It seems to me personally that most media of this age is just... creatively bankrupt. Everything is uninspired or copy and pasted over and over again (I'm looking at you, Rainbow Six: Extraction). And to think years ago we could've had a game like Rainbow Six Patriots.

I still get a tingly feeling whenever I load up even an emulated copy of GTA: Vice City and hearing that chime with the crashing waves against the coastline. It was fantastic and almost "nostalgic" even as a child playing that game simply because I'm a Miami native and having this video game based on my city was... pretty daunting. Or just reminiscing of the OG version of Halo: CE on the old Xbox. That giant "LOADING" screen and hearing the chorus progress as the letters lit up across the screen. It was simple, but it inspired a level of intrigue and wonder.

As soon as you step out into the Mojave in New Vegas, even with all the DLCs loaded knowing goddamn well for the 50th time you've played this game and how your quest is going to go, it instills a sense of immersion as the sunlight hits your character's eyes and you're greeted with the sight of a blasted out little town that should've been long gone, but still teeming with life. Its that attention to detail that tends to bring me back to these games.

Its such a somber thing to contemplate the state of video games. They've been a part of my life since I was about 2. Hell my cousins that are pushing into their damn late 40's always bring up at family gatherings about how crazy I was in Smash Bros or Mario Kart. Games have exceeded just being a hobby for me. They were a social hub in the infant years of the internet. They were... much more than just pushing graphical flavor or trying to "poach the whale" as much as possible for a good fiscal year.

Video games were my biggest anti-depressant. And as much as its a part of my DNA, I feel as if I need to find something new

Welcome Home

 With the wings that I've been prescribed with, I can only find flight for a short amount of time until I return to the same hellish prison that I belong in. But should I belong here? I've started to question it with every attempt that I wish to flee. I always said that I belong in this miasma of confusion and loneliness, so why do I fight it so often? The swift dichotomy that washes over me refuses me to allow myself to answer these age old questions. So I simply reset behind these bars and accept that it simply may be my own home.

Fatigue

 Its so hilarious to me that the most celestial forms of my heart are all tied to the void in itself. To express daily heartbreak was always met with seals as the whole world speaks of tearing off the sigils that have kept my mouth under lock and key. Not a single ear has drawn to my voice, and yet I am usurped by the gravitational pull of every heart that surrounds me. I'm reminded daily as to why I wish not to participate in this life. It all amounts to nothingness. Every undertaking and every effort has no merit when none can recognize the love you contain deep within. I can feel the frost of this world resting on my bones and I have no form or way of shaking free or finding warmth amongst those that surround me. I wish I had the opportunity to display to the world how much of a demonic entity that I can be. The worst form of monster under each dwelling. But its not within my essence to disturb the world around me. To fade into memory was one of my greatest desires, but its not so simple or easy of an undertaking.  To cease the waters of my heart and to shut up the wellspring thereof... That was always my endgoal.

Winter Calls

 Tis the season where I am always left wondering where in the aft aspects of reality do you reside. Tis the season where the world grows to a shivering halt, and yet my heart blisters forth with warmth as if fed by Spring itself.

Uncomely

 The agony of the day as I dream through rose-tinded lenses of my youth. Oh how I miss the days so dearly even in the midst of my tears and torrential rains, I still am able to recall the music of laughter surrounded by so many faces. But how I rue my days in slumber and drunken tendencies. How much I thirst after the taste of strawberry wine upon your lips. I bathed in your arms, the bittersweet liquor that coursed between wanderlusting souls. But alas, I was alone in my little love story concocted in my sinful mind. The fire that lit the Northern star of my life has long since diminished, and the only warmth I find comfort in is in the burn of strong drink that causes my blood to cease into permafrost.

I could never conceive that my fingers were laced with the poison that caused your heart to become so bitter that you would turn away in utter disgust and displeasure at the mere sight or mention of my accursed name. 

It matters not, for life shall move on with or without one as disheveled and uncomely as I. Each night is spent in argument with myself to convince the other that I have not completely lost all of my usefulness, that I still have some form of value amongst men.

Under The Shade

 Under the shade of the mango tree was where my heart resided in all of my youth. Basking in the sun underneath the protection of my eldest sister. In her greatest seasons she would sustain me with the sweetness of her fruit while opening her roots to listen to each and every word that would spill from my deafened heart. The conversations were always selfish in my favor, for I could not easily hear her words, but I felt her caressing me in my lonesome on the best Autumn days as she would bear fruit towards the world. 

Just shoot me. Stupid fucking thoughts that mean nothing at all.

 Like, myself, but a darker version of myself, sitting there, talking to a psychiatrist.

And...It wasn't me speaking but like a demon self, talking about the world

And how its so fucked up.

Its so wierd becuase I can vaguely remember the conversation.

I guess I saw...

What life is really about.

And it made complete sense.

Like...how everything is polarized, and you're forced to make only two choices, two different paths in life

There is no other path because it was formed like this.

And because of all that, you start to do shit you're not supposed to do, and you lose yourself in it.

And I saw why the most intelligent people, are so insane, so fucked up in the head.

Like Charles Manson.

Its like they all do what they do because they love to see the reaction from people.

Its like being a caged animal, and you end up eating your own leg off because you're bored and hungry and theres nothing else to this little world you're trapped in.

Forced to believe in shit thats not there, running around in fear of demons and shit thats not even touching you.

Thats why alot of intelligent people, end up killing themselves too.

Its as if they saw what life had to offer, and wasn't satisfied.

Whats the point.

Everything is a fucking illusion

nothing matters.

The shit we have today will be gone tomorrow.

But we cling to dead ideals that just don't fit our way of life anymore.

You drink to forget, you smoke to ease the pain, its all about finding some stimulant to try and distract you from all the bullshit to pursue an existance that will leave you craving for more.

Even if you do all you "want" to do, you'll still want more.

A cosmic joke, a superficial blackhole, forever consuming all in its path.

There was a time in my life, where I had everything I desired. I was content. Not because of the materials I had, but because...Something that you couldn't see, just had its hands upon my face. Keeping me blind from how horrific life is. I was content, being inside my fuckin head all the time, painting pictures in my heart, not caring if anyone saw them or not, because I created entire planets, entire futures, entire dreamscapes, entire lifetimes, inside myself. But somehow, I lost the ability to be happy. To just sit with contentment over such things. I lost it all, and I keep asking those hands how the fuck do I get back. But now, I sit here just contemplating whether or not I should just but a 9mm between my eyes and call it a night. Because nothing truly matters, nothing has value, no pursuit is worth going for. This entire life is just a breeze. Its nothing. It means nothing. There is nothing. There aren't any experiences worth undertaking. I've seen, felt, and experienced the best life had to offer. And I made the biggest mistake trying to share it with someone who was so greedy enough to leave me broken hearted. Even love has no value. I care not to live. Not for myself, or the people around me. I haven't killed myself yet because I see the tears of those who profess a love for me even as they crush me like an insect under their selfish expectations. As if I was only born into this world to serve them, to get rich and sell my soul for a career to buy them that Jaguar they always wanted. I never wanted anything. Never. And the only time I ever asked for something, It caused me the greatest trouble. I sit here, half of myself gone, as my remaining self goes off on loose tangents trying to set the world ablaze as I give all that I can to hold him back. No stimulant is great enough to contain that which is inside of me. I am fearful of the amount of damage he might cause, and other times, I wish to set him free to cause such great amounts of chaos. 

There is none that truly see, nor wish to see, nor will ever be able to see what lies hidden inside of me. Most call him a blessing because they don't see his terrible face, but he is my greatest curse. In his anger does he throw me to the ground in such a torment as I try to find a peace to his heart. I see his sadness, as he feels for mine as well. And even as we lay angry at each other for our conflicting thoughts, many a night are spent arm in arm, throned to our deepest sorrows, wanting to find daylight once again, yet hating that same daylight that left us behind.

They never knew what it meant to be a lonely tormented soul, far beyond the reaches of the earthlings, staring out from the sunless celestial prison that I was kept in. I am so lost, as I remain here surrounded by his darkness, as well as my own. The light of his heart that he cannot taste, it is...a travesty to see such a pain for even a dark being to be casted off in such a way. He loved her greatly, only held back by his fear of his own self, knowing great well of the pain he could cause her. He hungered for her lips, but feared that the hunger in itself would voraciously pillage and destroy her.

Long ago, we once fought for eons upon end, even though we desired the same thing. I lay down my weapon now, trying to find sense to all that has happened. To lay beside myself, as I stare into my own abyss. I can see something in nothingness, if only everyone could picture this.

Too long have we hungered for dead ideals and performances of pontification for the credibility of self amongst a foolish mass of dead flesh. As we all sacrifice what is truly of us, to gain nothing but the sullen eyes of hollowed men.

I sigh with a true grief as I search these horrific planes of existance for the wandering flame that my heart calls for.