Let Villains be Villains

Last November, Charles Manson finally passed away. Right around the time he died, the internet was flooded with people saying “R.I.P. Manson” and “so sad to see him pass” and other completely tasteless, idiotic things.

As you can probably tell, I have no sympathy for this man. He was a monster who literally brainwashed children to kill for him.

Now, I have read Helter Skelter and watched as many documentaries as I could find on the Manson Family, their crimes, and the following legal battles. I do find the story of Charles Manson fascinating and I’m probably safe in saying that I know more about him than the average citizen.So, in retrospect I guess it wasn’t a huge surprise when an acquaintance asked me if I was sad to see Manson die.

Of course not I wasn’t sad to see him die, I told them.  

Well, I know you like serial killers, they responded.

Which was fair, so I couldn’t really be offended. However, that conversation got me thinking about a recurring problem I’ve seen amongst true crime and even some horror movie fans: the inability to separate fantasy and reality.

Now, before I start talking about my theories behind this behavior and whatnot, I would like to acknowledge that some of these assholes are just that, assholes. I’m pretty sure most of us went through that “I’m so complex and no one understands me” phase when we were determined to shock our parents into thinking we were edgy. Thankfully, most of us grew out of that, but just based on the number of tweets I saw mourning Manson or the many Tumblr accounts I’ve seen that post artsy photos of the Columbine killers, I know some of us didn’t. These people are just looking to cause drama and, instead of dying their hair blue and piercing their face, decided to spit on the memories of these criminals’ victims.

I have thankfully matured enough to realize how tasteless that is and opted to pierce my lip and buzz my head instead. This way I’m only hurting myself while I show the world how edgy and cool I am. I might crochet throw blankets and sing show tunes to my ferrets, but I’m a bad bitch and my hair proves that.

Anyway, I should also admit that the people out there mourning Manson and fawning over the Columbine shoots are extreme cases. I don’t really need to prove that these people are being assholes. However, this trend of blurring the line between fantasy and reality also shows up in more subtle ways and it’s having a weird effect on the horror and true crime genres.

You ready for me to dive into some pseudo-psychological bullshit, Daniel? Brace yourself.

I think we as a culture have a difficult time understanding how to handle the concept of evil. We see things as black or white, good or evil, and therefore when we come across something that’s “evil” that we enjoy it’s hard for us to handle. We can’t be a good person and enjoy “evil” things, and so that evil thing must not be that evil.

A good, recent example of this was the reboot of Stephen King’s “It” in which the very attractive Bill Skaarsgard played the killer clown, Pennywise. I know you’re not on Tumblr, Daniel, so you’ll just have to take my word for it when I say Tumblr was ridiculous in the weeks following that movie’s release. The amount of extremely sexual Pennywise fanart and fanfiction that appeared on my Tumblr dash was unreal.

I won’t deny the fact I played into the mania a bit myself and made my fair share of “Float me, daddy” jokes. But that’s exactly what my comments were, jokes. I know that Pennywise is evil and that, given the chance, I would also shove a metal fence post through his face before I would ever hop into bed with him. Some Tumblr users on the other hand seemed to be crossing that line from harmless joking into actually wanting to sleep with this murderous, Lovecraftian monstrosity. A tad concerning in my opinion.

What I think happened is that, after seeing the movie, these people decided they liked Pennywise. Well, Pennywise is evil, which means they must be evil, but they’re not evil so instead Pennywise must not be that evil. So, in order to justify their love for this killer clown, these people just opted to pretend he wasn’t that bad. I’d bet that the same kind of logic is used to justify loving serial killers and criminals.

However, the world isn’t black and white. Liking a character/person/thing that is evil does not make you evil. It makes you human. It only becomes evil when you decide ignore the despicable things that character/person/thing did in order to justify your fascination with them. I can enjoy the story of the Manson Family, read Stephen King novels, and watch gorey horror movies and enjoy them while still understanding that these people are evil, that what they’re doing would never, ever be acceptable.

Basically, this entire argument boils down to the idea that you can like a villain and not necessarily be a villain. Let your bad guys be bad guys.

I feel like this is getting a bit rambly. I think I’ll cut it here and maybe pick this up in my next SDoS post. I have lots of thoughts about scary stories I want to share. Might just be time to bite the bullet and go back for my master’s in scary stories.



Dark Souls and Storytelling

For any avid fans of Dark Souls whom are looking for my interpretation of the story in any of the Souls games, I’ll save you the trouble now of reading: I will not be laying out the story. I have failed you.

What I want to talk about is the way that Dark Souls tells a story and how I have borrowed it’s method when it comes to it’s unique way of telling a story. It’s story is equal parts narrative, exploration, and revelation.

Dark Souls doesn’t tell you a story. Not really. It offers up a world that has a rich narrative and silently bids you to do what you will with it. The game play in Dark Souls is pretty simple: you are a the Chosen Undead and it is your job to go forth, defeat those that stand in your way, and “link the fires.”

You can play and enjoy the entire game without ever asking any questions. Dark Souls compelling game play basically distills down to “get good.” Each enemy, no matter how menial, is dangerous. You must learn to fight each enemy, gauge the terrain, find the exploits, and defeat those in your way. It is a very difficult game, but the reward is that fist pumping excitement when you finally grasp victory. The game does an amazing job of making you feel like you accomplished something.

Here is a question I started asking myself about halfway through Dark Souls: why do I need to link the fires? You start to notice that enemies and areas aren’t ambiguously named. There aren’t places like “The Dark Forest” or “The Forgotten Castle.” Locations and (most) bosses have distinct names and titles like Ornstein and Smough, Seath the Scaleless, Crossbread Priscilla, and Dark Sun Gyndolin, just to name a few.

If you were like me you begin squinting at the game and silently mouthing, Who are you?”

If you pay attention to the environment and start to pour through descriptions on your items (sneaky bastards) you can start to piece things together. It may seem as though a lot of these areas are simply slapped together for game play sake, but the writers behind Dark Souls had a definite, clear story in mind for the game; you just need to dig it up.

The only reason I think this method works is because they made double sure that you don’t have to know it at all to play the game. The game itself is about combat and exploration, and they put a lot of time creating a rich, cohesive world to run around. It feels like a 3D Metroidvania game:  massive, sprawling segments with things to find and secrets to uncover. Diving deep into one area to find the key to unlock another. Pathways that wind back into themselves to create this sense that everything is connected (sometimes literally).

For many people, I understand that having to find the story seems ludicrous. But what really works for me is the fact that I didn’t even know the story was there, and I got to have that feeling of satisfaction of slotting pieces together and realizing what happened. There is no greater feeling of excitement and urgency than realizing midway through a segment that you know what happened, and you suddenly see everything with a new gaze.

And you find this by paying attention to the world environments, and reading descriptions from items. As an example:

Havel's Ring Dark Souls 3

You get this ring after defeating Havel in Dark Souls. He’s not actually a boss, just a heavy plated knight at the base of a tower. Almost innocuous. You wouldn’t have known he was important unless you got his equipment.

Each item has a description like above: it tells you immediately what it does, and then if you are interested, it tells you a little about the wearer or the world surrounding it. You find out that the knight was named Havel, and he fought alongside—wait, Gwyn the First Lord?

And then more questions fill your mind: what the hell was Havel doing at the base of that tower? What was he guarding? Why is he here? And where is Gwyn?

Eventually you find other items that begin to fill you in on what happened. And this happens for any number of bosses, characters, or areas until you have a complete, albeit hazy understanding of what happened. Your exploration and determination uncovered the mystery. It’s really satisfying.

And then you start to realize that the environment is also telling you a story. There is a castle full of undead soldiers and barricades trying to keep something out, but what were they fighting against? There is the abandoned city of Anor Londo: where did everyone go? What is this massive library apart from the city for? What were they studying?

The scope of the games becomes much more enjoyable when you realize that nearly every single thing matters to the narrative hidden beneath the surface. Things as simple as “What is this monster from the first area doing in the last area?” become massive clues to the world and story at large.

Many games have done this. Filling you in on tidbits of history with item descriptions. Dark Souls wastes nothing, not even these descriptions. Armor sets usually tell you a tiny bit about other countries, establishing the world at large. Weapons might tell you about the bearer and why they have this. Some tell you about how characters knew one another. The more you collect and observe, the more you understand the world around you, and no one had to fill you in in a cut scene.

I can’t really full explain it unless you are already excited about the Souls games, so I’ll save you the gush. But what has affected me the most from these games is how I want to tell a story.

I have been accidentally doing this in Rogue Trader; I try and build backstories for basically every important NPC I create, and I keep this information up to date on a wiki for my players.. I put extra information on the wiki so that my players can go read more about what they are doing, and maybe sprinkle in a couple of questions they could be asking.

This has been my emphasis for my proprietary DnD realm I’m building. I want each area to have the quest, but also have enough of a story written into the details that the players can basically locate secret objectives. I want the world to feel rich with mystery, because the feeling of discovery is awesome.

A haven’t really experienced this much as a player outside of video games and some books. But I want to encompass that feeling in Rogue Trader and my story writing, that feeling of exploration, discovery, and revelation. I will endeavor to continue and I will always look to Dark Souls for inspiration because the feeling I got while playing that game is irreplaceable.


Poetry is Everywhere

I’m just going to come out and say it: People take poetry too seriously.

So many people I talk to think of poetry as this bougie, intellectual thing that people pretend to like to seem smarter at dinner parties. Poetry is like dry red wine or Ernest Hemingway novels, available everywhere, but you can’t find a single person who genuinely likes it for what it is. Now, I find this absolutely baffling because I actually like poetry. No, I’m not trying to impress anyone or look smarter. I like poetry and I like reading it, but that’s because I have never taken it too seriously.

I think the issue is how we are introduced to poetry. More often than not, a person’s first introduction to poems is in some type of high school class in which a stuffy teacher recites flowery sonnets and then forces the class to write a five page essay on the symbolism and word choices of that poet. It seems like we’re taught from a young age that poetry is this complex, abstract thing that needs to be carefully dissected to be fully understood. It takes effort to enjoy it properly and that is utter bullshit in my opinion.

Poetry is defined as, “the art of rhythmical composition, written or spoken, for exciting pleasure.”  Basically, poetry is any and every combination of words that you find pleasant. And, as is often the case, you get to decide what you find pleasant and why. It doesn’t take a five page essay and a deep understanding of things like alliteration, symbolism, and rhyming schemes to know that you like the way something sounds or makes you feel.

A few months ago, one of my coworkers found me in my office reading a collection of E.E. Cummings poems. She said something along the lines of, “Wow, you’re so smart. I need to read poetry.” Well, after that, I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I have no idea what his poetry is supposed to be about. I just like it because it’s fun to read out loud.

My favorite poem by Cummings is “Anyone Lived in a Pretty How Town,”

anyone lived in a pretty how town
(with up so floating many bells down)
spring summer autumn winter
he sang his didn’t he danced his did.

Women and men(both little and small)
cared for anyone not at all
they sowed their isn’t they reaped their same
sun moon stars rain

children guessed(but only a few
and down they forgot as up they grew
autumn winter spring summer)
that noone loved him more by more

when by now and tree by leaf
she laughed his joy she cried his grief
bird by snow and stir by still
anyone’s any was all to her

someones married their everyones
laughed their cryings and did their dance
(sleep wake hope and then)they
said their nevers they slept their dream

stars rain sun moon
(and only the snow can begin to explain
how children are apt to forget to remember
with up so floating many bells down)

one day anyone died i guess
(and noone stooped to kiss his face)
busy folk buried them side by side
little by little and was by was

all by all and deep by deep
and more by more they dream their sleep
noone and anyone earth by april
wish by spirit and if by yes.

Women and men(both dong and ding)
summer autumn winter spring
reaped their sowing and went their came
sun moon stars rain

Read that out loud.

Isn’t it fun? It’s got this rhythm to it. It’s like music.

Do I have any idea what it means? Absolutely not. In my opinion, good poetry is sometimes like pop music. Meaningless and fun, and that’s okay.

On the topic of my favorite poems, some of my favorites aren’t even poems. They’re single lines of text that I found on Twitter or Tumblr or in a novel that just resonated with me. Here are some of my favorites:  

“What a blessed if painful thing, this business of being alive.” – Joe Hill

“Do sharks complain about Monday. No. They’re up early, biting stuff, chasing shit, being scary – reminding everyone they’re a fucking shark.” – Tumblr 

“What can be done when you’re eleven can often never be done again.” – Stephen King

“Believe in yourself. You are an ancient, absent god, discussed only rarely by literary scholars. So if you don’t believe, no one will.” – Welcome to Nightvale

I love these “mini poems” because they say something deep and profound without burying it underneath a lot of unnecessary prose or rhymes. Straight and to the point while still being lyrical and beautiful. Poetry doesn’t have to be obscure to be well done or pleasant.

Now, I could continue talking about this for a while, but I’m down in Vancouver for work and just finished up a two-day science communication conference. I’m ready for a fucking beer.

“I’m ready for a fucking beer.” Look, a new poem.



Aliens in Plain Sight

Pretzel and I just finished a bug pinning class. We learned how to rehydrate a butterfly and how to pin it so that it can dry with it’s wings splayed out. It was pretty cool, and actually far easier than I thought.

It got me thinking about all the times that I’ve gotten to see cool bugs. When we lived in Wisconsin, we saw Monarch butterflies every summer.

Monarch butterfly refueling in Cape May as it prepares for fall migration to Mexico. Photo courtesy of Lindsey Brendel.

These orange muthafuckas

They had huge, fat green caterpillars that were slow and ponderous. They ate all the milkweed, and it actually made the monarch butterfly poisonous if swallowed. But they were ubiquitous—we fucked around with the bugs, we caught the butterflies and let them go again, we used to find the cocoons. I even vaguely remember seeing one hatch and dry its wings out one summer.

I’m not sure if it occurred to you when you were younger, but we haven’t seen those again since we moved. We happen to be right on the border of where they migrate to. Maybe people have seen some, but I definitely haven’t seen one in perhaps decades.

No one pinned a monarch butterfly at the class. But I was thinking about them as we were looking at our small butterflies. And having to handle them and pin them caused me to rediscover the bizarre and striking beauty of insects. I do not remember what butterfly I had to pin—hang on lemme find it.

Image result for Charaxes Smaragdalis

Charaxes Smaragdalis

Look how blue that shit is. Damn. Mine’s not that blue. It’s an insect—seen as the lowliest of the creatures—and it’s freakin’ gorgeous. And then I think back to how freakin’ orange monarchs are. These things are surreal. They are alien.

I remember when I was a junior in highschool, and the WASL tests were going on (it stands for Worthless As Shit Learning). School always had late start during those two weeks, but I went to school anyway because I would get dropped off by mom on her way to work.

One day I found a huge fucking moth.

Related image

Might not be this one, but similar.

It couldn’t fly. I didn’t want to leave it on the sidewalk, so I picked it up and carried it around for a couple hours. It just chilled on my hand, and I went and showed various teachers. Most of them were not excited for me to bring giant bugs to them. It was as big as my palm.

Before class started, I figured I would take it out to the football field near the forest to give it its best shot. I placed it near a fence and tried to nudge it off my hand. It flapped it’s wings a couple times and then just fluttered away. It was fucking mystical.

It started to make me think about all the other candid moments I’ve had with other wild animals and bugs. It’s hard to appreciate them at the time, but there is something so distilled and mystical about nature. You don’t really come face to face with it, and when you do you start to understand what about it our ancestors used to worship and emulate from it. Nature is all we’ve ever known on this planet, and somehow this shit is so alien.

When was the last time you ever took a step back from nature and really tried to parse the different things you might encounter. We take it for granted because we grew up with it—we’ve seen these creatures in pictures and videos. But have you ever really considered it? We assume that most creatures have eyes and a mouth. A spider has eight fucking eyes, and it has mandibles instead of a mouth. Like, try not to imagine a spider, try to just think about a creature with eight eyes and pincers for lips. What the hell is even happening on our planet anymore?

I’m going to list a couple descriptions and avoid using identifying language, and I want you to try not to think about what animal I’m describing.

A four legged creature with a long, tapering face. It’s fur is short, coarse, and tan colored. From the back of its skull, it has two massive protrusions that twist in a single helix that are longer than the skull itself.

A small creature with a long, segmented body. From each segment of it’s body is a pair of legs. From it’s head, massive probing antenna that tap and brush everything in front of it.

A creature that pushes itself along with a couple external flaps, and a tail that propels it through fluids. It has a scaly skin, and when threatened, it balloons in size and becomes covered in spines.

A creature with a long tongue that it can shoot out to capture prey. It has two, bright red eyes on either side of its head. It has long thin limbs with massive, circular fingertips that let it climb vertical surfaces.

A creature with two brittle wings covered in brightly covered powders. It has no mouth, instead it has a long tongue it can unfurl to drink nectar from flowers. It’s eyes are multi-faceted spheres.

How bizarre is our world?


Nerd Lite™

Nerd Lite

/nərd līt/

Adjective, informal  

A person who has some knowledge of a nerd subject, but not enough to be considered an expert or “super-fan” of the subject.

“I could tell you all of the captains’ names from Star Trek, but I can’t remember the rest of the Enterprise crew. I’m a bit nerd lite when it comes to Star Trek.”


I am definitely a little bit of a nerd. I play Pathfinder every weekend, I basically have the Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time memorized, and I religiously follow the release of new horror films. I’m also surrounded by nerds, including my husband who has been playing tabletop roleplaying games since he was a child, a close friend who has an eidetic memory when it comes to fantasy character names and quotes, and my regular GM who listens to H.P. Lovecraft stories to help him sleep.

Well, being surrounded by such huge nerds, I sometimes feel like a fake nerd. But then, when I go back to work and talk about my life, people look at me like I’m the biggest nerd they’ve ever seen. The first time I ever experienced this weird dichotomy was when I went to see “Trek in the Park” in Portland with a friend who has literally seen every Star Trek episode multiple times. I felt like such a wannabe nerd hanging out with her. Well then I went back to work and told my coworker I got to see “Trouble with Tribbles” performed live over the weekend. She didn’t know what tribbles were, which was so strange to me. To me, tribbles are like culturally iconic. Even non-Trekkies know what a tribble is, but then I had to explain it to her. I felt like a huge nerd.  

That’s when I came up with the term nerd lite. I’m definitely a nerd, but when it comes to some topics I’m not a “huge” nerd. I’m still a nerd, but with fewer calories. Nerd lite.

There are lots of things I’m nerd lite about besides Star Trek, including Star Wars, World of Warcraft, Final Fantasy, and H.P. Lovecraft to name just a few. Some of these things I picked up just because they’re such an integral part of our culture while others I picked up from my friends who are serious nerds. Sometimes nerdy things are like colds, you can’t help but pick them up when in proximity with someone who has it.

Unfortunately, we live in an age full of elitist nerds who will try to make people feel bad for not being nerdy enough. Nerd lite would be an insult to them, as much as nerd used to be in the 80s and 90s.

It was John Green who said, “When people call people nerds, mostly what they’re saying is, ‘You like stuff,’ which is not a good insult at all, like, ‘You are too enthusiastic about the miracle of human consciousness”

I love this description and honestly think it defends both the people who are too nerdy and the people who are nerd lite. When someone calls me a fake nerd what they’re saying is, ‘You do not like this thing enough in my opinion,’ which is one hundred percent bullshit.

You are allowed to like a thing as much as you want. You are allowed to like a thing because your friend likes it and you like your friend. You are allowed to only know bits and pieces about a thing and still enjoy it.

And when it comes to being nerd lite, you are allowed to exist in both worlds. There’s no such thing as a hard line between a nerd and a non-nerd. Like many things, nerdiness is on a spectrum and right in the middle of that spectrum is nerd lite.



My Distinct Lack of Music

I’m a daydreamer. It’s bad—I would say I’m daydreaming nearly half of the day. If you see me, and I’m being quiet, I’m definitely somewhere deep in my mind imagining vast battles, heroic triumphs, or solemn goodbyes. This is especially true if I’m listening to music.

Cutaway to tiny Daniel sitting in a movie theater with a bowl cut and a slack jaw. Watching [insert movie] and getting caught up in the climax. Those pivotal scenes always punctuated with a score that enhances those moments. The crescendos when the protagonist wins, and the diminuendo when all feels lost.

Half the time, I wouldn’t remember the exact scene in the movie, but whatever song is was gets stuck in my head for the rest of time. This still happens to this day—certain scenes in shows and movies and games have a score or soundtrack that just fucking crushes it.

Furiosa being stabbed and desperately trying not to drop Max.

Raiden facing off against metal gear Ray.

Colonol Mustang bringing his enemy to their knees.

I look at the image and I can hear the music. I know not only the song that plays, but  very nearly the exact part of the song that is playing.

I think I was 12 when our parents bought me my first portable CD player. I listened to CD’s laying around the house for a while, but I soon learned to burn my favorite songs to CD’s. Dad showed me KaZaA and how I could download my favorite songs and then burn them, and that moment basically defined my imagination for a long damned time.

This gave way to MP3 players which I used until 2014. I still have one or two of my borked MP3 players in a box somewhere. For a good long while I used my PSP as my music player. I can remember walking around the adidas campus, listening to music, and daydreaming about stuff.

Then I was given my first smart phone. This changed everything. Not only could I store my own music on my phone, but I could stream music to my phone. My daydream game had been improved significantly.

It’s been a couple years now. I still get lost in daydreams all the time, usually about Rogue Trader, Dungeons and Dragons, or some other thing I need to write. I listen to music and try to carefully curate music for when I’m running a game for my friends. The problem I’m facing now is that I am basically out of music. I’ve listened to everything I have way too many times.

Now that I can search for a song from my phone, I don’t discover music anymore. I’m always listening to the song I was thinking about. I don’t listen to the radio, and I don’t see enough movies or shows to really find more. Now when I find a song I really like, I listen to it on repeat for sometimes hours until I’m over it.

I’ve been using things like YouTube Music and Amazon Music to help me branch out and explore, but it doesn’t really help me find more because that requires me to listen to the music.


I am simply terrible at listening to music and enjoying it. Songs take me somewhere—somewhere I’ve been before; somewhere I want to be. New songs struggle to do that. Most of my favorite songs and albums were accompanied by something else, and I’m taken back to that moment while I’m listening. It’s really difficult for me to find new music because it frequently feels soulless or that something’s missing. I think this is a big reason why I don’t like rap and country—it’s hard to daydream over it.

I’m sure someone reading this is like, “This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.” And I agree! I frequently wish I could switch it off and just enjoy an album for what it is. But that album needs to inspire me, or take me somewhere in my imagination for me to really want to listen to it again and again.

There was a massive period of my life where I was listening to a lot of symphonic metal (black metal or heavy metal depending on who’s categorizing it). Bands like Epica, Nightwish, Kamelot, Within Temptation—most of their songs are metal but include symphonies or choruses. It just makes it feel epic—like a soundtrack. And that really clicked with me. I couldn’t even tell you what half of the songs were about, but the melodies, crescendos, and diminuendos all played nicely to whatever scene was playing out in my head.

I have trouble finding new genres that make me feel that way. I will sometimes stumble upon something, but I wear it out way too quickly.

I wouldn’t really call myself a music lover, but music is critically important to my imagination and my inspiration. Half the time when I’m trying to write a quest for one of my games, I need to find the right song first. I’m not sure what music means to all of you, but in many cases I feel like music is an I.V. drip to my soul, and without it my imagination begins to dry up.



Five Nights at Freddy’s Kept Me from Writing

So Daniel, do you want to know what I did instead of writing last night? What I did instead of writing over lunch today at work? What I’ve been doing this evening? Well, I won’t say I completely wasted my time, I did get a lot of work done today in the office and I cleaned the ferret cage, but a majority of my time was watching Five Nights at Freddy’s theory videos on Youtube.

You heard me right. Instead of working on a blog we’ve literally been running for more than two years, I obsessed over a fucking video game franchise that probably should have died four years ago after the second game came out. I literally watched all of Markiplier’s playthroughs of the games, including all of his “hard mode” playthroughs and the extra videos which just replayed his best jump scare reactions. Then I watched every single video on Game Theory about the game, fascinated by how the six games and two books came together into one cohesive and horrific timeline.

I’m almost ashamed to admit I’ve also been watching Markiplier play through all of the FNAF knock offs, including Five Nights at the Chum Bucket, a fucking Spongebob reboot of this god forsaken game. I went from zero to fully addicted in the span of like three days and I haven’t even played the games. But don’t worry, I’ve got the books on hold at the library because I cannot help myself.

Is this a symptom of my obsessive compulsive order? Now that I actually recognize what OCD is, having meticulously destroyed my skin while coping with anxiety, I rarely use the term OCD in a joking way, like using it to justify my need to have the TV volume on a multiple of five. But this habit of mine, this burning hot and heavy on an obsession for a few weeks and then dropping it quickly, feels like a compulsion. Maybe it is?

Anyway, this is not meant to be a sad post about mental illness. Let’s get back on track.

In retrospect, I should have known this would happen. If I had read the synopsis of FNAF before I just happened to click on Markiplier’s video, I would have pegged it as my future obsession.

Initially I had ignored it, writing the game off as a Hot Topic-esque trend for preteen edgelords, but now that I’ve experienced it, it is so up my alley.

Cute, seemingly harmless things that are actually very dangerous and deadly? A mysterious serial killer luring kids to their deaths using party costumes? Horrible deaths involving machines accidentally crushing their victims and mangling their corpses? Lots of hidden details and Easter eggs that add up to a more complex, horrific story? It’s like it was written for me! I am a self described pastel edgelord. I love skulls and shit, but I can rock the fuck out of a pastel skirt.

Also, it’s basically a B-flick horror movie come to life, filled with cheesy jump scares and purposefully over-the-top effects. If I could go back to 2014 Emily and tell her about this game, I’m sure she would jump on the bandwagon immediately, fuck how popular the game is.

Now, who wants to put bets on how long this obsession lasts? Definitely going to play the games and read the books, how long do you think that will take?


P.S. Recently, I’ve been reading a lot of poetry. I’ve always been something of an amateur poet myself and I’ve decided I want to put together a poetry collection of my own. Over the next few months, I might use my SDoS posts to test run some of my poetry. Hope that’s okay! 

I’m also telling you about this now because I need someone to hold me accountable. I can’t spend my time watching FNAF videos all the time. Sometimes I need to write.