cellini's Diaryland Diary

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Nobody would believe that I am real

When I look back on the last ten years of my career, it's almost embarrassing to think of where I was. I logged in to my Air BNB account after not touching it for like 8 years or so and I was horrified at how lame I was. I was just some dude who was interested in some cool stuff but I was just working as an insurance broker and honestly why would anyone give me the time of day?

Even 14 months ago, before 8/12 in Charlottesville, I was arguably interesting. I had been a professional hunter for years, written a few books, done a lot of TV and film. But all of that this seems incredibly shallow before putting in a solid year of civil rights journalism and covering neo-Nazi rallies around the US and doing ground-breaking investigative journalism in the process. Plus making a pretty important documentary film.

The things that made me interesting four or five years ago -- and I was worthy of being the subject of a documentary film at that point -- seem dull as fuck to me now.

But as time goes by and I do more things, I find that I can't even talk about it. All of that just sounds insane. Who the fuck would believe that this random guy in a bar wrote a bunch of books and was a professional hunter and then got written up by the NYT and did all these TV shows and had a movie made about me and then got gassed on 8/12 and stood in the line of fire in a whole string of neo-Nazi rallies, and won a huge lawsuit against the police, and did a lot of investigative journalism into white supremacist groups, and survived an assassination attempt, and made a feature film about 8/12?

Everything about me is beyond belief. It sounded insane even before 8/12 and now I'm even more unbelievable.

So I go out and I talk to people but I have to temper what I say because everything about me is completely unbelievable. If someone invented me, nobody would believe that I was real.

12:06 a.m. - 2018-09-29

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