I Eat The End Pieces Of Bread

Your parents have always been protective of you for as long as you could remember. The entire house was padded even when you grew out of your toddler years. You were homeschooled and someone was always hovering to make sure you don’t trip or hurt yourself. You thought this was them being irrationally overprotective until one winter day, your hands were so dry that your skin broke. A drop of blood fell to the ground and almost instantly, red flowers bloomed from where it landed.

Video games are ephemeral art like drawing in foam on your coffee drink. In twenty years no consumer device will be able to run Dragon Age 2; in fifty years we won’t remember what Dragon Age 2 was even about. Our memory is fallible and our machines are themselves memory, hindered by progression and anti-piracy measures as we are hindered by our own needs to enforce the tyranny of story upon lawless experience. DOSBox will not save us. Final Fantasy VII’s code was lost. All code will be lost. In two hundred years one of the Bioshock endings will be “apocrypha;” someone successfully reconstructs an OS that can run it in two hundred and nine years. “The cake is a lie”; nothing beside remains. My Dwarf Fortress worldgen is simple text, printable, archivable, non-human-readable, seafoam. Our legacy will be illegibility. Where lives death if not in us, and in our CD binders.

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Music is just wiggling air

don’t do this. don’t do this to me today.