I'm playing StarCraft 2 but the interface takes up my entire field of vision so that I don't even see the sides of the monitor. I have two groups of marines standing in 5 by 5 squares. My base is very sparse and there is a large tree in the middle of it, there is only one ramp up to my elevated fortress. I'm playing a new scenario, capture the flag. I'm focused on my base and flag defense. Unlike other capture the flag games, my units can pick up and move our flag. I try throwing it into a valley next to my base. Enemy units are approaching, also Terran, and I order everyone to the choke point on the ramp.
Then my view zooms in, way in, now I have a first person shooter interface. Jack Bauer is leading me on a covert operation behind the enemy forces assaulting our base, we pick off a large number of troops at the back of the formation. My marines have no problem handling the rest, but Jack and I have more work to do. He leads me to a cave and we plunge into the semi-darkness. Sliver sections of the cave are exposed to open air, wide enough to see out but too small to accommodate even the slightest person. We can see terrorists through some of the slots as we run through the cave system. We exchange fire sporadically, but somehow the echoes are muffled. I find it odd, but Jack isn't concerned about it. Finally the cave outlets after nearly a dozen micro fire fights. Jack scrambles up the steep wall and out the hole in the cave's ceiling, the only exit. I can't seem to get a good hand hold. I've been rock climbing before but nothing is coming to me and I'm starting to panic. I'm never going to get out before the bomb goes off. Jack tries to pull me up but I'm too heavy. I'm in full panic mode and there is nothing Jack can do to calm me down, so he leaves. I sit down and accept my bitter fate, glad I could help my marines as much as I did.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Friday, March 18, 2011
Drinking Accident
I'm inside a bar. The lights are low, the music loud, colors flash randomly to encourage dancing and seizures. I'm drinking a beer, and doing shots of Tequila. It's my buddy's birthday and he's finally convinced me to start drinking again. Three years sober and tired of listening to his QQing I finally acquiesce. I'm having a great time drinking and dancing but in the back of my mind I know that each shot brings me closer to my destruction. We keep dancing for hours and everybody keeps drinking but the pressure in my mind keeps reminding me that drinking is a terrible idea, so I start smoking again to try to balance things out. The colors flash continuously now, so they are not really flashing but bathing the entire bar in colored light. The bar is blue, now red, now green, now blue, still blue, purple, orangeredyellowblueredblue, blue blue, yellow orange. Each shot I take pushes me closer to losing control. We're all still dancing and drinking but my panic is spilling out everywhere. I stumble around confused and disoriented, I dread the next drink but our small party flows to the bar in a periodic manner I find most disturbing. I can't stop drinking, my destruction is assured. I'm chain smoking and suffocating but I can't stop smoking either. Shame and failure wash over me and I start crying, there is no worse feeling in the world. I have-blue- no will. I will-orange-die. How can I fail at keeping myself alive? We keep dancing-sepia-.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
World of Duty
My guild is under attack, we PvP all the time, but this is our ultimate test. If we die here, we will not be able to log back in, it will be as if our characters died. The interface is close to the pinnacle of full immersion. Our bodies control our characters flawlessly, and the only way I can tell that it is a video game and not real life is the cartoony environment, otherwise it stimulates my senses flawlessly. The cartoonish environment creates a sharp juxtaposition with the fierce modern warfare battles that take place on it. It's cold and raining, night is unforgiving in our PvP campaign. We check to make sure our guns are fully loaded and that we are set up in the most defensible position. Most of us are set up under a large over hang. The rocky banks of a swift flowing river extend right up to the edge of the evergreen forest. Ages ago the river ate away the bottom of the gigantic bolder that now shelters us, or that's what would have happened if it was an actual river and not a virtual one.
Enemy commandos are advancing on our position. I can't see or hear them but I know they are close. The rain clears and the moonlight gives us a clear view of the tree line across the river. We watch as the enemy spring from the darkness and rush for the river. We turn on our laser sights and fire wildly. This is different from our usual calm and precise combat operations. Everyone is nervous now that everything is on the table. My heart is racing and I'm trying to pick off the people closest to our position. A lone guild mate has taken cover behind a small bolder outside of the cave at my 10 o'clock. I'm desperately trying to keep their forces off of him. He seems oblivious to his danger, three times snipers prevent his inevitable demise.
The rain starts again and the moon no longer guides our bullets, flashes of lightning are our only sources of information. We've repelled the fist wave of enemy forces successfully but the second wave is more highly trained. Tiny red dots in the distance mark the coming of the second wave, aiming towards their laser sights we fire frantically. I dash out of the overhang and scramble up to the top of the bolder. 10 o'clock is still there, but there are red dots all around his position. I fire blindly, then aided by lightning, but he's already dead. Maybe I killed him, maybe I helped as much as I could. I'm crushed that he's gone, but we've survived the second wave, we bunk down for the night.
In the morning we have to travel all the was across the map. We could use flight points, and some of us have horses, and a couple want to catch the zeppelins, but we decide to hike instead. We banter lightly as we hike away from river, down the rocky slopes to Thunderbluff. The ground here is split up into steep rectangular sections, as if a poorly made checkerboard was elevated a small amount with every new row, with slight variations within the row, so that the first row was ground level and the last row, our current position, was 300 feet higher. Snow still covered the ground so we slid and jumped from level to level, quickly reaching dangerous speeds with no way to stop. Flying down the slope with the cold air stinging my eyes, I struggled to keep my balance. Adrenaline pulsed through my body at every near miss and I thought my heart would burst, but then I was at the bottom catching my breath. I made a mental note to return here to do that again someday. Our unit split up here as we each made our own way to Orgrimmar. I sauntered over to the Flight Master and savored our victory for the first time. The sunrise, now early morning sun, warmed my face as my mount leveled off and turn toward home.
Enemy commandos are advancing on our position. I can't see or hear them but I know they are close. The rain clears and the moonlight gives us a clear view of the tree line across the river. We watch as the enemy spring from the darkness and rush for the river. We turn on our laser sights and fire wildly. This is different from our usual calm and precise combat operations. Everyone is nervous now that everything is on the table. My heart is racing and I'm trying to pick off the people closest to our position. A lone guild mate has taken cover behind a small bolder outside of the cave at my 10 o'clock. I'm desperately trying to keep their forces off of him. He seems oblivious to his danger, three times snipers prevent his inevitable demise.
The rain starts again and the moon no longer guides our bullets, flashes of lightning are our only sources of information. We've repelled the fist wave of enemy forces successfully but the second wave is more highly trained. Tiny red dots in the distance mark the coming of the second wave, aiming towards their laser sights we fire frantically. I dash out of the overhang and scramble up to the top of the bolder. 10 o'clock is still there, but there are red dots all around his position. I fire blindly, then aided by lightning, but he's already dead. Maybe I killed him, maybe I helped as much as I could. I'm crushed that he's gone, but we've survived the second wave, we bunk down for the night.
In the morning we have to travel all the was across the map. We could use flight points, and some of us have horses, and a couple want to catch the zeppelins, but we decide to hike instead. We banter lightly as we hike away from river, down the rocky slopes to Thunderbluff. The ground here is split up into steep rectangular sections, as if a poorly made checkerboard was elevated a small amount with every new row, with slight variations within the row, so that the first row was ground level and the last row, our current position, was 300 feet higher. Snow still covered the ground so we slid and jumped from level to level, quickly reaching dangerous speeds with no way to stop. Flying down the slope with the cold air stinging my eyes, I struggled to keep my balance. Adrenaline pulsed through my body at every near miss and I thought my heart would burst, but then I was at the bottom catching my breath. I made a mental note to return here to do that again someday. Our unit split up here as we each made our own way to Orgrimmar. I sauntered over to the Flight Master and savored our victory for the first time. The sunrise, now early morning sun, warmed my face as my mount leveled off and turn toward home.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Gemini
Dual Dreams
Futurama cast members and I are working through World of Warcraft dungeons. I retain the female form of my priest, it is odd being a woman, but there is work to be done so I don't dwell on it. The caves are foreign to me, but Fry and Leila seem to know the way. There is no real danger, so healing is easy and unchallenging, yet I'm having a fantastic time. My complacency leads to catastrophic damage. Limbs are torn from most everyone in the party. I have to recombine flesh with those of the monsters freshly slain. Tentacles, hooves, and nameless machinations become living extensions of my refreshed raiding party. Their grizzly appendages do not bother or hinder my appreciative group. Leila has escaped harm and Fry, easily the worst off, is now beyond recognition. Our quest is some long lost crystal, it's powers unknown, but it's importance paramount. We enter the final chamber.
I'm in a recording studio, sitting on a beat up, worn out, unmistakably stained couch. A female recording exec is sitting on the other end of the three cushion mess. She cozies into the soft cushions with no regard to her pinstripe suit. It is 1972, and I'm hear to record the beginning of various famous musician's careers. Jimi Hendrix is here. Bob Dylan, and Ella Fitzgerald are fighting over who will do the vocals. Barney the purple dinosaur is here as well, though I can see the man's face through the costumes mouth. I was surprised to see that Barney was played by an African American. I was more surprised that Barney's career started in 1972. Then Barney laid down the most impressive guitar track I'd ever heard, and realized that Barney and Jimi Hendrix were actually the same person. This made complete sense and I explained it to the exec. She was unimpressed as everyone already knew that. I lounged on the couch for several hours while the sounds of the seventies washed over my sleepy body. Eventually I fell asleep.
Futurama cast members and I are working through World of Warcraft dungeons. I retain the female form of my priest, it is odd being a woman, but there is work to be done so I don't dwell on it. The caves are foreign to me, but Fry and Leila seem to know the way. There is no real danger, so healing is easy and unchallenging, yet I'm having a fantastic time. My complacency leads to catastrophic damage. Limbs are torn from most everyone in the party. I have to recombine flesh with those of the monsters freshly slain. Tentacles, hooves, and nameless machinations become living extensions of my refreshed raiding party. Their grizzly appendages do not bother or hinder my appreciative group. Leila has escaped harm and Fry, easily the worst off, is now beyond recognition. Our quest is some long lost crystal, it's powers unknown, but it's importance paramount. We enter the final chamber.
I'm in a recording studio, sitting on a beat up, worn out, unmistakably stained couch. A female recording exec is sitting on the other end of the three cushion mess. She cozies into the soft cushions with no regard to her pinstripe suit. It is 1972, and I'm hear to record the beginning of various famous musician's careers. Jimi Hendrix is here. Bob Dylan, and Ella Fitzgerald are fighting over who will do the vocals. Barney the purple dinosaur is here as well, though I can see the man's face through the costumes mouth. I was surprised to see that Barney was played by an African American. I was more surprised that Barney's career started in 1972. Then Barney laid down the most impressive guitar track I'd ever heard, and realized that Barney and Jimi Hendrix were actually the same person. This made complete sense and I explained it to the exec. She was unimpressed as everyone already knew that. I lounged on the couch for several hours while the sounds of the seventies washed over my sleepy body. Eventually I fell asleep.
Friday, May 11, 2007
Rain
With the moon above me...
I'm at home. The trees around my house are bare for the most part but some, the smaller ones, are starting to bud. It has been raining heavily but our house on the hill is safe from any flash flooding. The rolling forest is old and barren, many of the trees will not bud, and some even still have dead leaves from the previous autum. I wander into the woods and find a great plateau. All the trees are dead here. My hands are hammers and I beat them to the ground. Sometimes the trunks shatter like champaign flutes, others snap like broken bones before toppling to the forest floor and dissolving. The forest cleans up faster than I can wreck it. The plateau no longer has any trees. They have all been dissolved and reformed as man-high mounds, laid out in a perfect grid. The rains come again and drench the land. I turn away from the feild of gravestones to answer my fathers question. I turn back and behemoths greet me. A rain forest with perfect rows and coloumes lay before me. An indescribalbe joy fills me. I'm the father to this merical of life. I helped create this utopia. I destroyed the old to make way for the new. Waves of accomplishment lull me into a deep sleep. I'm finally happy.
I'm at home. The trees around my house are bare for the most part but some, the smaller ones, are starting to bud. It has been raining heavily but our house on the hill is safe from any flash flooding. The rolling forest is old and barren, many of the trees will not bud, and some even still have dead leaves from the previous autum. I wander into the woods and find a great plateau. All the trees are dead here. My hands are hammers and I beat them to the ground. Sometimes the trunks shatter like champaign flutes, others snap like broken bones before toppling to the forest floor and dissolving. The forest cleans up faster than I can wreck it. The plateau no longer has any trees. They have all been dissolved and reformed as man-high mounds, laid out in a perfect grid. The rains come again and drench the land. I turn away from the feild of gravestones to answer my fathers question. I turn back and behemoths greet me. A rain forest with perfect rows and coloumes lay before me. An indescribalbe joy fills me. I'm the father to this merical of life. I helped create this utopia. I destroyed the old to make way for the new. Waves of accomplishment lull me into a deep sleep. I'm finally happy.
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Water
In the land of the sleeping...
I am on vacation in the Caribbean. A guided tour leads a group of twenty through the sallow waters around monolithic rock formations. Trees and grasses grow atop these tiny islands or mammoth boulders. Sometimes the rocks are split apart near the base that create small tunnels. Well light by torches it is easy to navigate the caves. A stranger with red lips and a short red dress is my constant companion. My mother drifts in and out of proximity with a tidal periodicity. When my mother is away, my love in red steals kisses from me, when near we are content to hold hands. We explore many tunnels. Their sandy beds yield like a field of marshmallows. The hot white peaking through the thick green grass, and a sharp blue sky with a sun too bright to look at is our new stage. Blue, yellow, green, and white hills and horizon the only colors visible. I step on a shell and start bleeding, the sudden red destroys the image. I look left and more red makes me smile. We kiss and the image is forgotten. I wonder if the weather will keep up. It's a hot day and an occasional lazy cloud keeps the sun from becoming unbearable. The smell completes the scene and puts one at ease. The salt, surf, and foliage mingle and dilute each other making the usually overbearing sea seem mellow. My taciturn companion and I walk hand in hand out of a tunnel into the blinding sun. In the distance my mother waves at us, or is it a tree blowing the stiff wind? We kiss anyway.
I am on vacation in the Caribbean. A guided tour leads a group of twenty through the sallow waters around monolithic rock formations. Trees and grasses grow atop these tiny islands or mammoth boulders. Sometimes the rocks are split apart near the base that create small tunnels. Well light by torches it is easy to navigate the caves. A stranger with red lips and a short red dress is my constant companion. My mother drifts in and out of proximity with a tidal periodicity. When my mother is away, my love in red steals kisses from me, when near we are content to hold hands. We explore many tunnels. Their sandy beds yield like a field of marshmallows. The hot white peaking through the thick green grass, and a sharp blue sky with a sun too bright to look at is our new stage. Blue, yellow, green, and white hills and horizon the only colors visible. I step on a shell and start bleeding, the sudden red destroys the image. I look left and more red makes me smile. We kiss and the image is forgotten. I wonder if the weather will keep up. It's a hot day and an occasional lazy cloud keeps the sun from becoming unbearable. The smell completes the scene and puts one at ease. The salt, surf, and foliage mingle and dilute each other making the usually overbearing sea seem mellow. My taciturn companion and I walk hand in hand out of a tunnel into the blinding sun. In the distance my mother waves at us, or is it a tree blowing the stiff wind? We kiss anyway.
Saturday, January 6, 2007
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