A Hundred Poem

I don’t really like game jams with strict time limits, like, there is rarely a compelling reason for self-imposed crunch (it seems this trend is reversing so I won’t belabor this), but The 100-in-1 Klik and Play Pirate Kart is an exception. A hundred games made in forty-eight hours, the stipulations of the game jam feed into its output, the whole event is geared to make a certain kind of game. Fathoming, again, a hundred games in two days, by less than two dozen people, they have a texture and attitude unlike games made by conventional means or reasons.

Some are flat out horrible, but many are genuinely great. They’re sketches, unconventional takes, reimagining of games based on the Klik and Play toolset. Playing them all at once creates a tumult, each new game a bizarre shift in values, presentation, rules, needs, wants. A reprocessing occurs which each new piece, a commonality established by forced association, my brain attempting to find patterns where there are none.

I have a fondness for free association and stream-of-consciousness writing styles. Playing through The 100-in-1 Klik and Play Pirate Kart inspired sensations that reminded me of those kinds of excessive writing. Being in flux of beings, places, feelings; a focus on everything, making a slab of a thing through absurdity and muchness, so that the possibility of a focused or inherent meaning is obfuscated by many meanings, the impossibility of meaning. The 100-in-1 Klik and Play Pirate Kart doesn’t stand for anything except for excess, for being, for trying. I think it’s a summation of what I like about videogames. An ode to possibilities within possibility spaces.

After linking the games to free association, I decided to use them as inspiration for such a poem. For each game I played I wrote a line or so, though some have been deleted now. I guess it’s kind of like a let’s play, with the aspect of commenting on a game as I play it, but so much equally frantic and unfocused. It’s remediation too, a reinterpretation of game sensations into a different creative format. And it’s an excuse, I’ve kind of felt like writing something like this but didn’t feel inspired enough, or have the right outlet. I turned the act if playing into a different kind of play. (Unfortunately since the games don’t work on 64-bit operating systems you might not be able to play along—though that would be an hours long ordeal anyway.)

phasing in & out thwarting nature itself symbol life crashing into mismanaged selfhood

controlled cacophony lasting out stuck space between universal undying technology

distant relic of certain understanding we can’t escape from; memetic decay to symbols, signal signal

impossible acclimatized deluge & what seen impossible sometimes just nonthreatening & corny

so much of doing is seeing so much of living is just done, submerged, sleepwalking

sometimes premonitions of death take the guise of absolutely broken brains

though if only plans dissolved inevitably mandate untenable

and we decided things based on things; and we decided struggles over struggles; and it holds until an adjacent smear

eventually all things get away, eventually, things all away, eventually get

casual fucking absurd, fucking dehumanization. unwitting unwarning unwavering: fucking overs

probably, probably & yet there could somehow ways, probably of time. now & then

well, there’s applications barbarous things separating context condensing copies could but detachment sounds good enough when good enough


the one right of me says please there is a difference between us and the one left of me says death

stark unmovable fundamental history written apology compelling natural let down

one violence comes through defense ignorance hides solipsism rules never trust

i shan’t

consumption is just a game has ruptured the gall bladder of western civilization

& this is forever if you cant get the best of us now its because this is forever

cowardice maintains many modern mistakes make less; coping, copping, copaid

life & life flashes & flashed life & flesh for flash & all before sockets

but: who does this benefit? infinite, in, i hide for what reason. an hidden

we’re all just waiting to pull the fucking carpet out from under. eh? even everything happens even everything i feel like a nightmare

life or death, or, or, living my best self because that’s where that’s what cultured me

indulgence characterized by comfort characterized by malice characterized by incomprehensible values

not context what requires circumstance

adaptability often relies on false dichotomy

of couse it’s unlikely to achieve satisfaction under pressure to suceed. drop the pretense and through meditation we accomplish an inverse

sometimes i worry too much about how to practice self care when i desperately need to and miss my window for healing

it’s a trick two-fold: we see way too much of culture than prior needs, so we become too empowered in our natural roles as filters

non, anti, contrary, negation, irreconcilable; misdirections & fake outs do occur

nothing will be easy when easiness is verboten

the longest ever recorded

dumbest things often bring out your worst fucking memories. what’s safety?

frustration onset by whats theoretically possible, what’s necessary, what’s living, versus every day erosion

sucked out symbol losing sanctity conception that deriving pleasure

it’s not necessarily the proud lack of control it’s the expectation that there’s an audience

spiritual sickness residual accumulating ironically, ironically, a chase that gives a never end

replace malignancy with nonsymbols hint at inherent lack

every other day i stop believing in optimism

branding in modern at least boost your friends; consequence is more dry than dire

though i absolutely hate the breakdown of goodness because it does pave

& such will be done, all labors are not for thine, rest

i looked to them for guidance. i thought i could be saved

look into my eyes & swear imperialism is just how the world works. can you?

cognitive dissonance stasis staying so-called suspect suppositions

an ouroboros meditating on weakness; things are stuck if they are stuck

living is a lot of accepted banality clashing

spoons plates metaphorical energy centered through tools for

all of it is until all of it is until all of it

defend all’s freedom to destroy themselves, only shame

sometimes it feels like there are those who exist only to mediate collective impulses

sometimes that actually feels worthwhile

whatever ills compel control outside denigration drilling holes letting fester

& sometimes desperation is our most powerful anchor. control incomprehensibility

even noticing such a pattern deviations derive

our things, our things, live besides through without altogether

a time of no quarter, but is this for the people?

ultraviolence false gives repose, true false crumples

as elusive thing birthright it also is, detestable it also is, it also is, and can anything be sucked out in such a way

oddness security fails instants when not nurtured

that what heals may not be that what wins; be wary of grandiloquent arrangements

stasis sadness attempts sink imitations unrecognized

i touch death every day

the issue with calling work sisyphean is that living is sisyphean

a peculiarity with scoring videogames is that they’re geared for death. they’re not about accomplishing a triumphant life but they’re struggling against an already decided end. much of the roots of videogames are failing in style, they are losing in conflict, ending through strife.

i hate the stresses of mortality as a coward does

despite rigor one day i will succumb

a great many things are perfect band-aids & i will scramble

take small comfort in concrete

honestly randomness is beautiful. honestly at least

& i blink i sleep i wake where is my own where is my chance

every day the same dream

fuck elitists, by the by

give me your tired, your poor, your huddled asses

fair is only fair accordingly, and really, no thanks to you

healing takes its toll, must be able to triumph over disease again and again and again without

everyone’s destiny is to be forgotten, that’s the extent of destine

exit drugs and exit drugs and rock and exit drugs

wait entire life for things to go one way & they might. efficiency is a

seeing signs altogether doesn’t ensure successful & tragedy & breakdown

so much for the intolerable essence

from each according to his ability, to each according to his need

let goodness in & let it texture your works

to let satire miss its mark retains functionality

every day is both the funniest fucking thing and the absence of all humor

not constant panic much stating antipathy fluxing apathy

labor with and because of despair, sayeth god

though i wish they would off

it does not help to see the lines if you cannot trace them

appearing operating violence unsolicited lose culture lose fantasy lose

okay self-sabotaging there’s a point & a limit find it & free

how do people believe in optimism? were things ever alright? is living forever unearned? things happen… none of my experiences rarely if ever match, i don’t feel things coming or going. things need to be things & in nothing there is no loss or gain

let a freak fire burn out

at this point i say cross me fool

i refuse already spent withered

when surviving i wont feel guilted

effort spent is not effort wasted

my imagination won’t be prefabricated

even stranded

some personal gaze, some personal days

call down health & personal inversion

use signifiers for significant benefit

ward off emptiness

and make way for clear

here is the 100-in-1 klik and play pirate kart



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