25: Drowning in the Sewer

On August 18th, I tried to end my own life.

I brought several charcoal barbecues into my father's car and lit them. Listening to Fishmans, I slowly sank into unconsciousness. I felt at peace. That should have been the end of my story.

Instead I find myself in an intensive psychiatric unit. I've been here ever since the incident and honestly, I couldn't care less: as far as I'm concerned my life ended on that day. Even if my body survived, my spirit has long since left me. I am an unfeeling mass.

I've suffered through an exhaustive course of ECT during my stay. It provided zero uplift. It did a much better job of erasing my memory: each round of treatment was like a factory reset of my mind. While my most treasured memories have returned, nothing of this past year has come back to me. It was a devastating time so I'm mostly unfazed by this loss, with the exception of a few beloved moments. Many friends went out of their way to look after me but I cannot recollect a single act of their kindness. The arts have not faired any better: I know I have read some incredibly profound and moving works this year yet I only recall hazy impressions. As such I have little to say about anything this year.

I look back on old notes. Energy, creativity and passion spills from each page. So much love. I carried several fantastic universes in my mind: towns, scenes, characters, items... Reading these notes again I can feel my chest stir. But these shy tingles are nothing compared to the old blaze I once carried in my heart. That passionate young man was slain by sickness. If I ever return to my game it will only be as a shameless hack, clutching onto his old notes like they were some holy text.

It should be abundantly clear to all by now that I am nothing but a failed artist. Even this blog is a complete farce, nothing more than tired and uninspired words riddled with errors splayed across a page. I'm sure this year's entry will be no different, even as I try desperately to salvage it.

Games

It has been another year bereft of gaming. Worse still, it has been a year bereft of game development. In my current state I've found it impossible to code. No new ideas have inspired me; my creativity has perished. I lack everything that is required of a game developer. I see no way of returning to my work in the near future. It is a terrifying prospect. A week without coding was extremely rare when I was well; now I've gone three months without work, with no end in sight.

I feel like I've forgotten everything; I used to know the codebase like the back of my hand but now I struggle to even conceptualise its various packages. I'm too frightened to even open the editor to check. Worse still, I dropped everything amidst a pivotal update (transforming several outdoor levels into a single open world made of chunks). It's all so daunting. I try to prevent myself from thinking about it as it only provokes more anxiety and hopelessness.

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Needless to say, nothing new caught my eye this year. The industry has been stagnant for over a decade now. Nothing is pushing boundaries. Fresh concepts like blockchain have huge potential for new and exciting forms of gameplay. Unsurprisingly the dregs of the industry have already abused the concept, reducing it to a mode of trend-chasing and money-making. Runescape's Grand Exchange, but without any of the gameplay to justify its existence. This is the shape of things to come. There's no doubt that triple-A developers will join in on the hustle once they smell the money. We can only hope that their offering is less shameless. These types of games will end up functioning as second jobs for many of their players. It is the gamification of labour pushed to its logical conclusion.

The power of choice and consequence continues to be ignored. This concept should be of primary concern to all narrative-focussed game developers as interactivity is the basis of the entire medium. We've seen no progress in the half-decade since Undertale and Lisa (and even then, their contributions were mild). I am begging for experimentation. The wait continues for the holy grail: a plot-driven game whose narrative is primarily directed by implicit decisions and interactions made by the player through the gameplay loop.

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I have memories of Geoguessr dating back to my first year of university, back when it was first released. As enjoyable as it was, I soon forgot about it. It only came back to me this past year when my girlfriend suggested we play together. Within weeks we were addicted and the game came to dominate our daily video calls. At first glance it is rather unassuming: a player encounters all it has to offer within their first minute. There are no further intricacies: no narrative, no characters, no nothing. The whole game rests on its gimmick.

Two elements are responsible for the game's greatness: the power and flexibility of its hook, and its emergent educational properties. It can be played leisurely or competitively, alone or together, all while improving your understanding of the world (unlike most other games where developed skills are useless and do not prompt any form of contemplation).

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Toby Fox released the second chapter of Deltarune in September. He is one of the few developers that I hold in high regard so I was obliged to play. While I don't remember much of this experience, I know for a fact that is was far from exemplary. In essence, Deltarune Chapter 2 is simply Undertale 3 but worse. I can't help but shake the impression that the story Toby wants to tell would be better suited to a comic. However, being a game developer meant that he had no choice but to tack on a simplified version of Undertale's gameplay to deliver it. I've held these opinions since chapter 1 but it felt insincere to write-off the whole series because of its first chapter. With the release of chapter 2, I feel my position has been validated. I will be tremendously surprised if he makes any major changes to his formula for future installments. I'll still play them despite my disappointment, if only because I play nothing else.

Manga

I've read two titles this year that warrant a mention: Sousou no Frieren and Aku no Hana.

I actually stumbled upon Sousou late last year, around the time I wrote the previous entry. After reading the first four chapters I was largely unenthused so I put it on hold and instead read Kengan Asura. What a blunder! Sousou is simply sublime.

It is a story about finding one's home. How can someone who lives for centuries find meaning in moments that are so fleeting? Even heroic deeds like saving the world become mere legend as decades pass. Half a century elapses in the first chapter; four years in the next. Entire months evaporate within single panels. Everything is ephemeral.

The fifth chapter firmly captures the essence of this idea. Had I read this chapter during my initial readthrough, I would not have stopped. In this chapter, our heroes reencounter a terribly powerful mage that had been sealed away for eighty years as he was simply too strong to defeat. He was truly formidable: he had developed his own unique form of magic that seemed unstoppable. Naturally, the removal of his seal created a sense of unease and doubt as they prepared to engage. They clash. In mere moments the battle is over.

The evil mage is swiftly defeated: his once insurmountable power has been superseded by new forms of magic, honed over numerous generations, specifically designed to counter his deadly spells. What was once diabolical is now mundane. The great mage falls with a whimper. The world has already left him behind.

Most chapters have similarly painful reminders of the passage of time. Despite these grim reminders, each chapter has a warmth and sincerity that overrides any existential grief. 

The manga has strayed from this theme in recent arcs, perhaps even becoming a little more –dare I say– like a boiler-plate shōnen. Less cynically, this change could be seen as an attempt by the author to reduce their reliance on this singular trope. Either way, even with this change I still look forward to each new chapter.

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Aku No Hana initially caught my eye due to its anime adaptation. It's presentation was so unique I just had to see more: 

I noticed that many viewers balked at the rotoscoping due it uncanniness. To me, this choice seemed inline with the nature of the work. After all, it is a story of self-destruction, about sinking deeper and deeper into a whirlpool of despair. It is a story about ugliness.

I finished the adaptation within a matter of days. It's very good, but it lacks a proper conclusion as it only covers the initial arcs of the narrative. I was desperate for more, so I moved onto the manga. Rather than cutting-in mid-way, I read from the beginning. It was not a chore, far from it: I came to appreciate the material all over again, even as it slipped further into the heart of darkness. Later still, I was caught wholly off-guard when it transformed itself into a sincere and inspiring story of recovery and romance.

Unfortunately this redemption arc did not inspire me to turn my own life around. Instead, I found a certain comfort in thinking that it would be the last manga I read before I die.

Literature

The first half of the year I was rather successful, continuing to read at least one book per month. Only in summer when my mood nosedived did I end up stopping entirely. My head just wasn't there.

In recent weeks I got out of this funk by reacquainting myself with Palladium Magazine. The magazine's tagline is “Governance Futurism”. As vague as this is, I can't think of a more appropriate description given the range of topics that the site covers. I greatly appreciate its focus on Asia-centric subjects; it's so rare for a publication to take the time to thoroughly examine the nature of contemporary East Asian society –China in particular– without succumbing to fear and animosity. I would love to start collecting their physical releases but they cost more than their weight in gold: a subscription costs $50 a month despite the fact that issues are only released once per quarter. Alas.

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With regards to philosophy, I have read little apart from some light, sporadic reading of Byung-Chul Han. I read The Burnout Society last winter, then The Palliative Society, Psychopolitics, and Saving Beauty during my admission. They weren't revelatory: I picked them up precisely because their talking-points heavily overlap with my own critiques of modernity. My gloom-addled mind is not quite ready for a challenge, it seems.

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The most important book I have read this year, without question, is The Brothers Karamazov. It is simply transcendent. I am still in awe over the sheer amount of soul that this book possesses. Not one element of the novel is deficient. I've never encountered narrative and philosophy entwined so beautifully anywhere else. Dmitri's chapters were the highlight. It goes without saying that I shall be reading more Dostoevsky this coming year. I already find myself reading more Russian literature: Anna Karenina by Tolstoy. I'm not even a hundred pages in yet it has already captured my heart. Kitty and Levin's chapter at the ice rink is one of my favourite passages in literature.

“My God, what have I done! Lord God! Help me, teach me,”

Art

The drought continues.

As with the previous year, I've been unable to explore my artistic side in any meaningful capacity. Nor have I been blessed with any serendipitous recommendations from internet algorithms.

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There is no sense of normalcy on this ward: no peace, no privacy, no belongings. One might expect that I'm yearning for a return to ordinary life, free from these restrictions. Surprisingly, I couldn't care less on this count; I am entirely unfeeling, incapable of sincerity towards anything, up to and including the current state of my own life. However there is one strange exception to this, one pleasure that still invokes some semblance of passion. I am yearning for my old life drawing classes. Oh, how I miss them! I miss being around other artists (not that I talked to them). I miss losing myself in my own little world, sketching away without any concern for anything but my pen, my paper, and the model. It has been years since I last attended and it had scarcely crossed my mind ever since. And now my soul is begging me to return.

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In my notes for this year's entry I included my thoughts on some art and artists that recently piqued my interest. Staring at these old notes I feel as if they were written by a stranger. Any new words would be a trifling, indecipherable mess, just like my mind, and therefore unworthy of these works of art. Instead I will simply leave these pieces here for you to peruse at your own leisure:

Charles Courtney Curran

Gustave Caillebotte

Hiroshi Yoshida

Osmar Schindler

Some of these are so magnificent I feel compelled to add them to my 3x3; this may have even been my intention when I noted them. However my mind is simply too muddled to make any sort of reliable judgement so I'll refrain for now. Whether I'm looking at these paintings, the Mona Lisa, or a fly on the wall my mind is simply blank.

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In recent months I've found myself returning to Ivan the Terrible and his Son Ivan:

For me, it is depression incarnate. I see myself embodying both subjects: the crumbling ruin of a man that I have become clinging, grief-stricken, to the fresh corpse of my ambitions, future and passions.

Film

Film has also been a bust.

Not once have I been to the cinema since my last entry. I am entirely out of the loop: I no longer have any idea what has been, or will be released that could possibly entertain me. I was intent on ending this dry spell by attending the SLA film festival in October but conditions on the ward prevented this from happening. I was immensely bitter (and still am, to a degree). So much so, I tried to escape (it was a humiliating failure) just so I could attend one of the screenings. I'm that desperate for the cinema experience.

I purchased a MUBI subscription hoping that it could tide me over until the cinema becomes an option again. Sadly I find their library to be sub-par: they're all a little too indie, too underground or low budget for my sensibilities.

The Boys from Fengkuei was the only exception to this. Rather interestingly, the first viewing scarcely left an impression. Instead, it planted a seed of curiosity within me that subsequently blossomed over the following days, compelling we to watch it all over again (and perhaps a third time too, I can't quite remember). I fell in love. It captures the feelings of melancholy and trepidation found at the end of youth remarkably well, all without being overtly mournful.

I also watched La La Land. I can't quite remember why I was so captivated but I do remember the fantastic, blissful sensation that it left me with. Its main theme is also outstanding.

Music

Unlike most other things, this year's musical offering has been particularly abundant.

First off, my utmost favourite band, Kings of Convenience, released their fourth album, Peace or Love. This is their first and only release in the eleven years that I have been zealously following them. I have been waiting for this album ever since I was a boy. Little teasers were sprinkled here and there over the years, each one providing just enough sustenance to temper my impatience.

The album's first single, Rocky Trail, was released in spring during a previous hospitalisation. It's a terrible shame that such a momentous occasion aligned itself with such dismal circumstances. Thankfully it did not ruin my enjoyment. The song was not incredible, but good enough. The full album released months later. Like the single, it felt good enough, but not brilliant. I think my depression is at least partly to blame: my enthusiasm for most things, even Kings of Convenience, is non-existent. I would like to give the album another chance if my head ever clears. All that being said, I don't believe the album holds a candle to their masterpiece, Riot on an Empty Street. While Peace has many fantastic songs (Killers, Angel, Washing Machine) they are simply incomparable to the near-perfect string of songs found on Riot. Catholic Country was also a massive disappointment. In 2016 a 50-second teaser of this song was released. I fell in love with this little performance, listening to it on loop again and again over many years. It exudes spirit; the vocals provided a choral-like quality which felt new and exciting. The album's rendition lacks this and as such feels plastic by comparison.

Coinciding with their new release, Kings of Convenience announced a tour of Europe. Through some miracle I managed to reserve a front-row seat for their London concert. This has been a dream of mine for over a decade: not only would I be in the same room as my two musical heroes, I would also be close enough to almost touch them. But it was not to be: locked in this asylum I had no choice but to miss the concert. All I could do was give my ticket to a friend. I pray that I won't have to wait another decade for a similar opportunity.

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The YouTube Channel CrushingDreams provided me with a vast library of obscure East Asian albums: La Melodioj de la Orientonordo, 소실 and Re.sort to name three that I was particularly smitten for. This channel was my only avenue for discovering new bands: my tastes have become so pompous and narrow, organic discovery has become next to impossible. Only the algorithms can save me now. To make matters worse, this channel was nuked several months ago, leaving me directionless*. Since then, I've only made two meaningful discoveries: For Lovers by Lamp and Starjump/Kit by Julie.

It has forced me to revisit long lost favourites. Recently this has been Sharks Keep Moving. Their EP, Pause and Clause (my second favourite title**) is terrific. I really enjoy the sparseness of the vocals; it contains only the bare necessities, giving it a unique, haiku-like quality.

I've also returned to Miyauchi Yuri's ほんじつのおんがく collection for the first time since university. These albums leave me utterly sentimental, taking me back to better days. I remember strolling down East Sands as a freshman while listening to the seventh instalment. The world felt so exciting and vibrant, a treasure that I couldn't wait to explore. Ah, better days...

* looking now, it seems like a new CrushingDreams channel has been created. I must investigate.
** after last year's embarrassment, I have triple-checked this line to ensure that there are no mistakes in the title.

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A year and a half ago I stumbled upon a rather unusual artist on YouTube. Her music was charming enough to warrant a download at the time, but not quite memorable enough to justify a mention in last year's journal. All that has changed; my mind has been arrested by constant thoughts of this character. I can't remember the last time I was this fanatical about an artist. It feels wonderful, like a long-dormant segment of my soul has resurrected itself. The artist in question is Sewerslvt.

Her genre can be loosely described as drum and bass, something that I have not and will never care for. The project is so much more than just the music: it is best described as a mixed-media self-portrait of a disaffected young artist suffering from alienation and self-loathing.

I am not one to fall into the trap of parasocial relationships; I find them repugnant. Yet here I am, falling in love with what is little more than an avatar. Her music is a genuine attempt to reach out to the listener and unabashedly express hopes, fears and frustrations. It is the only time that I've listened to an artist and felt like they have truly exposed themselves. It's like listening to a close friend. After such a terrible year her feelings have only become more in touch with my own. As I slip further into hell it has been comforting to find someone else there, perhaps even deeper down the ditch than I. I have no idea how someone barely out of their teens can create such a phenomenal work of art.

The song Jvnko Loves You has kept me sane in this ward. Even the song's title has given me strength at times. Terribly unhinged, I know, but I suppose that's how Christians feel when they hear "God Loves You" or similar notions. Except in my case it's a DnB producer rather than an all-powerful entity.

I am enamoured with her. At the time of writing, her final album released just days prior. With this last swan song her work comes to a close. It is truly unfortunate that it had to be such a painful ending for her, nor do I feel like I was ready to say goodbye. We leave each other at a precarious juncture in our respective lives.

But like she says, we had good times together, don't forget that.

Coda

I've been thinking a lot about my move to the island. Re-reading the final chapters of Brave New World reminded me of its purpose. In the novel, Helmholtz, an aspiring artist that is utterly unhappy with the state of the world, is given an opportunity to escape the system by emigrating to the Falkland Islands, a place so distant and remote it is unaffected by the crass, suffocating lifestyle of modern society. Better still, all the other disaffected individuals have migrated there too, making the island a refuge for the “most interesting set of men and women”. Helmholtz takes this opportunity in a heartbeat.

My reasoning is not so dissimilar from his own. This island feels like a hidden jewel, sheltered from the excesses of cosmopolitan life. But it is not perfect as I find myself entirely alone; no other disaffected pioneers have taken the leap, it seems. I alone am left to wander the crumbling (but still lovely) ruins of this island in decline. This place is begging for revival. If given a small fortune, I would transform this place into an artists' hub. Not for the type of cretin that finds themselves at home in the vapid, trendy corners of Leith but those that genuinely don't fit, those whose art is at best dismissed by the system or attacked at worst. A place that makes no attempt to even placate the incumbent culture. Instead, it caters to the estranged on the periphery. That is my grand vision for this tiny little island, tucked away on the edge of the world.

This is of course a pipe dream that can never be realised– it is far beyond the scope of a lowly NEET such as myself. It pains me to walk by all these beautiful crumbling buildings, perfectly designed for my fantasies, knowing that I am powerless to save them.

At this point I'm not sure what's left for me. I find it impossible to envisage a future that is worth living, at least one that is not pure fantasy. Do not be surprised if this is the last entry; I have battled this wretched illness for years, losing more of myself with each successive bout. I have no fight left. In previous years I've tried to maintain some semblance of hope: my game, the future, my community. Now I'm faithless. Locked in here for one hundred days, I have searched for meaning, but there is nothing but void. The world is a vast wasteland; there are no avenues for redemption. Living just means slowly rotting away.

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To those that have made it to the end, I sincerely thank you. I hope these scribbles can be of some use to you.