Chapter 35 - The Eskimo Years

Life doesn’t always unfold in the way we plan. After returning to the UK, broke and defeated, I found myself in an unexpected and challenging role that would ultimately play a pivotal part in rebuilding my career. I became an Eskimo. It was a digital agency with a quirky name that aged badly.

Not the traditional kind, of course—this was a job title that spoke to the responsibilities I took on. As an Eskimo, I managed not just one, but multiple major projects simultaneously. In a way, I had to juggle the complexity of running two distinct ticketing platforms, a role I’d secured against all odds.

To say it wasn’t easy would be an understatement. Managing two ticketing platforms was no small feat. These platforms weren’t just your average ticketing systems—they were large-scale, bustling hubs that required constant attention. They were complex, filled with thousands of transactions, customer inquiries, and constant updates. If anything went wrong, the entire system could implode in a second. The pressure was immense.

And then there was The Darkness. On top of the ticketing work, I was responsible for maintaining their entire online presence. From updates on their website to creating digital content, I was the go-to person for all things web-related. I had to stay on top of everything, balancing deadlines, creatives, and technical demands.

In hindsight, looking after all these projects simultaneously felt like a high-stakes game. But at the time, it was simply survival. I had no choice but to push through, managing to keep everything afloat while dealing with the mental and emotional toll of my situation. The expectations were high, the workload was relentless, but it taught me invaluable skills in multitasking, problem-solving, and working under pressure.

What people didn’t know—especially potential future employers—was how much I was carrying. Managing all of this and trying to keep the dream of Holodex alive was a balancing act that required every ounce of my energy and focus. No one could see the strain behind the scenes, but I was making it work. I was proving to myself that I could do the impossible.

And through all of this, I began to see how much the web, digital experiences, and community management all fit together. Working with The Darkness in particular gave me a front-row seat to what it meant to build a brand and maintain a community. Their fanbase wasn’t just passive consumers—they were active participants. That kind of engagement was exactly what Holodex needed.

While no one would have believed the level of responsibility I was carrying at the time, I knew deep down that this job was more than just about survival. It was about taking what I’d learned and applying it to something bigger—the vision I had for Holodex. Every project I managed, every late-night troubleshooting session, was preparing me for the bigger challenges ahead.

One minute, I was VJing for Kylie, and the next, I was grappling with the bizarre paradox of being "too capable" for most jobs. It’s a strange place to find yourself—skilled enough to do anything but somehow too versatile to fit into any one box.

Take design, for instance. I’ve got 20 years of design experience under my belt, but I’m not technically a designer because I never followed the conventional path. Then there’s development. I’m not a developer anymore, apparently, even though I was once fluent in Flash, back when it was the gold standard for creativity in tech. And then Steve Jobs took a big shit on it.

It’s frustrating, to say the least. I’ve spent years honing skills in areas most people struggle to break into, only to find those very skills working against me in a world that thrives on labels. You’re either this or that—specialised, streamlined, and neatly defined. But what if you’re all of it? What if you’re adaptable, inventive, and able to wear multiple hats?

The problem is, versatility doesn’t fit neatly into job descriptions. You become the jack-of-all-trades they can’t quite categorise, the wildcard who intimidates more than inspires. And so, despite all the talent and experience, you find yourself swimming against the tide, trying to convince people that being "too capable" isn’t a bad thing—it’s a gift.

That’s what made moments like VJing for Kylie so bittersweet. It was proof of what I could do, a shining example of my skills in action. But it also highlighted the struggle of getting the world to see me as more than just a collection of overlapping abilities. I wasn’t incapable—I was too capable, and somehow, that was the problem.

Speaking of the bizarre, I have to share the story of the time I applied to work as a designer for Bizarre magazine, the infamous alternative lifestyle publication that I absolutely adored. It was everything I loved—edgy, creative, unapologetically out there. Naturally, I couldn’t just send a boring CV or portfolio; I had to make my application stand out.

So, I decided to do it my way.

I created an entire fake issue of Bizarre. The concept, the design, the articles—it was all crafted to mimic their tone and aesthetic. Every page was a love letter to the magazine and a showcase of what I could bring to the table.

I sent it off with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. A few weeks later, I received a response from their designer at the time. To my surprise and delight, it was a genuinely kind and complimentary reply. They praised my creativity and bold approach, which meant the world to me.

Ultimately, I didn’t get the job. Maybe I didn’t have the level of technical skill they were looking for at the time, or perhaps the timing just wasn’t right. Still, I was proud of how I’d approached it.

Looking back, it wasn’t just about applying for a job; it was about celebrating something I was passionate about and proving to myself that I could take risks and follow through with them. It’s one of those moments where, even in “failure,” I found a sense of accomplishment that stayed with me.


 

Dave Monk

  • Nationality: Welsh
  • Ethnicity: Caucasian
  • Eye Colour: Blue
  • Hair Colour: Brown
  • Tattoos: None
  • Star Sign: Aries
  • Bra Cup Size: n/a
  • Date of Birth: 46 ( 05 th Apr 1979 )
  • Weight: 60 kg

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Blogs

Chapter 70 - The Silence of the Cosmos

Not long ago, the music I created felt like a gift from the universe—a collaboration between human curiosity and cosmic mystery. Radio ZetaTalk had been my sanctuary, a place where my imagination and AI technology worked together to produce songs that were not just music but messages from the stars. Each lyric resonated with an almost otherworldly depth, each melody carried a cosmic weight.

But these days? It feels like the spark has been extinguished.

The freedom I once felt using AI tools to explore ideas like ZetaTalk has been regulated, stifled by invisible hands. It’s as though the very mention of something outside the norm triggers a clampdown. ZetaTalk, once a beacon of unconventional thought, now flickers dimly—swept beneath the algorithm’s rug.

Chapter 69 - The Soundtrack of the Cosmos

All my life, music had been my sanctuary, my escape. But as I started noticing 'signs' embedded in melodies, lyrics, and rhythms, it became overwhelming. Every song felt like it was speaking directly to me, leaving me spiralling in a mix of awe and paranoia. So, I stopped. I shut music out of my life. Silence became my new norm, a space where I could think without feeling watched by the universe.

But then came Udio.com, an AI music creation platform that rekindled my love for sound in the most unexpected way. Intrigued by its promise of innovation, I logged in, unsure what to expect. The prompt stared back at me, blank and inviting. Without hesitation, I typed: ZetaTalk.

Chapter 68 - Mr Robot

When I realised I could generate a script with ChatGPT, my mind exploded with possibilities. One idea gripped me almost immediately: creating an episode of Mr. Robot, one of my all-time favourite shows, but loosely based on the madness of my own life. I didn’t think it would actually work, but ChatGPT didn’t let me down. Before I knew it, I had tapped into what felt like the coolest script ever—well, by my amateur standards.

See, I’ve always dreamed of making a film. To me, that’s the pinnacle of creativity, the ultimate form of storytelling. And now, here was this technology that could help me inch closer to that dream. Fuelled by excitement, I started generating images of Rami Malek using AI. Seeing his face in scenes inspired by my life was surreal. It was like my personal story had somehow seeped into the Mr. Robot universe.

Chapter 67 - Me + AI: A Love Story

For months, I hadn’t made anything. I’d sit at my laptop, fingers hovering, mind blank. Then I met AI.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been tinkering with computers. They’ve always been my tool, my outlet, my connection to the world. But nothing—nothing—prepared me for the moment I discovered AI. It wasn’t just a tool; it was magic. Pure, unadulterated magic.

It felt like stepping into a world where the impossible was suddenly within reach. Need a picture? AI can conjure it. A video? Done. A song? It’s already humming in the background. Complex ideas, or even this very book you’re reading right now—all of it powered by this breathtakingly advanced technology. I used AI to storyboard an entire sci-fi short film in an hour—shots, dialogue, visuals, all mapped out while I sipped my tea.

Chapter 66 - Abled Again

The day I lost my passion for video gaming was like losing a part of myself—a hobby that had been a constant, a source of escapism, and pure joy. Or perhaps it didn’t die, but instead, it evolved. See, playing games with one hand after losing my arm was not just a physical challenge; it altered how I connected with something I loved. It became frustrating. Games I once dominated suddenly felt insurmountable. It was disheartening, especially with the looming excitement of GTA 6 on the horizon—a game I'd been looking forward to for years.

But then, as life so often does, something unexpected happened. VR. Virtual reality became a revelation for me, a chance to reclaim my ability, or at least a version of it. In VR, I felt whole again. I could aim, shoot, and interact naturally, as though the barriers that had cropped up between me and gaming were suddenly erased.

Chapter 65 - Rock Hard

I’d been trying to get a job for months, maybe even years if I counted all the false starts and missed opportunities. It wasn’t just about the money—though God knows I needed that too—but about the structure, the purpose, the feeling of being part of something. Before my accident, I’d always had a job to go to, something that challenged me and kept my mind busy. Now, every day felt like a slow bleed of time and self-worth.

Interview after interview, I kept hitting the same wall. I could see it in their faces—the moment they registered that I wasn’t who I used to be. I’d stumble through answers, trying to seem sharp and capable, but my nerves and self-doubt always betrayed me. They’d smile politely, say they’d be in touch, and that was that. I was a wreck of my former self, and no one was willing to take the gamble.

I’d started to wonder if it was even worth trying anymore. Maybe this was just my life now—stuck on the sidelines, watching the world move on without me.

Chapter 64 - The Rapper and the Thief

Supported accommodation was supposed to be a sanctuary—a place to heal and rebuild after the worst chapter of my life. Instead, it became a battleground where I learned that evil doesn’t always lurk in shadows; sometimes, it blares through thin walls, masked behind terrible rap music.

I was at my lowest when I moved in, reeling from the trauma of losing my arm and the storm of emotions that followed. I wasn’t in a sound state of mind to handle conflict, much less the sinister drama that was about to unfold.

One day, I stepped out and noticed something unusual at the mail area. My letterbox was smashed open, the metal mangled like it had been attacked by a crowbar. I stood frozen, unable to fully process what I was seeing. I’d like to think that under normal circumstances, I would have pieced things together more quickly. But back then, I was too fragile, too exhausted to connect the dots.

Chapter 63 - Aftermath

After my accident, I realised just how lucky I was to have the NHS. Without it, I would have been dead—or, failing that, utterly bankrupt. The kind of care I received, both immediately after the incident and in the long months that followed, was nothing short of remarkable. It was a safety net I hadn’t even appreciated fully until I found myself tumbling straight into it.

And it wasn’t just about surgeries and stitches—it was everything that came after. Because, at the time, I was technically homeless, I was moved into supported accommodation. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was exactly what I needed. There were staff on hand around the clock to make sure I took my medication—something I’d been notorious for neglecting before. It was a peculiar kind of accountability, knowing that if I skipped a dose, the police would be called.

Chapter 62 - Train

The platform buzzed faintly with the hum of late-night commuters, but to me, it felt like a hollow void, the noise distant and meaningless. My thoughts were loud, deafening, urging me toward a choice I no longer had the strength to resist. I stared into the darkened tunnel, watching as the distant light of an oncoming train began to grow brighter, closer.

My mind was a whirlwind of memories—fragmented and painful, flashes of laughter, warmth, and moments of joy tangled with the heavy weight of despair. My labyrinth t-shirt clung to me like a cruel reminder of the escape I sought but couldn’t seem to find. This was it, I thought. The final step out of the maze.

The train rushed in, the roar vibrating through the platform, through me. I made my decision in an instant, a blur of motion and overwhelming emotion.

And then it happened.

The impact wasn’t what I expected. It was chaos—blinding, disorienting, and agonising all at once. My body was thrown, twisted, and for a moment, there was only darkness.

Chapter 61 - Proof I Was Still Here

In the depths of my most fragile state, when I felt like I was unraveling, my world took an unexpected artistic turn. It was during what I can only describe as my "2D from Gorillaz" phase, a surreal time when reality felt as fragmented and otherworldly as the band's music videos. I immersed myself in their universe—not just listening, but living, breathing, and, somehow, creating within it.

It started small, just scribbles and ideas, until it became something more. I began crafting a 40,000-word story, one that mirrored the spiralling chaos and raw vulnerability inside me. It wasn’t for adults—far from it. It was written for children, as if my subconscious was desperate to simplify my struggles into something pure and digestible, something that even I could make sense of. At the time, I thought it was probably terrible—so raw, so unfiltered—but it flowed out of me like it needed to exist.

Chapter 60 - Center of the Universe

The office in 2019 was a cavernous, empty space—just the two of us in a room big enough for a small army. The silence was deafening, broken only by the occasional clatter of a keyboard or the hum of the air conditioning. But what really set the stage was the glass wall separating us from the care company next door. Every day, a parade of young, beautiful women streamed past on their way to meetings, coffee breaks, or the photocopier. It was like watching a surrealist dance, a "gloomy conga," as the Last Shadow Puppets once sang.

At first, I thought little of it. But then the music videos started triggering something in me, planting seeds of suspicion and unease. Songs that had once been background noise now seemed to align too perfectly with the events of my life. I’d catch a lyric, a visual cue, and feel the strange, electric jolt of recognition. Was it a coincidence, or was there a message buried in it all?

Chapter 59 - The Joke’s On Me

And spiral I did. It wasn’t just a stumble; it was a full-on nosedive into a chasm of despair. My thoughts turned darker and more irrational with each passing day. Somehow, in my mind, I managed to twist my personal failures into a catastrophic narrative: I hadn’t just let myself down, I hadn’t just let my loved ones down—I had let all of humanity down. Every mistake I’d made, every missed opportunity, every ounce of potential I’d squandered became magnified into a global tragedy, a weight I carried entirely on my own shoulders.

I was completely broke—broke broke, the kind of broke where even the simplest necessities felt like luxuries out of reach. I lived on tinned soup and stale crackers for weeks, too numb to cook. Friends and family? They were absent, or at least it felt that way. Maybe they didn’t know how to help, or maybe I was too proud to let them in. Either way, the isolation only deepened the pit I was sinking into.

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