the mark of teh bad game is all libidinal, it’s something just like “I’m not putting up with this,” because it appears to insult your intelligence/time/capacity/kindness—insert your favored measure of existence that will now be gamified in order to express the libidinal decline, the sudden realization that artwork isn’t pleasuring you, and every moment outside of the pleasure zone is obviously an inefficient way to spend your time. this isn’t typically seen as a cursepact, although it requires surrendering aspects of yourself into very gamified, meritocratic structures, a capitalism-charged dystopian possibility of being able to consume your way into mental structures that are kinder, better, and smarter.
as a past champion of maligned videogames, being today instead maybe a goblin or a troglodyte who keeps to their own forbidden ways, I have gleefully noticed (and, I suppose, I have both precipitated and participated in) a change and revaluation of the desirable or even acceptable boundaries of what collection of texts, textures, objects, connections, etc, constitutes a legitimate videogame, rather than a cruel joke or a funny point of trivia. this makes me happy. yet I also feel like tuxedo mask, overconfident in my labors of already being here, struggling to communicate what here is… みな、さらばだ…
