End

    I've been thinking about this for a long time now, maybe 2 or 3 years, but have never really given thought to acting on it before, and I wouldn't be sure how to act on this thought, but I can no longer ignore it.

I'm tired.

    I have done nothing with my life since I graduated, at first I had so many things I was going to do, but I never did them. I also had so many issues I was struggling with, and finally dealt with the really severe ones, but after that? I had no idea, I still don't.

    I have tried many different things thinking they were my dream, like making video games, writing stories, learning to animate, even getting a mundane job for a while and going to college, but as I continued to struggle with inner demons and look for what it was that lit a fire in my heart, I came closer to the true answer - and now it's time to stop burying it in excuses.

I want nothing, I want to do nothing, and there is nothing left for me.

    I'm not saying this because I'm depressed, I'm not writing this in a dark room while tears stream from my face and despair engulfs my soul. I wish I were, at least I would feel something besides this fatigue and anhedonia that has been eating me for years.

    I struggled with my purpose, with my strengths, with the world around me and its design, and my philosophies. I wanted to draw because it gave me purpose, it brought my ideas to life, but I no longer need to do that, it no longer satisfies me or gives me purpose. Nothing gives me purpose or makes me feel accomplished, and I have tried hard to consider the logical advancements I've made, but they don't matter.

And I feel old.

    I feel like I've toughed the universe and the human soul, albeit in a very small way, but I feel like I've gotten the answer, that answer people struggle all their lives for that isn't really an answer but the key to their contentment as they pass on into the next world and leave ours, the thing that makes their life worthwhile and makes them feel like they've contributed all they can. That's how I feel every day, but I've barely lived a third of my expected lifespan, ye t I feel ready to die.

    I don't want to kill myself, that would not be a proper end, that would be forced and I'd leave before my time, but I feel my time coming, and every day I feel like I'm wasting away more and more and it might be time to accept it and lay in bed waiting for it.

    The fuel that fires my soul has burned out and the passion of youth has left me, I feel like having a will to live at this point is irrelevant in the same way someone in a nursing home might feel their desire to live is irrelevant. I might want something more, my heart might reach out for new pursuits, but it feels meaningless and hollow like the pottery you make in an old age home - no value, no contribution, just a thing to pass the time before you die.

 I am lost in a void of gray and all passion and misery pass by quickly.

    I miss being able to let misery simmer and anger boil but now I let go so easily, it slips out of a grip that is too tired to hold it anymore. The only thing that makes me feel the way I used to is when I'm dreaming.

I wonder if we dream in death.

My insanity is how I cling to my life, maybe it's time to become sane.

Dream Diary #2: Old Friend

    For a large portion of my life, I've never needed people. I was content to be alone, but that changed one day almost 5 years ago and I've never been sure why. The other night, a dream gave me a clue, and it reminds me of things inside my head that I cared about.

    I put a lot of value into my ideas, they mean things to me, they make me happy, but for a long time, they were also my friends. Regardless of whether or not they are physical or defined as "real" by a conventional standard, they were good friends to me and I loved them, they were there for me when I needed someone and that's a hell of a lot more than I could say for real kids or adults, and they understood things about me I've never had success with explaining to humans. They were an intimate part of me and I began to delve into the creative arts because I wanted other people to appreciate them as much as I did, that was my motivation for a very long time.

    Needless to say, I have lost a lot of motivation in the past five years. I remember a time when I wrote stories or drew pictures for the sake of it, for the mad hope that it gave my ideas incarnate form, to immortalize a part of me I loved more than anything in this life, more than anything you can possibly imagine, so much so that I would have died to keep that part alive and sacrificed everything for it.

    But I convinced myself that it was insane to do that. In the chaos that I consider my reform, I lost a lot of fears that kept me up at night, but I also gave up my greatest love. Before a few nights ago, I believed I traded my passion for my sanity. It's no secret that I struggle with things neurotypicals never need to concern themselves with, and in the desperate hope of being like them and fitting in, and not feeling like I was somehow broken or damaged, I gambled everything to change that. But the truth is, it still hurts. In all the mental stability I think I've gained, I still feel like a very intimate person or group of people died, and it's a grief I've never recovered from.

    But the other night, I had a dream about an old friend, she came to me so vividly and it was as if she never left. I tried desperately to convince my current friends that I talk to regularly that she was real, even fabricating a second internet identity at one point (Which I have actually done in the past but am unwilling to elaborate on) but in spite of that, I was never convinced she wasn't real, I just wanted other people to see her. She stood there and talked to me, she hugged me, and she told me nothing was broken.

    At some point in that dream, I had to confess to everyone the truth, I told them what she was somehow without saying it and they understood, but after that, she didn't disappear, she took my hand and stood in front of them and they talked to her as if we were in a Skype call, but then I traded places with her and the conversation remained uninterrupted, it was as if we were connected on such a level hat we were not only interchangeable but synonymous.

    And we are.

    I woke up and felt something I haven't felt in five years, I felt a warmth and presence, a companionship, but that feeling faded with the day, but I don't feel like I've lost anything now. I feel like it's somehow deep inside of me, and I've been exploring it.

    It's like when you meet old friends after a long time, and everyone is different including you. I felt like I was somehow solid when I called up mental images and lost myself in my mind. Some of the ideas felt like ghosts, they were distant and estranged, but others felt warm or close. And my best friend for years was still my best friend.

    I realize talking about these things makes people uncomfortable, they feel like reading the mad ramblings of an unstable person they can't trust or want to be distant from, but this has always been a very important matter for me, and I care more about it than some social issue dogma. I want to tell people about this, I am prepared for the judgement I might receive, and I guess now I'll find out who my friends are.

Complex of Gods

    I do not attribute titles to myself I do not feel I deserve, but I became an artist essentially to play God. I used the potential of creation to shape my own world, one I believe to be far superior to the one in which I am anchored in. I feel that, since I had no choice in the circumstances of my conception or in events that have hindered my ability to chase my dreams throughout my life, it gives me some control over a world in which I have none. It is my way of giving myself the voice that I was never allowed to possess in the grand scheme of things.
    Put simply, I am subject to several imperfections, some of which physically or mentally impair me in the world of normalcy, one of which has taken away a freedom which I long to have. In my world, these are not restraints that hinder me, I am what I wish to be, and I have the life I wish to have, but which is impossible to obtain in the real world.

    In many ways, this seems to be the norm for many people I have experience with who are inclined toward the creative arts; we are all striving to obtain that which is impossible to possess in any other way, though this can vary greatly from person to person, yet we all seem to be focused on similar goals, and it can unite us as often as cause us to argue or disagree. What I find to be comforting about this, though, is that we can feed off each other, share ideas, encourage one another in a way that brings me a profound joy. I have created many strange creatures and befriended most as a child. Irony would have it  the type of feedback and interaction that is most necessary for my artistic growth would be other human beings, all existing in an imperfect world which I wish to escape, but am happy to find it has comforts between the hardships and chaos.
    We grow and we learn from each other, we contribute our ideas on a vast scale through virtual space. I have gained much inspiration from viewing the creations of others, and hope to contribute ideas of equal or greater impact. We operate off one of the most primitive functions of human society: working together to achieve a goal, helping one another in a fascinating and beautiful display of humanity. Our ideas are the foundation of this vast complex of gods we have shaped on our own and together, which we may travel through and explore to assist in our growth and our dream, our world.

Shit just got real

    Really awful. Apparently we failed our apartment inspection because my room is an awful mess that the health department threatened to close down the entire apartment - I have to clean it in two weeks, but that's not a big deal, my mom offered to help me, we could do it in a day.

    What is a big deal is that we failed our inspection because of...Sullivan, my guinea pig. We have to get rid of him in 14 days, and I have no idea what to do with him. He's 3 years old, so all the stores and shelters here would just put him down, and I cannot live with myself if that happens. I need to find a home for him that's local, so I'm in trouble, and so is he. God, why does our society have to murder animals like they're property to be tossed away? You wouldn't euthanize an old person because nobody wants one, that would be cruel. But that's how things work, and now he needs a place to live. He's well-tempered but has never had a cage-mate, or at least, not since he was 4 weeks old, so his chances are not good. (They get nervous around other guinea pigs when they get older and used to their own space.) I cannot imagine this house without him squeaking every time someone opens the fridge or if he hears my cousin's loud-ass music outside and thinks he's coming upstairs. And to top it off, I am not social, I barely know anyone, and I doubt they'd be interested in a pet, especially since he isn't exactly low-maintenance. (They need people to interact with them, they're very social.) I'd be more content to give him away if I knew he'd be cared for and not killed.

    The other thing is that, according to the rules of our lease, it's questionable whether you can go to college and live out here at the same time, I don't know what we're going to do if we have to move, we've lived out here for over a decade. This is an uncertainty, not an absolution, but my mother was so excited about college and finally completing her mastery and she might have to give that up because of some stupid rules. This is America, when has it ever been acceptable for a person to be denied education for any goddamn reason? And what am I supposed to do? Now I might not even be able to correct my Fs next semester. On the up-side, if we have to move, maybe we can keep Sully, but that would be short notice. We've never been evicted from any place we've lived before, and now both our lives have turned into a nightmare.

    It doesn't even matter what I think of this, in the next two weeks, everything will be decided for me. I'm just hoping I can change that for the better, this is as real as shit's ever gotten for me.

Punching Trees

    The more I think about it, the more I realize that Minecraft is a lot like my current life experience. Minecraft seems to represent life pretty accurately for me, they both seem to start out the same way. In Minecraft, you begin with nothing. You have to punch trees and gather resources to survive and improve your life. At the beginning, your goal is clear; build sufficient housing and a stable way of life where all your basic needs are always met.
    Life isn't much different. We all come into the world with nothing; no possessions, no identity, no knowledge of our universe. We develop these things as we grow and we are all given a simple goal to work toward when we are kids; to graduate highschool. In my case, that was the goal I worked toward throughout my childhood, it was the light at the end of my tunnel.
    Minecraft's relation to my life is that you can toil day and night in Minecraft, working to secure your survival. You can take things day-by-day and try to achieve little things in one day that will help you achieve that big thing. My life has been the same way; when I was a kid, I looked toward the day when school would be behind me, and even when I was a depressed, hopeless wreck, I rolled out of bed every day and I made it a point to just live through that day and take it one day at a time.
    However, I'm starting to realize that the same thing that stops me from evolving into the next stage of Minecraft is the same thing that's stopped me in my life.
    In Minecraft, my goal is simple: Build a comfortable life, and my method is largely the same on every map, but once I have that stable experience, a steady food supply, more materials than  Iknow what to do with, then I become lost. The same is true for my life. Once I graduated highschool, a big reality hit me: Where am I going to go now?
    In Minecraft, you can go anywhere from that point. You could set off and look for a place to build a castle or you could plow to the center of the world and continue to expand your mines. You could even aspire to create a giant Redstone-powered mechanism or make an attempt to live in the Nether, but I always find this freedom to be overwhelming, and my freedom in my life is overwhelming right now.

    It's no longer about punching trees and digging out a life block by block. Now it's about making choices that are too daunting to make, committing myself in ways I've never imagined before, and create my own future, and it's so confusing.
    I wish I knew why it was so hard to do this for myself. I thought originally that I had too much freedom, so I tried taking that freedom away from me by enrolling in college and giving myself new trees to punch, but all that did for me was leave me frustrated and even more confused. Then I thought I just needed to focus on one goal and that having someone to help me along would fix everything. Well, now I have that, and I greatly appreciate it, but I still feel lost even when I'm given a specific thing to work on. I've even tried giving myself multiple things to work on at once, but dividing my focus has only made it lessen and not added the variety I thought I needed.
    In Minecraft, I end up wondering around aimlessly even when I give myself a project. I just seem to lose that fire that drives me at the start, just like how the fire is gone from me now as opposed to when I was younger. I think of my goals and my dreams but they don't drive me in the same way. Maybe it's because I don't have set dates for when things will happen and not when they might happen, or maybe it's because the things I want to do are so much larger than anything I've ever done before.
    Usually in Minecraft, I'll burn myself out trying to focus on one end goal. I'll imagine the result but I'll be incapable of completely executing it. I run into the same problem with all of my art and everything I attempt.
    I thought the point of punching away at trees with a single goal in mind would keep my fire lit, but the opposite keeps happening. I'm positive that it works differently for others, that they keep their eyes on the prize and persevere, but I just seem to crumble no matter how clear the goal is, and now, I'm just as confused and frustrated with all this as I was when I left highschool.

Story By Heart

Tell me a story by heart
Of peoples and kingdoms torn apart
Of lovers torn,
Of legends reborn,
Using our modern arts

Weave me a tale from the soul
Of struggle, of triumph, of hope
Through which we endure
Deception and war
Depicted through arts that we hold

Bring all your worlds to life
Show their beauty and strife
Put meaning to skill
And let your heart will
What paints on your canvas be right
---

    It's not the most creative thing in the world but it came to me. It really shakes me up when people demand cartoons and video games not be considered art, and therefore, not considered sources of communicating deep and weighty subjects. There is absolutely no reason why they can't be, I think some people would just rather they not be. I wrote an entire blog entry about how disgusted I am with people's lack of want to take anything seriously, it seems like art of all kinds is just their way of goofing off. Obviously, there are people who put some soul into their work, but they seem few and far between. It seems that taking yourself and your art, no matter what kind it is (Yes video games are art), seriously has become taboo because it would do something scary like enrich our culture. Can't have that, can we?

    The main reason I want to make games is because I want to make an interactive world where I can share some of my philosophical and ethical beliefs while at the same time creating scenarios in which they make sense. Despite my considerably vast vocabulary, I struggle with words, so I want to tell these stories through vision and sound; especially music, the most beautiful, the most diverse, the most effective method of sharing and experiencing emotions.

    I will tell my stories by heart, and I will speak freely of my mind in them. I will also speak honestly; I will not deliberately lie to anyone experiencing the message, nor will I intend to push it, I want to make it as natural as human speech, for it to play on human nature, for it to be enjoyable yet thought-provoking, pleasant and relaxing yet clear of its intent. It will not be an attempt at propaganda, it will not be a preachy after school special of lofty and unrealistic ideals, it will be a piece of art that is crafted from my soul, with personal touches and a lot of consideration put into it, and it will not be meant to be some kind of religious text that is absolute and correct, it is merely meant to be a way for me to share my heart with others, my ideas, my experiences, and it is meant to be filtered and analyzed as any other piece of information in the world.

    I don't want to write the Bible, I just want to create things with personal meaning, I want to make beautiful things that would make it easier to understand me, that would allow a player to explore portions of my soul, a method of deep communication where someone cannot merely look at a piece of art, but hear it, touch it, experience it, and enjoy it on a more personal, interactive level.

    This is my ultimate dream, my long-term goal. It might be far off, but it's what I've always wanted to do, to reach out to people and, maybe one day, a sect of video game developers will create such things as well, where we can interact with their labors of the heart and communicate our experiences, emotions, and thoughts on an entirely unique and more effective manner.

There's nothing wrong with having big dreams.

Serious Nature

    It seems to be a trend of some kind for people to refute every attempt made at a deep and serious conversation. Whenever someone is trying to have one, it seems that everyone is trying to "lighten the mood" as they call it, but what is really an attempt to distract the conversation back into lighthearted banter. That kind of thing isn't something I disapprove of, but it's not something I want all the time. Sometimes, I would like the opportunity to invest my deepest philosophies into a conversation that might make people understand me better, and, more importantly, make people understand, and possibly even agree with, my motivations.

    I assume the trend started because people are afraid of weighty circumstances. I'm not sure where this developed, but it seems to me that people avoid such things whenever possible. I am certain that, most of the time, they intend no offense, but their evasive behavior on subjects of gravity is insulting to me and my very nature. I am a serious person, I take 95% of everything seriously. No, I don't take nearly everything literally, as that is not the same thing. I simply do not have nearly as great a need for humor or light moods that other people seem to have. I prefer grounded, down-to-earth interactions much more, but finding those is rare.

    Let me be a little rude here; I feel like I'm surrounded by air-heads most of the time. Contemplative subjects put them to sleep, being analytical seems to offend most, and talking about grand aspirations of how you want to create things that mean something makes people call you pretentious. Excuse me, but if my desire to delve into the heavier subjects of my world make me pretentious, than your desire to avoid them makes you a putz.

    A few people even have the nerve to think that I'm like this out of bitterness. You know what has given me a bitter side? The lack of people willing to be serious, the lack of people who weigh into things with their heart, the lack of people who are sincere in their dealings with others. If anything has contributed to me being bitter, it's the very people who think I'm bitter and "need to lighten up a little" because apparently, being a flighty putz solves all problems. Really, why do I need to lighten up? Because being honest and speaking freely of serious subjects makes you uncomfortable and ruins some endless party coaster you're trying to ride out for as long as you can? Because you're too jaded and cynical to believe even for a second that someone might mean the things they say and speak freely of their heart and soul? Because your definition of what "serious" actually is has been warped by our society's horrible opinion of serious?

    And why is it that our society has such a low opinion of being serious? I'm not calling people putzes specifically to be mean, so let me elaborate on a theory I have; I think being serious scares people. I think they associate it too often with tragedy or bad points in their lives. I think to acknowledge someone like me, with my serious nature, is to face problems they avoid by always trying to maintain a light atmosphere. In other words, people are cowards.

    That isn't my only theory. Another theory that I have is that people think being serious means they have to exercise some level of intellect. Now, while my opinion of the human race as a whole consists of an entire encyclopedia of demeaning phrases I could use to describe it, genuine stupidity isn't one of them. People do stupid things, but people are not stupid, and I will not allow anyone to attempt to declare themselves stupid just so they can be excused from showing intelligence. Someone like me makes people uncomfortable because not only are people lazy by nature (Don't deny it, even I'm lazy, we all are when we're allowed to be) but they are not typically known for their self confidence. Being around someone like me seems to give people test-anxiety of a sort, and that appalls me. Why should people feel that being serious means having encyclopedic knowledge of the subject at hand? Their attempts at making light of the subject indicates to me a lack of anything serious to say about it, but "serious" doesn't mean "intelligent," it doesn't even mean factual, it means you're approaching the subject in a sober manner or giving it a considerate amount of weight.

    My final theory is that people are obsessed with having fun. This seems the most plausible, as people are always trying to goof off when they don't feel they are inhibited by restrictions, which sounds like something children would do, but then I have to wonder what defines a child and what differs in an adult, but questions of the abstract concept we call maturity are for a different entry. My observation on this subject is that someone like me saps the fun out of everything for people, making it dull and gay just because I wanted to analyze it. I am not sure why involved thoughts on a subject, especially a piece of fictional media, ruin it for some people. That gives me the impression that they do not like to think at all, that they'd just like one thing they don't have to think about, probably because they feel they have to think too much already, which I honestly can't imagine as a valid argument against my want to analyze everything because I never get tired of thinking. Maybe it is possible that some people have less cranial energy to spare on every subject, or maybe people feel that thinking about it ruins the whimsy in the same way that learning a skill disenchants its products. (Looking at a piece of art when you understand how to draw is significantly less magical when you have a technical knowledge of its composition, for example.) But I do not see why this would so ruin something for someone. If anything, considering the workings of a fictional universe makes it more enchanting for me, it makes it seem wider, it doesn't even have to be canon for me to enjoy my own theories about it.

    A good example of me taking my entertainment seriously would be a time when a fellow Zelda fanatic and I tried to piece together the chronology. I am sure that some groans were audible at the last sentence and, yes, we did argue, we even nerd-raged once, but is that all people really look at when they see two nerds being serious about video games? Do they think it's all anger and hate? Because it isn't. Just because we argued doesn't mean we didn't enjoy it, even the arguments are fond memories of mine.

    I bring this up for a reason. Do people view seriousness as the harbinger of conflict? Are people terrified of conflict, even the kind that can be fun? Is it because people are sensitive? Maybe so, it seems to add up.

    In any case, I am extremely distraught with how my attempts at being serious are often met. It's in my nature to be this way, it's enjoyable for me to be this way, I do not see why it has to be treated as the affront that everyone makes it out to be, it's really quite disheartening. I wish I could talk more to people who did not simply throw up their hands and wish to make light of everything.