Radio Silence

     You know when it feels like you’ve fucked up but you’re just so certain that it can’t be you? That’s how I’m feeling right now.

    I wrote a post on the 8th of March, 2019, about getting back into contact with a friend I made just after college. Things were great and now they’re not. They haven’t been great since last Christmas and I think in the period from then to now, I’ve probably seen him seven or eight times. It feels like we don’t know each other anymore. He missed my birthday completely and that hit me the hardest, I think. It’s something I never expected from him.

    It sucks because… I always end up losing everybody. Every friend I’ve ever had has either moved on, forgotten about me or cut contact. I know times change, but I didn’t think people could change so dramatically, too. It hurts. It doesn’t feel like it’s what I deserve. I try to fill my time with meaningless things but nothing fills the void. Nothing fits in the spaces where my friends were. Nothing takes that deep, twisting ache away from my heart like having them back would.

    I just wish things would go back to how they were, or that he’d just let me in. I just want to be a part of his life and I don’t understand why he won’t let me.

Signed,

Elijah.

Meta Sentience.

21/11/2022

A Good Person

    Hey again. :) How are you? Mm, same. I feel that. I hope it improves for you soon. I know exactly how you feel. Like… right?! I always think, “wow, it really can’t be that hard to send a quick text message,” but hey, I guess it is. I guess I’m wrong. I’m wrong a LOT lately. I know! You wouldn’t think it just looking at me. But hey, nobody is perfect, y’know? I started this thing about four or five years ago now and I can’t even keep on top of it, so. What do I know, eh?

    I started this blog with the intention of talking about things I like, things that inspired me. Now I only use it to talk about things I don’t like. It’s sad, honestly. This medium has been hijacked by the negative thoughts in my brain. I can’t help it though, y’know? If I don’t get these thoughts out, I can’t focus in real time. I need to focus, for all the important things I do. Like, play Spider-Man or watch TV. Haha.

    I’ve been watching The Politician with Joe these past couple days and I love it. We started watching it as a meme because I like Ben Platt a lot and the premise sounded so silly, but it’s not a meme anymore. I genuinely really like it. Something about feeling like I relate to Ben’s character, Payton Hobart, in the way that he doesn’t believe he is a good person, and that he simply does good things to further his own agenda - his own agenda being becoming President of the United States one day - I feel like that often enough that I can see myself in Payton. Which is… problematic, to say the least. Sweat drip.

    If you asked anyone, they would probably tell you I’m a good person. In some ways, I am. I make time for people; that’s like, my superpower. Even when I’m absolutely drained, toe-to-toe with sleep deprivation, thrown to the ropes by my exhausted body, I still make time. I make time for my friends, I make time for my parents and I make time for Joe. I mean, I see my dad every single day, even when I feel like I can’t keep my eyes open any longer. And, I mean, he sees it. He’s not an idiot. Most days, without fail, it’s, “you shouldn’t have come if you feel tired,” and I just nod and tell him it’s okay and that I don’t mind. I don’t mind. I just want him to be happy, and he’s at his happiest when he’s seeing me.

    So, all that kind’ve makes me a good person, I suppose. Whatever ‘good’ is anyway. Societally, I could be considered a good person. But I feel like I have some pretty bad traits, too. For example, if I feel like somebody has wronged me I’ll probably just rip into them behind their back to make myself feel better. Make nasty jokes, say bad things, wish I’d never met that person, etc. I’ve had a lot of bad in my life, and whenever I finally get to hold onto something good, that good thing always grows legs, gets up and walks away. It feels so unfair, and I think that is what makes me the most angry.

    My neighbours think I’m a bad person. We don’t speak but I know they don’t like me. I know what you’re thinking, but it’s not paranoia. I don’t like them either. If I can go a day without seeing them, that day is made just that bit better. I can’t stand them. The way they make noise and stomp around and talk to each other in the communal area, right outside my door. I just want to open it up and tell them to shut their loud fucking mouths. But I don’t. I sit inside and seethe about it. Luckily, Joe doesn’t like them either so we can have a good prattle about them. I wish they’d all just move out and piss off.

    The good thing about Payton Hobart is that even though he is painfully driven towards his one goal, he ends up doing the right thing in the end. He might not be a model good person, (what politician is?), but he tries to do good things for people he cares about, and his campaigns always reflect that. I hope that I can do good things for good people even when there isn’t anything for me in return. That’s like… the ultimate definition of a good person.

Signed,

Elijah.

Meta Sentience.

04/05/2022

I Miss

    I miss the way your fingers would tap whatever surface you were leaning on when you began to think deeply.

    I miss the way you would hold my hand, the way it felt like you thought you’d lose me if you let go.

    I miss the catch in your throat that came just before a thought that wasn’t properly thought out.

    I miss the way the food would fall out of your mouth when you ate because it always made me laugh.

    I miss the way you would message me out of the blue saying you loved me, not because I liked it or needed to hear it, but because you liked it and needed to say it.

    I miss the way you would ask if I wanted to see you, because of course I did, and of course I do.

    I miss the way we would both pass and waste time listening to music in your car, the way you’d lean your head, and sometimes your body on mine.

    I miss the way we raced our remote control cars in the burning heat for spontaneous fun.

    I miss the way we complained together about our respective problems.

    I miss the way your hugs would feel so urgent, like you needed my warmth or my closeness and affection.

    I miss the way you needed to be near me at all times, as if we were bound together and we would break if we parted.

    I miss the way you would always come to me first if you needed anything, including advice, opinions, or help.

    I miss the way I could see you anytime.

    I miss the way you would agree to watch movies with me and then fall asleep beside me when it got too much.

    I miss being able to make memories with you.

    I miss being around you.

    I miss those early days because it was all new again and yet so familiar.

    I miss being needed.

    I miss being your friend.

    I miss being wanted.

    I miss being around you.

    I miss being there.

    I miss being your friend.

    I miss you.

Signed,

Elijah.

Meta Sentience.

01/05/2022

A New Start

  I'm writing to you from a brand new laptop. It feels good, like a silver platter that I've been waiting to pull the lid off and devour the contents of. It's fresh, delicious and feels phenomenal. Even worth the faffing about. Such a slim, delightful, compact piece of tech.

   ...

  Anyways, this blog got abandoned again. Not forgotten about, but I will admit I went out to get the milk for a few months. Okay, okay... half a year? I'm not sure. I haven't checked the date of my last post. It was probably shit anyway so let's forget about it, yeah? Hey, hey I said to forget about it. Don't you dare. Don't scroll down. Just let it be. God, why do you always do that? You always act like you know what's best for us. Just listen to me for once.

  I have had a friend called Andrew. And that's what I wanted to write about in reality, but I needed time, a few months at least, to digest and compile what happened. I wish I could say that's what I did. I wish I could say that I put it all away and moved on, but in all honesty, being completely clear with you, I don't know what happened. I don't know why he stopped speaking to me. I don't really know what to tell you. I can only tell you my feelings towards what didn't happen. So that's what I'll do instead.

  We were fine as far as I knew. Normal. A regular online friendship where laughter and mutual respect was abound... until it wasn't. Things were great for almost a year until there just wasn't anything anymore. Don't get me wrong, I give people their space. Hell, I socially hibernate all the time. People know to leave me alone and check in every once in awhile to make sure I'm alive. But this wasn't that. It went from every day, to every week, or even every couple weeks. That was fine.

  Then it became a month and he didn't respond anymore. Nothing. Radio silence. Seems like a bit of a red flag, especially when you see you're being left on read. I don't like being ignored. One of my biggest pet peeves is being fucking ignored for no reason. I'd understand if we'd had an argument, I'd be glad of that because the reason for his disappearance would be obvious but no. Nothing. AWOL.

  I'm now having thoughts of, should I even post this? Maybe I should write something normal, regular and boring to come back with... what if he sees? He would know more than anyone else that I actually don't care. He deserves to be verbally chewed up and spat out because of the emotional distress he caused me, not to mention completely ignoring his girlfriend through this shit as well. His girlfriend who happens to be my best friend.

  I forgot to mention as well, it's not like he was completely gone and recuperating away from the internet. I would've understood that. But apparently he was perfectly capable of posting to all his social media and playing video games with his other friends. So... it was just my group of friends, including his girlfriend, he was ignoring. That was probably what angered me the most. As I said before, I hate being ignored with a burning passion. Don't want to talk to me? That's fine. Just fucking tell me. Not giving me a reason tells me that I'm not worth your time and nobody deserves to feel like that.

  Maybe Hitler. I'd leave Hitler on seen.

  Anyway, emotional dump aside, I heard from him and he apologised but didn't really say anything of value, and I haven't heard from him since. It's probably for the best, and I know I'll feel a lot better soon, but I gave a lot of myself to help him and he did the one thing he said he'd never do. So the trust is gone. Shame when that happens.

Signed,
Elijah.
Meta Sentience.
24/11/2019

(Discovered and posted 13/08/2021).

Her

  Jeez, my last post was in July last year. I swear it didn’t feel that long ago. I’m sorry. I haven’t felt all that complete in myself, and so I haven’t really had anything to write. The first year I had this blog, I put my all into it. And now? Well, now I barely write anything at all. You know that as much as I do. It’s sad. I don’t want to discuss what’s going on in the world right now, because I can guarantee that you already know. I wish it would end, I really do.

  I’ve watched a lot of movies about Artificial Intelligence, lately. I watched Ex Machina, which I personally wasn’t all that much of a fan of because the protagonist was beyond the point of insufferable. Before that, I watched Transcendence, the Johnny Depp film that pretty much nobody remembers, and of course A.I. Artificial Intelligence, the 2001 Steven Spielberg epic that I’ve been obsessed with since I saw it as a kid. Tonight I watched Her. Now Her, well... she made me feel something else.

  Growing up a fairly lonely person, I always watched A.I. and wished I had someone like Teddy, (an artificial intelligent super toy), to talk to. Obviously I never did, so my imagination had to make do. Believe me, it was rampant. Though, saying that, my brain would input slight limitations and I would adhere to them. For instance; I had an imaginary friend named Leo. He was a seven foot, fierce, but very handsome lion. He was wonderful, and when I was around him I felt less alone. Unfortunately, I could only visit him in a certain toilet stall of a specific pub called The Phoenix. I was probably kind of dumb, like most kids.

  Anyway, I watched this movie tonight and at the start I was thinking, “wow, if everyone just had one of these seemingly semi-sentient operating systems, people would be so much less lonely, and therefore happier.” But as the film continued, new problems and complications would crop up that involved actual real human feelings and emotions. Like, what if your operating system wasn’t only yours? Would it bother you if they were speaking to other people? Thousands of other people, to be more exact. I knew my answer right away would be that it would bother me.

  If this operating system wanted to learn more than what was just effectively myself, it would have to speak to new people all the time. That would then take the personal factor away from it and it would be pointless, at least to me.

  It made me think a lot, and I can’t put a tonne of it into words. I just think if more people had someone, or something, life might be a little lighter sometimes. My friend, who I haven’t seen for a few years because he did a very bad, deplorable thing, might have benefited from a thing like that. An unbiased program to talk to. But would that then cause other issues that might lead to something else? Something worse, maybe, due to a lack of filtering system designed to make the user more comfortable with sharing their deepest internal thoughts? I don’t know. I will never know. Not unless it happens one day. Until then, these are all hypotheticals.

  I wish I had an unbiased thing to talk to.

Signed,

Elijah.

Meta Sentience.

19/01/2021

Hope Rides Alone

  Andrew, 26/10/2019, 22:14:
  "You are absolutely right. I am a coward. Most of my actions are done in cowardice, in a bottomless sea of unrelenting fear. And every single time, my actions result in the consequences I am trying so desperately to avoid. I just compound and double down. Certain that my experiences will fare me better. I am living an endless souls-like where I don't realize that my past experience is only good for avoiding doing that exact same mistake, but never learning why I failed in the first place in hopes of moving on. Ultimately that just leaves me pushing forward while countless others are left behind uncertain why. I'm sorry. I truly am. At the same time, there isn't anything that matters regarding how I feel. You are the one hurt, and that's not fair. You shouldn't be punished for being vulnerable, you shouldn't feel abandoned for always being available. You shouldn't feel those things because it is what I am afraid of. My actions are simply causing others to experience my fears while I do my best to avoid them. So for that I am sorry. That is not fair to you. That is not fair to any of you. Not that it should be of surprise but; I have no found anything 'better'. I'm just stopping myself from keeping this pointless cycle up, just sitting quietly alone in my room with shadow. Sometimes playing games, but mostly just doing what I can to avoid people as much as possible. I'm not sad or upset, I'm not happy or excited, I'm just doing what it takes to survive with as little impact to others as I possibly can. I will send a proper apology to ___ and ___, just as I am doing so to you, because you are right, you deserve an answer. Not saying anything doesn't absolve me from what I've done, it just means I suffer the consequences ignorantly. So once again; I'm sorry."

  Andrew always knew how to talk to people. His patter was word perfect from the day of our first interaction to the moment of our last. It was mesmerising. In reading over his last message now, I realise it was not open-ended. It was not encouraging a conversation or a discussion on how we could mend our friendship, but a goodbye. He was done. Trying had become too much effort for him, and there was nothing left for him to give. Maybe he thought he was offering me closure, or perhaps saying goodbye was better than no response at all, (I had strongly expressed my distaste for being ignored to him multiple times).

  At the time, I can confirm his message did not offer me any closure. At all. I responded with a lengthy message of my own, my childlike naivety kicking in. I didn't receive anything else. It took five days to get the above message after the last one I'd sent on the 21st. I actually wasn't expecting anything at all. It was a month or so since he'd spoken to me, verbally or otherwise, and I had sort of come to terms with the fact that we were done. I decided to unfollow him to spare my feelings, and then five days later he sent the goodbye.

  In a toxic, probably very unhealthy way, writing about him here helps the hurt I feel when I think of him. When I'm talking about him, it feels like he's still with me. It feels like I haven't lost what we had. Like I wasn't abandoned by a person I loved so much and cared so dearly for. It would be hard to describe just how much I loved Andrew. He was, and is, like no other person I've ever met. He was harsh and pointed, and he always said what was on his mind no matter how scathing. And I liked that. I shouldn't have; he was nasty, and irritated by the smallest and most meaningless things. He would let something put him in a bad mood, and he'd allow that to ruin his day. But even when he was angry he would still talk. He'd tell me all the horrible details in his head. I can't count the hours we spent discussing the people he hated.

  I apologise for consistently jumping between tenses. It's hard to always speak about somebody in the past tense when they're not dead. Yet it's equally as difficult to stay in the present tense when you no longer speak to a person. It's been less than a year and so much must have happened that I don't know about. I feel like I should know, but I don't have the opportunity of being on the inside anymore. It isn't my place to know, and I do realise that, but even now it's still so hard. I've never grieved for a friend like I have Andrew, and I'm still not done.

  There is a part of me that will never let him go. There will always be a hole in my heart where Andrew fits perfectly. I know it's bad for me but if I could make the conscious decision for myself and carry it out, I wouldn't even be writing this post. He is simultaneously dead to me, and very much alive because I am unable to move past him. My life is different without him in it and my mental health has taken a significant dive. He is the only reason I cry anymore. As I said before, it's unhealthy. I know that. But keeping a part of him with me, immortalising him within these words like a character that never really existed in the first place, I suppose has some kind of therapeutic affect. Even if it is damaging in the long run. I never was very good at looking after myself.

Signed,
Elijah.
Meta Sentience.
05/07/2020

  

Small Circle

  It’s... been another three months, hasn’t it. I’m sorry, I really am. Though that word means fuck-all in the grand scheme, especially when nobody can see the meaning behind it. If there’s any meaning at all.

  It sounds silly, but the last few months have been so up and down that I’m not sure where I’m at right now. I’ve been playing Animal Crossing: New Horizons like most other people on the planet that own a Switch. There hasn’t been an AC game that I haven’t enjoyed, so I knew the latest instalment was something I wanted to personally experience rather than vicariously live through an obnoxious YouTube gamer. I’ve really enjoyed having a new little project to work on, (my island), even though I never make it all that pretty. I have villagers I love and a space that’s my own, so that’s what matters to me.

  It’s nice, in a way, to be able to escape my own circle. You wouldn’t think it be possible to fuck up and still be a bad person when you only talk to like, three people? But trust me, it’s still very much a risk if you’re an idiot like I am. Imagine potentially sacrificing something you love so much for literally no reason at all. If you can’t think of how that would make you feel, or can’t begin to conceive of what that would be like, then just trust me when I say that it’s bad.

  Is the reason I stay away from people really for my benefit? Or is it for theirs? I think about that a lot. Is it because I’m scared of what they’ll do to me? Or because I’m scared of what I could do to them if I become even more apathetic and even more complacent?

  Of course, these questions are all rhetoric. There’s no telling what the answers really are, hell, even I don’t know most of the time.

  I miss having things to be passionate about other than games. I miss writing. I miss being interested in other things. I miss being interested in people. I miss expressing my political stances in spaces that really didn’t matter to people that didn’t even care to hear about what you thought or believed. Those don’t exist anymore. This is my only platform. I have no interests. I am an empty shell of what I once believed myself to be. Where does that leave me?

  What’s it like, you ask? If I could explain it any better than I already have, then I would. But I can’t. I mentally, physically, emotionally, (and any other planes besides these that might exist), can’t. There are no words for it. None that I can conjure up. The only thing that comes close is this empty feeling... I need to do some more thinking.

Signed,

Elijah.

Meta Sentience.

08/06/2020

Him.

  Last September was around the last time I posted anything before my ‘hiatus’ or whatever. It was around then that I lost someone who I thought would be a permanent fixture in my life. He ghosted me and despite this happening many times before with other people, he was different and it really fucked me up. I didn’t know how to deal with it or how I was even supposed to move past it without an explanation. I don’t know whether I am past it at this point and there are still things I can’t play/do/listen to/think about without thinking of him, and that is the semi-permanent damage his actions have done to me. It’s unfair, and I still have no explanation. But he is alive and I suppose that’s all that matters. I hope he’s happy without me even though I am not without him.

——————————————————

  This part is being written a month or so after the first bit up there.

  I’m still in the same-ish boat as I was when it first happened, though I can feel myself slowly healing and fixing back together. It’s not perfect, as I am not either. And neither was he. Nor is anyone. That’s why this happened in the first place. At the end of the day, I got too close. I saw being his friend as some kind of prize in a way, thus lowering my self-worth. The fact that I was happy someone like him would ever think to be friends with ‘someone like me’ says a lot about my low self-esteem. It felt like I’d won him, which is kind of sick.

  I felt so much anger in the first few months. I for some reason thought maybe if I vented it online he’d see how much I was hurting and want to fix what he’d done to me, but I was wrong. He unfollowed me about a month after.

  That hit hard. That hurt.

  It’s hard to let go, but sometimes you have to. Your health depends on if.

Signed,
Elijah.
Meta Sentience.
08/03/2020

Beautiful Sunday

  Today is a better day. I don’t feel as miserable or as hopeless. I don’t have as many depressive episodes lately, which is of course a massive improvement. When I do have them, they’re pretty bad. I cry, I self-deprecate, I judge myself harshly, but once it passes and I can see clearly I feel better. Cleansed almost. Not in some hippy dippy way, but it’s unarguable that an emotional and mental disposal is often necessary to get through to the other side. And that’s okay. It’s actually really healthy.

  It’s weird. When I’m in it and I can’t see properly in the dark, I want anything else to be happening at all. But once it’s over I feel better. Usually in the morning after a really deep, long sleep. I often don’t think about it at all. Only now that I’m reflecting on my last one am I actually thinking about it. My head feels fogged. I know what caused it, but it seems so silly and insignificant now.

  For what it’s worth, I’m in a good place right now. How long will it last? I don’t know. But right now, everything is okay.

Signed,

Elijah.

Meta Sentience.

16/02/2020

Happy Valentines Day

  I don’t know what to title this, so. It’s not like it matters anyway. This place has just become a dumping ground for my feelings where they’re mostly safe from prying eyes. Nobody visits here anyway, so there’ll be no intruders. It’s just you and I for now.

  I don’t know what it is lately, but I feel alone. Isolated even when there’s somebody in the flat with me. All I have to do in the daytime is scroll social media, and in hindsight that makes me feel worse. I get to see all the fun things my friends are doing with their friends, posting all their fun times together but never when I’m involved. I post a lot about other people, but nobody ever posts about me. It doesn’t matter. I mean, it’s pretty irrelevant but it’s just funny to me how everybody gets mentioned here and there except me. Is there something wrong with me? Don’t I deserve the same attention everyone else gets? Jesus, what’s wrong with me. I just wish I could answer that question.

  I’m miserable. All the time. There’s nothing to do and when I’m unoccupied, it’s the worst. It hurts. If I had the guts, maybe I wouldn’t be here. I’m not suicidal, but sometimes it feels like things would be better if I wasn’t around. I wouldn’t hurt anymore. Nobody would have to bother thinking about me anymore. The people that are already in the process of forgetting me could do so guilt free. Because I know that’s what they’re doing, subconsciously or not, so many people I know just don’t feel the need to get in touch anymore.

  There must be something wrong with me. There has to be. But what? Do I radiate some kind of... I don’t know, unrelenting stench of fucking foulness that people just can’t bring themselves to continue being around me? I don’t want this anymore. I want anything else but this. I feel so empty, so sad, so upset, so angry, so frustrated. Nobody thinks about me and I’m sick of thinking about them. Always having to be the one that reaches out. What about me? What about when I need someone to reach out.

  I  want to cry. I need to cry. But I can’t. It just won’t come. I’ve spent so much time crying over people that don’t give a shit about me, and here I am still repeating the same process. How do I break the cycle? By not getting attached. That’s done me a world of good so far, so I need to keep that up. Stop getting attached to stupid, worthless people that have no use to me.

  I’m just sick of it. Sick of it all.

Signed,

Elijah.

Meta Sentience.

14/02/2020

Hello

  I wrote a post not too long back, (around September time... so I guess it was a long time ago. Oh well), basically saying what had happened between me and a now ex-friend, but in the end I didn’t post it. Maybe I will sometime. It’s still in my drafts. It’s not that I was afraid to post it, or that I even forgot, I just couldn’t see the point. It was just a tonne of vented anger at a situation that wasn’t going to change. I have foresight now, but even then I knew that he wasn’t coming back.

  Fucking Road Man.

  I just hate being treated like I don’t matter. And it seems like everyone that gets their mitts on me, figuratively, manages it. And then when they have, they always go on about how they didn’t mean to fuck me up, how they didn’t see things how I’m being made to see them, and continue the fucking behaviour anyway. At the end of the day, people are fucked and you’re best off staying away from as many as you can. Don’t trust people easily, there’s no point. None at all. You don’t owe shit to anyone but yourself.

  Anyways, I got the app for this blog so now maybe I’ll post more often. I say that a lot, though, so I’ll try to show rather than tell.

Signed,

Elijah.

Meta Sentience.

11/02/2020

...

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.

---

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.

Spider-Man: Into The Spider-Verse

  Ever since I was a little kid I wanted to be Spider-Man, and I deemed those that didn't understand insane. How could they not get it? What part of their cognitive thinking was missing to allow them to think that Spider-Man wasn't as cool as I believed he was? Five year old me was smitten. Obviously now at 22, still enamoured by the entire concept, I realise that people are entitled to their own opinions, even if they're fucking WRONG. (Thanks Pewds). 
   
  I saw Spider-Man: Into The Spider-Verse yesterday at the 3pm showing. At the time of writing this, it's been 21 hours, I slept for eight of them, and I still cannot physically, mentally or emotionally conceive of how perfect it was. I can't think of the correct words I want to use because I know none of them will do it justice. The animation, design, soundtrack, scripting, voice acting, etc, every piece of work that went into this movie needs to be fully appreciated by all that see it. Frame by frame, Spider-Verse is a visual masterpiece and in the least try-hard way possible. It doesn't need to do any of the usual pretentious movie shit, all it needs to do is... be.

  My eyes were wet and teary through 90% of the film, and glinting with nostalgic delight throughout. Miles Morales is a wonderful character and I think having the film's groundwork solely around him and everything he's trying to overcome, not only physically in New York but the issues in his head is a fantastic message for a lot of young people. It made me realise that I spent so many years searching for acceptance from my peers and those around me, including faceless people on the internet that I didn't even know, and it was only when I made the conscious decision to end that search that I found the approval I was so desperately seeking. When Miles comes to this conclusion during the final arc, we see his full potential and he shines.

  The involvement of classic Peter Parker was probably what made me the giddiest. His usual sarcastic and pointed humour mixed with a slight intonation of contempt felt familiar to me. Almost like I'd never been away. The moments that showed his age and his vulnerabilities, including the insecurities involving his relationship with Mary Jane Watson, reinforced the feeling that I grew up with this man. Not just Spider-Man, or the slew of others we've seen as the movie industry morphed and changed, but this man. Peter. B. Parker is the perfect representation of my hero. My web-slinger. As a kid, he would've given me the most hope and shown me the best things about myself even when I couldn't see them.

  For years everyone has been undecided on who should be 'the one' to represent Marvel's classic hero, but Spider-Verse teaches us that there isn't one. Spider-Man is inherently selfless, loyal, trustworthy, quick-witted, well-humoured, self-sacrificing and compassionate, but best of all he shows us how draining and debilitating it is to be all those things. It is not easy to be good, yet somehow Spider-Man always manages it regardless of the toll it takes on himself. That has always been the message and I'm so glad it continues to be the theme of the Spider-Verse. Anyone can wear the mask.

Signed,

Elijah.

Meta Sentience.

31/12/2018