0.löve.Löve is a requirement for this experience.
This is the experience.
1.W."Why doesn't he have an ass?" People begin to whisper among themselves. Children speak barely loud enough to embarrass their parents: "Where's his ass, mother?" Rumors spread. Riots begin. Shit gets stolen. Next thing you know, your grandmother is bolting her door and praying twice as hard; however, it never seems to console her. "What kind of benevolent god would bring such an ass-less abomination into this world?" She doubts herself. Tosses. Turns. She is unable to fall asleep. It becomes a problem.
I've no ass. None at all. If course, if you knew me, this would come as no surprise at all.
A.Anticipation builds. The explanation awaits. The group swells as one large, blistering creature, tumorous chests rise and swell with a unified gasp of air as everything instantly drifts into focus—lenses snap and whirr as steamwork machinations ratchet them down into horrific, spiderlike helmets, ultimately bringing absolute clarity and subtle disappointment:
I have fucking
worked my ass off.
Not on this little toy, mind you. LÖVE is merely a distraction. It is a
plaything. It is escape.
I do not know Lua. Not a bit. C# with XNA and ActionScript are where my strengths lie. But as the eleventh hour fast approached, iron arms spinning mindlessly around platters of self importance, I decided to forget the work. To forget the mindless undead that wandered the abandoned relic. To forget the structure itself, spinning carelessly like the clocks that mock us all.
To forget the thing, the terrible dilapidation, crawling with bugs of every form and fashion which only emerge from the ancient stone as if to mock my endeavors at truly creating a Monolith.
S.Slowly and sensuously I pressed my fingers across the warm plastic, letting every clack and hum guide my body to convergence with this bracket-less simulacrum of the building blocks of my youth. Each simple depression brought someone
whom I had not been acquainted with into this convolution of walls and floors. Even stranger, sometimes these people's person would be replaced with that of a beast. Horses, some. Lions, others.
I know Lua. Well, at least enough to control creation (and destroy hours of perfectly productive time). This toy, this meager excuse for a diversion, may find itself under the influence of a creative power again soon. Maybe not.
D.Doubtful, but,
maybe.
2.B.The clocks taunt me with time. It's been a total of eight hours. 6:00. AM. Shit. I've been at it for too long, this piece of brainfuck that refuses to give me sleep. All I wanted was a break, not a chore. Now it's done, now I can rest. Now I can forget who all these people are. Now you can forget yourselves.
The chain has been broken and the link has been renewed. Time flows backwards and starts again.
N.Now, Oddball does have a, shall we say, "familiarization" with these figures. These husks of what could have been. I took them from him, stole them away in a labyrinth of his own creation. Irony, no doubt. The ducks are too small. You can't see the ducks. The bugs are worse, I suppose. Rationalizations being what they are, I guess they deserve it.
Let them dream their dreams of gold. Let them search, let them starve. Let them dream of getting torn apart by beasts vulgar and vile, then laugh in their distorted faces when they realize that
there are none. It is only them. They are both the beast and the dreamer. They are alone.
M.Many would view this as a crisis. As a juxtaposition of things not to be. No sleep. No time. No food. No time. No skill. Hah. I doubt that verily. I view it as a gift. A game of sorts. A game none can win. Neither the player nor the played will receive any form of satisfaction from this excursion. There is treasure, but it's merely the realization that
it cannot be stopped.
So, sure. Press the buttons. Watch the walls appear. Watch them fade. Watch them stay where you left them. Think you're in control. Let it sink in.
Then we will both have a laugh.
3.escape.Escape is for the weak. The challenged. The bored. Yes,
you can escape, but
they will always be there, trapped between bits and bytes.
This is the end of the story. The walls outside the world you perceive are no longer being created. They are not shown. There is an increase in performance. Noticeable, but slight.
This is the end of the story. No more will be writ unless insects begin to wriggle their way out of the stones and make themselves known.
The chain has been broken and the link has been renewed. Time flows backwards and starts again.
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