Combat Deadlines: Against the Bourgeois-Productive Line!

 An extended mediation on why I know that (as of writing) Volume II is only 76 pages, and I want it to be 340 and why you should hop off my dick about it

June 29, 2026

There is certainly something to be said for the work of a writer who is sleepy, emotionally exhausted^[1], and fundamentally has few words of significant philosophical or political value to express. It is said that theory is the kernel of a particular struggle taken in its general aspect. So, with this in mind, it is possible for us to take the incredibly specific struggle of wanting this volume to contain more works and more substantial analysis than it currently does and— ideally^[2]— take it in its general aspect. God-willing, we are able to derive something useful from this meditation, and if we aren’t then I hope that it is at least enjoyable to the reader. 

So, what is the particular issue that we are tasked with resolving or analyzing. It is quite simple. My preferred length for Volume II of The Starshine Essays is in the neighborhood of 340 pages and currently (excluding this piece) it stands at 76 pages. There are three pieces unwritten (including a particularly important one, “A Letter to Ceres”), and “Slicing Through the Stratosphere” is unfinished. And for a reason that I cannot presently ascertain, I genuinely do not feel like writing them at this moment. The product of this tension is the current essay. I suppose that something productive could come of this. However, is we are to make claims of some form of productivity or that something productive could result from the present exercise, we should first define productivity.

If there were more works present in the current volume of The Starshine Essays, and if— for the sake of the argument— this volume totaled around 340 pages with completed pieces where only headings currently stand, would I view my output as more “productive.” This is near-incontestable; however, we must examine more critically what we mean when say that something is “productive.” For example, The Starshine Essays is a creative work written and compiled purely out of passion for the subject matter. I am not generating any value beyond the value that I get from producing these works. There are not definite time-scales on which these works must be completed, and there are no consequences if I complete them “late” or if their word-count falls below my initial expectations. So what, then, is the purpose in percolating and self-flagellating on the notion that Volume II is much shorter than expected and is incomplete. Volume II exists, does it not? And I have gotten value from producing it, and there are no consequences for it ultimately being slightly shorter or releasing slightly behind schedule, then why spend undo stress on the matter. 

It can be said that the original perspective of “productivity” that would have us wasting energy, stress, and time in an attempt to get this volume to the preferred 340 pages is— with respect to creative and fundamentally non-pressing works— ultimately a backwards bourgeois delusion produced by the false notion that one’s value (or the value of their work^[3]) is derived from “the number of X’s produced in Y time.” This nonsense and fundamentally bourgeois conception of value is effectively a definition of the value of the laborer from the perspective of the capitalist. We are not capitalists, and moreover we are not rabid heartless dogs, and in general we should hold ourselves to a higher standard than such a reductive and anti-human valuation system. 

I’ll be honest here and say that this piece, at its most fundamental level, represents something akin to the frustrated ramblings of an author who has had quite the emotionally taxing day and still is operating from the bourgeois conception of value. I am still frustrated that this volume is not yet 340 pages^[4]. I am still frustrated that there are empty headings where full pieces should be; however, I must make peace with this frustration. I must furthermore make peace with the “brainfog” and general dissociative state that has led me to writing this… experience, rather than a new sustained theoretical analysis. 

It would be equally honest, however, to say that a revolutionary who is exhausted is not one who has failed. It is incontestable that, at points, Lenin was exhausted. Mao was exhausted. Kim Il Sung was exhausted. As was every other revolutionary through the course of human history because it is, in fact, human history. An exhausted revolutionary is a human one. 

A final aspect worth noting in this brief discussion is the notion of “failure” in a more general aspect. My present emotions surrounding this volume are generally centralized around the idea that at its current length of 70-something pages, we have failed in the task of writing a 340-page volume. This is an erroneous analysis. It may be more accurate to say that we have succeeded in writing a 70-something page volume; more accurate still to say that we have succeeded in writing— or at least beginning to write— a volume that contains Mental. A volume of primarily political and philosophical work contains an avant-garde dramatic piece that I wrote at the age of 14 while under the “care” of a psychiatric facility. I suppose that the fact that once this volume is published, Mental will finally be in the world and able to be read is a testament to the success of this volume. 

In full honesty, I have again run out of things to say but that seems to be a satisfying and accurate conclusion. Put simply, the work will be done; the volume will be 340 pages (or thereabouts), but it will not be 340 pages tonight. And I’m okay with that.

 

[1] For reasons that will undoubtedly be covered later

[2] Don’t start on my usage of “ideally”

[3] Not commodities, obviously

[4] Which I realize will make little sense to you, since by the time you read this it will (probably) be in the neighborhood of 340 pages.