This was supposed to be a disclaimer or warm up to whatever it is that I am parading as a blog below, but seriously if it can't stand to being read on its own, then I just don't know if I should be putting it up in the first place. I will anyway, but come on. I spent a couple of minutes in between cat napping and looking for people to troll writing this. It has to be good, right? Oh, and you can always just hit the play button on the embedded song below that I was going to suggest listening to while reading this and instead read something else. The option is there. I regret writing this already. There's no good reason for you to regret reading it.
I thought that this would be easier. It all seemed to fit in my head, and once it left there it started to unravel. As long as it was a daydream, fantasy, or played out in an environment where I made the rules or could change them to my liking, it remained safe and comfortable, but I know that if I am truly ever going to affect anything, anyone, anywhere in reality that all of my garish, technicolor imaginings are going to have to wake up and put their pants on, unless I can stomach the consequences of running on vapors and drooped drawers.
The concept is frightening. My preferred method of coping is escapism. I don't know what the world holds, and I'm pretty content most of the time to know as little as possible at it and make up the rest. When I do have to learn something new I hope to God that it's not important or intrusive enough to make me rationalize things any further than I have.
Did reality ask me to be part of it? Did it ask me to be self-aware, yet feel so shamefully and helplessly insignificant? I don't think it did, but if you're not me and you have to put up with someone like me saying this, then aren't you playing the tiniest violin and hoping that I'll cut through the existential melodrama and get out with something meaningful? Or are you like me and afraid that it won't help you justify anything, and possibly even unseat your nerves?
All of this is vague, and it seems rightfully so to me. Applying a finite value to raw thought and its fathomless potential is frightening. At times it is like holding a chisel in hand while standing at the foot of a mountain. I know can't climb it, and to carve the whole of it I would have to. Even though it seems as though I could have with the tool to shape it in my hand, do I have the ambition or energy to use what I do have? I suppose I could etch my initials in the side of it, but a couple months of weathering will remove that and I'll feel like I've just signed God's cast.
How does any of this relate to video games? You should have asked this question already, or I should have before fumbling in the dark towards answering it. I should asked it before this train began chugging out of the darkened tunnels of my subconcious through the tidal shores of awareness, and into the meandering hills of my inner monologue. I didn't, yet it still existed without a name or identity known to me, and it appeared as I was looking out into the distance and watching its form emerge slowly while I called back to you and the rest of these things of solid shapes and strong ideas.
But its outline didn't coalesce, and what I have to tell is disconcertingly difficult to me because even though it has no name, no face, and no shape, there is no doubt that it has an identity. It screams it at me in a myriad of tongues and paints it on illusionary surfaces in milky, wisp-like trails. What it is showing me I cannot say to you. I cannot repeat this in the language of dreams. What I write now hasn't that ability.
This isn't about video games, but rather one of their more charming characteristics. They are concrete. I see their parts, but the best of them speak to me in ways that I cannot explain. Of course, you're thinking that I am wrong, and if I were talking about distinct characteristic of the game and not emotional turns, subtle nuances, and a bunch of other vague pretentious shit that I felt while wasting away my free time, you'd have me dead to rights. You don't though.
At any given moment I can get lost in a game, whether it is through concentrating on game play or simply disconnecting from my real world surroundings, and then I am there. I am on that mountaintop, spyglass in hand, staring in the distance at the unknowable. I'm yelling back to you that I see it. I see something beautiful, but the hollow wind that whips above that surreal watchpost will drown out my words until they are inaudible and my mouthing of them merely looks as though I am gasping for breath. It's joy to be in this place, but I can't take you there, and I'll never be able to show you what I've seen.
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