Psychic Vampires began as an exploration of something invisible — not monsters or mythology, but a dynamic. A quiet, everyday exchange where attention, desire, validation, and identity are slowly extracted, both personally and systemically. The song and visuals function as a sub-textual transmission rather than a literal story, aiming not to explain psychic vampirism, but to make it felt.
While most AI visuals chase hyper-realism, I chose to simulate perception instead.
Blending anime, modern comics, and surreal symbolism, the dark, vivid palette bypasses logic and works directly on emotion and instinct — where psychic vampirism actually operates.
The focus wasn’t on individual shots, but on flow.
Psychic vampirism isn’t violent — it’s rhythmic, hypnotic, and looping — so the edit itself carries the meaning. Motion binds the scenes into an addictive continuity, pulling the viewer forward through momentum rather than narrative clarity, echoing the mechanics of the doom-scroll dopamine loop.
The video constantly shifts scale, placing intimate moments beside cosmic ones. Personal trauma expands into giant figures looming over cities and landscapes.
Psychic vampirism operates at the micro level — between people, lovers, crowds — but it also exists at the macro level, embedded in culture, systems, and collective behavior.
The ending offers neither victory nor destruction.
There is no enemy defeated.
Instead, younger and older selves meet at a threshold, passing forward not power, but continuity — experience, voice, music. The road straightens not because the world is fixed, but because the self is no longer fragmented.