I went ahead and made another Twine poem. There aren’t a lot of links in this one, but there are a few text boxes that you can use to add a line to their stanzas. Each stanza is on a time limit, though, so see how quickly you can come up withe something clever.
While I would normally have just embedded Poetry followed you on twitter on this page with an iframe, I decided I like the way it looked in full-screen and so uploaded it to philome.la (you can play it here). Continue reading
Let’s talk, for a minute, about journalistic ethics. They’ve been invoked a lot this week, mostly in order to justify a lot of bloviating, misogynistic nonsense. But I’d like to seriously talk about ethics for a minute, how they’re being used and what they can mean for both games reporting and criticism. I want to talk about Kotaku’s latest policy.
This is not Phil Fish giving the finger next to CliffyB;
This is not the tale of a man hunting the white whale.
This is not your Indie Success Story.
I’ve been thinking about E.T. as an alien. E.T. is a thing from another place, an other, but also a scientist. E.T. isn’t his name, it’s his designation. We don’t know his name, but he specializes in botany and likes candy. He’s a friend to children. He’s telekinetic, and quick enough to hide from the government and pick up English from watching TV. We don’t know his name and maybe if we did we couldn’t even say it. He’s only what humans can imagine him to be: Extra Terrestrial. He’s a curiosity, maybe a threat, and definitely the main character in a really good story. He, if he’s even a “he,” is all the labels we assign to him. Continue reading
We were all still laughing at around 3 a.m, doing tequila shots in my friend’s parents’ basement. Our car had broken down at a truck stop about 100 kilometers into Ontario in a small rural town called Ingleside. There was some mechanical issue with the driver’s Ford Focus—a known issue with that model which causes the automated security system to jam and the key not to turn in the ignition. The quaintly foul-mouthed gas station attendant did all he could, as did a Ford mechanic who happened to stop by. Nothing, from jerking the steering wheel to unplugging and replugging the battery, would budge it. “That’s really fuckin’ weird,” the attendant ultimately concluded with all the delivery of a Canadian stereotype.
“Everybody knows that the dice are loaded
Everybody rolls with their fingers crossed
Everybody knows that the war is over
Everybody knows the good guys lost
Everybody knows the fight was fixed
The poor stay poor, the rich get rich
That’s how it goes
-Leonard Cohen, Everybody Knows
On my very first day in San Francisco, I saw a man bleeding profusely, crusted in dirt, and smoking a cigarette. As I walked past him wide-eyed, on my way to visiting a French international school in the Tenderloin, my sister told me that she witnessed another man pull his pants down and take a shit on the sidewalk square we were approaching. I had seen poverty in Canada, sure, and I had seen homelessness, but my sister assured me I had never seen anything quite like this. Continue reading
Killing Floor is one of the most unforgivably ugly games I have ever played. The FPS is about balls-to-the-wall grit and brutality. Best played as a co-op game, Killing Floor is not made for the patient sniper: enemy chokepoints are everywhere, writhing with ghouls and zombies, attacking you and your squad as mercilessly as the map architecture affronts the senses. Everything is overlayed with a grainy filter; set pieces are broken, abandoned and often aflame. Every nook and cranny screams violence, dereliction, and mortal peril. Continue reading
Lately the private discussions of many people I respect have become public discourse, and I’m really relieved that this conversation is happening. Progressive and social justice communities, largely but not exclusively in the online sphere, have been plagued by misguided, maybe even exploited, hurt that has been whipped into unfocused rage. People who should be able to find common ground through common goals have been split up into tribes, fault-finding and “callout-culture” have superseded long-term community maintenance strategies, and free and open discussion of all participants has been undermined by the constant and immobilizing threat of recrimination or vilification for little or no fault.
Here we are on a blue rock likely to careen into the sun one day, the void surrounding us on one side and a bulging black hole taunting us at the center of our own galaxy. We would all be staring down loneliness and oblivion if we didn’t have each other. So maybe we should use our limited energy stores to make the burden of living a little less of one. Maybe. Continue reading