I wake up once more... now, these days, I wake up to my PC, gladly. I continue my routine, my schedule, my task.
I watched a video about the game Horses, a very horrifying game about the cruel nature of human flaws, a game that depicts how we become a cog of the ultimate cruelness.
And I got to confess: I do have a game that I've been thinking about. But it is… cruel. Horrible. Disgusting.
I have the idea, and some notes, of a game that delves into the most depravity of the most unnatural and casual things we live in these days. And no, it's not some extreme political view or a discourse on how society collapses. Society is a liquid with many shapes and vectors. But this game…
I haven't shared anything about it, and I don't think I really want to. But something calls me to do it. Something so deeply and so sinister pulls me from the obsession deep within me, as a right, or as a vocal way to proclaim and to shout the horrors I know, in the only way I know to do it best.
This game sickens me to the deepest cells of my bones; it twitches and contorts my body in pulmonary pain. It revolts my stomach to nausea and to vomiting by writing it.
This project is the maximum expression of the sickness and depravity I can possible write about.
But I have to do it.
Because no one else has done it.
Now, it won't be tomorrow, and probably not going to be until some years.
And that is EVEN if I decide to actually make it.
But I wake up from the bed. I eat breakfast alone. I walk upstairs to my desk. Boot up my PC. And begin to code. Or to animate. Or to write.
Even if no one will shine a light on it. Even if I am a single dot of information on the net, even if my message and my story are nowhere to be seen or heard by people. And yet,
I still do it.
I still use my fingers to push down the keys of my keyboard and the button on my mouse. Even if they bleed, or they get sore, or they break.
Have you ever seen a man more delusional on his purpose?
A man shouting at walls?
I have.
I see him all the time.