. “Doing lifts, doing squats, doing curls, doing weights....” Spiraling, repeating. Over and over. He ... couldn’t stop. Did he ... even want to?

“So simple to repeat. So simple to follow your exercises, follow my voice. So simple, so calm, so empty, because lifting....”

“Lifting doesn’t need thinking. Lifting needs doing.” Lifting needs doing. Doing over. Over again. Repeat. Don’t think. Repeat. “Doing lifts, doing squats, doing curls, doing weights....”

“No thinking now....”

“Lifting doesn’t need thinking. Lifting needs doing....” His voice had pitched so much lower, so relaxed, so repetitive, so ... simple. It felt ... good. Good to relax. Good to listen. Listen to his body. Listen to the pleasure. Pleasure in simple. Simple in repetition. Repetition in exercises. Exercises doing lifts, doing squats, doing curls, doing weights....

“Growing as you repeat. Growing bigger. Growing stronger. Growing simple. Growing dumber. Dumb is simple. Simple is good. Good is growing. Growing through repetition. Voice growing deeper. Muscle growing larger. Thoughts growing simpler. Simple, like your exercises. Simple, like your muscle. Just like your muscle. Because muscle is meat. Simple, like meat. Meat in your head, growing with every repetition.”

Simple. Repeat. Simple. Repeat. Simple. Repeat....

“Flex.”

Mike pulled his arms together. He felt his biceps brush against his sides, felt the fabric of his shirt rubbing against his pecs, felt the bristles of a rugged beard brushing against his neck.

“You can open your eyes now, Mikey.”

He didn’t even bother to object to the name. It was simpler. Simple was good. He opened and stared at his form with glassy eyes. Veins snaked up his arms. Swollen muscle curved and sloped in clearly defined spheres and mounds. The straps of his black tank top curved over his traps and strained against his pectorals. His hands obscured the Pass part of his shirt, leaving the VIP wide open to be read. His brow had become more prominent, his jaw thicker. His hair was a bleached blond. “You are a meathead, Mikey.” Mikey stared as he processed the information slowly, letting it fall into that spiral of repetition. “You are a paragon of meatheads, the perfect, greatest, best ideal.” Mikey continued to stare. “And that’s why you’re our VIP, our Vascular Immutable Paragon of meatheads. No one can break your course. No one can take you off your spiral. No one can prevent you from being the stubborn meathead that you are.” A smile pulled at Mikey’s face, and he let out a low deep chuckle that rumbled out of his newly expanded chest. His neck thickened, and his voice deepened even more. A bulge began to swell against the crotch of his gym shorts.“Can I work out now?” he asked in that same vapid tone. The trainer chuckled. “Yes, Mikey. Get to your exercises.” Mikey grinned. “Lifts and squats and curls and weights....” he muttered as he approached the racks.

The trainer grinned in turn. “Another satisfied customer.”

Update and WARNING!

So, I conferred with a professional friend of mine, and he confirmed that YES, it was TREY who tried to put me under, assuming I’d been hypnotized before and could easily be triggered again. Obviously, he did not succeed. But be warned, guys. That’s a new name he tried making now. The tumblr account was deactivated, but it’s clear he’s still up to his old tricks. I repeat. Beware of Trey. BEWARE Alphapuphypnous or whatever other pseudonyms he’s taken on. He is a manipulator, an opportunist, and a selfish minor with no morals. Or it’s possible he may now be legally an adult. Either way, BEWARE OF HIM! DO NOT LET HIM HYPNOTIZE YOU. If someone sends you a hypno gif immediately in a message, don’t let it get to you. Type as fast as you can and get it out of your message box feed so you’re not staring at it. Then call him or whatever other person may be on the other end out. Be hypnotized on your own terms, not someone else’s. And don’t let a hypnotist change you any farther than you yourself wanted to be changed in the first place. Hypnosis is a great tool, but it can be dangerous in the wrong hands. Trance responsibly.