In which Oswald the Lucky Rabbit reflects on the modern world that he finds himself in.
I watch the waves rise and fall from the deck, routine in how they bend yet
they flow like my brush as it sweeps the canvas and gives a life of its own
and I think about the world and its lights and darks and yellows and greens
and all the little details that fit together to make something beautiful.
It’s been 18 years since I left that place.
And nothing has changed.
I’ve seen two worlds out here, one of flesh and
bone and one of art and fluid motion
both full of life, full of stories that matter.
I’m on the boat of my dreams now, but I
still feel like I have to do something important,
something that will change the world for the better,
something to make me feel happy,
something to make me appreciate the things I have,
something to make me feel.
I feel now that art is losing its value.
It’s losing that spark,
that spark to make it come to life,
to make it something worthwhile.
Everything is stifled now,
made to pacify the audience
and have no meaningful impact.
The colors are losing their shade,
no longer red or blue or yellow or purple
but gray and lifeless.
No, even gray at least has some color
that can give contrast if you daub it in right.
And I know the culprit. I know who’s behind this.
The thing that I helped create is now the thing that
is choking art out into a soulless, banalized husk
of what it once was.
It is no longer a detailed,
flexible figure of a mouse,
but a rough sketch, a shapeless
and disfigured mess.
I can’t even see his face anymore,
just three circles stuck together.
What happened while I was gone?
Who allowed this monopoly to exist?
Who let all the artists’ voices die out like this?
Who let all of this become so devoid of life?
Who let all the paint chip away?
Who let all the ink dry?
Who let all the animation become so stiff?
Who let all the watercolors drown the whole painting?
Who sat back and watched everything crumble?
Who did this?
Was it Walt?
No, it can’t be him,
even if he left me
to rot, he wouldn’t
dare let his pride and
joy become so hollow.
Would he?
We worked together fine,
we bounced off each other
and sketched so many ideas
and characters together.
We had so much fun,
but I can’t go back.
Everything’s different now,
there’s an awful cloud that
is covering over everything,
creating a blackened tone
that suffocates the rest.
There’s no balance in
this grand painting,
only darkness and
a raging fire.
It all feels so miserable,
a mix of apathy and
a feeling of giving up.
Is there anything I can do?
I’m just one person. I can’t solve every problem in the world. I can’t bring down all the corporations overnight. I can’t take out the systemic issues present in our society with one stroke of my brush. Thousands of people are homeless and starving, thousands more are losing basic needs just because they’re being themselves, everyone is dying, everyone is going to die, they are all going to die, die, die
because of me.
Remember what Maddy said.
Right, okay. Okay.
I am just one person.
But that doesn’t mean I’m incapable
of creating change.
That doesn’t mean that
I can’t make something beautiful
or make something that has meaning.
The world is made of broad brush strokes
filled with small details that if you look closely,
will make the whole work of art much more
intricate and meaningful than it already is.
I can’t change the world in a day.
But I can start by making people happy.
By making something that I’m proud of.
By making something that’ll piss off all those bigwigs,
all those spoiled, entitled nitwits with nothing that
they can truly claim as their own accomplishments.
I’ll pour my heart and soul out,
and even if it’s bad,
at least it was made by someone real.
Maybe I’ll go down to
Disney’s offices and
do something special,
put some color in those
concrete walls of theirs.
Now that would be something, eh?
It’s hard living out here.
It always has been,
but I think, in the end,
it’ll all be worth it.
My name is still out there,
for people to see.
Might not be everybody,
but it’s something.
I will not stop living until I see the monopolies fall.
They can erase me, chain me down,
keep me miserable as the world burns,
but they can’t kill the idea of me.
The human act of creation will thrive. And so will I.