Guess why my power was out last night? This. The power company called it a “power station interruption”.
Here is the link to the full story.
It was fucking hilarious. ”It’s just an interruption.”
What did surprise me was how quick it came back. Like … 2, 3 minutes … it was back up.
Anonymous asked: BUTTERSCOTCH. CAKE.
SOUNDS. REALLY GOOD!
I’ll see you lovelies later!
That’s really the main benefit of games with silent protagonists, particularly the very open ones where your choices really do matter and you can just wander around. With TES, you often get an exploratory, whimsy feeling, and in Fallout it’s… desolate.
It really hits home how desolate it is, too, especially when you find yourself in some lobby or office where it was clear someone was emotionally hurting. Finding a skeleton with some drugs next to them in the tub, knowing they wanted a last taste of paradise before dying.
With nothing left but the ambiance of the world, and the silence of staring at someone’s footprint like that … it cracks away at this seed of being that you can’t help but feel desperately sorry for them on a very personal level.
If you read my ramblings, good on you. Glad you took the time to read.
If not, well, don’t worry … these kinds of posts don’t happen often.
Then we come to the strongest thing I believe Fallout does to a person as they play it, that cannot be recreated by most other forms of media and interfacing: seclusion.
Unlike things like Book of Eli and The Road, and even books themselves, there’s something that Fallout does that’s rather profound. It traps you to think.
When you play Fallout, you’re in yourself. Sure, you’re doing stories, and there’s experiences placed there for you. But unlike most other fairs of storytelling ( one that, for example, films do ), Fallout doesn’t just play or perform. You can stray and do whatever you want … which lets the grim nature of the world sink in like it has me.
It doesn’t make you ride the story like a cart, where all you can do is sit and stare and comment on scenes of gravity. YOU are the story. You, YOUR eyes, see and take in the scope of the things set before you in a way that can become very personal. I cannot count how many times I’ve caught myself getting very deep with myself on what I witness and experience in the Fallout games. Because I, ME, am feeling the things as first-hand as I can without actually being there.
To seclude yourself into your own mind for any great length of time ( and everyone can agree with me on this ) is not healthy. Now, subconsciously put yourself into the shoes of someone like the Vault Wanderer in Fallout 3 for hours, passing off your mental ramblings like you do normally. After a while, that builds up, and Fallout begins playing you as much as you’ve been playing it.
For a game, fuck, for ANYTHING to be able to touch the roots of who we are like that … especially on such a subtle level … is nothing short of genius.
Jacob van Ruisdael
Oil on canvas
A most peculiar point, which was visited in Mothership Zeta: displacement.
That was what humbled me so greatly in Mothership Zeta. Here you were, a creature of loneliness in a position of influence over a sphere that spanned more than just the Eastern Seaboard … but literally influenced the very progress of an entire way of thought that was almost entirely snuffed out by centuries of painful hopelessness.
And then BAM, you are thrown into this place with these very few individuals, who were literally as displaced as you, but were also clueless to the eerie and heartbreaking world you had come to accept as a way of normal life. You lived a nightmare … that they couldn’t possibly comprehend … in a place that none of you understood, yet it brought about it this spark of ingenuity that was really quite thrilling.
It was this combined set of skills and ideas from these huge time lapses that controlled such an alien situation like that. Both literally and figuratively.
And it made me realize just how truly immortal an idea is, and how no manner nor degree of uncertainty and conditioned thinking can destroy the direction of one’s desire to see another live and not just survive.
You can say whatever you want about the Fallout games. You can love it to death, or want to fuck Todd Howard up the ass with a rake for funding the damn last few versions.
But you cannot tell me, with a straight face, that there isn’t a lot of things working behind those gameplay elements and fun stories.
There is an essence to feeling alone like this. To be in a place where compassion and law can actually ride on the coin of a madman as he holds a 44 to your unlucky fucking skull, instead of a common place with familiar feelings.
I cannot be the only one that sees these things about the Fallout series.
There’s an enigma to how loss feels. It has different pain levels, and everyone has different ways of dealing with it.
But when loss is on a supermassive scale … it ignites this sense of … true identity.
Thomas Babington Macaulay once wrote: “The measure of a man’s character is what he would do if he KNEW he would NEVER be found out.”
And that’s why I find myself most entranced by the Fallout series, and the Fallout: Equestria tales, is that it plucks on these heartstrings that you will never experience. It plays with your survival sense that goes beyond just self-preservation. It’s your preservation of soul, identity, and very core construct of life’s meaning.
It’s a mass loss of life, sure, but it’s a mass loss of communication. It’s ousting you from this seat at the House of Gods, where you knew the world, where you knew where you wanted to go … and being forced to never understand that world again.
It’s tragedy and sadness … as well inspiration and empowerment … at its apex.
my chicken is nice and hot now
ready to be
HOLY SHIT I NEED SLEEP