A week ago I had a mini mushroom freakout and burned off-island with Dr. Z on a lackadaisical afternoon ferry.
The good doctor Z is gainfully employed, an upstanding citizen. He works hard, pays taxes, and obeys all the rules of his professional association.
Unencumbered with such responsibilities, I decided to spend the week in Richmond unplugged and faded.
I’m super depressed. If anyone in Vic would like to hang out please text me.
Wow, that sounds un-fun. What I mean is:
Everything is fantastic and you’re all wonderful! I’m in town — let’s catch up!
The story is that when he got to Mexico Cortez drilled holes in his ships to motivate his men, and burned them when they refused to sink. Whether the story is true or not is as unknowable as anything else (particularly about Cortez), but it illustrates the concept of dead ground.
“Dead ground” is Sun Tzu’s idea — essentially it’s the final motivation. Hunter S. Thompson would say, “the only way out is through.” Dead ground is what you’re standing on when you’re between the rock and the hard place. Your only option is surprising success.
I was talking about Victoria’s narcotic effects with Lex Luthor today. She agrees: The downside of Victoria being Tir na Nog is that time passes quickly in the real world while you’re busy goofing around with The Fey People.
Victoria is what saves me from the dead ground. It saves me from ever really being motivated. I don’t really have to accomplish anything, I can just be a prince in a little province, a fish in a little bowl. Worst-case I can stroll into Daddy’s firm one day and get back to being a Chartered Accountant. To most people this counts as runaway success, but it’s not good enough for me — I’d consider myself a giant failure.
I have a film, two games, a series of commercials, a television show, and a promotions business in various stages of development and pre-production. I need motivation, energy, strength. I’ve already experienced the motivation that came from the government fucking me out of EI. I need more of that panic-motivation, that sweet fruit which only grows on dead ground.
This isn’t Victoria’s fault, it’s mine. Still: Life is no fun with a safety net. Victoria must burn.
I left today, a day early. I purposely told exactly three people I was leaving, two of whom I trust implicitly. Vancouver people were blowing up the celly within an hour. I’m just glad that I wasn’t trying to surprise the Vancouverites for any real reason. This, too, is my fault — a breach of the second and third crack commandments.
I won’t be coming back until things take off. This is going to be hard, there are lots of parties and birthdays coming up, including mine, but I gotta remember that’s the point: Burning your safety net is supposed to hurt.
Welcome to the dead ground Jack. Now: Do or die.
I’m heading East sometime in May for a meeting with film and television people, but there I go again tipping my hand. I also gotta remember: Only report successes, not successful-sounding plans. Stick and move, stick and move.
Goodbye Victoria. Next time I touch down it’ll be during my triumph.
I’ve been sick since Good Friday. Eight days, so far, and they’ve been long and difficult.
Before I begin: It wasn’t Azuma. Yes, I had a slightly-rubbery rainbow roll. Yes, my fortune did say, “the treasures of the rainbow will soon be yours”. Yes, the first of my several doctors started by treating me for poison and parasites.
But no, it was not Azuma.
My second and third doctors (I discarded them until I got results) settled on a serious case of the flu. It was either that or something that would have needed surgery. I’ll spare you the physical details. Anyway, they’re boring compared to the psychic ones.
Over the Equinox the sun dips low to the horizon for three days, then rises. Over Easter the Son dies for three days and then rises.
In either case, I’m coming back to Victoria to experience it under the leyline intersection. Family dinner at the haunted golf club.
A new season of Celebrity Rehab is out! I had no idea because I don’t watch commercials.
About a month ago I broke my (very well-designed) favorite pipe such that it’s still possible, but inconvenient, to use — though not inconvenient enough for me to replace or fix. I love my drug paraphernalia as much as the next guy, but usually when it’s out I’m too high to do anything maintenance-wise.
Just before firing up 2×01 I did a couple of hits holding the broken glass and burned my fingers. Now I’m off to watch rehab TV after burning my hands on a broken glass drug pipe.
Bring on the celebrities, my fellow wastrels.