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lostparliamentI write the first few words of this post at 21:49 on July 23rd, 2024.
Today marks roughly 18 months since I vowed to never again make a video on Yugioh, to never again candidly share my thoughts on a game that eventually opened so many doors in my personal life.
I closed that door for a number of reasons. I've been quite transparent about those reasons before. Perhaps I'm rehashing old ground by mentioning it again. But there's a lingering consciousness that remains, deeply rooted at the back of my mind. A friend likened it to a fungal infection, something that still hurts despite how long it's been since I last made any substantial thoughts on the game.
My reasons for stepping away from Yugioh content creation are numerous, both in scale and depth.
As a creator, the amount of work I would have to put in, effectively much more than was worth for someone very new to the race, combined with the overwhelming research that needed to be done between each video, was tiring. I would essentially be doing a whole spreadsheet's worth of secondary analysis, entirely by myself, to predict trends well over a month before being proven right or wrong. My hypotheses had to be airtight, my workflow bulletproof - all for what? A 10-minute video that would be completely useless by the next calendar season? I might have been better off in a black company. To top it off, I would constantly have to expose myself to what felt like some of the most obstinate, uncompromising group of people I've ever imagined. A (potential) audience of people who constantly clamour for rational debate, but refuse to hear anything remotely resembling factual sense. Many of my close friends (and fellow creatives) have since told me it sounds like being a YGO creator takes a degree of masochism to be somewhat successful in the long-term space, and looking back on it now, I feel like they're not wrong.
As a person, making YGO content proved to be unfulfilling. There's a reason why I denote my YGO videos as "content" and my catalogue of videos from the Revue Starlight piece onwards as anything but that term, and it isn't just because I look back on my old work with some degree of disappointment. Yugioh is a game that does not lend itself particularly well to creative aspirations in much the same way as other topics, especially considering the videos I've made in the 18 months since my last YGO-related video. You can make a similar argument for other trading card games too. As I kept making YGO content, I found myself at a crossroads with the level I wanted to work towards - there were nearly limitless possibilities for historical and artistic analyses and perspectives that I could pursue, and yet I had deluded myself into believing that doing this, for just a little bit longer, would give me the chops of editing knowledge that I could then use to make those aspirations a reality. I had stunted my own potential for growth on so many levels because I didn't realise that it was okay to fail this much, so early on.
I didn't have anyone to teach me these lessons.
I didn't have anyone to hold me by the shoulder and tell me this.
I didn't have to find this out the hard way.
And yet, I stand here now.
I've joked with a few of my friends, some of whom are talented creatives in other fields, that making Yugioh videos for the brief, yet committed period that I did, was the basis for a kind of psychosis. I still wrestle with the poor habits I cultivated during that time when I work on more personally engaging ventures. A desire to maintain deadlines. A paranoid degree of attention to detail. A dread of opening DaVinci Resolve and loathing a new video despite being immensely passionate for the topic. There's still a part of me that has to battle with the awful feeling of "just getting it done" when I know I'm not bounded by these constraints any more. It infuriates me. I can't even articulate exactly why.
I recently learned that one particular friend is playing through Suda51 games, in particular the "No More Heroes" series. It reminded me that I had some related games in my back catalogue, namely "The Silver Case." Revisiting that game's core philosophy, alongside watching a video essay on the game, unlocked that door in the back of my mind that I've refused to look at for so long now.
To move on from Yugioh content creation for good, I need to come to terms with it. I need to kill the past.
The opening act of The Silver Case features the protagonists of an earlier game directed by Suda Goichi, Moonlight Syndrome. In this opening act, they serve as the primary threat and introduction to the wider story, namely the thematic statement of "kill the past" that echoes so often throughout the rest of the game. As these protagonists succumb to a psychosis of their own and are ruthlessly gunned down by authoritarian cops to maintain a pretense of order in the fictional 24th Ward, you come to first learn of the name "Kamui." This name is initially believed to be the identity of a legendary killer, but eventually morphs into a state of mind, a rationality to explain the sleeper agents who exist to clean house against anyone who flies too close to the sun in learning the "truth."
...I'm rambling here, aren't I? Sorry. Force of habit.
There's a latent psyche in the back of my mind when I think about my Yugioh content in hindsight. It sounds like the ramblings of a madman when I write my feelings out like this. In a way, I see less violent, but no less destructive traces of myself in those who awaken to Kamui. I can't look away from a resentment that I'm unable to control, the sensation of losing agency to feelings I can't stop. Much like Ryo Kazan deliriously rambles "REALGAME" before receiving a whole Colt Officer's ACP to the stomach, I feel myself wordlessly screaming sentiments of regret amidst the nonsense clouding my brain whenever I think about how I got to this stage as a creator. I'm angry, and also upset, that I spent so much time on things that ultimately mean nothing of personal value.
Once upon a time, I would say that I did not regret making YGO content. Now, I realise that I am lying to myself by saying that. Such a decision is one of the greatest mistakes of my life.
I know that there is a subset of people among my audience who will read this, and will likely be offended at how I express my thoughts on YGO content. Some of these people either know, or are content creators themselves. I apologise for how strong my wording is in this piece. But I also acknowledge that writing this is a form of closure that I have denied myself for a long time now.
Looking at serious discussions on the state of Yugioh now, it surprises me that people continue to argue in good faith without an interest in the wider context. I don't particularly care about Konami enough to bat for a corporation, nor do I have any real stake in offering my own insight on the game anymore. It simply tires me thinking that I used to care enough to comment on it, knowing that I wasted time on trying to change the mindset of anyone but myself. There's no real place for me in a community of people that appear mostly content with arguing for change, rather than striving for it. I just want my time back.
Perhaps there's nothing of substance to me saying all of this in the end. Maybe I just needed to vent again. Whatever the case, finally being able to articulate these thoughts might be what finally pushes me to stop thinking about this, once and for all. I need to move on from Yugioh content, from discussing the game entirely. Change myself for the better, rather than hoping this space I observe from the outside doesn't change for the worse.
I hope that a flower can eventually bloom, somewhere amidst the sun and rain.
Today, I finally kill the past.
Today marks roughly 18 months since I vowed to never again make a video on Yugioh, to never again candidly share my thoughts on a game that eventually opened so many doors in my personal life.
I closed that door for a number of reasons. I've been quite transparent about those reasons before. Perhaps I'm rehashing old ground by mentioning it again. But there's a lingering consciousness that remains, deeply rooted at the back of my mind. A friend likened it to a fungal infection, something that still hurts despite how long it's been since I last made any substantial thoughts on the game.
My reasons for stepping away from Yugioh content creation are numerous, both in scale and depth.
As a creator, the amount of work I would have to put in, effectively much more than was worth for someone very new to the race, combined with the overwhelming research that needed to be done between each video, was tiring. I would essentially be doing a whole spreadsheet's worth of secondary analysis, entirely by myself, to predict trends well over a month before being proven right or wrong. My hypotheses had to be airtight, my workflow bulletproof - all for what? A 10-minute video that would be completely useless by the next calendar season? I might have been better off in a black company. To top it off, I would constantly have to expose myself to what felt like some of the most obstinate, uncompromising group of people I've ever imagined. A (potential) audience of people who constantly clamour for rational debate, but refuse to hear anything remotely resembling factual sense. Many of my close friends (and fellow creatives) have since told me it sounds like being a YGO creator takes a degree of masochism to be somewhat successful in the long-term space, and looking back on it now, I feel like they're not wrong.
As a person, making YGO content proved to be unfulfilling. There's a reason why I denote my YGO videos as "content" and my catalogue of videos from the Revue Starlight piece onwards as anything but that term, and it isn't just because I look back on my old work with some degree of disappointment. Yugioh is a game that does not lend itself particularly well to creative aspirations in much the same way as other topics, especially considering the videos I've made in the 18 months since my last YGO-related video. You can make a similar argument for other trading card games too. As I kept making YGO content, I found myself at a crossroads with the level I wanted to work towards - there were nearly limitless possibilities for historical and artistic analyses and perspectives that I could pursue, and yet I had deluded myself into believing that doing this, for just a little bit longer, would give me the chops of editing knowledge that I could then use to make those aspirations a reality. I had stunted my own potential for growth on so many levels because I didn't realise that it was okay to fail this much, so early on.
I didn't have anyone to teach me these lessons.
I didn't have anyone to hold me by the shoulder and tell me this.
I didn't have to find this out the hard way.
And yet, I stand here now.
I've joked with a few of my friends, some of whom are talented creatives in other fields, that making Yugioh videos for the brief, yet committed period that I did, was the basis for a kind of psychosis. I still wrestle with the poor habits I cultivated during that time when I work on more personally engaging ventures. A desire to maintain deadlines. A paranoid degree of attention to detail. A dread of opening DaVinci Resolve and loathing a new video despite being immensely passionate for the topic. There's still a part of me that has to battle with the awful feeling of "just getting it done" when I know I'm not bounded by these constraints any more. It infuriates me. I can't even articulate exactly why.
I recently learned that one particular friend is playing through Suda51 games, in particular the "No More Heroes" series. It reminded me that I had some related games in my back catalogue, namely "The Silver Case." Revisiting that game's core philosophy, alongside watching a video essay on the game, unlocked that door in the back of my mind that I've refused to look at for so long now.
To move on from Yugioh content creation for good, I need to come to terms with it. I need to kill the past.
The opening act of The Silver Case features the protagonists of an earlier game directed by Suda Goichi, Moonlight Syndrome. In this opening act, they serve as the primary threat and introduction to the wider story, namely the thematic statement of "kill the past" that echoes so often throughout the rest of the game. As these protagonists succumb to a psychosis of their own and are ruthlessly gunned down by authoritarian cops to maintain a pretense of order in the fictional 24th Ward, you come to first learn of the name "Kamui." This name is initially believed to be the identity of a legendary killer, but eventually morphs into a state of mind, a rationality to explain the sleeper agents who exist to clean house against anyone who flies too close to the sun in learning the "truth."
...I'm rambling here, aren't I? Sorry. Force of habit.
There's a latent psyche in the back of my mind when I think about my Yugioh content in hindsight. It sounds like the ramblings of a madman when I write my feelings out like this. In a way, I see less violent, but no less destructive traces of myself in those who awaken to Kamui. I can't look away from a resentment that I'm unable to control, the sensation of losing agency to feelings I can't stop. Much like Ryo Kazan deliriously rambles "REALGAME" before receiving a whole Colt Officer's ACP to the stomach, I feel myself wordlessly screaming sentiments of regret amidst the nonsense clouding my brain whenever I think about how I got to this stage as a creator. I'm angry, and also upset, that I spent so much time on things that ultimately mean nothing of personal value.
Once upon a time, I would say that I did not regret making YGO content. Now, I realise that I am lying to myself by saying that. Such a decision is one of the greatest mistakes of my life.
I know that there is a subset of people among my audience who will read this, and will likely be offended at how I express my thoughts on YGO content. Some of these people either know, or are content creators themselves. I apologise for how strong my wording is in this piece. But I also acknowledge that writing this is a form of closure that I have denied myself for a long time now.
Looking at serious discussions on the state of Yugioh now, it surprises me that people continue to argue in good faith without an interest in the wider context. I don't particularly care about Konami enough to bat for a corporation, nor do I have any real stake in offering my own insight on the game anymore. It simply tires me thinking that I used to care enough to comment on it, knowing that I wasted time on trying to change the mindset of anyone but myself. There's no real place for me in a community of people that appear mostly content with arguing for change, rather than striving for it. I just want my time back.
Perhaps there's nothing of substance to me saying all of this in the end. Maybe I just needed to vent again. Whatever the case, finally being able to articulate these thoughts might be what finally pushes me to stop thinking about this, once and for all. I need to move on from Yugioh content, from discussing the game entirely. Change myself for the better, rather than hoping this space I observe from the outside doesn't change for the worse.
I hope that a flower can eventually bloom, somewhere amidst the sun and rain.
Today, I finally kill the past.
