Inner Machinations: Entry_017.

Written: Thursday. October 8, 2020.

Forgive once more, dear journal, for I have forgotten about you in the past few days; this week, in particular. I have been too absorbed in my work in the text-adventure game that I am writing, that all other forms of writing became a resentful thing to me.

I am indeed becoming disgusted by the thought of having to write for pleasure. I have not had to write this much in a while, and I am experiencing a drought of ideas in the banks of my labyrinthian(if there is such a word) brain. My days have felt repetitive. My nights, I cannot sleep through, for I am burdened by the excess energy brought by my exercise.

In terms of working out, I was on a roll for a while, but that also has met a stop, due to my ill-made mistake of rising against my bed in a swift fashion. My shoulder bumped into the higher bed’s wood assist, and that part of my body is surprisingly still feeling the subtle pain brought by the collision. Therefore, I cannot exercise my limbs and upper body. At least, just not today.

I’ve been reading a lot. I’m reading Sapiens, Fires of Heaven, and will be reading The Three Musketeers after this quick entry. I finished reading Frankenstein for the second time, and I must say, I think the writing style of this book has influenced me quite a bit in writing this journal right now. I cannot stop, for it is actually fascinating to see myself do such a tone similar to that of Shelley’s writing. Parts of Frankenstein were written in Epistolary, so this information only makes it more fitting. I really can’t stop, this is not a joke. I’ll try, but it’s just too fun.

I did read Three Musketeers before, but I did not finish it, unfortunately. Because the translation I read was lacking the proper quality I desired in reading the tale of Athos, Porthos, and Aramis. And their friend, D’Artagnan. I hope that this second reading will prove that the Collins Classics is utter bullshit when it comes to their translations.

I’ve said all of this before on previous entries, but on the first serial of this journal. So if you’re interested, go look for it. It’ll be here in my account.

I’ve been playing a lot of Tekken 6 on the PSP(PC). I moved from the phone to the pc because I find that playing the game is easier when you’re using a keyboard, rather than a controller. I think it’s only natural, seeing that a lot of professional players prefer buying and then using arcade stick joypads when playing Tekken. I want to buy one in the future. But the future is never set, so there’s that existential burden to get mad about.

I’m thinking of playing Final Fantasy(the first game) on the PSP(mobile). I’ve yet to finish one, and now is the perfect time than any to do so. Though I feel I won’t live up to that at all, and will do other things to waste my time on.

I’m still not playing text-adventure games whilst writing a text-adventure game myself. I feel like doing so would gravely affect the current flow of how I’m writing my text-adventure game. Although, I have download a whole bunch (and I mean a WHOLE bunch) of the available text-adventure games on the play store. It’s just in my phone, sitting there, waiting for me to touch it. But I won’t until I’ve finished at least a whole month of writing the text-adventure game I’m writing.

I have about 19 days left to write my text-adventure, and I estimate that I’ve only written about 15% of it.

In other news, Sapiens is looking to be a very interesting book. It’s sort of like a textbook where there’s a bunch load of information and trivia inside — unlike an ordinary fiction novel. I got a copy of it thanks to PDF DRIVE(the bane of physical books), and I’m reading it on my phone. I haven’t read it as much, cause I think the amount of information I absorb each time is overwhelming. I’ll probably read it at night to help me sleep.

But again, sleep has been a difficulty for me at night, recently. I think it’s this second-wave of cabin fever that I’m feeling, but I don’t know for sure. Probably.

I’m still at a constant war with myself when it comes to art. Drawing is the most difficult thing for me to do, cause it’s always just a waste of time for me. Or at least it feels that way every time. I don’t have good control with my hand, and trying to go the abstract route only makes it worse. Cause deep down, I know that it’s bullshit. Like, a bunch of lines and random color splashes on a canvas or a piece of paper are just that. Sure, it could convey emotion or memories, but in actually, I see it as fraudulence. I see it as elites trying to fool the people around them by saying that the shit they produce is the goose’s golden egg. But then again, I see that as a quick opportunity to take advantage of that aspect in art.

Should I just fake it and go the abstract, avant garde bullshit, so that I could make hard cash and get away with it by writing a good rationale of how these squiggly lines portray the sadness or the happiness or the anger within my subconscious? I dunno, you tell me. I never get art, and I probably never will. It’s a constant battle; a never-ending war inside me. And I don’t know why I keep on trying to make myself try.

Anyway, I’m losing my mind and my sanity and my moral compass. I’m becoming a god, but at the same time a blot of ink splashed on a piece of tissue paper, to be thrown out into the garbage, never to be seen again, or re-purposed as another piece of tissue.

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