the grass is green and the sky is gray and the road is wet and the gutter is leaking (drip drip drip) a continuous rhythm (drip drip drip) and the grass is green (is it greener than it was before?) and the sky is gray (is it grayer than it was before?) and the gutter continues to leak and
part of me wonders why this is not enough, the mundane nature of life, the simple aspects of the world, these small moments of silence, where the grass is green and the sky is gray and the road is wet and the gutter is leaking and the stale taste of sleep still lingers on my tongue and my head feels heavy and my lips feel dry and i’m looking out the window to look at the green grass and the gray sky and the wet road and i’m listening to the drip drip drip
and maybe it is? maybe it is enough. on days where i feel good, and peaceful, and there isn’t an itch under my skin and my mind is clear, and i can appreciate what simply is.
but today i don’t know what i feel and i scratch at an itch on my neck and my head feels fuzzy and i don’t know what is enough and what isn’t enough and i don’t know what i’m angry over and what i’ve moved on from and i don’t know if i like who i am or if i’m frustrated with my lack of progression and i don’t know if i like who i am or if i’m worried that i haven’t changed at all and i don’t know if i like who i am or if part of me is convinced that nothing i do will ever amount to anything and i don’t know if i like who i am but
i don’t think about it and i simply just look out the window and think about how the grass is green and the sky is gray and the road is wet and the gutter is leaking (drip drip drip) a continuous rhythm (drip drip drip) and about how it simply is and i simply am and that soon that will be enough for me again and that soon my mind will be
Dean: Great. So I’ll see you around 7? I’ll pick you up.
Cas: perfect. Really looking forward to it. Do you think we’ll get a candle?
Dean: Haha, that would make everything so much better, of course, and a little white flower too?
Cas: We won’t get a flower, that’s /far/ too posh! :-o
Dean chuckled at the sarcasm dripping from Cas’ text. They had a nice evening planned, Dean had reserved a table at their favourite Italian restaurant.
Dean: And dessert, we’ll do that too? ;)
Cas: Dean… what are you trying to say?
“Mr. Winchester?” I heard a call from the back of the classroom, breaking me from my little world of Cas. I looked up and saw Krissy with her hand up. “Is that a phone?” She asked me in the same way I normally catch her; she was one of the cocky ones. But holy shit she caught me, after the million and one times I have had to confiscate her phone.
“Um, no, Krissy shouldn’t you be finishing your exercise?” I ask, shoving my phone casually between my legs and onto the chair. Totally unnoticeable. I am King of Inconspicuousness.
So far I like Bloodborne infinitely more than Dark Souls 3, and it’s helping me realize what I found so appealing about the first Dark Souls, and what was missing in the sequels.
And that, my friends, is a visceral sense of unironic campiness.
In Bloodborne, it’s easy to see with the extendable transforming saw-toothed weapons, the text dripping with stylistic references to Poe and Lovecraftian Gothic horror melodrama, and the enemies wailing “This tale ends here!” when they die. It’s all very obviously and gleefully over-the-top. But I’m realizing that the same sense of camp was just a much present in the first Dark Souls. There, instead of a Japanese caricature of English horror, you had a caricature of European medieval fantasy. For all the talk of the interpersonal drama of Gods and Kings, most of the game consists of Kingseeker Frampt and his big goofy teeth, bumbling hollows and bush-men, people with snakes for heads, dragon-asses, and brutal mushroom pugilists.
Both have a sense of tangible excitement and delight in the weird monster and grotesqueries and all the overcooked melodrama of their worlds hanging in the balance. Which is exactly what makes the little personal moments truly heartbreaking and memorable when they do finally occur. Siegward of Catarina going hollow was sad because he was legitimately just a wacky onion-headed buffoon who wanted to go on an adventure. Lautrec’s heel-turn was so effective because the firelink shrine was just beginning to feel like a safe haven of weird misfits.
In comparison, the only trick Dark Souls 3 has is showing us the corpse of all the things we loved. Outside of the context of being made to love them it’s just empty and distasteful.
mr. solomon: what is the deal with you two anyways? daddy/daughter? may/september? you know what i think? red: well you just said “daddy” and a minute ago you also called her my girlfriend, so no, we have no clue