Epic Games has gone into a publishing deal with one of my favorite developers, Remedy Entertainment. As well, they’ve locked up the publishing rights to the next games from the developers of The Last Guardian and Limbo.

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The XB1 got itself a delicious treat coming down the pike, courtesy of the minds behind Limbo. The game is called Inside, and it looks to be continuing in the same vein as the previous title. Atmospheric, moody, gorgeous platforming.

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David Jaffe shoots from the hip, and that hip looks a lot like my heart. Last year, I was a bit confused as to why so many people were wanking off, splooging over, and generally orgasming on the face of the XBLA title Limbo. Frankly, I thought it was a piece of boring minimalist bullshit. Disagree? Well, good for you. Maybe you can still appreciate the hot fire that Jaffe is spitting regarding the media and their love for shitty artsy-fartsy games.

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[pixelation | weekly gaming & life column every wednesday or uh thursday]

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I picked up and played through the XBLA game Limbo yesterday. I had heard so much god damn fawning about it, watched a video about it and deemed it dope, and had tons of expectations. I paid way too much, stared at the download bar, and booted the son of a bitch up.

I was bored within moments.

Aesthetically, the game was everything you want in some indie game to fawn over. Dark and brooding? Word. Lack of UI which is totally innovated (except not really)? Word. Simplistic visuals? Word. It was a paint by numbers indie game. And everyone seemed to love it. But me.

What the fuck was going on?

It was during my aggravation at having to push around blocks and listening to the (not really) beautiful swirling ambient music that I had a moment of clarity. A thunderous strike of denouement. I play games like a fucking buzzsaw. Perhaps Limbo is generic and boring (I think it is), but more than likely it couldn’t have been further from my preferred type of game. As a caffeinated mess, I twitch whilst holding the controller. I run into everything. I want to smash through walls and rip people apart.

I said, “Perhaps this isn’t your type of game!”

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My final project for my summer course is finished. It’s been attached to an email. It’s been fired, an electronic missive, scattering across the digi-webs towards my professor’s inbox. And as soon it is received, it shall begin crushing the university’s bandwidth, daring to be downloaded. Enormous. Blathering. Finished.

A week’s worth of work. Thousands of words, a couple dozen pages. Diet Mountain Dew cans consumed into the infinity-range. Spent veins, spent cells, smiles abound.

Hey, it’s like, summer or something?

I’ll be bored and ready for class in two weeks.

Monday Morning Commute. Every Monday I’m going to detail the various things I’m either currently or will be watching, reading, playing, and listening to in the next seven days. It’s Monday. You’ve got a long week of school, work, or compulsive masturbation to get through. Tell me the arts that you’re indulging in, to stave off suicide.

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