So I just read this game called Deserting Paradise.
I’m kinda in love.
I kinda want to grab people and tell them to play cause I wanna run it right now and it doesn’t matter that it’s five in the motherfucking am and I have a ConTessa panel tomorrow and I really really really need to get to bed and there is too much to do and not even close to enough time.
Nope, I just want to run this game, cause like, it’s short and messy and beautiful. It reminds me of other games I like but mostly I love it ’cause it reminds me of a previous chunk of my life: my punk years, the time on the Road. Before computers and online gaming and pets and having a nice little flat. Back when it took a few hours to find a shower and most of the evening to find a bed and dry socks were the most vital thing in my world and I was part of this messy, fickle, brilliant web of stupid sticky humanity.
And I’m only brave enough to feel – much less say – any of this at half five in the motherfucking am. But sometimes my wild years do still grab me by the throat and squeeze so hard I can’t breathe for a bit.
Deserting Paradise brought that back with a vengeance.