Archive for May, 2011
She remembered the first game they made. cradle cakes, a crawl through a dungeon of milk before the baby made it to the planet of cheese. The following year they tried a first person shooter, but that blew up in their face. It was only after some hesitation that they tried a dancing game. Epsilon tried to make it touch only, but they ended up with some basic pad moves. That was what haunted them, the necessity of subjecting amensia’s white wash to their childhood. Epsilon personally felt like a Ballard character, trying to make memory into a mould and then squeeze the little razors of ABA out. Monsie on the other hand had little problem cultivating an anti controller habit, it was merely that she arrived at ideas slightly behind the competition. The competition were a conglomerate of Korean game makers that produced software in days they took months through.
Months though were something they had. Pennies from the app store had commensurate their pregnancy and a flow of 50,000 us had come in, Korean competition or no Korean comp the apps did sell. Monsie waited on her hormones through the crisp clip of virtual keys. She and her infant were in unison when it came to the various metaphors the compiler puzzled as they waited for their latest app to finish. The baby had done something to her programming, during the periods she wasn’t sick a new found concentration had come over her and her drawing had improved too. The infant kicked and squeezed gently, she looked down and then saved her emacs just when the first compulsion hit her a wave of vomit came through her and tablet discarded she made it to the commode.
Vomit drenched the water stayed while she cleaned herself in the shower and watched the uv’d food stuff drop to the tile. Exhaustion came out of her waist and up her torso over the belly well for a second the other one absorbed it like a shockwave and then groggily she climbed into bed. She put the covers over herself and dreams came in the air not bothering with ears they went straight in through the forehead.
Baby x was in a crypt in the park. Silence, the uncommon, Kim down a well, the baby carriage, clouds, that park in taipei, orchids. Pause?
Squeeze the rag doll to make it move. She finished her doll app. The little thing blistered through harried platforms like Charlie Chaplin in a crack rock. She pinched it’s jaw expanded and swallowing a billboard, it vomited, but she felt fine.
With each boyfriend she got another song. One week LORD DRAGON’S WIZARD would be a ring tune, another SKELETON CREW would sound off any ims. She had begun them the moment her middle school band teacher saw her play violin. Possesed he came over and examined her, a week later Mom and Dad were in the building, “your daughter has talent,” the teacher said, mom smiled. She went to classes after school, first violin, then later guitar. Her first boyfriend asked her to play in his band. He played bass, she wafted notes from the violin, and another boy drummed. They dressed in black jeans and shirts. The band played a high school talent show. Then the boy scored a gig at a local coffee shop. She still remembers the fear of the coffee shop, these other people were impossibly cool. Some of them smoked, some of them drank, she ended up smoking pot in the back seat of a large immacutately maintined chrome beast. She kissed some dude and ended up with his number. A few different people gave her their number that night, except the really weird art dudes that gave away e-mails.
Jeremy was what she saw at home. She spied him through slated doors. He spent all his time in his games. Some times he read things (usually magazines and comics she discarded), but mostly he played games. He was particularly in love with a platformer. She liked to play it with him. The large puffy dogs would rise in the air and land on candy clouds. Jeremy would do impossible things, like jam a cake and a dog into a platform and them wiggle and waddle the beast until the cake spat out in comic mischief, rising impossible miles into a virtual sky, even their hi-def tv couldn’t handle it. She sometimes gave him things, he loved a pink slider ring she wore when she was 12. He also preferred her old bracelets and the tube socks she left in soccer cleats long out of use. Father had tried to convince him to wear the other socks and occasionally asked him to take off the rings, he refused to go outside with him unless he dressed “normally.” Finally, he enrolled him in little league.
Little League was something she was to busy for. Once, on the way to a gig, she saw him through the window, getting ready to bat at the game. The other team all came up close and she just kinda winced. At the very least they were nice to him. The guy next to her stirred as he shifted the clutch. She opened up her tablet and clicked through a few updates, she calmly palmed a few messages away and then wrote a little blog post. The gig was in less than an hour, so they had to hurry for sound check.
The skin had somehow changed in the night. He could feel the brittle turtle like protusions of the tree as he wandered over a few feet to the brook. The brook in turn had changed, the water was sour, strange, he recalled a candy a flash a childhood, but couldn’t center on it, he stopped drinking. The air was strangely ashen like a fire had broke through the place, and then he walked. A group of gila monsters were already sniffing around. A lonely dolphin plunked through the streams grazing on darting bits of refuse, somewhere an amalgalm of sight and smells told him, something new had broke in. He could barely make out the difference, by noon the new skins, the new smells had become normal. He saw shifts in trees, large comprehensible flocks of birds sat down on branches that faded to sour colors and dissipated like a pinch. The birds cowed to each other in swarms, their octaves breaking into impossible sonics, a borealis of sounds echoing upwards leaving only a liminal trail of wisps in the palette’s floor.
The Yeti were gathering the mountains. If he tried he might be abler to seduce them into talking to him. When a Yeti spoke the words he thought in became incomprehensible, an imitation of language that tasted like plastic on the tongue. The bird canopy existed for kilometers, but he sped up and made it out of the forest and where the rocks began, their grain was suitably familar, he could remember the slight confidence of their solidity, the way rocks speak out to you: you won’t slip. Of course when he did slip, the rocks hurt him quite bad, but at least they had the same skin, the one he’d known before.
I think it was blonde on blonde on cassette tape, I have no idea where I got the tape, but the songs took me away, I understood them with a ferocity I’d never seen, the poet trampled closed to the knit innards of my heart, visions of johhana I found in London and get immersed in, apparently Richard Gere also likes this track. But what was touching about Dylan was his expansion of my malaise, the way a lonely teenager newly ensconed in a memphis attic first year in a new school could hear and experience a sense of mission so consoling. It was nice to know someone else out there had learned to believe.
It was the summer nintendo released that pokemon game set in the big city. When Jeremy first saw the trailer, he freaked. Juho Town had the scale of Manhattan with the bubbly architecture of a cartoon. Pokeballs were lost in sewers, stolen on bikes, erupted in shopping malls. Trainers were explored the metropolis on poke-wings, poka-bouncing from rooftops, pokemon sang romantic songs to pokemon on fire escapes, gecko like pokemon walked up skyscrapers, the challenges were enermous. Jeremy imagined placing his 3 pokemon so he could parachute into a flooded rooftop and then ride a seal through the watery streets. He quietly put the new system and game on a few wishlists and then realized he was late for school.
“Really want that pokemon don’t ya?” She said in her boyfriend’s car. Jeremy saw a spider pokemon producing trampolines that launched you into the bay, “sure,” he said. The car motored through other spaces just waiting for poke-fun to enable them. The city was one vast site of energy into which sensation could now project.
All the pokelisions behind him Jeremy came into school and sat in his pokadesk with pokepen and his notepad in which Mr. Chalmers simplicities flowed. After 4 minutes of explanation the principle of the algebra problem came to him so He quietly scuttled through the pokedex, the sovereign source of all pokathings and find a few he wanted to use in the city. He began squirtling them out of his pen on paper, imagining the algebras of consumption and utility the new nintendo console would entitle. The drawings ran into the city of his desires. God did he want that game.
He first began to feel himself then he saw his hands and all at once it hit him, the difference in the physical form. Inside he was lithe as if his bones were made of cardboard and he began to feel himself compensating for the difference. While he squawked around trying to find balance he smelt the world around him and then he began to feel the granular scape he was stumbling through.
The smell was bland and terse and the color was white. The ground had a lovely texture, like walking in silt. Adesh later told him that spawn points had to be like that, otherwise the sensory overload leads to imparements in the brain. One of the first researchers had been asked to be dropped in the middle of a blog, the sheer outpouring of speech, the scents of anger and resentment the voluptousness of the crease of an architexture he found himself in flood the brain and overloaded, the intelligence never recovered. On the other hand he found himself peculairly bored by the environment, the lights began to dim and then he felt it, the ground change to a marble under his feet, this must be where they live he thought, beds camped around a pile of pillows, a fire place smoked, and just outside a garden. A young woman approached through the bend.
I finished Assassin’s Creed: Brotherhood today and just a few thoughts. The game’s plot points are the addictions, we play to move the game forward, but doing this requires navigating a city openly hostile the most advantagous route. Rome becomes a surrogate for plot, a place that has to be traversed to get the film rolling. The problem is the fun outside of the movie is there.
As the new york times remarked, the real star of the game is Roma. The city is immersive, full of buildings, pot holes, followers of Romulus in sewers, horse back rides in the midnight hours, clammering over its rooves while avoiding the guards is rewarding in itself, so the film often takes back seat to the side missions, but the side missions add up. This is the fracture that the game can not quite put together: how to really marry plot points to an addictive open world. I want a game that surprises me, one where NPCs hunt me down to deliver plot points and not one where I have to trek huge distances for cinema scenes. The game in other words contains a perfectly sensible film inside what is a pretty awesome medevial parkour sim. I found myself actually driven to burn down all the borgia towers, to finish all of leonardo’s missions in stead of rushing to the next major plot point. Story is so dispersed in the game that one has to actively hunt it. The city becomes a space of mystery, primarily mundane, but occassionally revealing surprises.
Two girls are walking through the stables, sunlight passes over the vaticans bridge, exclamation mark the thieves are on the rooves, the enemy awaits in the castle the guard has noticed you a ministrel gets in your way a throng of prostitutes are on the bridge the guard is closing in you scale a building leonardo is waiting on a bench the countess needs your help, you are dying you need a doctor but the borgia still control this area in front of you are a lot of options the least of which is the countess, but that’s the problem the game lacks clock time, rather leonardo is in his own world physically not seperated, but rather like a quanta, he waits in potentiality for you as does the borgia captain you need to kill to open the medicine shop as is the meeting at headquarters as is thr romulus sanctuary you can invade. Time stands still for Ezio and so the city becomea a demented clock on which action paints progress and not entropy’s slow ticks to absolution. It is this conciet that makes the film less involving, not only are we not forced to linearity, but the game actively competes with the main plot for your attention. Film needs a lot to work and assassin’s creed works by never letting up in tone, we are always in the same setting as the main story, but the game has yet to figure out how to tell a story about a city rather it falls back on the same tried and true elements that made prince of persia work to chug the game along.
“That’s what you don’t get,” he said, “here take a look.” You see yourself asleep on the bed, “you went a day back somehow,” he continued, “then who are these guys?” You ask, “they’re yesterday’s nazis, I told you already,” “what do they do?” “They control the past,” he says, “but we aspire to control the future!!” Says one of them, “and once we figure out this whole time thing we’ll take your place in the future!!! Muaahahahahhahah!!”
Became a big fan of Almodóvar through Talk to Her. Latest looks really creepy. I love the way it blends a kinda 1970s sci-fi aesthetic with violins right out of a Peter Greenway soundtrack (i.e. michael nyman). Anyway, Almodóvar presents the somewhat unsettling story of a surgeon in pursuit of perfect skin. via i09.com check the i09 link for a bunch of other stuff.
Ok so like the mudwalls were deep, yeah? They had like oil rubbed on ‘m. The loser climed ‘m for like 5 minutes and then self-esteem kicks in. He slid back to the floor and then he masturbated.
“Its your job to climb the walls,” the wife said. “Its like you want someone to do it for ya,” she said. He milled around aimlessly, pissed off.
There was a mathmatician in the cave too. He had come there to find himself he said. The mathmatician worked tirelessly through the night. He discovered fundamental truthes. The loser liked the mathmatician, but the mathamatician merely tolerated him. He always had a good sense of humor about the thing. He only polited edged out of conversation with him. The two got along.
Up above in that greasy blackness that is sky goblins roved reflective metal beams into the heart of pleasure. On their way to pleasure they heard voices, a gaggle of selves urging them to break the beams, but it was to late, the goblins had simply accepted they were there. The beams had sedemented, cut off the sky into carefully segmented parts of swamp. The creatures loved to wallow in them. As she passed by, a few of them called to her to lie in the thick hot mud, she kept on into the heart of pleasure and its adrenalin delights.