I will always advocate in the name of honesty, no matter how painful the truth may be.


The truth shall set you free

I’ve often discussed that my approach to the everyday, at least, in my estimations of what it takes for one to be successful at surviving, depart drastically from common wisdom. I am okay with this; as the common wisdom is more times than not, nothing but empty platitudes and hollow endorsement of facades and fantasies.

With that in mind, it was most certainly more than common wisdom that saw me through to the end of Silksong, which as previously alluded to, represents a bittersweet symphony, with any finale of a game resulting in the feeling of a somber crescendo transformed into empty lament, however satisfying the moments that led up to the bitter end ultimately ended up being. To that point, I had a whole…”thing” planned for this moment, a fun little wrap up of sorts, with direction, and spirit, and intentionality. These are now nothing more than fleeting feelings that have abandoned me, and I am left as nothing but a husk of a man, offering a paltry sum of what is left of me, and an amount that does not represent more than a pale shadow of my former self.

Normally, I bemoan the notion of “tripping at the finish line”…usually right before it in fact, and fumbling at the final moment directly prefacing success, images of me stepping onto the elevator at the end of the Jungle level in Goldeneye 64 on 00 Agent, just to be shot and killed after the last second when the fade to black should have already started, still haunt me to this day. This time, however, I have at least tripped after the finish line, with me having maintained my energy levels with total adequacy, in keeping them robust and thriving, right up through the coup de grace against the final boss of Silksong. But much like the Blues Mobile fell apart entirely, after the Blues Brothers stepped out of the car in their final moments of finishing their “mission from God”, so too have I crumbled entirely, the idea of being led by powers rivaling divinity finally having left the mortal pretense of imaginative fervor.

I think devotion, sacrifice, and faith, while not all necessarily interchangeable, represent a triad of similar spirits requiring sacrifice to uphold, and does demand a high cost, as nothing comes with a more felt price tag than being consumed by endeavor, eaten alive by the sentiment of willingness and the brutality of consumption that comes along with it.

To court belief is the death of reason and the birth of passion, the transformation thereafter defies language entirely, as words cannot hope to possess such vivid imaginations as those held sacred as immortal.

Silksong…I commit thee to memory. May you rest thusly.

-Pashford