One of the coolest things about a comprehensive head-unfucking process is that you can spend an age or two chip-chip-chipping away at stubborn clogs, spending yourself, and seeing no durned progress. Then something, anything, or nothing much happens, and a whole giant chunk – maybe a chunk so big that you’d not even been able to see it, so big that you thought it was a feature, rather than a clog – comes unstuck. All that chipping wasn’t for nothing, after all. All the small fractures you created over painful weeks or months or years led up to a giant, spectacular release. Next thing you know, you’re rolling around in an avalanche, with no idea whatsoever of where you’re headed, or who you’ll be where you get there.

If you enjoy getting lost, it’s about the best trip anyone’s head can afford.

 

Corollary: Nobody can begin to guess what will be important to anyone else. I’ve got cheap paperback sci-fi books I picked up at a train station nearly three decades ago because I happened to have some spare change and nothing better to do that I’ve dragged with me through 18+ house moves (some intercontinental) and a year on a travelling show because, yes, they made that much of an impact. They’re a part of my software.

Corollary 2: If you put something out there, make it true.

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