You writhe beneath my skin
Born of ailing flesh and love
My thoughts, consumed by your sorrow.

Waking nightmares plague me, endless
A slow rotting miracle plucked from time,
You are all that I love, everything I fear
And all the entanglement festering between

For want of fair chances,
I stared into your abyss
As I've done for many before

And in return, you tore out my heart,
Impaled my eyes with your scarlet terror
Invaded the privacy of solitude,
And plunged your iron claws into my very soul.

You interrupt my nights.
My days, occupied by you
You are inescapable, yet...

For all your malignance,
Burrowed under flesh
and boiling blood,

I refuse
to let
go

–

Signalis bores its hooks into my skull, carving grooves into my brain where my psychoses pool. There’s something to be said for its reliance on the narrative language of anime and survival horror, but whether it’s derivative or iterative is a moot point. These beats that ring familiar are sores that Signalis splits open with a sadist’s pleasure. I could sit here and rattle off references, the obvious calls that permeate the body of the work, but where does that get you? Where does that get any of us, other than a cognizant “if you know you know” stranglehold? The language of Signalis isn’t concerned with simply being “Space Resident Evil”, or “Utena by way of Evangelion”. Much like the doomed Penrose, the referential nature of Signalis is, in itself, a repetitious time loop. It is not a work of references, it is its references.

I bolt awake, and Signalis presses on the nerve center that kick started my love of horror. 2008, in front of a bombed-out Gamecube, Jill Valentine tinkers though a puzzle box called the Spenser mansion. 2022, I bumblefuck through the escape room that is Sierpinski S-23.

Another restless night, another stab into my brain. 2012, my first pangs of personalized gender misanthropy at the hands of Asuka Langley Sohryu and Rei Ayanami, the brilliant shine of sapphic love reflected by Utena and Anthy. A decade later, the hate has faded and its place remains remorse for the past, regret for the now as the signature flashes of light and text flicker, as LSTR-512 and Ariane waltz in their final moments.

Again, interrupted sleep prevails. October, last year, the clattering of keys clicked out a cacophonous rhythm as I parse out a write up for Illbleed, a game that set ablaze the dying candle that was my love for gaming, for horror as a whole. Now, after a global rotation, I return to Signalis in the same spot, a love for writing, for fear, for gaming, for love itself, rekindled after a seasonal stagnation.

To try to put definitive words to Signalis seems contradictory to the way the game is delivered, indirect and symbolic in a way anathemic to thematic deduction. In it, I saw the spark of life relight my passion, and I enacted swift death to the tyrant, critical analysis. I could brandish lofty terms, of this having flawless gameplay, immersive writing, a memorable soundtrack, or any other terms I would gladly throw around about games that I will forget in a week. It’s not perfect. I don’t want it to be perfect: It’s for me. I don’t need it to be anything more than what it means to me, and what it means is that I think I love games again.

I awaken once more from broken sleep.

It’s 2014. I’m sitting with someone who, at the time, was my closest friend. We’re huddled around a laptop deep into the night, burning through works that would come to reflect what matters to me in games.

It’s tonight. I’m on call with someone I love. I’m huddled over a keyboard, burning through a write-up of a work that redefines what matters to me in games.

Play Signalis. You probably won’t get what I got out of it. That’s a good thing; it means there’s going to be something else out there that gives you the same feelings that this gave me. For now, I can push you to try a game I view as my personal perfection.

what if there were monkeys(!) and they said tromBONER and everyone ate hot dogs!!!!11! what if they played music........ badly!!

in the land of the meme game, comedy lives in exile.

Recommended by [maradona as part of this list! ]

As one of the key contributors to the brand identity of Sony’s gaming wheelhouse, Naughty Dog has centered itself as a pillar of prestige gaming, an ideologue pristinely focused on scavenging pop cultural landmarks on a relentless tear to put video games on a creative pedestal, sullying the individuality inherent to the medium in favor of some perceived notion of being considered “art”. Where we find the studio now, aping Indiana Jone’s blockbuster exploits in Uncharted and cutting surface-level highlight reels of post-apocalyptica in The Last of Us, exists primarily as a production house for wannabe-films in the name of cinematic gaming, but tracing back through the history of the developers work shows off a lost pedigree. Severed from the modern image of today, the Naughty Dog of the mid 90s was a beast cut from a different cloth, a proponent of the infamous Mascot Wars that defined the generation.

While the adage doesn't ring true today, the common knowledge of the 90s held that console exclusives and brand identity were the sword and shield brandished by the gaming industry. On the hallowed ground of internet forums, the nu-playground politics of the console war were waged equally in tech specs and pretty faces. By the time Sony entered the fray the battlefield was already established, with Sega and Nintendo locked in an eternal struggle for relevance. Competitors had risen, fallen, and been cast aside, but Sony remained as the last man standing against the twin behemoths. The dual-sided clash saw fit to tear the fate of the console market asunder, rendered desolate in the shockwave of mutually-assured destruction… Until he, the bearer of Sony’s curse, rose from primordial depths. Branded with the mark of enmity, the flag-bearer of PlayStation’s campaign cast a mocking shadow over the decade. Born into strife, with the serrated edge of the attitude era gripped tightly in his paw, Crash Bandicoot dug into his trench, grubby paws grasping for cultural leverage.

Mel Blanc-ian, a comic centerpiece made as much as a figurehead, Crash was the perfect scapegoat, an idol to cherish and ridicule in equal measure. A jester on the battleground of the modern technobandit, the mascot of yore breathed life into the indefinite scuffle that is brand identity. Becoming synonymous with genres and companies all their own, mascots, especially those in the realm of the mascot platformer, became analogous for not only the series and franchises they encompassed, but for the consoles they inhabited as well. Sega had Sonic, Nintendo had Mario, and Sony, fresh out the gate, had Crash Bandicoot, the mass-production beast forged by the wreckage of a thousand prototypes. The role, aside from poking fun at corporate rivals, was purely accessory, but as touchstones in the memories forged in the scorched earth of Gamefaqs forums, the mascot became an inescapable notion.

Years have since passed, and the Mascot Wars have drawn to the close. While some, the ever stalwart, cling to delusions of supremacy, the giants of the conflict settled into uneasy truces. With the three leaders co-mingling, interweaving, the tribalism of the past decades remains spoken in hushed whispers. Sega's great defeat in the Summer of 2001 saw the colossus fall, not by Nintendo's hand, or even by Microsoft's emerald super-soldier, but at the blade of Sony's masterwork, the PlayStation 2. With the fall of the esteemed leader, the war flickered, faded and died. However, for every victory, the heroes of the past are just as easily forgotten: with success coordinated in equal part by masters of tactical espionage and gods of war, the mascots that defined history were brushed away, hardened cynicism overtaking the endearing face of plucky spirit. Crash, Sly, Croc, even the maligned Gex, all shunned by the tides of time.

The era defined by the mascot has long since passed. Yes, false idols clammer to the throne, halls besieged by Hat Kids and Yooka-Laylees, but the original generation has faded, gussied up only to be showboated in recollections and remasterings. The soul, flickering against the growing cynicism of the game industry, now rests as post-ironic detached nostalgia.

…none of this has anything to do with the actual game of Crash Bandicoot, and that’s because there’s very little to say about Crash Bandicoot. Like any property in the 90s that uses the aesthetics of tribal villages, shockingly racist! Literally my only comment on the content of the game itself. ¯\(ツ)/¯

so it's a game about a "guy" who
- Spends time with escapist fantasies
- Sees a girl and thinks she's the coolest ever and never thinks of her again
- Is VA'd by a person with a feminine voice
- Dresses like a boymoder, and
- Doesn't have a father figure

and you're telling me it's NOT trans

Which Backloggd user actually completed the game "Quiz & Dragons: Capcom Quiz Game" before putting down a score for it?

1. MrProg
2. Maradona
3. Wil Smith
4. Squigglydot