gardens of vextro thing

[highimpactsex]

"So, what's the hiccup this time?"

This was how the fictive bartender of my imagination started his questioning. If I ever found myself hitting a writer's block, I would materialize into this dingy bar in the crooks of my subconscious. The only bar I've ever been was some gay bar in SF, so my current surroundings were a swirling of caricatured images from Hollywood and elsewhere.

I looked around and saw the usual denizens were there: my ex blog post drafts, YouTube playlists that's supposed to inspire me to write more, traumas of writing about LGBTQ+ fiction while living in a homophobic country, stashed away stories of a past that's now alien to me, and the dreams of being accepted as a white mainstream writer. They all looked gloomy as always and would watch me with envy. I could hear them mouth "please", "write", "about", "us".

Eh, maybe next time. If ever.

I turned back to the bartender who, by the way, had the same character portrait as The Silver Case's bartender. I swear, I usually write better when it comes to fiction; I take my time to research and look at photos. But for whatever reason, it's always that dude. I guess it's because his mustache amused me.

Anyway, I shrugged my shoulders and said, "I don't get reviewing."

the premise of reviewing

"How come?"

I sighed at the question. I hate elaborating to my own fictive/metaphorical selves. Makes me feel stupid. Imagine being muddled by your own words. That's fucking weird.

"Okay, so as you know, I wrote this clear albeit unedited piece on Romancing Saga 2. It's just me writing kino in ten million variations, but it's readable and easy to follow. Not like my previous articles where I would be too tryhard. I like that: clear and simple. But when I try to think about Gardens of Vextro, this collection of linked micro-indie games, my mind goes blank. I think it's because I feel like I'm opining on something personal?"

"Something personal?"

"Yeah, there's like this game that dealt with parents leaving the creator. At least, that's how I interpret it. I don't know if I am able to say anything interesting as a reviewer, critic, or -- hell -- understander [sic]. Can I even appreciate these essayist attempts on game design? I'm not them, I'm some rando who has a funny Twitter username."

The bartender kept washing the bar. I noticed he had served me a glass of Coke Zero, the usual drink of choice. I gulped all of it. Intoxicated with caffeine, I continued prattling,

"I don't get the point of writing reviews or criticism on a collection of personal games like this. It's like I'm reviewing people's diaries. I'm not some psychoanalyst. Who am I to --"

"You think that's bad or something?"

The bartender spoke up. For some reason, he had a sonorous voice like Pavarotti (my mom's favorite soprano singer).

"I thought all works are about communication," he continued, "everything we touch will have an ounce of psychology. Aren't critics like yourself interested in uncovering the human condition from your encounters with media?"

"First off: I ain't a critic. I'm writing these articles to get better at prose and analysis. I want to design video games and write books, not be content with philosophizing on media. Secondly, I think the human condition is bunk. Look up antihumanism on Wikipedia if you don't know what that means. Anyway, it's more like I don't know the meaning of writing about this. Who the hell wants to read some bloke's thoughts on other people's personal journeys?"

The bartender raised his eyebrows. He finished wiping the glass I drank from, placed it aside, and looked at me with a curious expression.

"Aren't you the kind of critic who use the media they're analyzing as jumping points for bigger stories? That seems to be your style."

"Sure." I shrugged. "Doesn't mean I'm interested in writing about personal objects. Feels rude to hijack someone's un-commodified expression as your own. RomaSaga 2 was easy; that's an intellectual property owned by Square Enix, a multimillion dollar company with a CEO obsessed with NFTs. Meanwhile, the Gardens of Vextro is made by a bunch of people, some of them I actually know. I'm an artist just like them. Personal expression is important. We can speak about the ethics of derivative content, sure, but I don't see how I'm adding value here.

"To clarify, I mean: what does it mean to write anything on micro-indies like this? Is it to show that I'm an enlightened being so I can tell the gaming journalism they've missed out on art, to explicate the deeper and profound meanings of outside art, or am I just writing fanfic in the derogatory sense? I'm of the latter opinion: the way I approach media means I'm always writing fanfic, whether 'orderly' like a review or something off-kilter like that CROSS+CHANNEL article which became a sustained discourse on Madden. I don't believe so-called essays (the politically correct word for such fanfics) are the way to go when I'm opining on essays. Essays on essays. That's the thing I hate about today's Content Economy. People read reviews this and that, but they don't play the games themselves! I am just someone who wants people to play the games I write about, but instead I've become one of those video essayists I detest so much: my stealth marketing becomes content and I the ultimate object of art. I am too aware of this parasocial relationship to ever propose a neutral or detached approach to writing about media. Sure, I cringe at the reception Tim Rogers has because no one's going to play Tokimeki Memorial or Boku no Natsuyasumi; all they care is the voice and personality -- but that's the same reception that I have. I am a hypocritical egotist. Maybe, my friend was right in saying that I love Regret from Caligula 2 for similar reasons. And my god, we're on pedestals for no good reason. Am I really expressing my thoughts on the media I consume or am I talking about how smart I am? If so, what a load of pretentious bullshit. I should seriously go back to writing fiction."

After I did my spiel, the bartender served me another Coke Zero to quench my parched throat. He did the cliched thing all people with mustaches do: brush it with the side of his index finger to suggest the appearance of intellectual curiosity.

"Well, I'm curious now. I don't get the struggle? Perhaps, why don't you -- hmm -- say something about each game in the collection? You don't have to critique or review it in any form. Just talk about stuff like what you do on Discord everyday. I'll give you another can of Coke on the house."

I squirmed and said, "This feels like some artificial setup."

"It might be, but it is better than doing nothing."

the actual subject matter

Buried Flower

"Fine," I said, "let's start from the beginning. There's this game called Buried Flower by John Thyer. I thought it was pretty cool."

"How so?"

I did the thinking emoji before uttering a word.

"For context, I'm quite a newbie fan of interactive fiction. Haven't played the greats like Zork but I did play some of the newer ones and it led an impression on teenager me. I'm a fan of abstraction and simplicity; depriving me of visuals, sound, and even text leads me to carefully dissect the form of the game. It's why I dig modern art a lot. Gimme a painting all drab in blue and I'll stare at it for ages. In a way, Buried Flower reminds me a lot of that.

"The game is simple to a fault. Each scene has two choices: move forward or leave. The more you click move forward, the more intense the text becomes. Your mind fills in the blank (I'm thinking of Scott McCloud's Understanding Comics where he suggests the genius behind comics is between the panels) and the sparse words provide the atmosphere."

"I recall you're the type to find beauty in minimalism," the bartender added.

"Correct, I used to be into the maximalist scene. Lovecraft this, Joyce that. Now, I can't write sentences that have more than two commas. Hell, I limit myself to one comma per sentence. I don't know if the creator of this game agrees with this mindset, but that abstraction -- just clicking 'Move Forward' -- is compelling to me. I think that's an interesting way to tell a story. In a way, the game doesn't have a defined plot or trajectory. The player, at any moment, can leave. How far they continue before chickening out, that's the Story the game is making. What you get out from the game depends on your own choices and the feelings you have in choosing what to do. Makes me think of that Kierkegaard either/or dilemma but as a video game."

"You do seem to focus on player expression in your recent writings."

"Yeah, I think interactive media is all about player expression. The video game is the form and the player in engaging the mechanics is creating the story within this container. I don't think video game designers are 'composers' in the sense they orchestrated everything. No one can be like Stanley Kubrick and curate the player to do the right thing whatever that is. It's up to the player to tell the story with the mechanics and tools the designers have placed. What's that fashionable term? Emergent gameplay? Yeah, it's what I love about the SaGa series so far and I think this game captures that essence -- in a very short interactive fiction game."

The bartender whipped out his iPhone and looked at the itch.io page.

"Looks like this collection of games also respect the designers' own expression too. They're working with different engines, but the catch is they'll have to be inspired from the previous game in the collection. Very interesting."

"Yeah," I said, "I quite like the idea. Would echo the people who've played the game so far in saying I would like to see more game jams that take this approach. Game jams, in my opinion, are not that collaborative without careful design. This might take the edge off from feeling the need to compete with other titles."

"That would be with the spirit of game jams, indeed. It's about the joy of making games. What better way to celebrate that joy but through the power of teamwork?"

"Yep. Anyway, it's a short title with a lot of impact. The final line being the same for every player journey is quite poignant. I imagine the countless hours workshopping that line. Or maybe, it just came to them like a flash of inspiration. Whatever the case is, it's a good ass line and something you'll see repeated through the other titles."

The bartender nodded and said, "There's much to be said about the economy of language in video games."

Labyrinths

"Next title is Labyrinths by lotus. God, this one slaps. Feels like I'm reading indie literature back in the day."

"Back in the day?"

"Before I took this game writing stuff seriously," I said, "I was in a fiction writing program. God, I've got so many tales. But the crucial one is that I used to read for the college's literary magazine and later ARCs (Advance Review Copies) of novels and chapbooks published by indie presses. I still have some around. All is to say this work reminds me of the stuff I used to read as a wannabe book reviewer but, like, good."

"What kind of stuff were you reading?"

"Similar stuff as to what's in Labyrinths: family abandonment, experimental prose, and a lot of walking. Funny how people are attracted to liminal spaces because we love boxed containers that lead to other boxed containers. Walking and living through my memories" -- I gesture around this imaginary bar space -- works like this. There's no rhyme or reason, only dreamlike logic. The tenuous of connections. That kind of stuff. This is probably the game I have the hardest explaining because it feels too personal."

"Is this the 'personal object' you were talking about a while ago?"

"Yeah, this one in particular oozes this personal essay vibe. It's not the first time I've encountered games like this: many people have explored their lives and affects through the medium of video games. But I'm like Bubsy going through someone else's retrospective -- okay, I just thought up a clearer metaphor: I'm the Kool-Aid Man barging into these spaces the creators have crafted for themselves to contemplate. How could a mascot character like me attempt to write about the lives of some creator I don't know? What if I interpret a symbol or a scene wrongly? If that creator stumbled upon my hypothetical post, I can only imagine the horrors they have. I know I'd be pissed if that happened to me."

"Hmm, I don't get the issue. You've said elsewhere that reviews are your interpretations and this could include misinterpretations. After all, misinterpretations are interpretations. The creator would recognize that you might get it wrong sometimes, I think."

"I'm still wary," I said, "and I hate leaving that up to chance anyway. I can tell this game is personal because it's so poignant and sensitive to me. When I was younger, I would write about Japanese media without doing fact-checking -- and lo, behold: that article became the dominant piece of information because no one else wrote about it. Whatever truths and mistakes it held, it became the single source of truth. Any misrepresentation of the creator's own views is simply my error. I redacted older articles and tried to amend my mistakes, but I don't think I can fix the past.

"And in this context, I am particularly sensitive to any story that looks into something that the kids would say 'real deal'. If, say, I hijacked this to discuss about reviewer ethics, I would feel bad. I don't think I explained the game much except I really loved it. But that's how it is: all I can say is that the story resonates with me, but I am skeptical if my language would be nuanced enough to carry it through."

The bartender passed a glass of Coke to me and said, "This one's on the house if you could at least say something about the game."

"Alright then, I dig the design of the game. Always fond of white monospaced fonts on a black background, the usage of images that have some significance but not add any concrete details to the scene, and the feeling that I'm trapped in the vacuum of time and space. The text is clearly polished, with little room to breathe -- just as the game needs it to be. More importantly, the subtext is doing the heavy lifting here. I can figure something was up, even before I reached the part that directly talked about family abandonment; however, even these details remain obscure. All I can do is think, think, think. I reflect on my own self, how my family is supposedly stable but cracking, how my own memories resemble bitmap images with artifacts, etc. I don't know the ethnicity of this creator (and I certainly don't want to presume!), but the story resonates with my own diasporic background. It makes me think of the stories I've written -- what they mean to me. But that's also why I'm unsure if I'm projecting myself to the work or the creator. I can't really make a measured assessment of the work."

"It sounds like the story meant something to you, but you can't figure out how to phrase it."

"Yeah, this might be the story that teleported me to this bar," I said before sipping my Coke. "I might still be retreating from this work as I think about it. It's untying some knot I have in my brain and I'm unsure how to approach it."

"That sounds like the hallmarks of a good work."

"For sure, it's why I even bothered struggling to write about it. I would've cowered away otherwise."

The Aleph Hustle

I finished my tenth glass of Coke and said, "Next item on the list: Aleph Hustle by LeeRoy Lewin."

"That's quite the title."

"To be quite honest, I didn't know what to make of this title. It's been a while since I've downloaded a mysterious .exe file, but I sure enjoyed the weird cyberpunk atmosphere here."

"I recall you disliking cyberpunk."

"Yeah," I said, "'cause it's done in a boring way. All aesthetics, no punk. This one, it has what the zoomers would call soul. You don't really grasp the level of technology except you know you're dealing with something hi-tech. You're just investigating this labyrinth that uses the final line of Buried Flower. Get it? It's some silly meta, but I found it quite charming. I have a soft heart for jank first-person exploring myself."

"I've always noticed you enjoyed using jank as a positive word. Most people would think of it as a negative."

I was taken aback.

I said, "What are you, my psychiatrist? I've been struggling to avoid being Sigmund Freud on the creators, but this imagined self is asking me like I have some Oedipal complex. Okay, yes: I quite enjoy jank. The weirder the controls are, the more memorable it becomes."

"You once muttered in your sleep that you agreed with a friend that most people can't stand jank though, that people wouldn't want to play games that aren't good. Only the best of the best, as prescribed by influencers."

"Yep, that's why I have second thoughts writing about Gardens of Vextro. What if someone who idolizes me plays the games and think it's shit? Geh, the whole idea horrifies me. I, on the other hand, love it when games are the interplay, this confluence of expressions between players and designers. Let's take The Aleph Hustle as an example: here's a game that doesn't really handhold you; you just vibe with it. Whatever technobabble it is, all it serves is to alienate and invite the player to go further. And what you gain from that labyrinth before leaving, that's the story of the game. I've said it before with the first game, but I think your diegetic (deep word for things inside video games) choices create the story. This game, like the others, is just a digital space -- a virtual geographical space contained in a sketchy .exe file -- where you play alongside the developers and imagine together. All games do this to some degree, but the ones that are most aware of this are going to be jank. Jank is what makes players aware of what they're doing.

"This is also why I don't like the concept of immersion. Feels too reifying for my critical theorist brain. Nah, I think it's good to be conscious you're playing video games. You should always be alienated like how the player feels playing this game and experiencing this weird setting. Like, immersing yourself in the game is just hoodwinking. You don't see yourself as an active agent creating the story. Man, I feel like I'm repeating a labored point; I just think all the games here are about this basic point: that what you input is what you get. You're playing yourself the video game in this sense. This weird cyberpunk videogame is just one of many settings that let you realize damn, you're an interesting game, huh."

"That sounds like" -- the bartender snickered -- "transhumanism. Experimenting on your bodies, I mean."

"Yeah, that shit rules if you ignore how the right-wingers took over it. Video games that let you think about your choices, it's like body hacking. Roleplaying is the real cyberpunk shit."

Make like a tree

I cleared my throat before reading out the next entry: Make Like a Tree by NARFNa.

"Man," I said, "this is the first title I have somewhat mixed feelings about. Nothing to do with the writing, just the gameplay."

"Huh, what do you mean?"

"There's this part where the game goes first person. It uses a plugin that makes me motion sick. I'm pretty sensitive to harsh motions, especially if it's simulating me being there. I had a hard time reading the game because I felt nauseous."

"You could've taken a break," the bartender said.

"Yeah, but I thought the game would be short. Not like I know any good fixes for this. I want to note that straightaway before I talk about the game, in case this person is hearing this dialog."

"My mouth is sealed. All the words you've said are only between me and you."

"Good," I said, "it would be embarrassing if people read this egregious attempt at a self-critique through a bunch of indie video games that don't deserve this. That said, I did think this game had some neat ideas."

"Like what?"

"It starts off as this ironic take on video game design. The protagonist is too self-aware, so they're always bickering about how they have to do this and that to advance the video game plot. The kind of stuff you hear in let's plays where the commentators groan about the cliched things to do."

"Like," the bartender said, "bringing McGuffin X to Spot Y?"

"Yeah, stuff like that. But when you pick up a white flower, you find out you just hurt a sentient white flower. Plants have feelings, you see. And you're sent to this Alice in Wonderland court and hijinks ensue. The case revolves around whether you've done harm to these living beings by doing video game stuff. It feeds back into the point I made about choices: this time, you and your character are being called out for your actions. There's repercussions, but also the game implies you and your character are kinda expecting that. Would you keep with your ways or open up and get some new pals? That's kinda the idea of the game."

"Sounds like if Undertale became a court case."

"I thought that too," I said. "Unfortunately, I'm a terribly serious person with no sense of humor, so I didn't jive with the comedy. Not to mention the motion sickness thing. I do like the themes and ideas it's playing about and therefore I don't regret it at all. I wouldn't be surprised if I bring up this game in casual conversation someday."

another reverie

I looked at the clock above the bartender and said, "I spoke for what felt like hours and there's still more to come."

"You're at least going somewhere. What's next on the table?"

"The next one... Heh."

"Heh?"

"I don't know why I am doing a disclaimer in a private conversation between me and my imaginary bartender, but disclaimer: another reverie is a game written by co-writer of Prof Lily and close friend of mine Saori."

"Ah, the Sweet-P and Ayana fan," the bartender said. "I've seen her tweets around. She's got spicy hot takes."

"Yes, that's because you're my goddamn imagination. This was another game I'm unsure how to approach, not just because of my close relations but because I've seen a bit of the production details. I definitely have a different perspective from most people on the game."

"Well, that's more reason to say what you think."

I raised my hand and said, "I'd rather not bias anyone hearing this -- if this private conversation between us gets leaked, I mean. I don't think I would be evaluating the work in a fair way."

"You seem to be a stickler for fairness."

"I try to. If I don't, I would be giving too much attention to this one title. I'd be playing favoritism."

The bartender shrugged and said, "I get that, but your views will already be biased."

"Yep, that's why I'm hesitant to even share it with you. This details I'm thinking of are not even mentioned in the author's commentary included in the collection zip file. It's clear that she intends to let the reader imagine what the fuck is happening in the story, kinda like what I am experiencing with the previous games. It's cheating to know the actual concrete details of the story unlike the other games."

"Did you ask her what she thinks?"

"Nope," I said, "why would I? It's not like I'm going to share this conversation in the public. I'm just talking to you, some imaginary being in my brain."

"Yeah, that's true."

"This leads to a weird predicament for me, but I will say this: she's improved drastically since she wrote the first scenes for our visual novel together. It's very cool to see how much she's grown. Her approach to characters is always very cool in my books."

"I bet you're uncomfortable in critiquing a coworker's work though. What if you're burning relationships?"

I winced. "Haha, it's a bit like the game then. It's about two musicians in a virtual world who can't communicate with each other, but they want to say something at least. This game is different from the rest since interactivity takes a backseat and it's more about how you're reading between the lines. I don't know if she's read Ernest Hemingway's short stories, but it's kinda like that to me. It's the iceberg principle, plain and simple. Sometimes, the words left unsaid are stronger than the words on the paper. The reader needs to dig through the text and find what is really being said. Figure things out from the context, all this sort of stuff. I find that kind of reading more interesting than simply reading the facts of the case, so I'm glad she's tried her hand on this kind of writing. I would like to see her write a proper article on SeaBed someday."

"That setting, hm. It sounds like a video game, a Cali --"

"Haha, moving on."

Wet Cemetery

After a small break, I looked around and saw the stack of cans. How much Coke Zero did I actually drink? A part of me is curious, but I didn't bother counting. All I knew was it's too much.

"The next game is Wet Cemetery by nilson," I said as I turned around to meet the bartender's eyes, "it strikes the same 'Man, I love this shit but I don't know how to write about it' vibes I have with Labyrinths."

"In that case, what does it do different?"

"This one is more interactive. Labyrinth is more a classic visual novel while Wet Cemetery has some interactive fiction elements. You've got a snazzy UI that grounds the player in the exploration. Objects become important flags. And when the game goes all surreal, the subtle visual changes in the UI reflects it too. It's unsettling and that's the point: it's depicting how chronic illnesses affect people. I can't say my case is at all representative, but when I got hit by COVID-19, the post-viral symptoms were some of the worst I've felt. I started loathing how little energy I had, how I would fall asleep in the middle of dressing up because I was too exhausted, and so on. The whole experience in this game is done really well, almost too real.

"And if anyone is wondering (no one should be), I don't have strong symptoms of Long COVID anymore. But you know, I gotta make sure I don't tire myself out. The idea of relapsing back to this state sucks and I sympathize with every disabled person. It's why I've been reading about disability studies and taking this shit seriously."

"That's something I noticed," the bartender said, "that disability has been on your mind since."

"No one is truly healthy under capitalism. We're always a step away from the emergency room. Video games that explore this are truly special and, in the discussion of choices and interactivity like we're having here, become very powerful interrogations of our own actions. I've played a few games that game-ify the spoon theory and while I do think there's educational value in that, it is only but a simulation. You don't read the thoughts of someone who has chronic illnesses moving about and asking for help. I'd like to play more works like this."

"But you're also aware that games like these are made but don't receive critical attention. It's always about the discourses around big video games."

"Yeah," I said, "games writing ignores important titles like this. It's all driven by SEO. I'm one of the few writers who even touch this kind of stuff. It becomes an obligation and I try to get the word out, but I wish I weren't the only one. Like, if I ever make a game about my experience with COVID, I want it to be a topic of conversation for at least a day. But the reality is no one cares about talking about indie media, let alone works made by disabled people. And I think it's a shame."

"More the reason to amplify games like this."

"Yeah, if I bother writing this conversation up, this would be the game I wish most people play at least. It's a honest depiction of what it means to be chronically ill. As I said, I don't know if my experiences here are this relevant and it's why I don't know if I'm the right person to write about it. But if my experiences are a fraction of what this creator is feeling, I want more people to play this game. It's personally my favorite title of the bunch."

Wellness Related Time

"Wellness Related Time by Zeloz MK. II is," I said, "strange. Mostly because I'm pretty sure it's a story taking Tsukihime's magic and using it to explore high schools and sex. I'm quite lost what the game is about."

"What do you mean by that?"

"All I can really say is to go read the work yourself. But it might be a me thing and not the creator's. Someone I read enjoyed this title the most and it made me think about how my approach to chuunibyou is so radically different that I didn't get it. It's so antithetical to my own approach that I feel like we're talking past each other. This is the only game I didn't feel like I get -- and you know what, that's fine."

"That's fine?"

"Yeah, that's fine. It's the world of indies. People can do whatever they want, cringe or not. I'm glad this compilation allowed this creator to do whatever they want and the commentary said as much. It's great the Gardens of Vextro compilation welcomed this creator. As a person writing about this shit, I'm bound to find stuff I don't get but others do. That's cool with me. I'll nod and read what people have to say.

"It's how I also approach some of Amelie Doree's videos when I collaborate with her, specifically her videos on Jisatsu 101 and Fushigi Densha. These two titles were very much lost on me; I didn't get why she was fascinated with the work. But I still helped out anyway, as evidenced by me translating certain quotes and referring her to the work of Mark Fisher in the latter video. If the creator chanced upon reading this cringe thoughts of mine, I hope they check these videos out. But anyway, I acknowledge defeat, but I don't treat it as a problem with the work. Rather, it is my loss. I wish I got it."

"Is that why you don't write negatively on games in recent years?"

"Pretty much," I said, "the only exception was Carnival since 1) I didn't see that many negative reviews of the game 2) I actually know what Setoguchi was doing. It's written anyway in order to warn people of certain content. I still like the game anyway and that's why I wrote it. Otherwise, I was happy to skip writing it."

The bartender shook his head and said, "That sounds like a pity if you did. You could've written more."

"I'd rather let the games that confuse me meet their destined fans. There's always a work for somebody. I'm just an outsider here and if people dig this game, I support this."

Pangea's Error

"The last title," I said, "is weird for me. Pangea's Error by Sraëka-Lillian made me super motion sick."

"Oh, another game that made you motion sick..."

"Yeah, I had to lay down a bit before I tried writing about it. This was worse than Make Like a Tree for me because the camera is ... weird. I get that it's emulating Brandish, but phew: I felt nauseous. The camera swerves dramatically with every cardinal direction and you can only move up, kinda like tank controls. I not only got disoriented but the harsh transitions made me feel ill."

"Oh no..."

"Yep," I said, "I am afraid of this conversation leaking to the public because 90% of what I remember of the game is me being loss and feeling sick. I don't like talking about the game's weakness upfront, but I would seriously warn people about motion sickness with this game. I wasn't prepared for this. My memories are a bit foggy, but I'll try my best to explain what I liked about the game.

"The game feels like a culmination of all the themes of the previous titles. You are going around this open world with the strange controls I mentioned and grabbing swords that have some flavor text. They're all details about the world you're wandering around, but there's nothing more to it. I don't know if I completed the game per se, but I get the impression from all the wandering and finding nothing that the game ends when you want it to end. There's no endpoint in this sandbox game; you're just free to check out the world and leave as you wish.

"At least, that's what I think."

The bartender said, "I'm assuming you're hedging your words there because you couldn't fully explore the game."

"Yeah, I did take a look at what others have said and they seem to have reached the same conclusion as I did. I'm not sure and to a certain extent, that uncertainty may be intended. It's like how in Romancing Saga 1, you feel like there's more to the world but you haven't stumbled upon the correct sequence of events. And I kinda like that, but I cannot be certain -- I got too sick to really confirm this. But if I was right, that'd be very cool."

"It would make for a neat capstone, yes."

"Indeed, it's like 'here's this sequence of games all about choice, interactivity, exploration, consequences, and player movement: it now ends with the player having total control of how they can move around and the game ends when they feel like turning off the executable.' That's very poetic in my opinion."

"But even if you weren't right about this interpretation," said the bartender, "it's the one you're taking away from. And that's what is important, correct?"

conclusion

"Sure," I said, "for me anyway. But what if this conversation is out in the public space? What if the creators can read what we've conversed about? This is a long, sustained review and reviews are content the same way these games are. Just that reviews are derivative instead of original. What insights would it possibly lead?"

"This is my opinion, but if I were a developer and I would see someone grapple with the game jam I participated in, I would find something. I'm not sure what, but it is a something that matters. It means my friends and me have created a work that touched someone to say something, anything. I'd be proud of my efforts then."

"Yeah, but that's you assuming what the creators think. I'm a developer too, I'm sensitive to what people might say about my work. If the audience doesn't get what the hell I'm saying, then I'm just someone screaming in the void. I deserve to be ignored if that was the case. Hell, my words could even be distorted to hurt people. Bullshit is the mindkiller."

"You're too hard on yourself," said the bartender, "you might have accrued emotional baggage from writing about niche media for twenty years, but you've also done important stuff. You should let your egos speak out, even if you fear you'll be misheard. There's always something in your words that can speak to other people."

I groaned. "I don't believe that," I said, "not with the format or medium I've chosen. It's why I would rather write fiction and design video games than write some bullshit review tying philosophy books I haven't read. I would rather respond to these creators by making my own game or writing a fiction piece than writing a typical review because I thought the games were that interesting. I always want to communicate with the creators in the language they've chosen. It's why I subconsciously mimic the structures of the games I write in my own articles to a fault. In that sense, I'm always translating when I write these articles. If I don't do that, I'm not really engaging with the works; I'm simply restating."

"That's why you took your time to write thi --"

But before the bartender said anything, the world around me turned dark. When my vision returned, here I was: an entire post was written on this Dreamwidth blog post. I chuckled at this bizarre digression. I took a last deep breath before I write the last sentence of the review because it had to end this way:

You return the way you came.