The Encampment Diaries – Diseased

09/03/2020

Diseased

 

We’re in dark times now, of course we are, it’s classic humanity. Things go from bad to worse all the time, sometimes you get brief respite with joy, or hope, or a glimmer of light, but things never stay that way. Nothing stays in any way. Status quo is an impossible achievement that would only become lamented after time spent within it, looking for the next lawn of greener grass down the road, that’s human nature.

Since last writing these posts, it’s been a strange amount of static meets crumbling.

I finished recording the main 4 characters’ dialogue, all other lines have been farmed out with about 50% of them completed too, and I feel like my performances are strong for scratch, which ultimately the end result will be.

Sadly I began constructing character templates and location images and, for the first time in a few decades, focussed on drawing things. My artistic nature, which was fine enough to have character, has fallen quite a lot. Consistency and strong character choices were hard to etch on paper or digitally, and for the past month it’s put a dark internal spin into everything. Can I even make this project happen? It’ll never look as it does in my mind, will it feel like it does in my heart? Can I somehow still transport viewers into the world I concoct? Or is this just destruction writ large?

 

But I must forge on, to not even finish a race is worse than hurting yourself until you’re dragging across the line, right?

It’s hard to figure that stuff out, you go in so deep things get blinding. I only wish I were further along this thing, I only wish I felt able to do things. I only wish I could have people to push me, to build me, to prop me up whenever I fall. But that’s not what happens. There’s no group, no collective. This is entirely me, misguided and self-serving, self-destructive, a sole goal to attempt to achieve because the real world doesn’t work anymore. Because the real world is broken. Because the real world is falling into disarray and I’m as alone and empty as I was before people started avoiding contact.

At least I finished writing an episode of a project that I began in September. I wrote two episodes between July and September, and the weakness and brokenness led to a prolonged fuck-up in that. Now it’s this. This and other things. Things that are entirely me. That don’t require others. That don’t expand to others. That nobody wants to be a part of.

It’s so much easier, stronger, better, healthier to work in a group.

Or so it seems.

Not had much chance.

Probably never will.

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