When you look up, you remember this feeling. The sky dismembered by waves and angles and prisms. You remember this, grasping for solid land, searching for “up” as if it were some lost treasure. You remember a jewel glimmering red as an “OFF” light in the reeds and rushes of the water.
Blinky twists and somehow turns himself outward in order to face the glass. In his dream he had form and substance. In his dream he lived on the other side of the glass, and the rituals of Mouth and Ghost were nothing more than a game to him. In his dream, he could see his body’s reflection in the glass, but the only thing he remembers about how he looked, was that his body had Inky’s black, ever-open, eyes.
i get a magnifying glass from inside the house. there are no blades of grass. the grass is a giant mob of tiny imps from the game doom.
I pulled into first with her right behind me. She had a red shell. I had a banana. It was a game of chicken and timing.
The ladder ends in a circular chamber that looks something like a Victorian train station. Cohn apologizes that it is so simple despite the massive size of the chamber, the many tunnels leading out, and the gold filigree along the great dome’s ribs.
We think video games are literature, and so why shouldn't there be literature about video games? That's the question we're hoping to answer here. Read more.
