I just took a nice long shower, as I often do, especially when I’m overwhelmed and stuck in some way (I’m both, as of this moment). There is too many things going on. Too much noise, too much doomerism, too much AI, and of course—how could I forget—too much LLM slop.

I used to write long thinkboi pieces. People liked them, so I tried to write more of them. It was a form of audience capture, without me realizing it. And I’m still kinda stuck in it, green suit and all. (Nevermind that I didn’t wear the suit for 5 years now. Maybe even 6?)

Anyway. That was it. That was the shower thought. Or should I say: realization.

I still have them from time to time, these realizations. Realizations that led to me writing Bitcoin is Time, or Bitcoin is Digital Scarcity, and so on and so forth. But now they are often outside of Bitcoin, and thus I don’t write about them, since I assume that my audience (what a pretentious thing to say: “my audience” - ugh) isn’t interested in any of it.

Well, that’s the conundrum, isn’t it. Once you start writing for an audience you stop writing for yourself. And that’s what I always did, and what I always loved: writing for myself. Writing for the sake of it. Writing to think, because, as all writers know, writing is thinking.

And it really does help me think. If I don’t write, I go in circles. Round and round I go, in my head, ruminating on the same thing, for hours, days, weeks, months. Like a madman. And I don’t want to be a madman. I want to be someone who writes, just like a dancer dances. Not for an ultimate end goal, not for other people, and definitely not for a paycheck.

Thinking in public.

That’s how I’m going to call it.

It’s going to be different, it’s going to be imperfect, and it’s going to be without rules, structures, or schedule. I’ll write when I feel like it, and I won’t write when I don’t feel like it. Simple.

The one thing I can promise you (and by “you” I mean me, since this is a promise to myself) is that it’s going to be free of LLM slop. Zero. Nada. Zilch.

Clankers are useful, no doubt about it. But they can’t do the writing for you, because they can’t do the thinking for you. And as I’ve mentioned before, they can’t do the expressing that is part of the human condition, the bleeding on the page, the squeezing of the soul that makes a song come out, or a poem, or a love letter, or a work of art. How could anyone or anything produce something that touches you, if that thing is neither in touch with the world nor in touch with itself?

That’s in part why I want to return to writing: to get in touch with myself again. And maybe, God willing, also with the world.