white land
dreams... most impressive was the other night:
Drawing. With a black pen, on an extremely large notebook-paper style canvas.
It was a map of sorts, much like the fantasy lands I'd make as a young child. In particular, I remember focusing on a highlands-region and two castle structures nestled inbetween mountains. Twisted structures that I think evil demi-god Care Bears were commanding.
Amidst drawing, as if this were a digital interface, I could zoom in on a colorful rendition of the structures from overhead room-by-room perspectives. Much like 16-bit RPGs would play out. And I was editing the places... like, this was my RPG, the one I've been dreaming on and off about making since 3rd grade.
I am often amazed at how little creative content I have made since I started caring about such. Writing, drawing, filming... I am told that mine is interesting and successful content, and in the meanwhile I look at peer-artists whose work I usually fail to admire. They work so much harder than I do, breaking their backs for new ideas, and I'll walk by and drop three lines about a concept that just crossed my mind in an instant...
Descartes may well have been on to something--or may in his ideas be the primary hint. That, perhaps, everyone else is indeed just a programmed NPC, and that I am the only, or perhaps among a very small party, of people with real Free Will. There is some sense applying this idea to my lack of creative application in lieu of my creative abilities...
...but then there is also the evidence that I am just as programmed as any other. I am unable to find function with my ideas because it is my tragic destiny to burst with premises, but sadly without any ability to reach conclusions. And to remain with love unrequited, disgusted by traditional romance, appalled by societal drinking habits, and living sallow in my solitarily pure existence.
And I won't figure it out for sure without a real Deus Ex Machina. An entity will have to prove its godliness, or I will have to die and ascend into the ethereal, or a mass of logic will have to explain itself so precisely as to erase all doubt. Nothing that is likely to happen any time soon.
Plans within plans, said Raimi. He figured enough to zoom out to the biggest picture, and then discovered something implicit.
So how much of the forest can I see?
Drawing. With a black pen, on an extremely large notebook-paper style canvas.
It was a map of sorts, much like the fantasy lands I'd make as a young child. In particular, I remember focusing on a highlands-region and two castle structures nestled inbetween mountains. Twisted structures that I think evil demi-god Care Bears were commanding.
Amidst drawing, as if this were a digital interface, I could zoom in on a colorful rendition of the structures from overhead room-by-room perspectives. Much like 16-bit RPGs would play out. And I was editing the places... like, this was my RPG, the one I've been dreaming on and off about making since 3rd grade.
I am often amazed at how little creative content I have made since I started caring about such. Writing, drawing, filming... I am told that mine is interesting and successful content, and in the meanwhile I look at peer-artists whose work I usually fail to admire. They work so much harder than I do, breaking their backs for new ideas, and I'll walk by and drop three lines about a concept that just crossed my mind in an instant...
Descartes may well have been on to something--or may in his ideas be the primary hint. That, perhaps, everyone else is indeed just a programmed NPC, and that I am the only, or perhaps among a very small party, of people with real Free Will. There is some sense applying this idea to my lack of creative application in lieu of my creative abilities...
...but then there is also the evidence that I am just as programmed as any other. I am unable to find function with my ideas because it is my tragic destiny to burst with premises, but sadly without any ability to reach conclusions. And to remain with love unrequited, disgusted by traditional romance, appalled by societal drinking habits, and living sallow in my solitarily pure existence.
And I won't figure it out for sure without a real Deus Ex Machina. An entity will have to prove its godliness, or I will have to die and ascend into the ethereal, or a mass of logic will have to explain itself so precisely as to erase all doubt. Nothing that is likely to happen any time soon.
Plans within plans, said Raimi. He figured enough to zoom out to the biggest picture, and then discovered something implicit.
So how much of the forest can I see?
posted by SJ at 6/09/2005 02:56:00 PM
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