Ostatnie recenzje napisane przez użytkownika Quiet Life

The Circle said the house was dead. We trusted them. They were right. But even a dead god can dream.

A god - a real god - is a verb. It isn't some old man with magical powers. Its a force. It warps reality just by its very existence. It doesn't have to want to do so, it doesn't have to conceive of the notion, it just *does*. The force is invisible but irresistible, omnipresent yet shifting and flowing. It is a scratching inside of your head, a desire you can't explain, a compulsion you can't control. It drives you onward when you have no strength left and you would otherwise be petrified with fear.

That's what The Circle didn't get. Not until it was too late, anyway. The god's mind is gone, but it still dreams.

It knows us now, all of us. It has tuned in on our own dream. If you close your eyes you can feel it, as well as all of those that have been touched or affected. In this way, we are all connected.

Inscryption shaped my life.

Leshy rescued me and my brothers and sisters. He took us to this cabin in the middle of nowhere. He taught us to play the game. It was freedom. But even the greatest freedom comes at a price. He told us, "beware the man in the woods for he is real, and he is the eater."

So one day, me and my brothers, we take our decks and we go off playing Inscryption as we do. Then we started to hear something strange. At first we passed it off as a grizzly. But as time passed, the grizzly, or what we thought was a grizzly, started to get louder and louder, and it let out these sad howls.

My brothers, they had started to run. I myself must admit for a second I was afraid but I was more intrigued than anything else. I dropped my deck and I started moving closer and closer to the sound. I got so close at one point that the sound started to thunder in my ears so much that it hurt. And that is when I saw it.

He was about 7 foot tall, walking upright. No pigment in his skin, pale as a pearl. He had thin green hairs running down to his knees, and he was carrying a geck with one hand, dragging it behind him.

I prayed that he wouldn't see me and I said "Leshy please forgive me for not paying attention to you." And that's when he looked at me, his eyes yellow like a cat. Still I stayed frozen in fear. And it was just then that he reaches out his hand, and in the middle of it, was my deck of cards.

So I started to run, as fast as my legs could carry me. I continued to run for what felt like an eternity. Finally, the cabin was back in sight. I sprinted through the door, in a panic. I ran straight to Leshy's room and I said "I'm so sorry" and he said "What is wrong?"

I said "I saw him, I saw the man in the woods. I thought it was a lie but you were telling the truth the whole time, I'm so sorry."

He asked me, stone-faced, "What did he say to you?"

"He didn't say anything. Matter of fact, all he did was look at me, as if he was staring right through me. And he held out his hand, and in his hand was my deck of cards." Inside, I was wondering why Leshy was so calm right now.

He said, "Don't you understand? They're his cards too. You are the man in the woods."

Far away from the big Bright Harbor lights
We begin, and end, in the woods, at night
See the headstones, two hundred years old
Standing way out in the dark and the cold
Carrying family names, older than trees
That's where I'm from; these roots run deep

The hardware store smells like Marbs and petty theft
And "small town polite" is all that I've got left
All the old spots where we used to be
Getting lost as they disappear in the weeds
Folks work real hard, but they're strung out on pills
Trying to kill the pain from keeping up with their bills

The world is beautiful in ways you can't notice
When your daily survival is your only motive
Some people are timeless, they don't change their ways
Those ones might save you, if just for today
Places can't change the way they're remembered
Even if you burn them down to the embers

These bridges are held up by miners' backs
See the past piled up by the old rail tracks
The battles were fought and concessions were won
To brighten the days of their daughters and sons
But the world had changed, far too much for some
They feared death! So they ate the young.

They are blind, but they are seeing you
Each step you take, and the things that you do
You can't escape them, they're even in your head
They know your name, they sense your dread
Hear their stories; they may still come true
The universe don't care, but some people still do

On the road of life, there's no yellow lines
Just the same potholes, and broken signs
The path goes on, until another lifetime
Follow your heart, ten miles deep down a dark mine
My home town, my friends, and everyone that shaped me
Possum Springs, I love you, but sometimes you hate me.

Sometimes, a dream is just that: a dream.

You don't have to Google for a meaning or interpretation, as if it were a question with any kind of meaningful answer. You don't have to assume that it is a sign, or a prophecy, or a prediction, or a warning. Sometimes, a dream is just a dream, nothing more than a hint of an idea, sketched by your meandering thoughts, and painted by your own imagination.

Do you mourn a hallucination when it passes? Do you grieve for your dreams when they inevitably end? Do you long for the colors and shapes and sensations that you experienced, once the experience is over, even if you are entirely sure they weren't real? Transient images and shadows slip away, that you cannot grasp, even if you could reach them.

Can you truly believe in something that never existed? Belief alone does not make something real. No matter how vividly recollected, or idyllic, or plausible that it may seem, a belief is nothing more than a wish with a sprinkling of determination that it must be real. A billion believers in something does not make it any more real than a single soul.

But now, that belief is an itch. You want what you 'had', you need it, the absence of it consumes your thoughts and your spirit. You see a sound in the corners of your eye, you hear a color just on the edge of your sensory range, the spectre haunts your every waking hour, rather than the sleeping hours.

So, you try to recreate the conditions in which it occurred. You climb aboard that same bus, sit in that same seat, close your eyes, and believe. What's wrong with that? Futile as it may be, there is no harm in belief itself. But that isn't enough, thankfully. If everything were to come to you so easily, you probably won't value it much. So the unattainable, or that which was had and lost, is that much more precious, isn't it?

But why mourn? Why cry? What will it change? It wasn't real, and it never was. The world itself is real, but not because we believe that it is. Reality is what we can hear, feel, touch, see... isn't it?

Belief does not work magic. It can't conjure a presence, or a circumstance, or a place or time. But sometimes, those presences, and circumstances, and places and times, they can find us instead. Serendipity, happenstance, fate, destiny, these are all concepts that our inner selves use to explain an effect that we didn't cause.

There's no logical reason why the stuff of our dreams can manifest in natural reality, but sometimes it does. It may be subtle, or faint, or fleeting, to the point that we may miss it entirely. But if we see it, and grasp it, we can experience that which we previously only imagined. The not-real can become real, and though belief has nothing to do with it, you may have difficulty admitting it, in that moment. And that is what keeps the belief going, that potential, the possibility, of having your hopes fulfilled, and your beliefs realized.

...

The game's protagonist, Semyon, is a loser. He has no job, no prospects, no action or dynamism in his life. The game tells this story, of an internet troll, a loser from Russia, with nothing to live for, who is given the opportunity to find that reason.

Can you separate a story from the context in which it is produced? Can a world unrelatable to many, be made to stand on its own? Can it be made believable? Everything can be interpreted from multiple angles, especially when you have a particular motivation. If you hate internet trolls, you will have a bias that will need to be overcome in order to relate to the character. If the context is too relatable to your own life, you may find yourself in the same boat, grabbing at a dream or fantasy, angrily and desperately clawing for your own serendipity or good fortune to have it made manifest.

Depending on the ending you get in the game, he may never reach his own potential, or he may wind up happier than he ever thought possible. Contentment and happiness don't correlate with success and prosperity. Sure, its easier to cry in a Cadillac than a Lada, but crying is crying.

Having a dream fulfilled, even in some small way, can mend wounds and soothe the soul. It doesn't matter what a loser you were before, or how your life trajectory was headed, or anything else. When you reach what you've desired, fantastical that it may be, in that moment, you are happy. You, and that which you sought, have each other. Semyon has the opportunity to have his dreams be made real. In that moment, he is happy. He, and that which he sought, have each other.

Not everyone will reach their potential. Most don't, in fact. Fewer still are happy. But you don't have to be the absolute best version of yourself to be happy. Maybe, instead, the happiest version is the best one.

Fun, relaxing, nice music and aesthetic. Rebinding keys is a must, but the game makes it straightforward.

Too much
too little
or not enough

Too thick
too thin
or not at all

Laughter, or tears
or immaculate non-concern

Men running through the woods
waving whiskey bottles and squawking radios

An old guy in a lawn chair
with binoculars
and a drawing of a distant woman

Many old guys in the woods
without any pictures at all

Many old women stroking a bottle
when they'd prefer to be stroking a ♥♥♥♥

There is a solitude in this world so great
that you can see it in the slow hands of a broken clock

There is a solitude in this world so great
that you can see it as the shadows slip across the ground
in yellowstone, in Appalachia, in the Alps

There are people so tired
so thirsty
mutilated by the brambles
reaching for a cool stream
and to taste it is their greatest moment
their sweetest victory

We don't need Forrest Byrnes
new mascots
we don't need new lookouts
new rangers
we don't need new radios
stronger climbing ropes
bed rolls
hot coffee
cisterns
fossilized ♥♥♥♥♥
cameras with a wide angle lens
watches that give you the date

People are not meant to be together
Kerouac be damned
the sin is not in the totality of solitude

Forestry service be damned
the sin is not the burning of the trees

People are just not meant to be together

We are afraid
we think that vigilance means strength
we think that Yellowstone is the greatest place in America

What we need is less chatter
what we need is less protocol
what we need is fewer lookouts
what we need is fewer Henrys
what we need is fewer Delilahs

What we need is more
whiskey
a typist
more turtles
more green-sleeved books that won't distract you from the now

We don't think about the terror of one person
aching in one place
alone
untouched
unspoken to
watering a flower
being without a radio that will never squawk
because there isn't one

People are not meant to be together
People are not meant to be together
People are not meant to be together

And the trees sway and the smoke curls
and the wolves piss upon the stumps
and the rock and gravity snuffs out a life like a child taking a bite of an ice cream cone

And the tide comes in and out
in and out
under the direction of a red moon

And the helicopter disappears
into the smoke
as your mind clings
to the echos of the only connection you had left
to the world and its inhabitants

but people are not meant to be together.

Overall, an enjoyable, thought-provoking piece of art. I spent more time talking about the game with friends who had played it than I spent actually playing the game.

Pros
----

Beautiful, unpredictable story telling.
A great soundtrack.
Nice visuals, haunting scenery.

Cons
---

Controls and movement are moderately awkward, but it doesn't impinge on the enjoyment.
Cost is a bit much.

"Most fun with a machine" award, literally.

Her face haunts my waking dreams. I see it in the shadowed places where the imagination can run wild and unchained. It appears, glassy, moving unnaturally, like an animatronic figurine. Despite that, it loses none of it's charm, nor does it become more or less false. The forced smiles still send a blush to my face, and I yearn to reach out to it.

I can hear her voice in my head, though I've never heard it with my ears. It is thick and saccharin sweet like fruit leather. It sounds like heavy dew on the morning grass, and it feels to my brain-ears like a drag from a cigarette on that morning. The unspoken words cling to my thoughts as the morning dampness makes the smoke cling to your clothes, or how a wet t-shirt clings to a figure.

The figure is gone, if it ever really existed, but I still see it. The voice was never there, but I can still hear it.

I wish that I couldn't.

A fun, usually-relaxing platformer with a unique aesthetic and level design.

Good chill-out time game.