I wanted this entry to continue the gritty inside story of the development of a computer game, SubOrban, which I basically created in real time during my previous post, but I haven't done any real work on it besides the orb puns and a pretty listless bit of research into the orb imaging abilities of the drawing apps on my phone. Very negative downer experience. I also haven't submitted the concept to Marketing, to be rent into pieces. Or is that rended to pieces? Or maybe de-rendered to pieces.
Don't get me wrong, I'm berry excited about SubOrban, the possibilities and money and all that. And even more excited about the possible book I could weave together out of the blog entries, a sort of "Soul of a New Machine" type novel.
But I don't have any material yet. And I do have another sketchbook entry to post, as in the name and while point of this blog.
This actually might be a close number two to my picture from two posts ago, of myself running with the branch, that I said might be the magnum opus of my later life. I think this one will be the one most often mentioned with that picture, as belonging to the same artistic period. A few critics or some family member or maybe my mother will say that this is their favorite, just to be different and surprising. It will be like the empire strikes back to Star Wars.
What does the picture mean? I'll leave that for future generations of miserably bored people to decide, but it seems to follow the main theme of the sketchbook so far: Ongoing failure, a continued lack of progress on both fronts, or prongs, of my overall yearly goal, which is basically a low key college years worth of study of computers and literature. I set the goals with an academic theme in mind because my creative doodling juices seem to be most stimulated when I have other, more important things to do. I can only truly focus on any task in a desperate attempt to mentally fend off some looming real responsibility, and school has always, since my wasted youth, a powerful symbol of What I Should Be Doing.
Back to the picture, which seems to depict a socially awkward and emotionally remote meeting between myself, Santa Claus, and an elf. The two diminutive figures at our feet could be interpreted as children in costume or large action figures, or both one and the other. One is my homage to Doctor Octopus, my favorite comic character next to doctor doom and the fantastic four (the hulk died in me with the avengers movie). The other, well, is a new character that I've created myself; Senor Elephante. I've actually created an origin story for this character that I'm not very happy with but which will have to do for now.
Amazing insight! It just occurred to me that the diminutive figures represent my lost childhood (Doctor octopus) and future wasted effort (Senor Elephante). In that light, Santa, who seems in the picture to have that mental illness where people hug themselves, is gazing in sad question at me, while I look away, avoiding eye contact, looking somewhat ruefully at my mental progeny (get it?) while the elf comments sarcastically on my stomach fat.
I just realized two things; Santa is awkwardly holding a bag over his shoulder, not mentally ill at all, and the elf has no lower body. He's apparently suspended in mid air or the picture is incomplete. And he and the picture will never be completed; the artist is distracted (willfully?) by the tiny fruits of his imagination, while his generous, empathetic side (comforting Santa) is avoided and his sober, critical side (sarcastic hovering elf), is left with his lower half, including supporting limbs and procreative organs, unfinished and discarded. Reeling from powerful self assessment. Must go doodle this feeling away immediately
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