classic blues artists like Howlin' Wolf, Sonny Boy Williamson, and T-Bone Walker make great background music when game writing.
classic blues artists like Howlin' Wolf, Sonny Boy Williamson, and T-Bone Walker make great background music when game writing.
“I think the reward for conformity is that everyone likes you except yourself.” - Rita Mae Brown
Since she was young, Mira had felt a longing to stand out from the crowd. As a teenager, she experimented with goth styles and bright hair colors to separate herself from her straight-laced peers. In college, she chose an obscure major and got involved in campus groups no one else cared about just so she could seem unique.
After graduation, Mira entered the corporate world and found herself conforming to dress codes and cultural norms. She lost the visible differentiators that had given her an identity. On a trip back home, Mira ran into an old high school friend who seemed to radiate a comfortable confidence and sense of self. Her style was simple but distinctly her own.
Mira realized that her desperate attempts to be an individual through artificial means like appearance had backfired. True differentiation came not from what she wore or activities she took up, but from self-knowledge, defining her own values, and having the courage to live by them even when pressures pushed towards homogenization. She resolved that cultivating her own inner voice would be the only sustainable path to being the distinctive person she longed to be. The external trappings were irrelevant if she could nurture that inner light.
am i getting out of control sinking into semiotic, structuralist, neo-Marxist analysis? That’s way too much for a Monday morning!
I’m working on my interactive fiction game, Shadows of Ebonvale.
Our latest foster cat is ready for a new home.
by the water cooler
(the rat's oasis)
they numb the migraine
of the market's churn,
whispering of 'getting out’,
their new lullaby.
when you suddenly realise you have to stop looking for the cavalry and realise you gotta be your own hero. leaning into the blazing inferno is the only way to banish the shadows nipping at your heels.
i am down with the flux.
in the curling smoke, the flicker of neon,
the beat poets find the sacred in the profane alleys,
the all-night diners, making mantras out of the mundane,
finding Nirvana in a worn-out shoe
Seeking the fundamental truths of reality, monks secluded on a remote mountain have subsisted solely on donated supplies of cherry-flavoured Pepsi Max while meditating on its mysteries for half a decade without bathroom breaks.
I plugged a few lines from an old poem I wrote into Midjourney, and this is what I got back—something ominous and quite dark.
I thought it was just me who suffered from this:
Yes, we all crave attention. We want to be important and immortal. We want to do things that will make people exclaim, 'Isn't he (or she or they) wonderful?’
It turns out that most of us are attention seekers to some degree, either personally or professionally.
On the audioblog this week:
Soulcruzer talks about returning to podcasting after a long hiatus, starting up a new season of his refugee-focused podcast "Voices of Resilience," reflecting on 2023 and goal-setting for 2024, focusing lately on his weekly Substack newsletter instead of podcasts, being tired of the overproduced sameness and everyone chasing high production value in online content, the glut of self-help/personal growth content by people just trying to make money, plans to move further into philosophy and spirituality with an absurdist/postmodern flair, and welcoming people to connect in more intimate spaces like Discord if they want to chat outside of mass social media.
This morning I find myself in an existentialist mood as 2023 draws to a close. It seems fitting to reexamine a few themes that have been occupying my thoughts lately through the philosophical prism of Jean-Paul Sartre.
As the year comes to a close, I feel compelled to reflect on the nature of meaning and purpose in my life. Sartre would likely remind me that existence precedes essence. We are solely responsible for defining our individual significance through the choices we make within the freedom we are granted.
I'm also reevaluating my priorities and sense of ambition as I transition into the New Year. Sartre would caution against losing myself in passions that lack authenticity or self-awareness. True joy arises from conscious engagement with the world and others to shape our destiny.
Finally, I'm contemplating my legacy and what I wish to leave behind when I'm done. As an existentialist, Sartre saw self-made earthly achievements as the only form of immortality available. He would advise earnestly devoting ourselves to worthy pursuits that outlast our finite lives.
As the next year approaches, I find motivation in revisiting philosophical pillars that highlight our radical freedom and responsibility as human beings to imbue existence with hard-won meaning. Sartre, for me, remains a complex but compelling voice challenging me to own my choices at every turn in this bewildering, marvellous adventure.
On embracing change
Sartre saw existence as preceding essence - we exist first and then define our own meaning. As such, he would applaud the idea of stepping outside one's routine and comfort zone to define a more authentic purpose. He might caution, however, that with radical freedom comes responsibility.On the pursuit of passion
Sartre would argue that rediscovering one's passions and piquing curiosity about life is taking charge of one's own destiny. This aligns with his views on cultivating our freedom to shape our lives in an uncertain world. He might warn against losing oneself in frivolity, however - true joy requires conscious choice.On contemplation and self-reflection
As an advocate of radical reflection, Sartre would likely extol the idea of looking inward to re-evaluate one's values and priorities. This aligns with his belief that we alone bear responsibility for who we become based on the choices we make.On being of service to others
Sartre would approve of this as a path to an authentic life. Bringing joy to others allows us to define ourselves by our actions, not just words - living genuinely by being engaged with the world.
Ultimately, Sartre would endorse active pursuit of passion and purpose as a pathway to an authentic life. He would advise that embracing radical freedom means acknowledging hard existential realities. We continually choose who we become based on how we expend our limited time. And if we wish to live genuinely, we must perpetually reevaluate whether our actions reflect our evolving truths. In Sartre's eyes, seizing responsibility for our choices and character constitutes no less than the human imperative. Half-committed or hiding from ourselves equates to surrendering our potential.
I have a lot of thinking to do between now and the New Year.
a pickle factory explosion rained briny dill and gherkin shards across neighbourhoods for miles. many residents reported finding pickles inexplicably crammed inside desk drawers or within the pages of library books over the past several days.
the mayor recently outlawed linear time so wednesdays now occur three times a week in my town. the folks here have adjusted to the temporal shifts with typical small-town aplomb, and complaints remain minor.
Hold the phone!
What if the truth is not as liberating as the fantasy we cling to?
i have a hard time with half measures; it’s all or nothing with me.
The Amazon delivery man has gone mad and now believes he is a loaf of rye bread. He has asked us to toast and butter him.
Like some fever dream through nothingness we wander, seeking meaning yet finding only mirages which fade when approached. This herd we call society - dull cattle chewing cud, unaware of the abyss below their cloven hooves.
Yet within our disordered minds infinity bursts, nonlinear, defying rational constructs. We are the tigress, vicious yet languid, feared yet revered. We pulsate with destructive creation.
Come chaos, beloved bedlam, rest your wretched head upon my spasming heart. Lead me into the roiling sands, the blankness, where I might craft my own reality from the fragments of shattered norms. There is a certain beauty in the ruin.
I’m going to make a death shelf of books I want buried with me when I die. It’ll be my literary legacy—a collection of stories that shaped my soul. Each spine will be a testament to the worlds I’ve wandered, the characters I’ve loved, and the wisdom I’ve gleaned.
playing the dozens with Ken Levasseur circa 1981…
“You look all like a brick in a snowstorm eating hay.”
Listen, I know I have become unhinged, but as Phil Colin's said, "I don't care anymore. I don't care what you say. We never played by the same rules anyway.”
--
In a single breath, the secrets of the cosmos are inhaled. Maturity sashays in on stiletto heels, blowing bubblegum bubbles of transcendence, popping superficial markers into lurid smears of fluorescent face paint.
It's a one-woman show of death-defying trapeze flips between the dingy inner circus tent and the glittering exterior big top, gasp-inducing evolutions sending spotlights slicing through the sawdust air.
The wide-eyed child clings to the barrel-chested strongman, tiny hands grasping at a world frothing with possibilities. Their desires emerge fully formed from the magician's sleeve, ravenous animals rippling with fascination, untainted by the ringmaster's whip. This innocent lion tamer oozes pure desire from every pore.
As we bumble down the garishly lit midway of life, gawking at sideshow oddities, our clean flesh becomes engraved with the tattoo needle of experience. The supple contours of our hearts become granite statues, chiseled expectations on weathered faces staring blankly. We abandon the daring young man on the flying trapeze and turn our gaze to the safety net below, wanting validation, wanting what we think we should want, not what we see. Success, money, pleasure–we lust after these paper tigers with insatiable greed.
Maturity then bursts from the cake, sending frosting flying, as we delight in the surprise inside. It is not about years or close encounters in the tunnel of love–it is about hacking through the funhouse mirrors with an axe to glimpse one's undistorted reflection. Returning to that primal honest desire, the still point in the spinning Roue-Cyr wheel, beyond the judgment of the audience. This is not wide-eyed innocence, but eyes even wider open in new understanding scanned by lasers of self-awareness.
Wanting what we see with our naked eyes and not through the lenses of expectation is a liberation. It frees us from unfulfilling desires manufactured by the culture industry. It lets us exit the consumerist maze into a clearing where we can taste flavors unenhanced. This return to purity provokes surprise and revolution when we stop chasing the mechanical rabbit around the greyhound track and just sit, present in ourselves.
Imagining this maturity–no longer reaching but being, focused inward not outward for fulfillment–is the promise of the center ring. In a world of constant spotlight arcs sweeping the stands, it takes courage to follow the lone spotlight shining a path back to the still point of simple presence. Only there can we can gain clear eyes to see our heart's desires without distraction and find for ourselves the greatest show on earth.
i can’t vouch for your safety anymore who know what comes out of weirdos on deluxe.
