the spark is an arc
the dark is enough
i feel empty inside like a fleeting half-life
only meant to be here
for just a few nights
outlived my purpose
and all of my honor
i’ll smile and nod
like I’m not an another,
be willfully blind,
then step into the ether
****TRIGGER WARNING: SEXUAL ASSAULT******
The other day I was going about my business when I happened to read this moronic article explaining how advocating ‘risk management’ (barf) is not ‘victim blaming’.
I’ve read a lot of articles like this, but that one, for some reason, was the straw…
this was awesome and funny. /stopping depression for like one second.
there is a personality type that can tell themselves things with such fervor, such convinced frenzy, that those things become truer than true. i am listening to gwen stefani and reading the [terribly true] nonfiction essay ‘Host’. they seem to be opposites and yet they are both informing me right now, and i’m not sure how to handle it.
i want to write something beautiful, i want to write something screaming. the two don’t really mesh. people think things mesh. androgyny. i don’t see it. they are degrees of themselves and flail wildly. flotsam. jetsam.
ooooh-ooooh. this my shit, this my shit.
reality is [dull]. life is . a  thud in  eyes and  features.
there is a personality type that can tell themselves things with such disarming honesty, that can hope earnestly, that things that weren’t true are. there is staring at walls and through souls, or at the very least believing you are, and trying to stick your head into the middle and feeling the parts separate.
i ain’t no hollaback girl. what you waiting for?
i feel like the phrase “marked man”. tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock. take/a/chance/’cause/you/might/grow.
there is a personality type extremely good at lying to themselves. try to stop lying, i dare you. try to stop doing what you are used to and see how successful you are at it. and what is lying?
are you lying or merely wrong? are they the same thing?
look at your watch now. you’re still a super-hot something
maybe if I can come up with some cool weekly stupid writing thing I can do I can do that and people will like it or something. since I can’t really draw.
dark science is really beautiful but I wish it made more sense as a whole-story thing. to $60 or not to $60.
i sit in my chair looking at words - worthless expressions
i lie to everyone
i just want to die but i can’t leave everyone like i was so i sit and abide death inside
i’ll write something to quiet demons but it just makes them louder and everything hurts more
why is it that when you acknowledge something
people usually say that it makes you happier
but it makes you worse
it makes everything worse
i remember when i was younger and sitting and people told me what i wished to be and i didn’t know what i wished to be yet
but i knew it was something that wasn’t in those boxes
maybe i would be a writer because it was easy or because i wanted to know.
all i want to do is know
and i am so good at pretending that i can do it to myself now
even when i’m methodically writing these words i am asking myself what i want or who i am
and i have no answer
except for the bad one that makes no sense
or the worse one that doesn’t exist
i’ll rip my face off and spit in my hands
smear it on the exposed flesh until it burns so hard it oozes blood
and it still won’t express how i feel inside
i gave up on expressing how i feel inside outside
a long time ago.
everybody says that nobody understands
but oddly enough i find that the phrase gets to be more true the farther i go through life
which isn’t what it’s supposed to do when you get older.
you’re supposed to realize that those were just odd ramblings of a depressed mind.
that there are nice people who are sympathetic
or that there are people who are similar
but there aren’t, are there.
what there is
is a tapestry
a tapestry of colorful characters in all the best adventure stories
of people who float up and down the stories creating adventure and intrigue
they are explorers adventurers
they brave the wilds and find things
and i don’t fucking know
a tapestry of people
and i am none of them
i’m not on the tapestry, i can see points of myself there and I look at them but I can’t feel myself and when I talk to people they look at me as though I have three eyes no matter what I do
because I do
and i can’t hide it anymore but i can’t yell it
so what am i going to do
So this is a depression game that’s supposed to feature a lot of snappy writing and basically make you understand depression. I suffer from depression! hey! This sounds like a perfect fit!
Well. I played it and I don’t think it’s a perfect depiction of it. It’s better than the no depictions that other things do, but it isn’t perfect by any means. That said depression happens differently for different people, so maybe this is more accurate about what they do. Or did.
Really all it does is make me want to make a game that is better. It was kind of sad, but well … I don’t know. I feel like putting it this close to the character - and the jumping time periods - really, really hamper/ruin/etc. the experience, as well as alluding to things that happened earlier but never happened in gameplay. So it’s still in development, and at several points it is hamstrung. There is a typo in a bit of text.
I was underwhelmed. Maybe it has too much hype. But there isn’t enough there. Hopefully it gets larger. Oh, well.
Less suicidal ramblings that I can express with words, which is either a good or bad thing. I deleted a few of my old posts because they sucked [did I really write three gaming made me posts about the exact same thing diluted into different stories?!?] and am probably going to edit the remaining one.
It started at an old house. I was there with friends, etc. We were taking a standardized test and I was making jokes about it - people were saying things about how important it was and how hard it was and I was just being extremely blase. [And I guess I had that right.] The building was one of those really old ones, like it was a castle-ish? It had those castle windows but was otherwise an apartment building. [castle windows = ones that can’t open and such.] So that happened, and then there was some kind of scavenger hunt. Two of my friends in real life were there and they were like “We have to chase it! and I was like “No, we just have to stay here,” and they left and stayed at the same time somehow - I say that because they left. But then I heard this really weak voice. We were somehow very high up, like, the tenth floor, near the window, and I could only hear the voice because it was kind of drafty [though it wasn’t cold at all]. It was snowing. I looked outside and there was a scared, small 8 or 9-year-old boy. He was saying “Sarah?” in a scared voice to the gap in the wall. I was like, “Why are you so far up here?” and he looked back at me and didn’t answer me directly, he said “I’m scared,” and looked down. Theoretically there was a building in my way but I could see it too, the ground, so far.
“Why don’t you just climb back down?” I suggested, and he was looking like he had trouble staying at the edge of the roof. That’s when my friends somehow reappeared. He shrieked and lost his grip - I looked over - but he’d caught himself on another one of the roof’s places, slightly farther down. He started to cry. I was like, “Well, shit, we can just break this window, get up here.” He pulled himself up somehow and was sniffling - I found an opening to let him in instead of breaking the window that had been right there, something like an air duct that cut my finger when I opened it. [I cursed a little bit.] But then after he came inside and seemed to actually be unaffected by the cold, as though he’d never been outside at all. We looked at each other, my friends, as he walked away, and there was kind of a stampede downstairs as the crowd of people started to flood in, looking for him, again, though they were on the first floor and this being an old house it would take some time before they’d actually be upstairs.
and then I got a wish. That’s basically where it ends.