So many buttons, and so much time with which to push them…

The inverse can be just as regretable, so it really is a pick your own poison scenario, I find.

I’m currently at a loss for words, on some non-literal level anyways, as to what was worth speaking about today in the world of gaming. There seems to be plenty of gaming news I haven’t discussed yet, games I’ve played recently that I could mention, and even philosophical ideas I could reappropriate in reference to the gaming industry, game design, or just the idea of playing in general, but sadly, sharing any of that does not really seem to compel me right now, in spite of the fact that, deep down, somewhere in the core of my being, I yearn for nothing else but to express myself , share my philosophical musings, and write about video games in the process.

This is a shame, as I was just pondering earlier on how showing up, and doing nothing else but show up, in response to moments of low energy and destroyed spirit, is sometimes all that matters, and the thing that can make the difference the most, even when one is unable to do much else. I wrote about intentionality earlier this week, and I have continued to reflect on the notion, and how it relates to myself, humanity, and the general endeavors of those who may consider themselves beyond these realms. I know this may perhaps seems like a silly thought to posit when discussing the reality of video games, but how one purports oneself should matter, even in the simplest of notions, or else one starts to live inauthentically, which seems nothing short of a torturous misery to me. There’s a further irony of considering how one lives in a virtual sense, i.e. if one spent the majority of their time doing nothing but playing video games, and whether or not that simulated sense of self would still represent something authentic, or “more real” than the entity holding the controller, merely sitting in front of the screen playing, and how much their simulated life would be more representative of who they are then the person sitting on the couch just playing.

I’m continuing to write stream of conscious, biding my creative time, hoping for the thought that never comes, awkwardly fumbling forward in a creative stupor, attempting to find my way in the conceptual dark, wanting to trip over a good idea. Alas, I continue to drown in the notions of ifs and maybes, in a veritable sea of potential ideas, and a strong imaginative current to take me. None do, as I tread water, with a blank stare on my face, wondering how an active mind can remain so frozen in time.

Do I discuss the irony of how instead of getting through some backlog or playing more of some of the new games I’ve started recently, I mention my commencement of UFO 50 on the back of Nintendo’s latest direct, an indie title that involves a 50 game compilation, the sheer act of starting the title instantly multiplying both previously mentioned problems by a factor of 50? I don’t know where that article would go, so the premise remains muted, beyond a wry witticism of self-inflicted helplessness, and a throw away line to help fill out a struggling paragraph of questionable content.

There’s definitely something to be sad about the act of playing, and how one can discover much about themselves through said act, discovering and creating little stories as one goes along, stretching the bounds of one’s own imagination in the process. I wonder how many other players do something similar, but never exercise the pretense of storytelling beyond personal experimentation, or random pronouncements of bravado to their friends about pride involving recent in-game successes? A world of possible storytellers are playing games right now, themselves acting as the conduits for the writing, directing, and acting of their own grand narrative. I wonder how many of them will make something of it, beyond personal discovery and reflection of self-identification? I can’t be alone in my quest of seeking proof of existence, ratifying my actuality through presence and being, seeing if the mere fact of me changes anything meaningful in my immediate. One questions meaning in these moments, one questions questions immediately after, wondering if the wondering is betraying the existing, and whether or not the need of “doing”, even in a simulated sense, is what matters most. Perhaps, to my previous point of simulation, if the quote that echoes in my head from the movie “The Talented Mr. Ripley” holds it’s weight in water, in relation to the notion many may hold on their own minds, involving the idea of it being better in wanting to be a fake somebody, than a real nobody.

These musings remind me of Robert Nozick’s philosophical thought experiment, “The Experience Machine”, where he posits the notion in an attempt to reckon with hedonism, in proposing a machine that would be indistinguishable from reality, and hooking into it would give the user intense feelings of pleasure, by giving them whatever they wanted. The caveat of course is that none of it was real. Obviously. The Matrix is an easy reference point to the idea, and to a much lesser, in a way more imperfect, real life example, video games themselves, to some extent, are experience machines, in and of their flaws. The thought experiment of course, attempts to understand whether or not people are just truly hedonistic, caring not for the “authentic” of a reality, not preferring anything tangible or truly existent, and preferring just the sensations and feelings of what we prefer reality to be, instead of suffering what it is.

I think based on my current thoughts, and the example this article leaves behind in my considerations, I can rule out on some level. I am not a true hedonist, as I see value in what lies beyond the simulated, cherishing more than the shallow treasures of instant gratification, and seeking the authentic, even when the reality of it is a painful one to bear.

Though if leaves me wondering, if that be the case, why I continue to be so entangled with video games, if I do not desire the notion of the simulated, and desire a greater sense of existence outside of the fabricated, and also leaves me wondering just how many gamers, in spite of their “experience machines” being less than, represents a safe haven better than nothing, in granting them what isn’t real, but pleasurable, and infinitely more preferable than the everyday? How many true hedonists exist within the realm, and maybe more importantly, how many true hedonists wish not to exists outside of a virtual one? The feelings of pleasure being the only worthwhile metric to be treasured in the endless sea of real inanity, unfulfilling modernity, and the writhing essence of the unrelentingly disappointing facts that pervade the everyday?

Concepts worthy of preponderance, I think.

-Pashford