(text originally written 4/25/2022, for an essay about sharing the art you love with the people you love, finding catharsis in frivolous trinkets, and buying a new computer. relevant passages for Cibele reproduced here with minimal edits)
phone newly cased, figure freshly unboxed, my new computer still had 48 minutes of updating to go. My roommate's kitchen tasks concluded themselves. Our conversation lulled. She took a call from her boyfriend in the other room. I closed my door, sealing the music into my own bedroom. just me and the Forth Wanderers. I tidied up a little bit. I flipped back through the book I had finished earlier: Cara Ellison's Embed With Games; a chronicle of her year doing gonzo journalism on the independant game development scene back in 2013. crashing on couches all over the world, she wrote profiles of fascinating artists all working in the most exciting mixed-media art form we've got, as of this writing.
I had been keeping a list of whose games I wanted to immediately seek out after finishing the book. the first was Nina Freeman, starting with her then-in-development game Cibele. I found her itch.io page on my phone. thirty nine minutes to go. I paid eight dollars for her game. I scrolled through the rest of her published works. I spelunked into some of the poetry on her website. twenty three minutes to go. some of that poetry was included in Embed, offering a glimpse into the work she discussed in her interviews with Ellison. I was really taken by them. they portray an honesty and an open sexuality, revolving around the kind of online communities which don't exist in quite the same way anymore.
the game she was working on was about falling in love with someone through an MMO, circa 2009. getting to know someone through hours of daily cooperation online. taking suggestive photos for your e-crush on a digital camera, transferring them from SD card to computer, and sending them over email. virtual connection spilling over into our real lives in larger doses, before micro-blogging and content algorithms and endless streams of disparate video strained that connection into something even thinner. something almost entirely one-sided. I knew I needed to play her game. it was going to be the first thing I did once my computer was finished. twelve minutes to go.
finally, the wait was over. I input all the passwords that needed inputting. I clicked all the update buttons I could find. I tested the keyboard for a minute. I still like my Keychron better. I tested the camera. it still sucks. they've been putting the same iPhone 4S front-facing camera in these things for the better part of a decade. it's ridiculous. I tested how hot the thing runs while editing video in Final Cut Pro. finally, I don't have to fear for my computer setting my wooden IKEA desk on fire. all that done, I installed and played Cibele.
it was beautiful. it was voyeuristic, and it was uncomfortable, and it made me laugh out loud for no one, and I loved it. it was art. you should play it too. it's only about two hours long. it should run on anything. I dare not say anything about its particulars—those are best discovered on your own.
phone newly cased, figure freshly unboxed, my new computer still had 48 minutes of updating to go. My roommate's kitchen tasks concluded themselves. Our conversation lulled. She took a call from her boyfriend in the other room. I closed my door, sealing the music into my own bedroom. just me and the Forth Wanderers. I tidied up a little bit. I flipped back through the book I had finished earlier: Cara Ellison's Embed With Games; a chronicle of her year doing gonzo journalism on the independant game development scene back in 2013. crashing on couches all over the world, she wrote profiles of fascinating artists all working in the most exciting mixed-media art form we've got, as of this writing.
I had been keeping a list of whose games I wanted to immediately seek out after finishing the book. the first was Nina Freeman, starting with her then-in-development game Cibele. I found her itch.io page on my phone. thirty nine minutes to go. I paid eight dollars for her game. I scrolled through the rest of her published works. I spelunked into some of the poetry on her website. twenty three minutes to go. some of that poetry was included in Embed, offering a glimpse into the work she discussed in her interviews with Ellison. I was really taken by them. they portray an honesty and an open sexuality, revolving around the kind of online communities which don't exist in quite the same way anymore.
the game she was working on was about falling in love with someone through an MMO, circa 2009. getting to know someone through hours of daily cooperation online. taking suggestive photos for your e-crush on a digital camera, transferring them from SD card to computer, and sending them over email. virtual connection spilling over into our real lives in larger doses, before micro-blogging and content algorithms and endless streams of disparate video strained that connection into something even thinner. something almost entirely one-sided. I knew I needed to play her game. it was going to be the first thing I did once my computer was finished. twelve minutes to go.
finally, the wait was over. I input all the passwords that needed inputting. I clicked all the update buttons I could find. I tested the keyboard for a minute. I still like my Keychron better. I tested the camera. it still sucks. they've been putting the same iPhone 4S front-facing camera in these things for the better part of a decade. it's ridiculous. I tested how hot the thing runs while editing video in Final Cut Pro. finally, I don't have to fear for my computer setting my wooden IKEA desk on fire. all that done, I installed and played Cibele.
it was beautiful. it was voyeuristic, and it was uncomfortable, and it made me laugh out loud for no one, and I loved it. it was art. you should play it too. it's only about two hours long. it should run on anything. I dare not say anything about its particulars—those are best discovered on your own.