A conviction that’s difficult to openly admit- is that I think nobody has any fucking idea what they’re doing. I think everybody is bullshitting their way through pretty much everything. That’s an overly broad statement, so I’ll have to refine that. I think the vast majority of everything that’s being said around us is full of shit. I think most people are full of shit. I recognise that I’m writing from some sort of bitter, angry state right now and I expect to get out of this state by writing this. By writing myself out of it. Why am I bitter? I’m bitter because I feel jealous, or because I feel underserved, or under-expressed in some way. I’m bitter and angry because I realise that I haven’t been doing myself justice. I’m not maximizing my potential, and one of the consequences of that is that I have to live with the choices that have been chosen for me. he who will not obey himself will be commanded. I’m sick and tired of being commanded.
 
I spent a little bit of time on Reddit, etc doing research to me and it’s clear to me that tonnes of people have no idea what they’re talking about. Some people are able to describe things more lucidly, more effectively than others, but they still don’t really know what they’re talking about. It’s infuriating, frustrating, why do I have to listen to all of this shit? I don’t, actually. That’s why I left Facebook. I’m going to have to leave Reddit, too. I’m going to have to stop reading most of everything that comes my way, unless it’s filtered by people that I trust to recommend quality things to me. Or it has to come after I’ve done the writing.
 
Every fucking day I need to do to the writing. The last time I published a word vomit- 0195- that was on November 23rd. Over a week ago. That’s why I’m so bloody edgy. I need to bleed everyday. I need to spill ink everyday. If I’m not spilling ink, I’m getting into this space where the world crowds me out. And that’s tiring, exhausting, painful. I can’t stand it. I need to write everyday for the rest of my life, there’s really no other way out of that.
 
I know what the things are that I should be thinking about. I know what the things are that I should be writing about, to some degree at least. The most important thing at any given time is that I pick something of real value and then execute it. Execute execute execute.
 
Argh, fuck the news seriously. It’s like we’re all just bombarding each other with inane shit. If only we could all sit down as a species and ask each other where we’re hurting, why, and if we could all help each other through it. Well- actually I’m not sure if that’ll accomplish anything. I talk about this as though I’d like somebody to sit me down and talk me through some things, but I’ve actually done that- with my wife, with my boss, with people I trust- and I inevitably come to this space where I learn or realise or revisit this realisation that ultimately I have to figure this stuff out on my own. By figure this stuff out I mean beyond conceptually. Concepts are great. Ideas are great. Frameworks, narratives, insights, all of those things are great. But ultimately you have to swallow the water yourself (you can only lead a horse to water).
 
People keep talking about lists and tools and frameworks and blogposts and stuff like that but what really matters? What really gets to the heart of all of it? What is product market fit? What are people actually looking for? How do you really dig into the heart of a problem? What do we really know or understand about a problem? Do we really fucking know it?
 
This is a mess. I am a bit of a mess. I will tidy this shit up. This probably won’t be worth anything but I really felt like my hands had to go through the process of typing out a bunch of words. It’s a mechanical thing. I just need to get this fucking shit out of me. It doesn’t need to make sense. It doesn’t need to have some ulterior purpose or motive. I just need to pour everything out. Dump it all out. Because I’m tired. And it’s entirely up to me to take care of myself. To fix anything and everything. And I can’t quite put my finger on what the problem is but I know that it’s solvable. It’s within some space that can be demarcated. We are biological creatures. I just adjusted my posture. I put on the motivational video with the epic music that I wish existed, that I discovered works for me. And then I need to breath really deep. I need to drink some water. I need to keep going.
 
What is the count now? 800. Sometimes I need to get angry. Sometimes I need to get mad. Blow the fuse. Throw off the chains. Break the chains. Destroy everything .Set the world on fire. Set myself on fire. Light up all the neurons. It’s all about set and setting. When you want to explode, fucking explode and leverage the hell out of that shit. It’s not about anybody else. It’s about you. It’s all about managing your own mood. About setting yourself up to get from where you are to where you want to go. About managing your energy. About managing your fire. About setting everything on fire. On expanding. On growing. On publishing. On writing. The words just need to spill. Spill all the fucking ink. Pour it out. You know that there’s a goddamn million words inside you. Stop living small. Stop limiting yourself. Stop reacting. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Stop waiting for later. Yes, exhaustion is something to worry about, to look for and to manage, but that’s hardly ever your problem, is it? Your problem is that you don’t rush to the insight.
 
Rush to the insight. Finish early. You’re done, go. Go. Go. Go. Go. GO.