I understand the comfort afforded by an endless grind for which the only reward is more grind, perhaps a little too well. It’s about maintaining the appearance of working toward something, without the pressure of having to derive any ultimate fulfillment from whatever it is.
I haven’t even beaten my favorite game, the one I started with: Ocarina of Time. I have tried many times since my dad beat it. I can easily navigate the Great Deku Tree, Dodongo’s Cavern, and Lord Jabu-Jabu’s Belly. Once, I got stuck at the Water Temple (a classic spot to fail). The last time I tried, I got stuck in the Gerudo Fortress. Even looking up how to sneak past the busty Gerudo women, I couldn’t figure it out.
In the game, he is more superhuman than he is in real life: muscles swollen out from underneath low-rising socks—a man who can expose skin because he is not worried about exposure to the brambles left behind by the wind—someone who can bleed and not think anything of it because there has been nothing left to rust. There is no blood.
I cannot speak of it much. Like its tunnels, Moria is too serpentine, too dense, too dark. I have nothing good to say about that place.
Steel, granite, and glass reached for the heavens along a long curved peninsula, true downtown lying on a raised plateau overlooking a tropical bay, causing the blue and green and brown buildings to extend higher. Suburban sprawl, fields of factories, spiraled out from the dense center, bedroom communities and farming towns.
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