There is a game producer with ideas, ambition, and a penchant for creating unconventional things. He is Japanese but isn't favored by capital in his home country, instead thriving more in Europe and America. He has freeloaded at the cafeterias of major tech giants; while he may not be flourishing, he has certainly seen and experienced much.
His games have an extremely strong vibe; those who get into them hail them as masterpieces, while those who don't criticize them harshly. Ultimately, due to a controversial dish of broccoli stewed with watermelon, he was kicked out by the restaurant manager. But this guy indeed has his own style; he DIY-ed a small but beautiful studio and has been doing quite well these years.
Suda51 is still impressive.
Hideo Kojima was recently dropped by Sony, sparking considerable discussion, with both sides having their merits. The Kojima faction remains a niche group of artistic intellectuals, arguing that video games should pursue artistic exploration—"if we don't burn money here, where else should we burn it?" The Sony faction sticks to shareholder meetings, arguing that if games don't make money, what kind of video games are they? Don't hinder the company's growth and year-end dividends.
High-EQ interpretation: All is suffering, so might as well enjoy the process.
Low-EQ interpretation: Invisible walls force combat; you fight your way, I fight mine; the actions are monotonous with no interaction.
People always speak with some bias. Since I'm neither middle management nor a Sony shareholder, I might as well let heroes appreciate heroes and let tough guys support tough guys.
Although I wouldn't say I particularly admire him, according to the currently overhyped evaluation standards, I feel he is somewhat overrated—but who exactly benefits from having one less Hideo Kojima in the world? And what would those benefits be? I really can't figure that out.
Perhaps my ambitions exceeded my abilities. Having never worn shoes of that size, I didn't know what it meant to have them pinch my feet.
Reading The Odyssey earlier reminded me of how ancient Greeks divided history into several ages. It's somewhat like League of Legends ranked tiers, from Gold to Iron. But there's one difference: the Hero rank is placed below Bronze and above Iron,突兀ly sitting in the middle. This is interesting. Hou Guoyu said that being in Silver is the most painful, which is remarkably similar.
The Homeric Epics and the Spring and Autumn Annals/Warring States Period tell the same story: the collapse of rites and music, the decline of traditional values, No More Heroes, Suda51. How do you view this story? With admiration? With regret? By connecting both sides?
Precious metals are rare and expensive; base metals are abundant and cheap. Heroes are one tier above black iron—expensive, but affordable, roughly equivalent to an RTX 5090D.
Some things are more expensive, yet money cannot buy them. Money has no boundaries, but boundaries have boundaries.
Heroes are the most expensive luxury that money can buy. A Bugatti Veyron ends up with a damaged bumper in the underground garage; LV bags are slightly inferior to super-A counterfeits. These aren't expensive; they can't buy the Golden Age. People dream of returning to the Golden Age. They miss God, miss capital, miss Marx, miss clay, miss Eden.
In the past, it was the Golden Age; in the future, it will be the Age of Humanity. Therefore, I am inevitably in the Age of Heroes. We must chase the souls of bronze statues and sigh for the ordinariness of iron. Such people may not be heroes themselves, but if there are enough of them, an Age of Heroes will emerge.
When heroes die, bronze statues will be erected. When the statues fall, epics and stories will remain. When the stories are lost, people begin to miss the Golden Age. It's a bug. I live in an Age of Heroes where giants walk, yet gold is scarce; Marco Polo lied. Jesus is the flesh of the Word; he is both deity and hero. Therefore, I am often afraid.
Comfort yourself: capital is not scary; capital is a cool summer night. Just don't go gently into that good night.