Fuckism: You’re not creative—you’re a squirrel on meth. Bouncing from idea to idea like your brain’s got fleas. Start. Finish. Or shut the fuck up.
You’ve got a hundred projects, fifty “next big things,” and zero goddamn follow-through.
Every new idea gets a dopamine hit.
Every plan starts loud and dies in a digital graveyard called your Notes app.
You ain’t building.
You’re chasing shiny shit like a cracked-out squirrel in a Red Bull ad.
That ain’t genius. That’s disorder.
That’s fear wearing a disguise called “potential.”
Real creators don’t chase sparks—they forge fire.
They don’t chase every path—they pave one.
So here’s the hard truth:
Either pick something and bleed for it—or sit your twitchy ass down.
Because you ain’t a visionary until something gets finished.