It’s Sunday morning. I’ve managed to escape the pressures of life for another few short hours. My brother is contenting my little sister with doodles and clay while I train….and train. No gun in my hand, but a remote for the action. It fits in the crease of the palm like how a soldier would shoulder the stock of an AK-47. If the situation called for something more tactile, you might see a Heckler & Koch MP5 with a Knights KAC Navy suppressor attachment. The side arm in this load out is a standard, military grade Beretta M9. Each gun uses the same 9x19mm ammo, providing extra rounds for lengthy fire fights.
This urban decay may call more specifically for some rooftop camping with an Remington 700 bolt-action sniper rifle. I move into position with well timed sprint bursts and cover fire. The support is provided by my brothers in arms. I think about how I would take a bullet for any one of them. Luckily, we’re to good at what we do to even worry about that. We’ve already called in radar, airstrike, and with one more kill we’ll trigger an attack helicopter. With that, no doubt we would secure the game and be one step closer to defeating the Taliban.
It was what seemed to be a complete God send. As I’m sighted in and scanning the opposing roof, a turban pops up inches from the center of my crosshairs. I calmly assess and adjust my sights over his body, staying smooth and deliberate with each movement I make. Take a breath….let it halfway out….a slow squeeze on the trigger…this is it…I’ve got him.
*DING DONG* (loud doorbell rings)
*BANG* AHHH I SHANKED IT!
HE WAS IN MY SITES!……oh nooo. He sees us and is returning fire. RPG!! GET DOWN!!!
I started to explain to the pizza guy, who was now at my doorstep looking clueless, what he had just ruined. He looked to old to understand. I was hungry enough now to take a break anyway I guess.
The Dilemma after extended hours of play is always the same. While I was indeed entertained and feeling achieved for each camo unlocked, games always come to an end. I don’t even want to shoot people in real life. War fare is scary. I’m afraid of getting shot in our paintball matches on the weekends, I can only imagine bullets would amplify that fear. Then it hits me when I’m left with nothing else to do for the day. “If I’m not the guy who is good at digital warfare….than who am I?”
Well, I like to draw things. I like good stories. I like epic characters. I have to idea how to orchestrate these concepts into a congruent narrative. In all honesty, the idealism of being a creative is so much more glorious than the actual making or creating.
White Note Pads abuse me and my creations. They yell at the final product, calling them ugly, silly, and stupid. The White Note Pad says, how dare you ruin me and my nice white surface with such a trivial idea. You should have approached me with an idea far more grand than this absurdity!
The White surface has a point. I’ll never make something as cool as what is already out there. I’m a failure. I’m a part-timer. I’m uncreative. That’s a bummer, I really thought I had something special. What am I going to make in this moment that is so revolutionary and life-changing, that it will plant even create the smallest footprint on this massive planet of artists and creatives?
Maybe…..nothing. Maybe, grand “break-through”moments in creation are just the accumulative result of a daily grind. What if I were to make something everyday for both practice and progression. Maybe then, in that work, I can discover more of my creative potential. Perhaps I may also gain some confidence in my ability! If my artistry is real to no-one else, it will be real to me, for I am a do-er. After-all, artists do art. Yeah, that sounds good. But before I begin my artistic journey, I need to get that red tiger camo. I’m just a few headshot away from glory….
Creative C*ult Lives.
Thanks for reading friend.
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