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Drakenfeng
Gawd
- Joined
- Apr 15, 2010
- Messages
- 671
Found this while digging through one of my old hard drives. I believe it was originally an article on gamespy around 2004 - thought it was worth sharing
Hands clutch at nothing while outdoors. What helps is knowing home will be there soon enough, crowded in close-big-screened company. Swivel chair bounces between system one, system two, and cheap TV stand with dusty systems three through six. Some black, some gray, some blue. Some white, some green. Cables and clutter. There's no place like home. Switchbox clacks like a rifle clip. I'd rather be gaming.
If, then, what now. Else, diversion. Sleep is just there. The day's the same. Lives don't revolve. But if this one did...
There was never any other way. There's nothing wrong with it. In a certain tone of voice, one could say: It's not good. But who's to say. You can't prove it. Not yet.
Relationships are gamelike. NPCs say simple things. How's it going. Good morning. How've you been. How's your job. What's up. Who wrote this crap. So-called friends for plot twists. Generic villains. Pointless story threads. Lack of continuity. It's all in there. All filled with statistics. Hit points and experience and levels. Gauges for charisma and intelligence. She's off the charts. He's a lowlife. Meters gauging strength and speed. Fatigue's a percentage. Sleep's loading time. Where do I get the SDK, yo. Where do I get the mod. Where do I get the patch.
I want more stats. Number of people met. Number of friends betrayed. Number of humiliations. Number of times in love. Longest drive. I want a minimap. Worst moment. Best moment. Total damage inflicted. Total percentage complete. Everything is relative. The soundtrack's no accident. The little details are on purpose. The distractions are there to be there. Everything is clear, when you look through the right lens. When you set your field of vision just right. But the stats aren't tracked. You'll never know. That's what keeps you playing.
The day's set on easy. Wake up, buy your weapons, and the round begins. Different outfits. Unlockable costumes. You figure you can't die. The typing of the dead. One long combo string. Different taunts. Speech clips from old games. Old games that were bad. Forgettable, completely, right? It all adds up and swells up. How can anything beat that? But something has to. Ahab had his white whale. Xboxteen16 has Fable. It's exactly the same thing, only one is just sad.
The hands know no greater comfort than an arcade cabinet. Than a mouse and keyboard. Take your pick. It's like love. Knuckles can crack on cue from all that playing. Eyes a little bloodshot. 16-bit references on the tip of the tongue. The first boss from Last Battle. The last boss from Serious Sam. Actraiser's soundtrack. Xenophobe. Xevious. Zaxxon. What the hell's a dragon doing in space. The whole gamut. The first two Gauntlets. Some people have trouble playing games. It's much more troubling not to.
The world shouldn't seem barren, so it isn't. You're surrounded. Options are limited. Messages demand clever response. Choose wisely. You can't pause. Resolution is locked. You only get one chance. Reactions, predictable. But break the plot. Stray from the critical path. Play out of order. Throw the designers for a loop. Fall out of the world, turn around, and watch it shrink to a tiny dot. The frame rate flies off the charts.
Got a fear of heights? Try flinging yourself from virtual cliffs. After a while, it does the trick.
Eyesight isn't great, but the lenses help. Lasik can help. (Lassic is evil. He killed Nero. Did they all die at the end of PSII?) Without the lenses, the world is the N64. Nothing cannot be put into game terms. Chicken restores health. The action takes place on foot and in cars. The action takes place both indoors and out. The action never slows down. Racial stereotypes. Embarrassing portrayals of women. Bad jokes. There are noticeable flaws in the artificial intelligence. Most of the characters are forgettable. The soundtrack doesn't fit. The pace is uneven. The same criticisms all apply.
It's easy to joke about, but it betrays the addiction. Joking about extra lives at a funeral. Joking about team kills watching the nightly news. Joking about telefragging waiting for the bus. Joking about save points at hotels. Jokes and games aren't so different.
You'll grow out of it. Same as you'll grow out of your skin, you'll grow out of it. There's no growing out of it. What if the games all turn bad? Then turn to the bad games. No recourse. No regret. The time bomb is set. Get ready. One lives remaining. Rolling start.
Brief fits and starts. Continuous turns. Who gets to go first. Life is manageable if you look at it the right way. No need to rush. No rush. Plz no rush. There's no rush when you play long enough. You get used to the pace. It gets predictable. Yet you keep coming back. It no longer matters--it's just there and needs doing. You don't stop breathing just because the air is bad.
Game boxes make dusty towers. Game discs like coasters and throwing stars. Someday you'll play them all again. Sadness when saved data gets deleted--a world destroyed. All that time and effort. And what of it? You level up all the time. Pass the test. Get the raise. Get the girl. Get the ball. Get the loot. It's all been done and done better. Yours is a momentary thrill, and then! nothing. There's another level still to come. Endless, spiral staircase. Series of hurdles. Monthly fees.
I can see your stats. I'm checking your equipment. Your script is transparent. I know you need sleep. You have your catchphrase. You have your face and your hair. These qualities make you appear different. But your ping is the same. So are you any good? People on the street, they don't know how to throw a fireball. They don't know infinites. They don't know glitches. They don't know when they're playing cheap. What do they know.
It's enlightenment when it's trendy. Confess enough and it's madness. Society filtered through a HUD. Emotions just for kicks. Emoticons for faces. Licensed soundtrack. 480p. Some downright ugly character models. It's all in here.
You'll grow out of it.
That'll be the day. For an extra life.
Hands clutch at nothing while outdoors. What helps is knowing home will be there soon enough, crowded in close-big-screened company. Swivel chair bounces between system one, system two, and cheap TV stand with dusty systems three through six. Some black, some gray, some blue. Some white, some green. Cables and clutter. There's no place like home. Switchbox clacks like a rifle clip. I'd rather be gaming.
If, then, what now. Else, diversion. Sleep is just there. The day's the same. Lives don't revolve. But if this one did...
There was never any other way. There's nothing wrong with it. In a certain tone of voice, one could say: It's not good. But who's to say. You can't prove it. Not yet.
Relationships are gamelike. NPCs say simple things. How's it going. Good morning. How've you been. How's your job. What's up. Who wrote this crap. So-called friends for plot twists. Generic villains. Pointless story threads. Lack of continuity. It's all in there. All filled with statistics. Hit points and experience and levels. Gauges for charisma and intelligence. She's off the charts. He's a lowlife. Meters gauging strength and speed. Fatigue's a percentage. Sleep's loading time. Where do I get the SDK, yo. Where do I get the mod. Where do I get the patch.
I want more stats. Number of people met. Number of friends betrayed. Number of humiliations. Number of times in love. Longest drive. I want a minimap. Worst moment. Best moment. Total damage inflicted. Total percentage complete. Everything is relative. The soundtrack's no accident. The little details are on purpose. The distractions are there to be there. Everything is clear, when you look through the right lens. When you set your field of vision just right. But the stats aren't tracked. You'll never know. That's what keeps you playing.
The day's set on easy. Wake up, buy your weapons, and the round begins. Different outfits. Unlockable costumes. You figure you can't die. The typing of the dead. One long combo string. Different taunts. Speech clips from old games. Old games that were bad. Forgettable, completely, right? It all adds up and swells up. How can anything beat that? But something has to. Ahab had his white whale. Xboxteen16 has Fable. It's exactly the same thing, only one is just sad.
The hands know no greater comfort than an arcade cabinet. Than a mouse and keyboard. Take your pick. It's like love. Knuckles can crack on cue from all that playing. Eyes a little bloodshot. 16-bit references on the tip of the tongue. The first boss from Last Battle. The last boss from Serious Sam. Actraiser's soundtrack. Xenophobe. Xevious. Zaxxon. What the hell's a dragon doing in space. The whole gamut. The first two Gauntlets. Some people have trouble playing games. It's much more troubling not to.
The world shouldn't seem barren, so it isn't. You're surrounded. Options are limited. Messages demand clever response. Choose wisely. You can't pause. Resolution is locked. You only get one chance. Reactions, predictable. But break the plot. Stray from the critical path. Play out of order. Throw the designers for a loop. Fall out of the world, turn around, and watch it shrink to a tiny dot. The frame rate flies off the charts.
Got a fear of heights? Try flinging yourself from virtual cliffs. After a while, it does the trick.
Eyesight isn't great, but the lenses help. Lasik can help. (Lassic is evil. He killed Nero. Did they all die at the end of PSII?) Without the lenses, the world is the N64. Nothing cannot be put into game terms. Chicken restores health. The action takes place on foot and in cars. The action takes place both indoors and out. The action never slows down. Racial stereotypes. Embarrassing portrayals of women. Bad jokes. There are noticeable flaws in the artificial intelligence. Most of the characters are forgettable. The soundtrack doesn't fit. The pace is uneven. The same criticisms all apply.
It's easy to joke about, but it betrays the addiction. Joking about extra lives at a funeral. Joking about team kills watching the nightly news. Joking about telefragging waiting for the bus. Joking about save points at hotels. Jokes and games aren't so different.
You'll grow out of it. Same as you'll grow out of your skin, you'll grow out of it. There's no growing out of it. What if the games all turn bad? Then turn to the bad games. No recourse. No regret. The time bomb is set. Get ready. One lives remaining. Rolling start.
Brief fits and starts. Continuous turns. Who gets to go first. Life is manageable if you look at it the right way. No need to rush. No rush. Plz no rush. There's no rush when you play long enough. You get used to the pace. It gets predictable. Yet you keep coming back. It no longer matters--it's just there and needs doing. You don't stop breathing just because the air is bad.
Game boxes make dusty towers. Game discs like coasters and throwing stars. Someday you'll play them all again. Sadness when saved data gets deleted--a world destroyed. All that time and effort. And what of it? You level up all the time. Pass the test. Get the raise. Get the girl. Get the ball. Get the loot. It's all been done and done better. Yours is a momentary thrill, and then! nothing. There's another level still to come. Endless, spiral staircase. Series of hurdles. Monthly fees.
I can see your stats. I'm checking your equipment. Your script is transparent. I know you need sleep. You have your catchphrase. You have your face and your hair. These qualities make you appear different. But your ping is the same. So are you any good? People on the street, they don't know how to throw a fireball. They don't know infinites. They don't know glitches. They don't know when they're playing cheap. What do they know.
It's enlightenment when it's trendy. Confess enough and it's madness. Society filtered through a HUD. Emotions just for kicks. Emoticons for faces. Licensed soundtrack. 480p. Some downright ugly character models. It's all in here.
You'll grow out of it.
That'll be the day. For an extra life.
