Thread by @colsonlin

Brainstorming a new direction—I’m trying to bring this dynamite home.

Look, I know I’ve left things unsaid about living inside the timeline where our continued existence is guaranteed by virtue of how far we’ve come so far.

Because I don’t have the words to render that thought.

It’s like a shimmer of a thought I can only grab while stoned, and I didn’t take any weed at all today because weed makes me feel brave and “mystical” and I wanted to feel scared, I wanted to see how brave I could be while sober and scared.

I’ve laid out a lot of topics though:

- power
- existential luck
- unity vs. fragmentation
- narrativizations that ring true help us align our understandings of reality
- façades and tricksters
- God and Satan
- dystopia and utopia

Just off the top of my head.

I’m also really into history and music theory actually.

Like why certain melodies and harmonies are so pleasing to the ear and how much of that is culturally created vs. biological, whatever the difference even is: when does nature stop being nature?

My boyfriend’s literally playing the flute in front of his computer right now.

He feels enslaved by his job and I want to take that away from him so much.

You don’t save the world.

You save family first.

That’s Messiahism 101.

Save—we hate that word because none of us want to feel powerless, we just wanna telegraph our powerlessness every day for power.

Our relationship to power is nearly completely severed from reality. I blame the culture of power-acquisition normalized for us by l’elites, but I’m sure if I thought harder about it I’d run into some hard truths about human nature (spoiler alert: I have thought harder about it).

I have so much to delete I feel overwhelmed.

I don’t know what to keep.

I don’t know what to use for the video.

I don’t know whether I should even get stoned and see what comes out or if I’ll just end up repeating myself (layering over stale truths like a dot-matrix printer).

This is just my second book though.

I see it as my equivalent of UNTIMELY MEDITATIONS: all it’s here to do is plant some seeds I’ll grow in the future.

I want the smartest people in the world to destroy what I’ve written, because I’ll rebuild like a philosophical phoenix bitch.

The most popular posts I’ve done are the ones where I talk about how I’m a prophet.

Lucky you: I do think I’m a prophet, and unless the Universe gives me cancer, puts me in a car crash, or lets me suffer a tragedy, I’m going to push on with revealing every secret I come across.

My thinking here is a God and Satan rooted in how we interact with our own existential bounty is healthy and conducive to our long-term survival, but what do I know? I’m not a climate scientist or a global security analyst. I just read their output like a curious pattern-spotter.

I’m listening to a flute right now.

It feels primordial and ancient, like something cavemen might do around a fire with a block of wood, which shows you how little I know about cavemen and cutting instruments.

I like these ancient rituals that seem to join our species together.

I’m treading forward like Icarus now, as if I know a secret about reality that I don’t actually know, can only approximate toward: the secret being, because unusual-communicators-with-reality existed in the past, then the trajectory my life’s mapped onto so far reveals something.

But if nihilism intrudes into my personal life, then I’ll just stop doing this.

That doesn’t mean reality isn’t more interesting than I thought for the first 32 years of my life when I was an atheist.

That just means I won’t be the fucker tasked with communicating it to y’all.

Someone else will do it, I’m sure.

I’ll just be grieving, cursing God, and moving on with being just another person at a loss with how to move on from tragedy without killing himself.

Call it “individualized nihilism inside a clearly non-nihilistic reality.”

You might relate.

I’ve never been a strong person, that’s the truth.

I plead Didion here: my nerves are fragile. I just had a call with my mom earlier and her blood pressure is high. Her blood pressure spikes every time the faintest whiff of bad news materializes inside her subconscious.

#MeToo.

I hope I’m doing something brave and significant.

I’m using my best judgment to assess the situation from my perspective, examining all the information I have access to, and making a determination that it makes sense to continue.

But I’m not actually a brave or strong person.

I need my family to be happy.

I need the flute to play on.

I need governmental organs not to mess with me. I’m not sure yet how I’d react to a frivolous lawsuit except signing to myself, “That’s so elite.”

It’s immaterial to me what elite clowns or social strivers think of me.

Luck has carried me this far.

My friends are weighed down by contemporary maladies (I have a front-row seat every day, and no, not all my three closest friends are bourgeois). My hatred of postmodernity’s consequences is personal.

Yours is too—you just haven’t connected it yet.

It’s not that I don’t think the elites are human.

I’d just love to show them what it’s like being afraid.

But their trump card against me is: I’m just a human being. I’m so easy to destroy (not my words or ideas, but my physicality).

My reputation?

Do whatever you want.

I’m not afraid of any truth, and I don’t think the future will believe any lie.

Which timeline are we in?

It’s like a glimmer of a truth that I can only access when I’m high: the one where intelligence survives the longest of course.

But nobody believes me, nor should they, until I can articulate the reasons for believing that in a rational way.

“Power.”

My way with words is a power.

I don’t intend to use it like a slingshot.

I learned from the best.

I’ll write dynamite after dynamite until I die, because nobody else in the American elite seems to be interested in even writing slingshots.

“Here’s another depression memoir.”

And you never know.

Maybe I’ll start a trend.

At some point you just have to ask yourself: how much can the market absorb of powerful people pretending to be powerless to lock down more and more power for themselves before the market openly requests dynamites?

Ah, capitalism!

Psst, ordinary Americans:

The victim culture that’s coalesced like cumulonimbus clouds over your head are how the elites are trying to relate to you!

Isn’t Versailles adorable?

If they told you some hard truths about their relationship to hard work, intelligence, and existential luck, you might not be inclined to give them as much respect and admiration anymore.

That’s okay.

I’ll speak all the hard truths for them.

:)

Y’all remember my motto, right?

https://twitter.com/colsonlin/status/1597935340698103809?s=20

Me and Elite America was like the ultimate “wrong time, wrong place” bad love story.

Gosh.

I just hope it sells.

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