They smile and touch my hair, I am an entire potentiality of fingertips and cleverness and I lust with the hugeness of all my doings. Their eye glitters with more mischief than an entire sack of stolen jewels.
From a white rabbit, to some dead grass, to a snow particle, and descending inside myself until I became a hydrogen atom wandering into a burnt green nothingness occasionally punctuated by wayward bacteria.
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.
