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*Home Stretch Talk In The Mental Locker Room*
Come on, motherfucker. Get up and write.
Two entries yesterday. Some more today. Faster, not slower. Faster, not slower.
Get off your ass and type.
You're a bad 80 WPM sonofabitch with keystrokes for blood and a metaphysics theory engine between your ears. This isn't even focused work, this is playtime. This ain't shit. Quit sandbagging. Everyone you idolize has been doing this longer than you and better than you. There is no more time. One word after another, one two, one two three four, connect the dots. There is something alien and beautiful under the world's skin, and you are going to rip it out barehanded and show it to people, one dream at a time. Hup, hup, hup. Caffeinate, connect the dots, finish the pattern. Knock it out.
Go, you complete fucking dork. Go.
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