I made a joke about the feeling of being observed somehow by the creators of The Killing Stone, a crack squad of Triple A escapees who keep making the weirdest fucking crap. Deep, deep down there is someone there who knew that they would sell at least one copy of the game - and not merely to their mom, like usual.
It's very Usenet to discover that your perversions might not merely be secret shames but potentially scaffolds upon which something like camaraderie might form. One of my favorite genres is "A level of commitment to the bit that is indistinguishable from an illness of the mind," and This Stone What Kills rides these rails of madness, yea, unto the very mouth of hell. As I suggested before, my microphone really did cut out and he really did say that. But was it true? Honestly, fuckin'... kinda?
I think there's actually too many incredible games, so many that I get really worried about it. It's sort of an "I Can't Hug Every Cat" scenario. I feel like if I really meant it I could make more arms come out and I could hug cats with those moist new limbs. But it's not even clear cats would want hugs like this - hugs of The Third Kind. There is a lot of incredible work that has done insane numbers, broken the concepts around what indie success could even look like. There's a lot of stuff that I think is amazing that people don't hear about and not just because we're living through history and authorizing yourself to relax has its own complexities. I've never been particularly good at it myself; look at everything I had to do in order to feel like I could take time to play games on occasion. Literally gaze ye upon my works! Despair is optional.
It's a problem that I don't think another, better algorithm is gonna solve. We have to stay curious and find treasure and advocate for it. Or… at least, I do. I'm worried about how many Killing Stones I've missed while my entire sensorium has been bought and paid for.
(CW)TB out.
