The soul living in this house, formed through the memories we gave it. Stormproof mementoes in it's decade old interior, attached with only the strength of our attachments.
Haunted by no one, only by a feeling, by inevitable change, you can only see clearly once it's to late. Things will transform or disappear, while you aren't looking at them and as you turn back you can only make out their silhouette in the distant fog.
Not the ghosts of past lives, the ghosts of our passing lives. We allow them to wipe the memories of their faces, of who you once were, of who I once was, of all the other's and of the people we wanted to be.
Creaking floor boards sound in your voice as I try to move on.
The Heavy rain keeping me trapped inside whispers our favourite song.
The hum of the waterboiler, cascading through pipework tuned the cadence.
I haven't just missed you, I have also missed seeing you become the person you are now.
Cardboard boxes full of my old stuff in the closet of the still warm guest room, closed shut because they barely reveal anything about anyone anymore.
A single essay you wrote in elementary tells me more about you then all childhood toys combined.
The flickering bulb in the kitchen still burning through it's life even though mom always told you to not leave on all the lights. Developed and unselected photographs left hanging on the line in your dark room, because the memory on them still shines bright enough to feel no need to take them along or maybe the best of them are somewhere else with you now. Maybe you never took them down for me, so can have an Image of your truest self, you want me to know is happy.
As a hopeless romantic, melanchoholic and gamer who doesn't believe the medium needs "real mechanics" to reap it's full potential of interactive story telling, the simple conveyance of that feeling, after living your own life for the first time and a soon, bitter-sweet realisation will hit that everyone else's has also moved on, isn't just more than most games are able to make me feel, it slit my heart into two pieces.
The feeling of sand slipping through the throat of my hourglass, makes swallowing hard like crying.
Or all the other themes cementing this and spaming my cry button.
First love. A deadline on it. Fighting against life's intention to send you down different, distant directions. The undeserved struggles of queerness. Sisterhood. Siblinghood. A family slowly drifting apart, willingly and unwillingly. Being replaced in your job or threatened to be if you don't try to fit in more.
All tied together so effortlessly in this house.
And as a forum-smart Punk, I adored the mixtape of references used to paint angsty teenage rebellion.
All the little nods to female punk bands, Riot Grrrl music and zines, Bratmobile and Heavens to Betsy on the cassettes or Portland local Deep cuts I would have never known, like The Youngins. Buttons with Band names like my beloved The Slits X-Ray Spex, Patti Smith. Nineties Nostalgia I would find while rummaging through my uncles old stuff to steal and repurpose it. Groove Magazin, Fucking magic eye pictures, even written out combos or cheat codes for Videogames, niche board games nobody ever knew how to play, that one very specific "I want to believe" poster with a green-lit UFO on it.
Or the image of the embarrassing, weirdo dad it paints.
Dedecating his life to JFK conspiracies, writing a trilogy of fan-fiction about it, listening to the Dave Brubeck Quartet and downing Whiskey, all while the attempt at getting into James Joyce collects dust in the cellar. I could go on for hours with these reference-listing reductive redundancies, but I'll just stop myself, the game deserves better than just rattling off all the cool Pop-Culture stuff, which I think are cool. Maybe I should've just left that out completely tbh, but I want some of you to check out these cool female/female-lead Punk bands at least.
I'll just end this write up with this quote, lifted from the Game and shortened a bit.
"The readers want to hear about the quality and value of the hardware, not ruminations.."
Piss off if you unironicly want to read reviews like that. Let that do IGN, A.I. or whatever.
Form your own opinions about the quality and value of the art you engage with and let the art form you.
Just play Gone Home.
Haunted by no one, only by a feeling, by inevitable change, you can only see clearly once it's to late. Things will transform or disappear, while you aren't looking at them and as you turn back you can only make out their silhouette in the distant fog.
Not the ghosts of past lives, the ghosts of our passing lives. We allow them to wipe the memories of their faces, of who you once were, of who I once was, of all the other's and of the people we wanted to be.
Creaking floor boards sound in your voice as I try to move on.
The Heavy rain keeping me trapped inside whispers our favourite song.
The hum of the waterboiler, cascading through pipework tuned the cadence.
I haven't just missed you, I have also missed seeing you become the person you are now.
Cardboard boxes full of my old stuff in the closet of the still warm guest room, closed shut because they barely reveal anything about anyone anymore.
A single essay you wrote in elementary tells me more about you then all childhood toys combined.
The flickering bulb in the kitchen still burning through it's life even though mom always told you to not leave on all the lights. Developed and unselected photographs left hanging on the line in your dark room, because the memory on them still shines bright enough to feel no need to take them along or maybe the best of them are somewhere else with you now. Maybe you never took them down for me, so can have an Image of your truest self, you want me to know is happy.
As a hopeless romantic, melanchoholic and gamer who doesn't believe the medium needs "real mechanics" to reap it's full potential of interactive story telling, the simple conveyance of that feeling, after living your own life for the first time and a soon, bitter-sweet realisation will hit that everyone else's has also moved on, isn't just more than most games are able to make me feel, it slit my heart into two pieces.
The feeling of sand slipping through the throat of my hourglass, makes swallowing hard like crying.
Or all the other themes cementing this and spaming my cry button.
First love. A deadline on it. Fighting against life's intention to send you down different, distant directions. The undeserved struggles of queerness. Sisterhood. Siblinghood. A family slowly drifting apart, willingly and unwillingly. Being replaced in your job or threatened to be if you don't try to fit in more.
All tied together so effortlessly in this house.
And as a forum-smart Punk, I adored the mixtape of references used to paint angsty teenage rebellion.
All the little nods to female punk bands, Riot Grrrl music and zines, Bratmobile and Heavens to Betsy on the cassettes or Portland local Deep cuts I would have never known, like The Youngins. Buttons with Band names like my beloved The Slits X-Ray Spex, Patti Smith. Nineties Nostalgia I would find while rummaging through my uncles old stuff to steal and repurpose it. Groove Magazin, Fucking magic eye pictures, even written out combos or cheat codes for Videogames, niche board games nobody ever knew how to play, that one very specific "I want to believe" poster with a green-lit UFO on it.
Or the image of the embarrassing, weirdo dad it paints.
Dedecating his life to JFK conspiracies, writing a trilogy of fan-fiction about it, listening to the Dave Brubeck Quartet and downing Whiskey, all while the attempt at getting into James Joyce collects dust in the cellar. I could go on for hours with these reference-listing reductive redundancies, but I'll just stop myself, the game deserves better than just rattling off all the cool Pop-Culture stuff, which I think are cool. Maybe I should've just left that out completely tbh, but I want some of you to check out these cool female/female-lead Punk bands at least.
I'll just end this write up with this quote, lifted from the Game and shortened a bit.
"The readers want to hear about the quality and value of the hardware, not ruminations.."
Piss off if you unironicly want to read reviews like that. Let that do IGN, A.I. or whatever.
Form your own opinions about the quality and value of the art you engage with and let the art form you.
Just play Gone Home.
2 Comments
@clams damn, thank you!
clams
2 months ago