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Hello, I Must Be

Some people really struggle to accept help. I know that because I am one of those people, whether I would like to admit it or not.

People often think they need to be the pillars for other people; the one-man, monolithic support system that never breaks down. But the reality is that's just not sustainable.

It's okay to need people. And it's okay to not want to admit you need people. But sometimes it can pay to take that step, as difficult as it may feel.

I'm only just learning this myself, and I took the hard route. It's okay to do things in your own time and at your own comfort rate.

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This post was written entirely using code, so maybe I'll start posting more again because I'm having fun with it. Maybe I'll start a new blog entirely.

I've kind of wanted to for a while, but I've also had reservations about the idea.

We'll see.

Signed,
Elijah.
Meta Sentience.
31/07/2019

This is a lot of effort for a line of text.

Boredom makes you do questionable things.

Andrew Neiman and Terence Fletcher: A Whiplash Dynamic

  In a 2014 interview with Whiplash's director Damian Chazelle, he chose to use the following phrasing to describe the protagonist and antagonist of his Oscar award-winning film; "In a weird way, this movie is a love story between these two people. It's a very twisted, sick love story but it does operate in that way in a sense. It hinges on their relationship and the ups and downs of that relationship. So you had to have a duo that you wanted to watch and see together, and the movie had to hum when they were together."

  One thing I can say without a doubt is that the relationship I see on-screen every time I watch Whiplash is electric. It is so possible to see the power within these two characters, almost literally, and the ensuing struggle for that power as Andrew Neiman becomes more confident and one with himself. With that growing credence comes Terence Fletcher's glib attitude. He needs to keep Andrew in his place in a way that will push but not hinder him, and in the same vein, he needs to be the most difficult barrier Andrew will ever face. If he can overcome each challenge set by his music teacher, he can do anything. And Fletcher really believes that.

  From the very first moment Andrew and Fletcher interact with one another, there is chemistry. Mutual fascination is coursing through their veins and visible from outside their tough, Mythril-like skin. I genuinely can't tell whether it's due to the talented actors, (big up Miles Teller and J. K. Simmons), or if the characters are just that well developed so early on. Andrew is fearful of this man, with his short fuse and his monolithic reputation. He knows exactly who the conductor is, and has probably heard bits and pieces of gossip around Shaffer Conservatory from Fletcher's terror-stricken students. But upon their first meeting, Andrew can't confirm whether or not any of it is true or exaggerated. What can be observed, however, is Andrew's immediate need to please and Fletcher's dominance in response to that. Their roles within the relationship are established as soon as the film opens.

  As the film begins to open up to its audience and allow us in, we see more of the world surrounding these two people. A bustling music school housing some of the most talented artists in the country. So begs the question, out of everyone Fletcher could choose and despite his already thriving, high-level studio band, why bother with a freshman like Andrew Neiman? Why disrupt his band? Why make moves to replace his already talented and capable core drummer Carl Tanner? Why tip that balance? Of course, the answer is simple. It's Fletcher's way of exacting control over the people that respect him the most. What more frightening and embarrassing to an aspiring musician than to be kicked out of the most successful band in the entire conservatory? The students know for a fact that no one is safe, and through that knowledge, they will work harder and play better than even they thought possible. That is Fletcher's goal. To push people beyond what is expected of them.

  We know for a fact that the music teacher is doing his job correctly, or at least what he thinks his job should entail, because his presence demands the attention of the room. With one wave of his hand or clench of his fist, the band stops. Silence. And then a long, disappointed sigh. He goes through the rigmarole of terrorizing his band members via the accusation of one of his players being out of tune. A trombone player, Metz, is intimidated, humiliated and then let go of the band. Once he leaves the room, Fletcher smiles and informs the rest of the band that Metz wasn't out of tune, but he didn't know and in Fletcher's eyes that was worse. Any other teacher would've sought the out-of-tune player to offer assistance, and it's details like this that clearly outline what the movie wants us to see in its characters. This particularly shows Fletcher's lack of patience. There's no room for mistakes in his studio band. 

  In the following sequence, Andrew falls victim to Fletcher's wrath and is made a laughing stock. He messes up the set and the teacher makes sure everyone knows, as he did with Metz. This shows the audience that there are no shortcuts, no matter who you are. Even if the teacher has some kind of piqued interest or sees some potential in a player, it doesn't mean they will get off easy. Mentally torturing Andrew like this even though it's his first day allows the audience to see that the conductor is consistent in his demeanour and willingness to punish, and to push until breaking point. This continues throughout until Andrew gets into a car accident and has a mental breakdown, rugby tackling Fletcher. They are both kicked from Shaffer and part ways until the closing scenes.

The power that Fletcher holds over Andrew forces him to change in quick succession. The nineteen-year-old goes from regular movie nights with his dad and pining for a pretty small-town girl to spending all his time alone in the practice room honing his craft. He becomes a machine without even really taking a moment to think about what it was doing to him or the people in his life. In a way, this shows us how weak of character Andrew Neiman really is due to how willing he is to throw his personal life away. But it also demonstrates the sheer drive he possesses when it comes to getting what he wants. This tells us a lot about him in a really clever, contrasting way.

  I think for Terence Fletcher, the end goal was to find somebody who was pliable enough that he could knead and mould them into greatness, whether they realised and appreciated his efforts or not - If you can call hurling chairs and verbal abuse at his students 'efforts'. He wanted his very own Charlie Parker and he found that in Andrew Neiman. In the final arc of Whiplash, we find that Andrew has become nothing more than a shell capable of showcasing his earned talent on command. This is especially apparent in the closing shots of the film. Unfortunately, with that in mind, as Andrew dons all black for the final show we can see he's lost any trace of humanity that was left. Any want for a nice life and a pretty girlfriend is maliciously beaten down and the desperation for Fletcher's approval and validation, as well as the need to be remembered as, "one of the greats," is raging within him. He is proud but exhausted, and every bit of it is down to his tyrannical music teacher.

Signed,
Elijah.
Meta Sentience.
05/2019

Bloodied Glass Bottle

  I don’t know what this is going to be, but nothing conducive no doubt. You see, I haven’t felt like this in a long time. Like a bad kid. A son who is much to be desired. I could be so much better and yet... I’m not. Sometimes it’s like I don’t even try. I haven’t seen my mum in weeks because I’m spreading myself so thin between everybody else. Just had a bit of a cry about that actually but I’d never admit that to anyone in person. I don’t cry on people. Three years with my boyfriend and he’s never seen me cry. It’s an ugly affair that nobody should be subjected to. No one needs to see that. The snotty nose. The pot-head pink eyes that make people think you smoke heavy on the doobies. I’ve never smoked in my life but boy have I cried. It’s weird, actually. I cry all the time, just not in front of other people. I’m a very emotional, needy, grumpy person. 50% anger, 50% tears. That’s a good tagline actually. Sums me up perfectly. Fifty Percent Tears. New rap name, perhaps? Let me know what you think. I’d love some feedback on that. See, my problem is that I’m shit at communication. I’m the personification of Donald Trump and the Russian Collusion. Nobody knows who the fuck did what or why, but everyone knows something happened. I can vent my feelings but not directly to a living, breathing human being. It has always led to upset, from being very small up to being a twenty two year old man. (That’s now, by the way). It has always been easier to keep everything inside, bottled up. Then one day the bottle smashes, I have a little mental breakdown and end up gluing all the bloodied glass back together again. That’s me. I’m a bloodied, infected glass bottle that is barely translucent anymore and absolutely coated in disgusting, sticky, claret adhesive. I’m stuck on somebody’s top shelf because I’m impossible to polish up but they can’t bear to throw me out for some reason. Anyway, I told you I had no idea what this would be. Make your life what it needs to be for you to get by.

Signed,
Elijah.
Meta Sentience.
21/5/2019

Double the Benefit

  I'm relieving myself right now. The laptop is burning my legs as I pee. Sure, I could've quickly used the loo, washed my hands and then come back to the comfort of the sofa to write this, but there is no time. My thought train likes to leave the station early sometimes, so the pink burn marks from my ten-year-old laptop are worth it.

  I keep skipping work. I keep skipping writing. I keep skipping responsibilities and simple tasks like showering, (yes, I'm that guy). I keep skipping. Not the kind with the rope, that might actually do me some good. But I'm skipping out on so much lately and doing so little, I really need to sort myself out. So this is it. This week I am going back to work no matter how run-down I feel. I need it. Without my job, I lack so much stability and that can be really debilitating.

  My stomach is now rumbling, but food can wait. I'm going to post this on Tuesday, and on Tuesday, I'm going to write a post for Friday. From there, we will see how things go. If I could just get into the swing of things again, I think both you and I could really benefit.

Signed,
Elijah.
Meta Sentience.

Two Birds, One Prison

  I think if there is anyone out there in that big open space, watching out for me and making things happen, he did me a solid this week. He really went out of his way and I am so thankful. Obviously, I know better than to believe in some magic dude in the clouds, but maybe things happen for a reason.

  I lost two friends around the same kind of time two years ago. They both just stopped responding to my messages and I was left questioning where they had gone or what I had done. The first, I am now back in contact with and happier than ever, the second is in prison and serving six years. Which was fucking news to me? Both getting back in contact with Jake and finding out Alex is sitting in a HMP somewhere happened on the same day. I can’t help but think this is some weird coincidence because it’s just... spooky. Try telling me that ain’t spooky.

  Let's not focus on the latter, because let's be honest it's depressing as fuck and I'm still having a hard time processing everything to do with it. There are so many tiny details spinning raucously in my head and I just need it to stop now.

  But like... I got my boy back. My closest friend during that period of my life, after Alex and I left college, disappeared without a single trace and now he's just... back? I can't describe how weird it is to wake up and know he's there. Only a message or a bus ride away. There's something endlessly comforting about that, and about him. I love him so much, from his dumb jokes to his deadpan face. Jake is everything I could ever want or need in a friend, and being without him wasn't easy. I thought about him often. Aaaand now I'm stuck with him, so. Careful what you wish for innit. ;)

Signed,
Elijah.
Meta Sentience.
08/03/2019

Phil Fish, Projection and Parasocial Relationships

  This is a topic I've wanted to cover for a really long time, but I've either not had the time or I've put it off in order to slot something into my oh so busy schedule; in other words, I've been very lazy. I want this blog to be better and if that's going to be possible, I need to pour every drop of passion I have into it. Every single spec. If it's going to look after me, I need to look after it too. Anyway... here we go.

  A parasocial relationship goes one way and is ultimately destructive. It's a concept that outlines and encompasses the feelings of an audience towards an artist or creator, where the person offers emotional ties, time and energy - often strong, overbearing and possessive. It's twisted but barely acknowledged. The artist does not know you, and you don't know them. Not really. Not on the purely personal level that you believe you do. You see pieces of them in their work, but ultimately the two are nothing alike.

  Have you ever noticed the discomfort on a celebrity's face when the phrase, 'I love you' is screamed in their direction? Or they hear it shouted up at them from a far corner of the audience during their performance? Their reaction is always the same, and they almost never say it back. They get an uncomfortable feeling of knowing that somebody is so enamoured by them despite never meeting before. The audience member professes their undying adoration and devotion despite not understanding them on a personal level. They hope to hear it back, but they won't. Not from artists that are genuine. That person does not love you, they love the things you do for them: buying their movies, albums, artwork, merch... you put them up there after all, didn't you? 

  I notice how a lot of people become extremely angry and jaded when the people they admire don't notice or respond to them. It's not becoming and it's a very draining thing to do. I know because I've been in the same situation and I've felt the same emotions. Frustration and disappointment, but the one thing people never realise is how entitled they are. 'My favourite YouTuber didn't respond to MY direct message? How dare they be so callous and ignorant.' - without taking note of the glaringly obvious fact that the person has millions upon millions of people to hold up on their shoulders. Every hour of every day. It's not them with the problem, it's their fans.

  A common argument is that because these people are famous, they should expect that kind of treatment, but... no? Why is it okay for others to cause discomfort and invade the privacy of a person? Because they're on a pedestal that you put them on in the first place? Nah... nah, that's not okay. A person, no matter how famous or how much exposure they have, is still a human being. Their private life is none of your business and you aren't owed anything from them. Not a special spot in their life, not an opinion on their actions that they should pay any attention to, not even a look in.

  Phil Fish is a French Canadian game designer best known for his work on Fez. But now, and after the release of the cute little platforming game six years prior, Phil is more INfamous than anything. The people in the gaming community often have one of two reactions when concerning Fish; the first, "who the fuck is Phil Fish?" or, most commonly, "Phil Fish is a fucking asshole." He is often reviled in the community due to his ego and bad attitude. Obviously, these opinions don't reflect my own and I am doing my best to remain non-biased. Fez isn't a game that would provide me with an enjoyable play experience, so I never bothered with it.

  The reason Phil Fish, (left), is so often mentioned when discussing the topic of parasocial relationships is due to the opinions of his audience and the gaming community as a whole, and the fact that each of those people feels as if he should care about what they think. He doesn't. If anything, Fish argues against and completely revels in the negative attention. He will respond to bad-mouthing tweets and Reddit posts about himself and his games, pulling arguments and abuse from the people inhabiting the forums. Because of this, he garners a lot of distaste despite the fact that he's only responding to the unsolicited hate which sits beneath the guise of 'constructive critique'.

  Fish's audience, the consumers of his product, believe that their opinions should matter to him. The fact that he doesn't care, that he doesn't listen to most bad press or genuine constructive criticism he receives, really peeves off those behind the spotlight. But honestly, I believe Phil Fish's lack of interest in the people buying his game is one of the things that makes him so successful even now. It fills people with discomfort and quiet rage that the creator of this masterpiece, with a 9.5 from IGN, doesn't give a fuck about their opinion. So they voice that rage... and inevitably become angrier when Fish responds with something beautifully scathing.

  My point is that people love to hate Phil Fish for their own reasons, and not necessarily the things he's done. It fuels them on a totally different level. And this kind of thing, the growth and reinforcement of parasocial relationships, is really prevalent in the gaming community, both in video games and the game devs themselves. When Davey Wreden created The Stanley Parable with his friend William Pugh, neither of the guys expected the response the game received. And, being new to that kind of unending attention; the emails, the interviews, the awards... it destroyed Wreden's mental health. In the time after, he made a game dedicated to the parasocial hell he'd found himself in. The piece is called The Beginner's Guide. It abstractly explores Wreden's experiences with an overbearing and domineering audience looming over his shoulder for months post-release of TSP. 

Davey Wreden playing The Stanley Parable

  Those that aren't new to this blog will remember my two previous posts dedicated to TBG and my passion towards its lilting yet almost hidden message. For me, it seemed like a cathartic project for Wreden. A way to explain to his audience exactly what they were doing to him, while simultaneously getting out all that pent up frustration. I like to think it really helped him. He's quieter these days, and apart from the odd university visit to give lectures on game design, he mostly keeps to himself.

  This kind of projection from an audience towards a creator can be extremely debilitating, and the most ironic thing is that the audience rarely even acknowledge that its happening. Most are blissfully ignorant to it, and to the effects of it as well. People can be shattered by the attention of the very people that put them where they are, and it's often through no fault of their own. Do your best to stay away from parasocial relationships. Not only does it damage you, but the person you're fawning over, too.

  I'll leave my other two posts on The Beginner's Guide below. I worked hard on them and I cover similar topics as found in this piece.

The Beginner's Guide: A Subjective Idea

The Morals of The Beginner's Guide

Signed,
Elijah.
Meta Sentience.
22/01/19

Asking for help

  I’m dying to have the motivation to be creative on this blog. I really am. I’ve had a piece in progress for like three weeks now and I just can’t pull myself to finish it. I feel like I’m trying so, so hard and yet I never get anywhere. I’m putting all my energy into trying, but never actually succeeding. Never actually finishing anything. And on top of that I just keep relapsing no matter how hard I try. I don’t know what to do or how to fix myself. I get no support from anyone and I don’t know if I have the strength to help myself anymore. I don’t know what to do.

  I can’t ask anybody for help. If I did I wouldn’t receive any, and if I asked the wrong people then it would be an entirely different bad situation. Sometimes I feel like I’m screaming for help and there’s simply no response. Whoever is out there in the dark can hear me, but they’re not listening. Or maybe they just don’t want to. Or perhaps they don’t know how to help me and this decide that ignoring my cries is easier. I reach out into the void only for my hand to be palmed away.