Month: December 2012

“Blooms of Mold” by Ha Seong-nan

I really dig present tense. I hear comments on how it can make or break a story, but it always improves it to my mind. The immediacy is somehow more satisfying.

Jot notes, lose details, which the story has in spades. Little things. Descriptions of patches of skin. Fuzz on beans. It’s easy to forget details to get the immediate information. Forget the good parts in favor of the parts he needs.

The extra detail is voyeuristic. The bath tub is a practical relic. An indulgence. A romantic opportunity and a serial killer’s sincerest hope. A place with a bath tub.

I only think ill of the man because he’s a male. If it were a female character there’d be more understanding. A curious woman.

It’s something, trying to know people from the details of their lives. Develop a database of information about them. Is the sum of a person’s life the person? Can we construct a person from knowing things about them? We try, I think. We sure as shit try.

I don’t even know the color of cobalt, but it strikes me as dull. The kind of shirt one wears to blend in. Cobalt-colored shirts. That’s a hell of a detail. She wears white. The cobalt man and his white woman. She decides that.

She doesn’t need warning. I don’t get that from this story. He thinks she does, of course, because he needs to save her. Needs to win her.

What does the author want to stir up in the reader?

Products all over the place. It’s unavoidable, digging through garbage.

The neighbor’s being pathetically pursued.

Calling it quits. There’s always that thing. Booze, drugs, whores. Always trying to stop.

“Blooms of Mold” by Ha Seong-nan

I really dig present tense. I hear comments on how it can make or break a story, but it always improves it to my mind. The immediacy is somehow more satisfying.

Jot notes, lose details, which the story has in spades. Little things. Descriptions of patches of skin. Fuzz on beans. It’s easy to forget details to get the immediate information. Forget the good parts in favor of the parts he needs.

The extra detail is voyeuristic. The bath tub is a practical relic. An indulgence. A romantic opportunity and a serial killer’s sincerest hope. A place with a bath tub.

I only think ill of the man because he’s a male. If it were a female character there’d be more understanding. A curious woman.

It’s something, trying to know people from the details of their lives. Develop a database of information about them. Is the sum of a person’s life the person? Can we construct a person from knowing things about them? We try, I think. We sure as shit try.

I don’t even know the color of cobalt, but it strikes me as dull. The kind of shirt one wears to blend in. Cobalt-colored shirts. That’s a hell of a detail. She wears white. The cobalt man and his white woman. She decides that.

She doesn’t need warning. I don’t get that from this story. He thinks she does, of course, because he needs to save her. Needs to win her.

What does the author want to stir up in the reader?

Products all over the place. It’s unavoidable, digging through garbage.

The neighbor’s being pathetically pursued.

Calling it quits. There’s always that thing. Booze, drugs, whores. Always trying to stop.

apolloniasaintclair:

Apollonia Saintclair 252 – 20121206 La présentation (The introduction)

I’m waiting for December to be over. Hunkered down inside like a scared kid. Figuratively, of course. I’m out among people, listening to funny stories. Laughing. I’ve become a depressive sort if you can believe it. But I’m also a very happy sort. I like to laugh. I wish I knew a girl who could make me laugh right now. I think I’m done with all that. The easy fucking around. I really do miss tenderness.

After spring I’ll have nothing left to write. Other things call my attention. When I was 13, I drew a sex comic book. It was a guide. The naked female protagonist showed you how to fuck. She was kind and caring about it. Afterward I didn’t know what do with it, so I threw it in the gutter on the way to school. I stopped drawing about that time. I’m going to pick it up again. Photography too, on account of my poor memory. I see things and wish I could take a photo. People talk about things from just a few years ago and I stare blankly. An emptying vessel. Programming is an abstract way to express things, but it’s important for me to know it. The career and all. There’s just a lot to do.

Almost through, in any case. We’ve come far. I’m going hiking this coming weekend to take some photos before the year is up. It’s a start.

apolloniasaintclair:

Apollonia Saintclair 252 – 20121206 La présentation (The introduction)

I’m waiting for December to be over. Hunkered down inside like a scared kid. Figuratively, of course. I’m out among people, listening to funny stories. Laughing. I’ve become a depressive sort if you can believe it. But I’m also a very happy sort. I like to laugh. I wish I knew a girl who could make me laugh right now. I think I’m done with all that. The easy fucking around. I really do miss tenderness.

After spring I’ll have nothing left to write. Other things call my attention. When I was 13, I drew a sex comic book. It was a guide. The naked female protagonist showed you how to fuck. She was kind and caring about it. Afterward I didn’t know what do with it, so I threw it in the gutter on the way to school. I stopped drawing about that time. I’m going to pick it up again. Photography too, on account of my poor memory. I see things and wish I could take a photo. People talk about things from just a few years ago and I stare blankly. An emptying vessel. Programming is an abstract way to express things, but it’s important for me to know it. The career and all. There’s just a lot to do.

Almost through, in any case. We’ve come far. I’m going hiking this coming weekend to take some photos before the year is up. It’s a start.

I’d met Salome through a friend from work when we went out drinking. They were friends from college. She’s beautiful in a thin sort of way, but not unhealthily thin. She dwells in intellectualism which I think was the draw for her. I just thought she was sexy.

She’d agreed to go out on a date to see The Hobbit on my birthday. To see how terrible it would be compared to the book.

“Did you ever watch the 70s animated film?” I’d asked.

“Oh my God, yes! So bad.”

We’d spoken a couple of times since then. She and I both had finals. Hers were legit tests in difficult classes. Mine was just more poetry. More writing.

What I’d gleaned about her was she would make first moves in an impatient sense. That type of girl. I had to beat her to the punch. I spent the week ensuring I was groomed, trimmed, angular. Hard as rock. This girl would splash against a cliff.

Then there was news yesterday morning. Real sad news. Most days, I handle it, especially if someone else needs that. But there wasn’t anything to do. I wasn’t going to be on for the date, let alone in a place to close it afterward. I didn’t have the energy for it. From rock to beach sand. I’d be particles beneath her waves.

I called her, explained. Remained adamant. “I’m going to be a bummer today,” I said. “I won’t be much fun.”

“Oh. Well, that’s alright. What about this weekend?”

“I have to work through it. I just think I need to mellow out.”

It was silent for an extended moment, then she said, “Okay. Call me if you need anything?”

“Sure. Thanks. Bye.”

“Bye.”

I hung up and thought, Am I going to be one those fucks? Those sad in the pants limp dicks who bemoan every other damn thing?

I knew I would be. Not openly, not honestly, but I would be.

The craft beers flowed at a bar near to the motel where I was staying. I drank a few pints alone and pissed into the trough in the bathroom. The mirror on the wall had scrawls all along it. Lots of gang bullshit, some names. There was a “Megan” in a corner and something about love. Piss wall poetry. I thought about Salome. Her bony hands and dark curls. My dick became semi-hard and I wished I’d gone on the date. I purchased more beer after I left the bar and went home to the motel.

I laid in bed pantsless and thought of her when I was too drunk to stand. The many things I could’ve done but didn’t. Grief is an awfully complicated thing.

I’d met Salome through a friend from work when we went out drinking. They were friends from college. She’s beautiful in a thin sort of way, but not unhealthily thin. She dwells in intellectualism which I think was the draw for her. I just thought she was sexy.

She’d agreed to go out on a date to see The Hobbit on my birthday. To see how terrible it would be compared to the book.

“Did you ever watch the 70s animated film?” I’d asked.

“Oh my God, yes! So bad.”

We’d spoken a couple of times since then. She and I both had finals. Hers were legit tests in difficult classes. Mine was just more poetry. More writing.

What I’d gleaned about her was she would make first moves in an impatient sense. That type of girl. I had to beat her to the punch. I spent the week ensuring I was groomed, trimmed, angular. Hard as rock. This girl would splash against a cliff.

Then there was news yesterday morning. Real sad news. Most days, I handle it, especially if someone else needs that. But there wasn’t anything to do. I wasn’t going to be on for the date, let alone in a place to close it afterward. I didn’t have the energy for it. From rock to beach sand. I’d be particles beneath her waves.

I called her, explained. Remained adamant. “I’m going to be a bummer today,” I said. “I won’t be much fun.”

“Oh. Well, that’s alright. What about this weekend?”

“I have to work through it. I just think I need to mellow out.”

It was silent for an extended moment, then she said, “Okay. Call me if you need anything?”

“Sure. Thanks. Bye.”

“Bye.”

I hung up and thought, Am I going to be one those fucks? Those sad in the pants limp dicks who bemoan every other damn thing?

I knew I would be. Not openly, not honestly, but I would be.

The craft beers flowed at a bar near to the motel where I was staying. I drank a few pints alone and pissed into the trough in the bathroom. The mirror on the wall had scrawls all along it. Lots of gang bullshit, some names. There was a “Megan” in a corner and something about love. Piss wall poetry. I thought about Salome. Her bony hands and dark curls. My dick became semi-hard and I wished I’d gone on the date. I purchased more beer after I left the bar and went home to the motel.

I laid in bed pantsless and thought of her when I was too drunk to stand. The many things I could’ve done but didn’t. Grief is an awfully complicated thing.

My shirts reek. Smokers are wearing thin on me. This laundry laziness is getting out of hand. I had a cleaning lady, once. She did a good job. I forget how much I paid her but it wasn’t much. Pittance. She did damn good. I never had to fuck with the bathroom. She came by once a month. I did my laundry then, which wasn’t a problem. Not until that January in ‘08. The worst of times begins in August and ends in February. Not because it’s cold, but because of memories. They gather up in winter. All of them.

Of all the smiley fuckin’ faces, winkey face is the worst. The absolute worst.

I read this story about a dad and son who play a video game about a character who strives for nothingness. Contrast immediately. Mention of Walmart. Decidedly modern. Considered what I may have read that was more “classic” or “universal” but c’est la vie and all that.

Are video games really as niche?

“In games, where it was so often so easy to lose perspective, but also in life.” This line was not necessary. This story could’ve been a parable. I’m going to be thinking about it the whole way through.

“The ill-gotten fruits of not being and not knowing.” Is this an attack on denial of responsibility? Is existence an acceptance of the responsibility to exist?

The Road is about a father and son. Its style is more barren. Prose to match the landscape. Their journey is one for survival. Literal life and death. This one’s father and son are also on a journey. Is it metaphysical? Is their journey towards completion of the game—towards not being—also about survival? The title is plural. They’re in it together. They’re mapping the world towards the goal of nonexistence.

Why is the character in the game a woman? Aping Metroid’s protagonist? How do things change when the lead is a female? How does this affect the perception of it?

The first moment of understanding is the loss of her wings. She is a bird girl and then she is weighed down by her choice to don the metal boots. Their choice, not hers. She can’t take them off. She loses her flight before she loses the added weight.

In Shadow of the Colossus, the player character goes on a journey of sacrifice. Double-edged sword: sacrifice the creatures, sacrifice your humanity. He becomes a monstrous doppelganger of himself. The gargoyle’s significance. Why must it look like Alicia but with horns and healthy wings? As she sacrifices, others gain strength? Laughing in her face? Aesthetic choices on the author’s part, probably. From a game design standpoint, you simply reuse what you have. One less in-game art asset to design from scratch.

Cheddar scabs are fucking great.

“where dollars and coins flew at Alicia from all sides and clung to her body, briefly rebuilding her wings in their own green image.” Money is only a temporary fix for permanent problems. Okay.

The dirt clod beneath the chamber of commerce. The dirt clod beneath the chamber of commerce. The dirt clod. The chamber of commerce. The dirt. The chamber of commerce. The dirt and the chamber of commerce. The chamber of commerce. Dirt and commerce. Dirt and money.

Kill the orchestra. Kill the music. Kill art. Silence.

This kid’s dialogue makes him seem older in places, younger in others. Wonder if that’s intentional.

Looking for a replacement for mother?

Perhaps the dialogue is indicative. Joshua’s getting older. He’s learning things.

You forget fear. You forget love.

To be, then, is to forget. To be is to not know you are.

Waiting.

My shirts reek. Smokers are wearing thin on me. This laundry laziness is getting out of hand. I had a cleaning lady, once. She did a good job. I forget how much I paid her but it wasn’t much. Pittance. She did damn good. I never had to fuck with the bathroom. She came by once a month. I did my laundry then, which wasn’t a problem. Not until that January in ‘08. The worst of times begins in August and ends in February. Not because it’s cold, but because of memories. They gather up in winter. All of them.

Of all the smiley fuckin’ faces, winkey face is the worst. The absolute worst.

I read this story about a dad and son who play a video game about a character who strives for nothingness. Contrast immediately. Mention of Walmart. Decidedly modern. Considered what I may have read that was more “classic” or “universal” but c’est la vie and all that.

Are video games really as niche?

“In games, where it was so often so easy to lose perspective, but also in life.” This line was not necessary. This story could’ve been a parable. I’m going to be thinking about it the whole way through.

“The ill-gotten fruits of not being and not knowing.” Is this an attack on denial of responsibility? Is existence an acceptance of the responsibility to exist?

The Road is about a father and son. Its style is more barren. Prose to match the landscape. Their journey is one for survival. Literal life and death. This one’s father and son are also on a journey. Is it metaphysical? Is their journey towards completion of the game—towards not being—also about survival? The title is plural. They’re in it together. They’re mapping the world towards the goal of nonexistence.

Why is the character in the game a woman? Aping Metroid’s protagonist? How do things change when the lead is a female? How does this affect the perception of it?

The first moment of understanding is the loss of her wings. She is a bird girl and then she is weighed down by her choice to don the metal boots. Their choice, not hers. She can’t take them off. She loses her flight before she loses the added weight.

In Shadow of the Colossus, the player character goes on a journey of sacrifice. Double-edged sword: sacrifice the creatures, sacrifice your humanity. He becomes a monstrous doppelganger of himself. The gargoyle’s significance. Why must it look like Alicia but with horns and healthy wings? As she sacrifices, others gain strength? Laughing in her face? Aesthetic choices on the author’s part, probably. From a game design standpoint, you simply reuse what you have. One less in-game art asset to design from scratch.

Cheddar scabs are fucking great.

“where dollars and coins flew at Alicia from all sides and clung to her body, briefly rebuilding her wings in their own green image.” Money is only a temporary fix for permanent problems. Okay.

The dirt clod beneath the chamber of commerce. The dirt clod beneath the chamber of commerce. The dirt clod. The chamber of commerce. The dirt. The chamber of commerce. The dirt and the chamber of commerce. The chamber of commerce. Dirt and commerce. Dirt and money.

Kill the orchestra. Kill the music. Kill art. Silence.

This kid’s dialogue makes him seem older in places, younger in others. Wonder if that’s intentional.

Looking for a replacement for mother?

Perhaps the dialogue is indicative. Joshua’s getting older. He’s learning things.

You forget fear. You forget love.

To be, then, is to forget. To be is to not know you are.

Waiting.

My romantic nature is florid, verbose, and generally unnecessary.

We submitted to MS and Sony on Friday. It’s done. One more notch and another credit. I can’t explain it, but seeing my name in the credits appeals to me. I don’t care who else sees it. I joke that in spite of everything, I have the list of credits to my name. Almost nine years now. Whether I stay in this industry or go elsewheres, there they are. I suspect it’s the written aspect of it. My history documented, like names in a census. I existed. There’s a trace to follow. That’s important.

I’ve been writing various things and getting adulation for it. Bitches love writing. Though I don’t like their written forthrightness. It repels me from people I’d otherwise like to meet. When you contact someone you’re setting a precedent. Be kind, I suppose, but don’t take it seriously. You like me? That’s fine. Show me when I’m sitting across from you at an obligatory coffee meet/date.

Speaking of nerds, I’m taking a girl out on a date to see The Hobbit on my birthday.

“Navigators” by Mike Meginnis

Contrast immediately. Mention of Walmart. Decidedly modern. Considered what I may have read that was more “classic” or “universal” but c’est la vie and all that.

Are video games really as niche?

“In games, where it was so often so easy to lose perspective, but also in life.” This line was not necessary. This story could’ve been a parable. I’m going to be thinking about it the whole way through.

“The ill-gotten fruits of not being and not knowing.” Is this an attack on denial of responsibility? Is existence an acceptance of the responsibility to exist?

The Road is about a father and son. Its style is more barren. Prose to match the landscape. Their journey is one for survival. Literal life and death. This one’s father and son are also on a journey. Is it metaphysical? Is their journey towards completion of the game—towards not being—also about survival? The title is plural. They’re in it together. They’re mapping the world towards the goal of nonexistence.

Why is the character in the game a woman? Aping Metroid’s protagonist? How do things change when the lead is a female? How does this affect the perception of it?

The first moment of understanding is the loss of her wings. She is a bird girl and then she is weighed down by her choice to don the metal boots. Their choice, not hers. She can’t take them off. She loses her flight before she loses the added weight.

In Shadow of the Colossus, the player character goes on a journey of sacrifice. Double-edged sword: sacrifice the creatures, sacrifice your humanity. He becomes a monstrous doppelganger of himself. The gargoyle’s significance. Why must it look like Alicia but with horns and healthy wings? As she sacrifices, others gain strength? Laughing in her face? Aesthetic choices on the author’s part, probably. From a game design standpoint, you simply reuse what you have. One less in-game art asset to design from scratch.

Cheddar scabs are fucking great.

“where dollars and coins flew at Alicia from all sides and clung to her body, briefly rebuilding her wings in their own green image.” Money is only a temporary fix for permanent problems. Okay.

The dirt clod beneath the chamber of commerce. The dirt clod beneath the chamber of commerce. The dirt clod. The chamber of commerce. The dirt. The chamber of commerce. The dirt and the chamber of commerce. The chamber of commerce. Dirt and commerce. Dirt and money.

Kill the orchestra. Kill the music. Kill art. Silence.

This kid’s dialogue makes him seem older in places, younger in others. Wonder if that’s intentional.

Looking for a replacement for mother?

Perhaps the dialogue is indicative. Joshua’s getting older. He’s learning things.

You forget fear. You forget love.

To be, then, is to forget. To be is to not know you are.

Waiting.