Keep Watching. It gets Pure Awesome.

Also, further surfing youtube I discovered that I would probably like to do bad things to mememolly. Look it up.

-Hybrid.

Recently new york times magazine released a video titled 'immersion'.



Though there's a problem with it, one quite obvious to me as a gamer. And I thought as a result that the theme to the piece, or the message was about the issues of underage gamers playing adult games.

The games they're playing range from Call of Duty 5 to Saints Row 2 and are all games designed for and age rated for adults. Kind of strange, I was expecting this to be a pretty good message to parents given the climate of american lawsuits against violent computer games. It turns out that instead they seem to be condoning them.

All a bit strange.
-M.

The Agent Orange Affair

Last Saturday Seed and Sam had a house warming get together at their new flat over in Brick Lane, it was a pretty quiet night - not the full on type of house party one might expect. But interesting all the same, this entry isn’t about that. This entry is about the morning after.

I woke up in their front room, still drunk and laid out on the sofa like a roman portrait. I’d been keeping a lid on myself the night before, as I really did not want to be in some way ill the following morning - and I wasn’t. I figure 3 hours of sleep simply isn’t enough to digest any amount of poisonous intake.

I was also very, very thirsty. Glancing around I spotted a full glass of orange juice - I assumed Joel, who was sleeping on the other couch had poured it for himself using the remainders of someone’s mixer. There wasn’t a great amount of thinking between me picking up the glass and necking the whole thing.

What followed can be summarised as half a second of ecstatic refreshment followed by one second of shock and then the immediate, horrible realisation of what had happened.



Orange and Gin, baby.

Leading on from this was around an hour of convincing myself that I had crossed into the realms where darkness lay and that the only way out was to throw up - which I couldn’t bring myself to do on the basis that such ritual may last 8 hours longer than I could bare it to.

Plan B was to crawl into bed with Jak so that I could lay with my head out of the window, being peppered by light rain and winds which kept me in the green. For some time I was fighting off sleep, as every time my eyes shut the earth span.

I can’t have been very accommodating for the rest of the day. Crawling back home via public transport throughout the evening. Still, lesson learned - pour your own damned juice.

-M.

Glorious sleep brought some other things with it

I just slept for 20 hours or so and would have awoken well rested had
nearly the entire duration been spent stuck in a nightmare, instead I
had woken up thankful to be alive. This was not any ordinary nightmare
- it was one which after waking up and essentially getting over it -
is ultimately badass.

Show of hands, how many people here can honestly say they've had a
dream in which they are a Transformer (robots in disguise variety) and
are being chased/attacked by a Dinosaur (Apatosaurus gone
carnviorous(oh my god... Brontosaurus doesn't exist?!)) which can
change it's shape so that it could follow me through doorways and
such.

I recall two sections of the dream most vividly;

Having my kind of back area caught in its teeth as I ran under it,
with it throwing me up in the air to catch me in it's mouth on the way
down. Can't explain how or why but I shot it in the mouth with some
kind of laser weapon. It shut it's mouth.

The very moment I discovered the fucker could change size/shape. I had
transformed in a Lamborghini Murcielago and was speeding along a road
and into a tunnel. I screeched to a halt thinking I was safe to stay
in the tunnel only to observe the animal not even break stride. One
second it was too big the next second it was in the tunnel. Hard to
believe a creature so adaptable could ever become extinct. Far more
likely it now lives underground.

I honestly dislike it when people diarize their dreams. But I just had
to get this one out of the system. It's proof that my mind is becoming
more awesome by the second.

-Matt

Somebody else's morning

He hadn't slept all night, not through the labour of any particular
deadline - although there were many. A dusk through dawn spent not
fighting to stay awake but simply forgetting to sleep.

The house awakens around him, moves slowly for a while and leaves.
Still stationary. Same place, same task. It's 4 hours before he
decides it's time to eat, the decision to head out for food made
easily after a quick inspection of the microwave meals icing over in
the back of the refrigerator. Meal X. The same he'd had every day for
weeks.

An old woman necking a can of cheap beer, a youth in sportswear on a
bicycle far too small for him. A group of 8 year olds waiting outside
a police station. Everyone he passed on his way to the high street
confirmed his suspicion that he simply stood out. Unremarkable other
than for being completely different somehow. Perhaps it was in his
bone structure or his swagger. Though far more likely - his skinny
jeans and boots.

The High Street frustrates him. to him everyone is idiotic. Tattooed
men with beer bellies standing alongside young girls pushing prams
filled with their illegitimate offspring. The shops filled with old
people who through years of this environment do not return smiles but
instead grimace, looking every bit their decayed suffering.

Big strides, weaving in and out of aisles. Retrieve food, pay in self
checkout - Always free, just like the credit card ticket machines at
the train station. He'd been unable to work out why for some time -
was the affluence here so bad that people simply didn't own credit
cards or were people just apprehensive to make use of new technology
whereby they may in some way experience failure?

The smell of meat plagued the way home. Meat and eyeballs of people
around him. Was this feeling he felt paranoia, a mere sensitivity to
the observation of others - the same he gave unto them. Or was every
bone in the mans body, his very instinct correct - He needs to move
the fuck out of this death hole.

And right now, he needs to sleep.

The wait

It's been a while, sort of.

Just picked up a copy of the blogging app 'Mars Edit' - whilst Windows
has Blog writer  others absolutely free the only blogging clients I
could find that were a) decent and b) would work on OSX were ecto and
Mars Edit. Ecto refused to connect to my blog, so Mars Edit wins out.
Nice little app.

Life is currently at a bit of a lull, I've just finished doing
exciting, well paid work at a studio I plan to stay in touch with and
am now slaving away on unpaid Independent work. I'll save the details
for a work tagged post rather than a personal one.

The short story is that I'm unemployed and waiting for more work so
that I can earn lots more money, learn loads and eventually become
both rich and famous. It's been an odd couple of weeks, with me
growing bored and missing the daily sunlight/social contact. Secluding
myself once again at home.

I've spent a lot of time re-realising and going over the fact that I
think I would rather be someone else. I see in me the bad traits I
have and I note that being someone I like would require severe head
trauma which changes everything from the way I perceive things to ...
Well, everything. I'd like to be more intelligent, better looking. I
would like to be able to keep my mouth shut, to be wiser and just in
general a more interesting person.

This is why being at home alone is a bad thing. I need to get out
more.
-M.

Re-Jacking

Today the dizziness and headaches lessened slightly and I felt the
world creeping back in, my senses re-tuning themselves to the scent of
piss that menaces every stairwell in the city. Things are starting to
come back in to focus, I can track moving objects with my eyes without
losing them and I've started feeling alienated again. I am left
wondering if I was ill at all but rather, normal.

I had initially typed that my friends are back from Spain which means
my somewhat quiet attempt at a social life might restart, though
friends should actually spell ringmaster. The only really socially
active member of the group who's presence drags the rest of us out of
our dark corners. It's a bad thing really, but I'm not complaining as
things at least now have potential to improve.

To help, I just bought myself;

[1]

to go with

I have a strange life, right now as depressive as I am growing - I'm
still probably twice as awesome as your maximum perception of that
word prior to knowing me.

- Matt

Links:
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[1] http://matt-plummer.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2008/07/evilcoat.jpg