9/16/2020 – Shipped

I feel like I need a fucking cigarette. I finally posted all of it. It’s all out there. The original, the edit, the epilogues, a couple posts intermingled with thoughts about it all. There will be more I’m positive, as I progress through what’s been left strewn about my mind from the process.

One thing I find funny is that I keep thinking about new details. I just added a couple paragraphs to the Epilogue-1 post.

But it’s shipped. As a high neurotic I’ve been hesitating on putting this all out there for damn near 20 fucking years (call it 18.)

I figure I’ll keep remembering things and adding to it a bit for the next couple months, eventually easing towards stability. Then, who knows. Maybe I’ll never look at it again. Maybe I’ll always twiddle it here and there. Don’t know. Don’t much care. It’s out.

It makes me want to reread Steven Pressfield’s “The War of Art” which, if you’ve ever thought about creating anything (and why the fuck not if not?) is a truly great book.

In his parlance I’ve won the war with Resistance and Shipped It.

It’s on to the next thing.

Last night one of my favorite people showed up at Johnathan’s and we started ripping the world apart as the night drew on. Hell I’ve only been in a room with him 4 times and the first was very casual. But he’s one of those people you meet and instantly click with. He’s a deep thinker with something to say, however recalcitrant he is to get started.

And as always, when we got to talking, I learned a bunch both from him and from me hearing myself say things I didn’t know I knew. That’s a particularly counter intuitive phenomenon that I’m getting more and more at home with over time.

The trick now, as I see it, is finding occasions and people to work things out with like that. Yes it works very well even when I’m pacing around my home, talking to myself. But when I have someone else there who I can speak with on my level (fuck you, that’s pretty high) it takes on an amazing new level of personal enlightenment.

So finding the coterie is now the task. There’s him and a couple other people who I can add to the list. Not most of my friends, to be sure, love them as I do.

I come back again to the idea of a real Salon, a forum for chosen people to sit together and tear apart the world with each other. Not quite a Napoleon Hill “Mastermind Group” but something pretty close.

It’s not the kind of thing you can find from meetup.com. You have to dredge through acres and acres of normies and would-be intellectuals. They can rarely identify themselves, though sometimes I’ll sit there (at the bar) and someone will say “I wish I could just have a REAL conversation” which will mark them as a candidate.

IF, at that moment, I’m sitting there with another A-list human, we’ll look at each other knowingly (or not even, knowing we both heard it) and probe a bit, seeing if someone has the capability to be wrong without getting their ego in the way, someone who has the capacity and desire to dive into the unknown.

Everybody thinks they’re smart, and hell maybe a lot of people are, just failing to get out of their own way enough to actually fucking listen to…themselves or to others enough to be declared as interesting.

But I’ve written who knows how many thousands of words today and I’m done for now. These sessions are starting to blow by very quickly. Productivity is through the damned roof. But my fingers are in so many documents that I can’t even discern by how much.

Maybe this is what Thomas Bevan is talking about when he says to ignore the word count and focus instead on how long you’ve sat at work.

Enough for now though. It’s 4:45 and I’ve got a bar to go to for a few hours.

o7

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