Yesterday | TBN 7-15-21

Bookmaking log: finished CoIn & secret project | TBN +1,739 words

• • •

It is currently yesterday. I woke up either within an hour of 24 hours ago or greater than 24 hours ago, but uh, yeah. I’m just kinda here, ‘man. I decided that I didn’t want to wake up again and still have the secret project on my plate. I feel fine, honestly. A little tired, but otherwise all right. I used to be really fuckin’ zonked after crossing the 20ish hour mark, but now I feel fine. But it is 100% yesterday in my mind right now. I technically shouldn’t be doing this, because I don’t do The Note on Wednesdays, but what can I say? You give me bloodflow, noted readers.

I think the mids have a lot to do with my chillness right now. I received an ounce of free mids from the ‘man the other day and I’m smoking the shit like a goddamned wildfire, tree after tree after tree. I don’t even feel them. I feel the first one a little, the second one less, and then if I smoke more within 4ish hours I’ll hardly feel shit. I don’t love it, I’m not going to lie. When I smoke cannabis, I do so with the intention of allowing The Garden to enshroud me like an aura, to walk with me in step through the forest beyond the pond as 5 different versions of Joe Hawley’s The Mind Electric play on shuffle and I sing madly along without realizing I’m moving my lips, but the mids don’t allow for that. The mids allow for The Garden to explore immediately outside of my pineal gland, they do not allow The Garden to enshroud me like an aura as I trek through the endless wood of The Hillside Commons, and maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe that’s exactly what I need. Prior to the mids I had a half ounce of the ‘man’s top shelf free gift, Gelato it was called, famously potent. I was chainsmoking them, noted reader. At first the weed was great. Knocked me on my ass and kept me there, The Garden was on the couch playing Outbreak! But then began the chainsmoking. I got to the point where I felt it when it started wearing off, okay? That’s not fucking solid, dude. But completing the secret project stressed me out. The legal cannabis was legitimately the only thing that got me through, and I needed to get through. And now it’s done, so I’ll be stressed less. I get to do The Fall of the Seven Earths now, and I have another book planned for W-63 after that! And after that I have about 19 more books planned, and after that and after that and

That’s why I chainsmoke the cannabis, see? THC in the brain attracts thoughts, and thoughts evolve into ideas. So when you think about it, every hit is worth so many words, so many sentences, so many lines of bendy hieroglyphics cached on the page like vinyls in a milkcrate. Smoke, write, and be merry: the key to true happiness.

For Hunter A. Wallace, bookmaker of The Hillside Commons.

So you may’ve noticed that I’m still referring to the secret project as the secret project despite the fact that I’ve stated it was done multiple times in this post, and after this period. The secret project is done. It really is, but the thing is, I don’t own my own printing press. I have plans to one day own my own printing press – many printing presses, I’m taking The Hillside Commons to the goddamn 13th dimension – but right now I do not, and I must publish through Amazon KDP, and they have to approve the paperback. So technically it’s not done yet, but it’s at the point where I cannot do a single thing to help it. Plus, the eBook is available, so technically it is done. So there, be invigored cyka blyat.

There are two sayings that rang in my ears yesterday. The first was Build it, and they shall come. I think it’s safe to say I’ve built something – maybe not it, but uh, >1,000,000 words worth of something – and I think it’s safe to say some have come. I see, and I’m not bullshitting here, but I see the same names liking my content today that I did in 2017 when the walls were still talkin’ back to me. Y’all are here, ‘man, and it amazes me every day. The second, though, was Search, and you will find. This one is about you, too; I’m going to do a pair of posts for the secret project, one being the general announcement/explanation post and the other being an “end of the book author’s note” type thing but presented in The Note. I used to do a Bookmaker’s Note at the end of every book, but I don’t do them anymore and I’m going to remove them from the legacy books once I’ve finished revamping them. In the books; I don’t do them in the books anymore. I want the books to stand on their own. The books are art, ‘man, the books are fuckiNG SACRED. I want them to stand on their own so the hypothetical reader can form their own opinion of them without my influence; when a book is finished, it is no longer mine. I give it to the world, and that’s just what it is. That’s why I’m revamping all the books, when I didn’t have legal cannabis I wasn’t able to let go of them. But now I am, and so when you buy one of my books, noted reader, that is your book. That is your one-way ticket into the mind of a half-gopnik hillbilly who wrote over a million words worth of fiction in, like, 3 years. A little over 3 years, I think, ’cause I finished UBP at the end of 2020, literally announced it on December 31st if I’m not mistaken, but uh, yeah. I don’t know about you, but I certainly wouldn’t call myself one of the normals, okay? I listen to music that plays backwards and has multiple vocal tracks simultaneously playing over one another, and they don’t sing the same lyrics, OKAYYYYY??? I can’t listen to anything else! I found Tally Hall [Joe Hawley specifically] and now there’s nothing else! I have one of those $300 Aiwa bluetooth boombox motherfuckers and it plays Tally Hall, Joe Hawley, and Miracle Musical literally from the moment I wake up until I go to sleep! I spend more time in the Existence inside my head than in the Reality I live in, and this is the only way I can be stable! Not even that, it’s the only way I can function! MOST HUMANS I’VE MET AREN’T LIKE ME, FOLKS, IT’S LONELY AT THE TOP BUT I RECOGNIZE THAT SOMEONE HAS TO BE HERE AND ANOTHER THI

By the way, the secret project is a book and it’s exactly 647,### words long. As in a trichome short of 650,000. Six hundred fifty thousand words. The shit is 705 pages long and bigger than a piece of A4 printer paper. It is literally the size of a fucking, like, whatever the fuck it’s called, a packet of printer paper that is ironically wrapped in paper. Unless it’s wrapped in plastic, but even then the secret project is still bigger.

Also, I’m 26.


“Seeeeeeeeeeee how I laaaaauuugh at youuuuuu/
You’ll never understand/
No you’ll never understand/
No you’ll never ever ever, understand~
“Seeeeeeeeeeee how I runnnn from youuuuuuu/
I’ll never ever ever understand/
No I’ll never ever ever understand~”
(Joe Hawley, Joe Hawley,)

And that’s okay, too. That’s something I’ve learned: we don’t need to understand what we’re doing in order to do it. All we have to do is slip into flow and it just happens. Like, have you ever made art? Like, true art? Art only you can make? That’s all I make, everything happens in my Existence and I’m just lettin’ y’all know, see? I’m just the messenger, nay, the translator, to quote my own work. Which I can do on occasion, because there’s a fucking LOT of it. And the reason for that is the way the writing gets done: I don’t make it up, it comes to me. That probably seems pretentious or whatever, especially if you’re wildly insecure about your own E/existence, but I’m being 100% real here. I don’t make any of this shit up. It happens, The Garden tells me about it in some strange archaic way that doesn’t involve words, and that’s that. All I do is fit it to words. I’m nothing but a monkey with a jigsaw puzzle in front of me, and that’s my fucking word.

But yeah, ‘man. I’m here. There’s nothing else in the world I care about, and that’s not going to change. This THC thing is not a fucking joke, I’m taking this shit to the 13th goddamn dimension and I’ll get there climbing a staircase made of my fucking books! HAH!

So what I’m trying to say is: I’ve built it, and you have come. The secret project is done, but I’m not talking about it yet because it’s still yesterday. If you seek, you shall find it. Or you can just wait until tomorrow, Saturday at the latest. Unless Amazon says they won’t print it. But they approved the eBook, so I don’t know why they wouldn’t.

Listen, I need to bed. Need to bed? Fuckin’, yeah. I need to bed, as you can see, as I’ve been awake since yesterday and I don’t even know how long I’ve been sitting at the keyboard at this point. This The Note was legitimately going to be 3 lines long, the third being my little thanks and mantra at the end there, but here we are, fuckin, paragraphs of words later. Today’s The Note was a fun one. I enjoy pretending to be a human who casually refers to himself as the bookmaker. You never know what someone like that might write 😉

Since you’re there, noted reader, thanks a bundle for being there. “From this day on, we move forever forward” (HAW, 2k∞)~

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