April 19, 2004 - 10:20 p.m.
I'm feeling The Hoborg again. I was going to write The Itch, but then I realized it is more like The Hoborg. It's from a computer game called The Neverhood, in an expository in-game video narrated by a character named Willie Trombone:
"It all start... with... Hoborg! A being who had to create, because... he had to."
Had to. It's not a choice. My creativity rarely produces results more impressive than mildly amusing my friends. It doesn't pay the bills (which is, I admit, due to my complete lack of ambition).
It's been too long since I self-published the ICODQ. That little comic book, as silly as it was, turned out to be (as I had estimated) sufficiently creative as to stave off The Hoborg for a useful amount of time.
I say useful, because the burning desire to create something can, at times, butt heads with being Capital R Responsible. For instance, The Hoborg is suggesting that I blow off work tomorrow, get up early, start a comic or a story, and administer doses of Gradius III on SNES during creativity brainblocks. Shooters are good for inducing in me that sort of fruitful zen.
That seems to me like a very, very good idea right now, even though I'm not sick of work. I've taken a lot of time off lately and I even had a good time at work today. Brian shaved my head and time went by quickly. Still, it is now my bedtime and I'm so very tired. Like, eyelids-drooping tired, which is a brand of tired I don't often experience. Usually the insanely high refresh rate of this obscenely large monitor acts as a sort of intangible technological toothpick that props my eyes open long past a reasonable bedtime whether I want it to or not.
I must obey my eyelids. Obeying The Hoborg is a choice.
This entry was brought to you by intense, sleepy frustration at having had the best weekend of my 2004, and, finally finding myself with the spare time to write about it, wanting only to sleep.
Sleep is something I should most assuredly do. The Hoborg is darkly suggesting to me a number of positive forces in my life-- forces such as "job," and "girlfriend," and "Gradius III on SNES"-- that are candidates for sacrifice, to be fed to The Hoborg.
My creativity should not feel like a cranky, undernourished god. Especially not a quirky, clay-sculpted god from an underrated PC game. That's just nuts!
I'm going to sleep now. I'll try to write again soon.
"...He make world full of beauty... and wonder..."
(p.s. The Hoborg, it would seem, also makes me write cryptic things turgid with vague angst, nearly unreadably bloated with words like "turgid." I'd like to reiterate here that I did indeed have the best weekend of 2004, and this incomprehensible entry is in no way an accurate representation of my overall mood. It is a reflection of this very tired moment and only this very tired moment. If I go to sleep now, I can get a full eight hours of sleep tonight, and that would do wonders.)
