Category Archives: game

no more social justice celebrities

a bad thing you can do to someone is put them on a pedestal. a worse thing you can do to someone is put someone who hurt them on a pedestal.

my partner and i were manipulated and hurt by an abusive person who’s popular on “social justice” twitter. (not going to go into too much detail here, you can look through my twitter feed for more information.) when your abuser is a social justice favorite, you can expect your attempts at talking about your abuse to be silenced, ignored, and inevitably compared to the prison system – even though all you’ve done is tarnished their brand slightly. their brand is the root of their powers, though – it’s what enables them to dodge accountability for any of their destructive actions.

on twitter this week, yukio strachan has been talking about dr. jennifer freyd, who coined the acronym “DARVO” to describe what abusers do when confronted: Deny, Attack, and Reverse Victim and Offender. abusers deflect, they flip the script, they tell everyone YOU’RE the one who abused THEM. abusers in social justice culture are particularly good at this: they know the language, they’re friends with all the pillars of the community who will rally around them if they use it. within days of victims going public about the person who hurt me and my partner, she had published a letter saying the situation was actually my fault – i had convinced everyone into speaking out (about seven people, including someone i had never spoken to before folks went public, who was convinced she was the only victim) as an act of petty vengeance on her. i had more privilege than her – “privilege” here meaning twitter follower count – so it was an easy play.

it is very very easy to hide on social justice twitter as an abuser. social justice culture builds celebrities, and these celebrities are above accountability. after all, if you’ve built your entire brand around advocating for consent, how can someone claim you’ve been sexually coercive? our abuser put it best herself when she tweeted “i own consent.” people invested in someone’s social justice brand are uninterested in examining their behavior: all it takes is a little deflection, a little bit of light-hearted redemption narrative, to make the entire situation go away for the abuser. for the victim, it means what you’ve suffered will be continuously minimized as you bear witness to voice after voice calling the person who hurt you a hero.

the feminist deck is a deck of illustrated trading cards by kiva bay (who i’m sure is a very nice person with only the best intentions) of her personal feminist heroes. whether she got consent before using these people’s images to raise over $20,000 of kickstarter funds is questionable.

who would you put on a list of feminist heroes in 2015? alicia garza, one of the co-founders of the #blacklivesmatter movement? not on the list, but skimming it i see some names (not saying who) who have said and done some problematic stuff. it soon becomes clear what issue many of these people are on the list for: gamergate. many of them are illustrated as sword-and-shield-bearing “social justice warriors,” ready to go toe-to-toe with gaming’s number one bad guy.

allow me to suggest the following: it is easy to be anti-gamergate. i don’t want to minimize the danger of being visible as a gamergate target. orchestrated harassment and doxxing is violence, can be terrifying, i know from experience. but a horde of blatant misogynists harassing women for being women isn’t exactly a nuanced issue. yes, of course they’re bad!

what are more thorny are issues within feminist communities themselves: abuse and abuse apologism in the social justice community, racism among white feminists (disclaimer: i am a white woman), feminism that further marginalizes and steals the agency of sex workers, class as a liberal tool of exploitation, yes, even among “social justice” advocates! those conversations require nuance and a willingness to take a hard look at the communities we participate in and the behavior and values of ourselves and our peers. it’s in many ways easier – and less dangerous for your standing in the community – to say “misogynist harassers are bad.” everyone agrees with that! everyone in social justice culture, at least. it’s a good platform to build a pedestal on.

the celebritizing and pedestalling of “social justice activists” could not be more dangerous. social justice culture exists nominally to advocate for the powerless and to demand accountability for harmful, oppressive behavior. when we elevate someone to the position of hero of social justice, who is left to hold them accountable? no more social justice warriors, no more icons. it’s so easy to imagine the person who hurt me and my partner as another face in the feminist deck.

the feminist deck, i’m sure, was created with only the best intentions. but intent – as social justice folks like to say – is not magic. i’ve talked to friends who are featured in the deck (not naming names again – it shouldn’t matter who, anyway) who have authorized me to say that they feel trapped there: they were not asked if the deck could feature their images until after the kickstarter blew up, and now don’t feel like they can refuse without bringing heat on themselves for sabotaging a feminist project thousands of dollars have been spent on – a social justice success story. this, to me, is “social justice” culture in a nutshell: an audience-pleasing political brand that masks the kind of coercion we’re all too eager to call out in any other context.

dream askew

dreamaskew

on wednesday, february 19th, six queer women gathered in brooklyn to put the shitty broken world back together. we played avery mcdaldno’s dream askew, an edit of d. vincent baker’s apocalypse world, a story game i’ve played and enjoyed a bunch of times. baker’s game is 300 pages long. dream askew is sixteen.

mostly, it gets rid of the emcee – the player who directs the game, introduces threats, fills the roles of the game’s supporting cast. these responsibilities are distributed amongst the players – “does anyone want to step in and be my useless brother rob?” i’d ask a few times over the course of the game. each player is also given a threat to the “queer enclave” that the story focuses on – rival gangs, the rest of society, the psychic maelstrom. that player is empowered to introduce conflict on behalf of that threat – though in my experience, none of the players had any problem introducing or initiating conflicts.

the other thing mcdaldno tosses is the dice roll. what it has instead is a system where players earn tokens by performing moves that develop their and other player’s characters that they can later use to act in ways that resolve or advance conflicts. for example, i played as the tiger, an enforcer whose gang uses force to keep the queer enclave safe from harm. whenever another player’s character relies on me to solve their problems (usually through force), they gain a token for playing to my character. i also have a number of “weak moves” – like revealing a secret vulnerability – that gain me tokens. i can trade in those tokens to perform “strong moves” – like leading my gang into battle, or abruptly seizing control of a situation.

so the result is that there’s a pretty clear escalation to the game. early in our game, i revealed several secret vulnerabilities – my busted arm, my love for my useless brother rob despite his tendency to get into trouble – so that as events escalated i had tokens saved up that i could use when situations spilled over into crises. there’s also something wonderful – maybe something uniquely queer – about a game that encourages players to demonstrate vulnerabilities instead of merely growing exponentially in power.

there are six roles, though mcdaldno suggests that if all six are participating, everyone might not get equal playtime. we played with six anyway. our players: colleen as rabbit, the torch, the seductive leader of the cult of the girlpile and the only one of us who truly knew of the coming threat to our community. lauren as spook, the stitcher, a mad scientist (and possible cannibal) who ran the body mod joint / clinic / women’s art space, but had a penchant for unnecessary “enhancements.”  toni as zola, the maestro, owner of an underground club (you have to use a ladder to get there) where people get high off of plant milk. naomi as lark, the arrival, an outsider with a mysterious past whose body was concealed by bandages. merritt as pallor, the iris, an extremely sensitive and mopey psychic teen whom the maelstrom repeatedly targeted. and me as diesel, the tiger.

character creation in the game is pretty quick – pick a name, pick a description, pick a gender (“gargoyle,” in my case, a gender from the future that hasn’t been invented yet), pick some powers, pick something that’ll come back to bite you. the tiger picks an untrustworthy second-in-command – i picked a “younger, less-patient sibling,” a detail that ended up driving a lot of the plot. rob was good for nothing but fucking up and putting himself in harm’s way. i also played the psychic maelstrom, a threat i almost certainly picked just to get to fuck with my girlfriend’s character.

the rest of character creation consists of everyone asking the person on her left and the person on her right a question off a list – questions like “what were our characters talking about yesterday?” or “what did my character borrow from yours?” this makes sure you have some details to draw from when you start putting scenes together. a bunch of major sources of conflict were introduced here: the animosity between spook and rabbit, the presence of the rival gang the rimjobs, the sudden intrusion of a swarm of mysterious butterflies – or moths? these moths – butterflies? – ended up being the form the psychic maelstrom would take.

the story opened with a fight between a tall queer – “big bird” – and a short queer over a piece of fabric that the latter wanted to bring in supplication to rabbit’s cult of the girlpile. rabbit alone knew that our souls were rotting inside our bodies. over the cult’s tent, a swarm of butterflies – or were they moths? – was gathering, darkening the sky, a sight that did not go unnoticed by community newcomer lark or by psychic sensitive pallor – who was bitten by one of the moths. (butterflies?)

meanwhile, at zola’s underground tavern, diesel was negotiating with zola for information regarding the return of their bike – which pallor had borrowed. diesel was reluctant to use force against the rimjob gang, who had been giving zola trouble, since they were just kids. the negotiation was interrupted by big bird bogarting the plant milk. in diesel’s ensuing attempt to bounce them, their lieutenant, paisan, got his nose broken, blood and pus running down his face.

someone ran in screaming: the rimjobs had found something in the wasteland. having to escort zola and paisan to spook’s chop shop, diesel dispatched their fuck-up brother rob to investigate.

spook needed blood to rebuild paisan’s nose. diesel asked for a robotic arm. (“i don’t do robot arms. i do cyborg arms.”) pallor showed up with a swollen, pulsing bug bite. diesel stormed off to investigate rabbit’s cult. zola’s blood donation was contaminated by maggots. pallor received electroshock. lark showed up with a wounded, bleeding big bird in tow. one maggot emerged from the blood as a butterfly. (moth?) paisan got his new, enhanced nose. lark protected pallor from the moth – then received a psychic vision that something awful was going to happen at rabbit’s ritual tonight. “i shouldn’t have killed big bird for that blood!” lark lamented, before passing out. spook peeked under lark’s bandages.

at the tent, rabbit emerged like a snake from the undulating girlpile. diesel, irate over the defection of another lieutenant, periwinkle, to the girlpile, ordered the suspension of rabbit’s “dirty flutter” ritual planned for that night. suddenly, the rimjobs showed up with the bulldozer they’d found in the wasteland. on the bulldozer, a bull-dagger – along with the traitorous rob, now calling himself “robjob.” the gang wanted meatloaf. they were just kids. they wanted a home-cooked meal.

that’s when paisan showed up, his enhanced nose picking up the smell of meatloaf – coming from rob.

what ensued involved meatloaf lycanthropy, stunt driving, a botched, bulldozer-assisted dirty flutter ritual, the revelation of lark’s true form, and communion with the bug god using a the girlpile as a spooning, glitter-covered psychic antenna. pallor saved lark from self-sacrifice. as we stood against the psychic maelstrom plant milk turned out to be the answer. the butterflies were transformed into a rain of gumdrops, and the rimjob kids who ate the gumdrops were transformed into girlpile clones. rob lived, against all odds.

it got kind of silly, which is maybe a natural result of entropy in single-session games, as you all try to resolve the mess you’ve spent the last few hours creating. but it was definitely apocalyptic, and definitely queer.

my worry before we started was that it wouldn’t always be easy to come up with new scenes to advance the story, but once we started playing it was always clear when a scene should end and what the next scene should be. not having an emcee meant (for us at least) that sometimes a player had to be willing to step in and introduce something ridiculous to keep the plot moving. in principal i guess that’s what the threats were for, though few of them played a very big role in the game (the psychic maelstrom, the rival gangs, and the varied scarcities had the most to do). but not all of them were really necessary, and everyone seemed more than willing to allow bad situations to become worse.

zola, maybe, did not get as much “screen time” as the other characters, but toni still got a lot of great moments as the flirting, beckoning voice of the girlpile. asshole brother rob may have been the role naomi was born to play. lauren was maniacal, merritt was tormented and emo. colleen was a cult leader. she was absolutely glorious. everyone was brilliant and funny and inspiring. it was a good game.

before the game, we had a conversation about boundaries around sex scenes, which seemed like a good idea, since almost every character has some sort of sex move. (the stitcher, instead, gets to have people on their operating table.) but it didn’t end up becoming much of an issue – not a lot of sex happened. with another group, in another play, maybe more would happen? a boundaries conversation seems like a good idea, at any rate.

the game played out in a way that felt very similar to apocalypse world games i’d played – but without a single emcee, which i think is a quality i’m drawn to in story games lately. or maybe it’s better described as a “shared” emceeing. definitely people need to be willing to step up from time to time.

probably – unless someone was really interested in being the emcee – i’d play dream askew before apocalypse world. also, dream askew is free.

chikkingun

chikkingun: postmodern war fair is a game by meghan pardee and amon26 where you use a gun that fires chickens to fight knife-wielding rené magrittes, spider-legged duchamp toilets and decomancers. it reminds me more than anything of giddy shareware like the last eichhof, games that exist unabashedly to just be a canvas for their creators’ imaginations. if we can return to a time where tiny, weird games like this can be sold, i’m ecstatic.

you’ve maybe noticed i’ve been posting a few commercial games lately. i like to think that people are also becoming more comfortable asking for money for their games, even if the games are little, even if the games are weird, non-technical, unpolished. maybe we’re finally moving past the idea that the value of a game can be measured in how many hours you’re asked to spend in front of it, in the layers of visual polish it’s doused in. the thing that still thrills me about the shareware movement is the variety of the weird stuff that authors created and asked for money for, even if most of them probably made very little. maybe this is our chance to build a new economy that values little strange things.

chikkingun is four dollars.

fjords

one of the things that fascinates me about folks’ fetishes, or at least the fantasies that represent their purest platonic expression, is the specificity of them. my legs need to be in this exact position; the device restraining me has to be shaped exactly so, otherwise there’ll be no space for the ghost hands to fit through. this is why conspirators of pleasure is the most perfect movie about the human experience: there’s so much meticulousness involved in arranging each character’s fantasy, so much planning, so much RITUAL.

one of the things that has always contributed to the mythic power of the glitch in digital games is how much ritual is involved in summoning them. read this description of how to access the minus world in super mario bros.:

Mario can get to the Minus World by going to World 1-2 and standing on the pipe that leads to the Flagpole at the end of the level. Mario should move to the far left end of the pipe, then duck while facing left. While ducking, the player should jump. While in the air, Mario should move right, so that when he’s about to come back down, he should be just under the ceiling next within this moment. It may take the player several tries, for Mario must land in an exact spot on the pipe in order to travel through it.

kyle reimergartin’s fjords is, essentially, a minus world, or a constellation of them. i need to send up my grappling hook to open the portal but if i do it HERE then the portal will block me from using my grappling hook after i pass through, so i need to open the portal HERE, fall and go through it, then take one step to the left and hook up from there. every tool that you have access to in exploring fjords’ world is itself a process that changes that world, and you come to understand them as rituals – powerful rituals that can make solid walls as passable as paper, but have to be staged correctly, to be approached with respect, to be understood.

fj0rds costs seven dollars, and is the most interesting digital space i’ve explored in a long time.

consensual torture simulator

DISCLAIMER: this is a game by my girlfriend. she is selling it for two (or more) dollars. in this post, i try to convince you to give my girlfriend money.

games, particularly digital games, depict violence frequently, casually. you’ll mow down the population of an entire town over the course of a game. so much of the violence in videogames is not only nonconsensual, but also consequence-free, a power fantasy where the digital world has been designed to be permissive of your whims. violence against bodies in mainstream videogames isn’t limited to bullets and cars: in grand theft auto, the player gropes strippers to fill up a meter. bodies in this game exist for your consumption.

consensual torture simulator is radically different: it’s a game where, within the context of a loving, negotiated relationship, you consensually hurt a partner until you mutually arrive at an agreed-upon goal (making her cry). you think about violence differently when it’s asked for, and when the person receiving it is someone that you care about – it has consequences. you start checking in, paying attention to her physical and emotional state. this is not the depersonalized violence of so many videogames.

consensual torture simulator also talks about something that’s absent in many discussions about kink: it talks about the top’s experience, about how actually tiring it is to swing your arm so many times. when you take a break – when you create break by teasing her, by touching her, by scratching her bruises or whispering threats in her ear, you’re doing it as much for your own endurance as for hers. we think that just because tops have the authority within the scene they don’t make themselves vulnerable.

this game is about negotiation, impact play, and aftercare. it’s a take on violence that is intimate, sweet and tender. i’m naturally biased; i can’t help seeing some of my own mannerisms in the protagonist, or some of my girl’s in the protagonist’s partner. it’s a thirtieth of the cost of grand theft auto. imagine if for every game like grand theft auto, thirty games about loving, consensual, negotiated violence existed. you can buy consensual torture simulator on gumroad.

gone home

SPOILERS for gone home below! the game’s a few hours long, so maybe this is post-game reading material.

gone home is a coming out story. exclusively. i guess there are some hints of other plots lying around the mansion: your dad’s a hack writer, your mom’s into some dude. but the central story of the game is, undeniably, the story of a teenage queer girl falling in love, discovering her queerness, her first relationship, the fallout surrounding being a queer teen, and ultimately what becomes of that first relationship.

i find the game hard to relate to. i’m saying this of a game that’s NOT ABOUT SHOOTING PEOPLE and ALMOST EXCLUSIVELY FEATURES WOMEN CHARACTERS. most videogames are totally alienating to me. this game contains characters whose lives are ostensibly closer to mine than an easy 99% of digital games. and yet there’s this gap: this game’s main character (not the protagonist, note) is very different from me, and her story is very different than mine, and i think i’m more aware of that distance than i would be with joe bald shootman because i do compare my experience to hers, as a queer person who was once a teen.

look: when i was the age sam – the game’s main character – is, i didn’t even know i was a woman. i was confused and ugly, incapable of looking at myself in the mirror, and using the internet to have cybersex with boys. i was pretty sure i was gay because i knew i sure as hell wasn’t straight. the first trans kid i ever interacted with (it was on irc) ran away from home before her christian parents could send her to a boarding school for boys, trying to hitchhike across the country to visit me. she stopped calling halfway, and i don’t know if she was picked up by the cops or someone worse or what. i never heard from her again.

see? MESSY. and though the pretense of gone home is that you’re assembling a story out of journals and notes and scraps scattered around the house, sam’s story is surprisingly non-messy. she meets a girl. they go ghost-hunting. they get close. physical affection happens, and then love does. they kiss. she comes out to her parents. well, she’s a cis girl, that’s probably a big part of it. gender isn’t something sam ever has to figure out.

almost immediately after it’s established that sam is into this girl, you’re granted access to this secret panel in which are hidden a few sheets of looseleaf. it’s a story sam wrote: in it, she’s a pirate captain, and her first mate, the love of her life, is lowered into magic goop that changes him from a man into a woman.

and, like: yes, this is the sort of thing a kid going through confusion and transition would write. we all externalized this stuff in some way. but it’s the timing that makes it all too convenient: if i had found it any other time in the game, it would have been different. but, no, it was timed very carefully: it shows up right after sam narrates that she’s in love with a girl. it’s like an explanation. aha, that explains it. the puzzle is solved.

ultimately, i found sam’s story hard to connect with because it was too neat. there seems to be nothing else going on in sam’s life, nothing else going on in the game, other than her queerness, her first love, going to her girlfriend’s bands’ shows. “that’s true of any teenager,” my slut told me. “that’s how it feels.” but it didn’t feel like that to me.

anyway, gone home is still like a million times better than yet another game about dudes shooting other dudes in the face.

crypt worlds: your darkest desires come true

robert recently wrote that “ludonarrative dissonance” – places where a game’s rules are in conflict with its context, to put it into anna-speak – doesn’t actually exist, because players don’t experience it as dissonance. it’s more like internalizing conventions of theater, or learning the unique vocabulary of an artificial world.

now, robert makes this argument at the service of critiquing bioshock infinite, which i see as unnecessary in that that game is immediately abhorrent to anyone who might be insulted by the creation of big budget spectacle out of a white game director’s shallow failure to examine his own racism. what bioshock suffers from is ethical dissonance.

the dim places in digital worlds – places where the tension between the game’s vocabulary and its metaphor are heightened – are the ones that interest me the most. the uneven places, the asymmetries, the cracks between the joints that are wide enough to step inside – some people spend a lot of time and money making cyberspace look and feel soooorta realistic, but it’s these that make a digital world feel deeper to me, richer, more worthy of exploration.

these days, i find myself decreasingly interested in digital games. but i spent a week with crypt worlds: your darkest desires come true, by lizabeths deadman and ryerson, before finishing the game with the “good” ending. every time i played, i discovered something completely new. not because the world is vast and labrynthine and unmappable, as is goblet grotto, but because of the ways in which it breaks / unfolds to reveal new facets of itself.

zzt: an excerpt

ZZT – as in, the book that i am writing about the game, and the game-making tool, and the communities surrounding it, and the messy teen angst it acted as a canvas for – is available for pre-order now! the book itself won’t be out until next winter. meanwhile, the manuscript is an archaeology project, an excavation of a personal history of game-making, shareware, cyberspace in the 90s, and transition. below is an excerpt from the start of the book. if you like it, maybe you want to reserve your copy?

(also, as a side-project, i’ve put together a blog for some of the text i’ve unearthed from zzt games.)

 

1: PURPLE KEYS

I must have been nine or ten.

There was a flea market at my school – the cavernous space of the gymnasium packed with vendors, tables, booths. The man who was selling software was old, white, and white-haired. He probably was not humming the lyrics to Led Zeppelin’s Stairway to Heaven, but since I don’t remember, let’s agree that the possibility exists, for the sake of thematic connection.

His display bristled with little plastic packages, squat and rectangular like envelopes, shiny like beetle wings. Beneath the plastic, each had a card with a single still image of some weird pixel elseworld and a bunch of text that had no context for me – the name of a game and its publisher, none recognizable to me.

Having already encountered Ms. Pac-man, Missile Command, Asteroids, Super Mario, I could recognize them as games: they had that blocky abstraction that suggested these weren’t merely images but icons, characters in some arcane, magical language.

So they were games. For the computer? My parents had bought a computer recently, Windows 3.1. I was awful at the one game I had found that wasn’t a card game, the one where the mouse tries to trap cats by pushing blocks around. I had the vague sense that this machine spoke the same language as the games I had played, that if I pressed the right button I could make it speak to me too. But I never found the button.

I went home with the plastic package that was the most colorful: concentric rings of polka-dot greens and blues, lines of bright crimson on purple, a plump white smiley face beaming from the center. The label said Super ZZT, Potomac Computer Systems.

continue reading.

dragon warrior text adventure

nintendo power magazine was put together by nintendo of america as a marketing tool to sell games for their nintendo entertainment system and to get kids attached to the nintendo brand. in 1990, they had the task of getting their young audience interested in a game called dragon warrior that was heavily inspired by the dungeons & dragons role-playing game. deliberately obscure in many ways and full of pretty obtuse systems, this was probably a hard game to get a handle on if you hadn’t seen anything like it before. so how did nintendo power market this weird game? they drew upon the game’s mediated storytelling history – and made a choose your own adventure. the DRAGON WARRIOR TEXT ADVENTURE ran as a four-page feature in the march / april issue of 1990.

it’s a weird little intersection of digital game history and choose your own adventure, so i made a twine version of it. the typeface that appears in the game is amble.

vesper.5

vesper.5 is a game by michael brough where the player is allowed one move a day. i finished it yesterday, after playing for the better part of a year. the choices that you have to make are simple: move a monk either up, down, left or right on an ongoing pilgrimage. but the investment of time any particular path represents makes some choices agonizing. but you get a long time to meditate on them – often i very quickly resolved to take the longer-looking path, if possible. (the longer-looking path isn’t always the longer path, that’s another thing.)

the game took me most of a year to play, but, and this is important, it didn’t waste my time. vesper.5 asks for a minute at most a day, while the average eighty-hour blockbuster demands continuous attention and is invested in finding lots of shallow ways to absorb your time. vesper.5 is a game about time, but in a different way.

the last game that purposefully made me wait to see things like this was planetarium, which allows you access to a new chapter every week after it’s begun. in both cases, the mysteries of what the game could have to show me, of what the next screen could possibly look like, were a powerful draw to return to the game. at least until whichever shmuck made vesper.5’s igf video saw fit to spoil the entire fucking game. i endevoured to make sure i only played when no one else was looking, to keep any potential players from seeing any of the mysteries that the igf so callously gave away. that became my ritual.

i’ve spent enough time with vesper.5 that i can actually split my time with it into several distinct phases of thinking about the game:

the first phase was one of curiousity: to internalize the basic rules of the game. this time was characterized by an eagerness to return to the game as soon as possible, to perform the next move, to see what happens.

once i understood all of the rules, my interest in playing became less active: i entered the phase where i only played the game when i was reminded that it existed. when i did play, i usually mentioned playing the game on twitter, as a service to other people who were in the same space as i.

then i reached a point where i had spent so much time with the game, had travelled so far on the pilgrimage, that remembering to play every day was trivial. here and there i would travel and ignore the game for a week, but always it was easy to get back into the habit of playing. i was too invested in completing it, in seeing it through to the end.

next was the phase where the igf fucking spoiled the ending. against michael brough’s own wishes, someone at the igf cobbled together a short trailer – in the interest of making the game as watchable as possible – that spoiled all of the little secrets of the game, including the ending. they broadcast this on a giant screen, robbing everyone in the room of the joy of developing a relationship with this game.

the fifth phase was the one where michael told me the ending they’d shown wasn’t the “real” ending, so that i’d keep playing. this was actually really really sweet, and it helped me finish the game. or have i finished it? i’ll turn it on a week from now, and who knows what i’ll see.