I am harboring guilt over the hundreds & hundreds
of Pokémon trapped inside of their Poke balls trapped
inside of my phone. I want to say something important
like “Pokémon is capitalism” or “Pokémon is imperialism”
or—worse—“Pokémon is slavery,” but what do I know,
what can I know. History is a box. I am looking inside.
I wanted to pick Pokédex entries that felt resonant, and in most cases, pokémon that I had an emotional attachment to. I didn’t have any criteria that bound me to the first generation—if anything, I wanted to resist the part of the fandom that idealizes the early games/show and dismisses what’s come after.
You are still trying to name yourself, still scribbling on your tombstones, still threading through sutures. You are partition & parenthesis.
i hope Red had taken time to write his
requiem for his lost dad, when trainer
Silver, had happened
to find him praying at the mountain froth.
I can be in the backyard, in the woods, sitting on the porch steps. The world of Pokémon anywhere and everywhere.
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.
