The Infamous Rant Pt. 1

There's been this trend lately of videogames not being available at the major-chain stores until the day after the release date. I think this is absurd, and it relegates the gamer to the position of a 2nd-rate consumer. Music and movies are almost always out on the date specified. Why are release dates important? Well, when you follow any sort of media format closely, and you become excited when a certain piece of media is coming out, you want to go out and buy it on that day. You want to know that when you take valuable time out of your day to go purchase that beloved work, the work itself will be there so that you can give your money to the producer and receive the product. It is never fun ambling off the freeway in rush hour traffic, and then shuffling down the aisles in a funk of dread (since the release date of a video game is an uncertain one) only to find that the game is not in fact there, and to have a smartass ask you why you didn't know games come out a day after the release date. I think that would make the release date completely arbitrary. Why not push the release date back one more day? So that the game arrives on the date specified so that it is there when you go to buy it! Novel idea! And I think this is already in practice, but games are treated in that half-assed way so that either the game comes out on the release date or the day after. Who cares? It gets there right? So I am arguing over something that is far over my head, something that cannot be helped. Because there are schedules and there are trucks and planes and there are time tables and there are things that are going on behind the scenes that I could never fully appreciate. That is usually how a rant functions anyway. This is not an academic essay, goddammit. So why am I complaining about this shit in the first place? Why not just wait a few days after the game comes out to avoid being disheartened? Because that sucks!

This all relates to the failure of society to treat gamers seriously. Moral issues are struck down with censorship, a regressive censorship that is more harsh than any other form of media why? Because we are still in an age where gamers are supposed to be kids! But! But! We are seeing a transition here. More and more and more people are playing games. Now what happens when we get alot of people playing games? We get the better chance of gamer intellectuals, and game designers who are intellectuals, and thus the maturity of a growing media format. Everything starts as a gimmick and then matures into a higher form of art and intellectualism. This is when society treats the issues seriously. So again, am I just talking about something that is already happening and cannot be controlled? Yes! Useless rant! I am just frustrated! And complaining about things that are beyond my scope! It feels good! Like taking weight off of a burden! Yes! Rants are fun! Rants are useless! But rants are OK!

Fuckin' FIN.

Archifetterodollar

I was too tired to write anything Sunday night. Thus the edit me. You could fill in what you want!


I just finished my first (or second, or third I guess) major short story. It is alright I guess. Feedback will improve it soon. I'm all tired and writed-out.





I'm too tired tonight to write anything too. Except...


BAAAALLS! HAHAHHAHAH!

Edit Me

Edit Me

Edit Me

Edit Me

Edit Me

Edit Me

Edit Me

Edit Me

The River Lights

Travelling in a pocket of darkness, trying to outrun the white lights, yet trying to catch up with the red ones. Alone in the pocket, a single vessel, seperated from the pack. Some would say this is a point of vulnerability.

A dark object darts past me, headed for the beaded wall of red lights ahead. A highway patrol. I toy with the possibility that I could go after it. A bold seal chasing after a cruising shark on a dangerous whim of curiosity in the flowing river of lights, metal, and glass. No. Impossible for anyone sane, or anyone who wants to get home in one piece.

And once again, I wonder.

Who is going to follow someone home tonight? Who is going to shoot them in the head for cutting them off, or showing any kind of perceived disrespect?

What violence. What incredible impulses. What has broken in these human beings to cause them to kill?

What are those last seconds like, as the maniac lifts the barrel of a loaded weapon?

A great shudder passes over me.

Mercy Me The Fragments And Pieces

I had a dream that they made me take a poison and kill myself. Like Socrates. It scared the sleep out of me.

I had a dream that I died and went somewhere else, into another dream maybe of different hues and feelings. Slower, slower.

I had a dream that they tried to inject me with something that would make my brain melt and as I felt it happen I fought it and killed the man with the syringe.

A preoccupation with death it seems. At the moment I am terrified of it, due to its utterly foreign and alien nature. We don't hear stories of what happens on the other side. We don't come back when we head all the way over to the other side. We don't come back to tell the stories.

Going to a place you have never been before is a little frightening....for me anyway. What about going to a place that no one has ever been before? No one still alive. What about leaving your body? Your mind?

I can't tell you what I feel right now. I can't tell you what I do not know myself.

And now I am laying on the ground. Blood is glistening shiny strawberry red on the asphault. It is running into the drains. Don't dump, goes straight to the ocean. Taste the copper in my mouth. Lift my head....to try to see. Kicked. There goes two or three teeth.

Mouthing the words. A fish gasping for air. Air in the water.

Fuck. Losing touch? With what? How do they do it? Live without thinking? How do they do it?

A nervousness so great, so feverish; the tremors. Oh, the tremors.

To Ask To Soften To Crack

I'm walking behind an uptight businessman-looking kid today. I try to think like him. I try to understand why he takes the sidewalk instead of cutting through the grass: the straightest, shortest way across. This and other things. And I begin to understand, and then I am thrown into a contemplation.


When you try to think like someone, when you try to genuinely put yourself in those shoes, what if you succeed? What if you enter their mental space with yours, and think like them for even just a second? And what would it mean?

Would it displace their own mind for just a second or two? Where would it be? Wandering off in another space maybe?

Are you who you claim to be? Within this ever-changing place?

The question mark crashes down on my head with a ferocious loud corruption.

And the room that houses error is cavernous.


P.S. Haha maaan, this just reminded me of Being John Malkovitch. That movie asks very similar questions.