Hello again. I'm catching up on sleep
and video games and the next section of The Walking Fella, so have
some more vomitings from my sugar-highing brain.
Last night—well, this morning—I
beat Borderlands 2. Honestly, not super impressed by the last houror
two. The final mission took things from a fun shooty looty game to a
mind-numbing slog. And don't even get me started on the final boss.
It was like fighting the Rakk Hive, only with ten times more health
and slightly more effective attacks. Not fun. Just boring. It took me
about twenty minutes of standing and tanking hit after hit while
firing at the glowing weak spot to crush the thing. Here's hoping the
DLC fares better.
Hmmm... “shooty, crush, firing,
health, attacks.” If the NSA is reading my blog, they must have me
on tons of watch-lists. I mean, my Google searches alone are
incredibly suspicious. “How to make ricin,” “how to make a
dirty bomb,” “what sound does a knife wound make,” “medieval
torture implements.” I must look like either a psychopath or a
terrorist. Generally I try to intersperse such searches with things
like “How to write a military thriller” and “how to write a
chemistry paper” just to look SLIGHTLY less sketchy. I have the
same problem in real life, too. Apparently it scares people when I
pull out a (very small) knife to open boxes or remove cable ties. I
don't understand! I love people! I hate to see anyone hurt! I mean, I get that
the metal and the interest in darker artwork and the whole “awkardly
antisocial” thing make me look creepy, but I swear I love bunnies
and baby kitties and stuff!
So I recently read most of the
Planescape Torment novelization. I'm fairly certain it's just the
dialogue/text from the game strung together with some barebones
narration. A little disappointing, but now I'm hyped to play the
actual game.
At least Heart of Darkness was
excellent. And I mean excellent. It's... It's a thing. A very
powerful thing. I was pretty affected by the ending. “The horror!”
will stick with me for a long long time. “Can't you hear him? Hear
it all around?” The portrait of a man who's gone mad and another
who almost went the same way. There's definitely racism present—no
denying that—but at the same time I think Conrad is saying “See
those 'savages?' You're just as bad, only you try to hide it with a
veneer of civilization, but out in the darkness, the veneer cracks
and out comes the monster.” So the moral is: Everyone's a monster
inside? And it's more honest to just be a monster without pretending
otherwise? Or something. I don't know. I turned off the literary
analysis function of my brain for winter break.
Listened to a few different bands over
the last couple weeks... Elton John, Year of the Goat, Disarmonia
Mundi, Born of Osiris, Flogging Molly, the Pogues. While Sir Elton
tends to be a mixed bag with me—either a hit or not—and Flogging
Molly and the Pogues are 100% gold to my ears, the others
were...disappointing. Especially Year of the Goat. Take Muse-esque
proggy noodling, add in a dash of Queensryche, mix in a singer more
whiny than Matthew Bellamy, and spit in it for good measure. Yeah.
Not a fan.Born of Osiris and Disarmonia Mundi were just blah. “Death
metal” my bum. More like mallcore metalcore. Ah, I can feel the
metal hipster overtaking me! Speaking of metal hipsters, I love
reading Metal-Archives threads. It's a wonderful magical place where
the internet's stupidity and stubbornness meets metal's exclusivity,
and creates monstrous masterpieces. “Read the first post.” “Even
though there's been five hundred posts about why Korn isn't on here,
I'm going to start this argument again!” “Read the first post.”
And so on and so on. I've whiled away many a pleasant hour laughing
at these fools—Sweet Hastur what am I doing with my life? AGH!
Oh, yeah, there was that new Beyonce
album, wasn't there? Eh. Wasn't impressed. The intros really killed
it for me. “Look at the awkwardly sweet little girl I used to be!
See the memories of my earliest triumphs! Herp derp!” Give me
Lorde's “Pure Heroine” or Gaga's “ARTPOP” any day. At least I
could tolerate those.
Finals are over. At last. I spewed a
lot of nonsense onto pages the last couple weeks of class. I wonder
if any of my teachers realize that 99% of what I write is just
glorious glorious horse-hockey. I get A's, so what do I care? Who am
I to disillusion these people? Let them think that I'm paying
attention.
