Halloween of Fun

Hurray for Halloween! One year ago today, I tried to scare everyone visiting here by saying 'Blargh!'. It did work on Air, but apparently on no-one else. Therefore, I've decided to welcome you to the house of FEAR instead. Where is the house of FEAR? I don't know. I guess you can use your imaginations (we don't give them enough attention, I say!!).

The House of FEAR

Timothy, Maria, Arthur, and Gladys cycled up to the brow of Sarmont Hill. Our gang of young friends had gotten quite carried away with their Halloween guising activities (aka Trick Or Treating, for our American allies). They had quite forgotten that the moon was not a person, and that they would find it rather difficult to extract any sweets from it. "It's no use, Timothy," said Gladys. "You're being silly. Even if we could reach the moon, why should it give us any sweets?"
"I'll see about that!" Timothy was not in the mood for being proven wrong. "I brought a stick with which to poke the moon. With its help, we'll tickle it into submission, and demand lots of sweets!" Gladys was very much embarrassed, skipping down the hill to avoid being seen with Tim. His Batman costume was part of this incentive, though.

"I'll do a dance!" said Arthur to Sarah, who had managed to accidentally walk over the hill and into the local dark forest. "And I'll sing a song!" Sarah was anxious to reply. Welled with an irrepressible glory to bring the world to happiness with music, both of them ended up singing and dancing, despite making public a devotion to just one of these two. Unfortunately, Arthur inadvertantly bumped into a tree, causing the entire forest to be transported into the astral plane, directly above a planet in the Lunar system.

So, the two realised every emotion and awe of spirit imaginable, a transcendance of mortal incorrigibility, and basked in delight at the realisation of the higher mystery of all things, for souls to never grasp in their flesh.

Suddenly, Shakespeare appeared and decided to sum up the proceedings by remarking that, "there are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy." When Gladys unlocked the astral door and found them, she asked 'Shakers' who Horatio was. 'Shakers' replied, "For the purpose of this story, the author does not know the answer to that question. Ask Rob instead."

And to all a good night.  ¶ 10:40 pm  

  Relics of the Past: Part One (About Brins)

I've been making 'RPG' games and variants for the sake of fun over the last few years. (Blerns & Sob, one of Rob and myself's greatest creations, have perhaps 5+ films programmed with the software we use.) And on this fun note, it's time for my Relics of the Past series, a nostalgic look back at some of my older projects at making games. Some old, some not so old. For the sake of not disclosing either Rob's or my identity (something I'm always careful about), some won't be mentioned here simply to avoid any details from leaking. So, let's begin with one of my very oldest.

Cleansed Part 1: Count Quinge!! (2002/3)

I think that many people like to talk about their work as having a lot of history, planning, and depth behind it. Well, here's one that doesn't. Whatever may be said about it, the plot had big plans, but everyone rightfully might think it's horrible.

It all boils down to a happy medieval time of some form, where Flarno and Kaple end up walking over to a house. To cut a short story shorter, Flarno wakes up one day and everyone in the village has turned into zombies. The mysterious quest begins to get to all the world's four large churches to seek help in stopping the spreading of the zombie crisis which seems to be following him everywhere. That's all we need to know for now, though just thinking about it gives me a happy feeling inside. I had plans, you see.

The original has no name, although it's referred to as 'Count Quinge!!' and 'Ol' Dracula his microphone' in folders and files; the 'Cleansed Part 1' bit was added on by me when I decided to remake it and add a sequel earlier this year (which probably won't get off the ground, though).

I have a lot of happy memories and nostalgia about this game, mainly because while I was making it, it felt like I was at the helm of a massive epic. I had real plans for this one, and, bad as it may seem to anyone else, I thought I was making something incredible. For me, anyway, because I've always felt incompetent at everything.

Perhaps the real reason I have such affections for this (completely nowhere near finished) thing is because it was made back at a time when I really wasn't being at all serious about making these games, yet I enchanted myself at the kind of world I was creating. It had towns, and a big map, and forests, and caves, and you could even go under the sea at one point. It might well be one of a kind from me, because this one got about as far as any non-Blerns & Sob project has with me.

I have great memories with this, and you'd be disappointed to ever play it. But, well, there you go. For your sakes, I won't ask you to, but besides that, you can't anyway. Bye!

STAY TUNED FOR NOTHING TO HAPPEN!

Alternatively, leave this blog for several days and something might come up. You never know! That's the miracle of something of another! Oh, why not see Rob instead? I hear he's got plans.

Brins' note: After reading this and playing the game to get those pictures, I've suddenly felt hearkened back to my childhood. Some of the music from this game comes from an old childhood enchantment of mine, Terranigma. I've just remembered how mystical my whole world felt, thanks to that game and many others like it. If you ask me, all these Japanese SNES RPGs really made an impression on my younger years. A way of looking at the world that perhaps few children have had the pleasure of having, I owe to these games. Sounds quite silly, but that's the way things tend to be, rightly enough. I rather miss that feeling.

Perhaps an essay on that one day... BRINS AWAY!!!

  ¶ 6:19 pm  

  It's Time to be Thankful (Something else)

It's time to be thankful for what we have, because if we didn't have it, then we would no doubt be very much without it, insomuch as to be able to walk along the street and - when approached by passersby inquiring as to whether or not you have it - say, with a degree of confidence, "I verily do not have it at this present time." After such an event has occured, you may well begin to take it upon yourself that it is somewhat disturbing that the aforementioned passersby were aware that you had the thing at some point in time. Furthermore, you might be a bit upset at having to tell them such a thing; don't be upset, because while you're sad at not having it now, it will one day be replaced in spirit - an easy thing to say objectively, but the realm of the subjective isn't so subject to such rationalness. If you're not thankful, then perhaps that's just as well, because my watch was fast in the first place.

But really, I've been straying from the subject - what is art? Those who feel artful may be pleased to know that they're artistic, but, who knows, maybe it's better to say that to consider yourself to be an artist, or indeed a poet or philosopher, is to reveal that perhaps you are not in the spirit of seeking understanding of your field; as it is but those who are immature who would say to another, "thou art immature," just maybe the same could apply to something el-

Huh?! What's wrong? Are you asking what's happened to my mind? Well, you know what they say: "you know what they say".

I suppose it is nice to be thankful, if we look up to the title of this one. But ideally, let's not get too tied up in what we think is good today, because tomorrow you might well have drifted away from that line of thought. That way, the fall is softer, plus you enjoy it all the more when you drift back.

Well, whatever all of that means, as long as we're all happy, I think it doesn't matter. If you're not happy, please tell me, because sadness mostly brings about the belief that happiness can never return; but when you can become happy again - and I do mean when, no matter what; don't scoff that your swamp is on another plane from such a thought, because trust me, I can quite confirm that it isn't - you'll think, 'what was I on about?' It's funny, really.

Whatever's coming tomorrow, it will be done by its end, however unending it seems; I think we're all living proof of that, huh? Hugh?!

Seriously though, there are no limits to the conditions for feeling unhappy, and you're tapping into a realm of consciousness that can only be understood when you're unhappy. It's not easy to explain when you're in it, but I guess we're inherently troubled by that knowledge. Take ease, it's not painful or wrong in the grand painting.

Now, I hope you all feel better. For just as I am strange now, well, that'll change by the morning.

I remember being told something by a fellow pupils at the school leaving prom, and I'd count on these being words that'll go with me for the rest of my life:
"[Brins], you're the only person I know who sounds drunk even though you're not."

Thank you, my friend.  ¶ 8:40 pm  

  For Some Reason (Something else)

For the sake of giving you something to do, read about the art of blogging here.

By the by, Rob has a special plan.  ¶ 7:20 pm