Snorks, like many of our most treasured institutions, are real but not in any way that matters. Such are the wages of decrepitude and the fundamentally human centipede of cultural grist.
I've been continuing to feast on games - drawing strength thereby. You may find vigor here as well:
- Demo-wise, if you like puzzle games, I essentially can't recommend Artisans of Glimmith enough. Thematically concerned with the construction of stained glass panes, there are devils aplenty in the details. This demo is gonna take you on a real ride - you're gonna be like "I hope this shit has some kinda fuckin' arc, Jesus Christ" and then the designers of this game are gonna show you the wickedness and depravity of their desires. They're gonna demand than you make eleven dimensional "nanohedrals" in order to satisfy their twisted whims and by the end you will whimper for release. Does that… does that sound good? Because that's what they made (for whatever reason)!!!
- TR-49 fucked me up bad. It would be hard to explain why. Somewhere between Analog Horror and Analog Heaven exists a realm where the only way you can save the world is through Microfiche. My favorite part, perhaps, of everything that might occur within these parentheticals is that whether you know what that is - or absolutely do not know what that is - you will be equally subject to this thing if you like baroque, big idea sci-fi. The shit that I did in the library as a youth - up to and including sending my friend Chris Hoeft down several floors in a Library Elevator - would be as gripping fiction to someone who hadn't experienced it. It functions as fully diegetic or as a flight of fancy; both are true. They're as true as anything else.
(CW)TB out.
