5.23 Relativity

Josephine’s Diary
12 May 2140

It has been twenty years, three months, two days, and sixteen hours since Christian has left. As I age, I have often thought about the life we could have had, Christian and I, and about the notion of this preposterous “relativity” he spoke of. What is it that I have done to make him go? Was life here so miserable that he couldn’t bear to stay? I have daydreamed about the far off locations he has visited so far; there are other planets out there I speculate, each with new and intriguing societies to explore. Perhaps Christian has taken another wife, with children, new work, and a warm and friendly home. What has become of me? Since the twins have left, this television, an invention from some peddler on the square who felt sorry for me, has been the only company I’ve had for years.

Christian’s Notes
12 May 2120

It was hard to leave my dear Josephine, of whom seems to think I’ve gone mad. After many countless hours of precise calculation, I’ve finally perfected the machine that will propel mankind into areas before unseen. Using technology I’ve managed to obtain from peculiar tourists one day in the square, I am currently traveling in a craft that will tear a black hole into the sky, allowing for travel between dimensions.

This innovation can prove to not only relieve us from the great drought we’ve been experiencing, but to sever notions of the unknown as it is implied with gravity’s relationship to time. As was typically thought and pushed on to be basic knowledge by the Council, time would drastically change when one entered the ebon abyss, so much so that all inferences of passed time would be so completely false that a man would age before his own eyes. Based on my research however, inter-dimensional travel through a constructed black hole, typically a more controlled environment, should only last one hour’s time. It has been approximately twenty minutes, sixteen seconds since I have left Victoria, and expect to travel for forty more before returning to my love with a successful and profitable craft.

Josephine’s Diary
11 May 2161

I will never give up on Christian. It has been forty-one years since that fateful day he took that flight into the unknown, and each year I return to the bridge of our proposed rendezvous. Tomorrow will the day that I return; each 12^th day of May I am there, standing for hours alone or sometimes with the twins to await my beloved. My heart swells at the thought of him, and I’ve never considered taking another husband or starting a new life without him. His spirit was infectious, and strong enough to withstand anything. Before he left, he told me that he’d be back before the bread rises in the oven. On the morning of his departure, each year I bake his favorite bread, and leave it to set and rise in hopes he’d be home to enjoy it. Tomorrow, I am sure it will be tomorrow. My Christian will come back to me.

Christian’s Notes
12 May 2120

It is nearing the end of the hour, and as I descend back down into the familiar atmosphere, I am astonished by my own achievement. This vessel, created with my own hands, has managed to not only create a black hole, but to draw so close to the black hole that it was nearly sucked in. Everything appeared as normal as I reversed the vessel’s direction and headed back, and by my pocketwatch I have only been traveling for fifty-five minutes thus far. I wonder what Josephine has done during this hour, and hope that she did not wait too long. I can’t wait to have a slice of fresh baked bread as I embrace my pregnant wife.

Christian descended from his vessel, walking briskly from the platform to return to the bridge to meet his dear Josephine. As he approached, he noticed that some of the storefronts that existed before his journey had now appeared worn and run-down, and that the bridge itself has decayed. Puzzled, Christian stopped for a second to consider his altered surroundings, wondering if a bout of bad weather caused everything to appear in disarray. Walking up further, he noticed a short, hunched figure in the distance. Visually scanning for his tall, elegant Josephine, as Christian reached the middle of the bridge he realized that the hunched woman he spotted from a distance was indeed his wife.

“Oh, Josephine,” Christian murmured. He reached to grab her freckled hand, leaning down to kiss it slightly. He realized that the time dilation experienced in the vessel had been longer than he anticipated.

“I never stopped waiting,” uttered Josephine in a somber tone. Silently, the two started off together to enjoy the freshly baked bread waiting for them in the oven.

2.17 Ydorap

Random game idea I wrote up some time ago for a game design course.

—

Ydorap

Type of game- Puzzle/Memory Game
Genre- Casual

In an alternate and opposite galaxy in the Archemeeds Universe there exists a small planet, Namuh, of which is inhabited by little pink cyclops creatures called sneila. The sneila have been creating technology of which to use to visit other galaxies, and after fumbling with their VT one day, happened to tune into a human tv show.

Intrigued with the human condition, the sneila sought to replicate the social experience of the humans they observed, so to one day visit and blend in with them. Given a list of societal rules, the sneila test their acculturation by quizzing each other on observed human responses to better understand the society.

The main character, Yzal, goes through a series of response-based trials, accumulating nioc (coin) as payment for his participation. Answering questions before the time limit has passed or navigating a puzzle successfully also earns coins; Yzal uses these coins to get boosters to help him in the puzzles, and to treat his lady to something nice.

Economy

The economy will be action based, where Yzal will earn coin through his successful trials, time bonuses, and world navigation. He can use his coin to purchase boosts to his skill levels, or gifts and trinkets to woo the girlfriend impatiently waiting for him to complete his trials.

The economy will have a bit of an unfair advantage; because I forsee it as a Facebook game, there will be a set of micro-transactions to purchase boosters that can reveal hints and clues so that Yzal can get through the game a bit faster. The challenge to earn coin enough to be the top Yzal (as he’s replicated many times over for training purposes), to be able to go on to visit the sneila; players can choose never to purchase in-game boosts with coin packs, or can purchase from the beginning- the choice is theirs.

Players will be encouraged to share hints, boosts, and coin with each other, so that collectively a group of Yzals can visit the sneila. While they cannot combine their in game currencies, they can share resources which will help to stimulate the game economy; loyalty tends to run deep with alliances in Facebook games, so people would be willing to contribute boosts and things they’ve purchased with coin to keep the economy booming.

Because earning coin is instantaneous upon completing trials, there will be a gradual decrease to the amount of coin you can earn as the levels increase. This will ensure that interest will be sustained in the future, and that people will start looking for other ways to earn coin or get boosts. The reward of spending and earning money would be garnered through the boosts used to propel the puzzles, and the trinkets and things that can be used to satiate the girlfriend, who can ultimately stall leveling (if she starts to interfere with Yzal’s studies). While there is no punishment for not earning or spending money, players should be attentive enough to try to play daily so as to keep their currencies increasing for new trials.

Finally, players are able to buy the boosts and trinkets they feel would be beneficial to their playstyle, but the selections would be topical to their levels, and would be limited in supply initially. The point is to get the player to use currency to help through the trials, or with their alliances, or to get levels quicker. While they have a number of options available to them, there’s not a huge amount of free choices to select from.

2.10 Royam’s Meeting

Short script for opening cutscene of a game I made up.

–

INTRO CUTSCENE:

Screen starts out in a far away galaxy, zooming in from an overview of the galaxy to a specific planet. The camera goes through the atmosphere and into the living room of our protagonist, who is standing in front of a chair, watching a TV mounted on the ceiling. The picture on the screen is upside down, and starts with an alien news brief before going to white noise. After a second a human comedy show comes on, and the alien looks on in wonder.

The camera zooms around to the aliens’ face, all in sheer wonder at this “alien transmission.” It pauses on an official looking alien who storms out of the humble living room, walking to a podium in the middle of the neighborhood to speak.

Royam
(excited)
Come all! Come all! Meeting here on the square!

Camera pans around to watch the aliens congregate in front of the royam, some coming from the living room in the first scene, others coming from different homes. The aliens idly chatter amongst each other before looking up to give the royam their attention; officials gather at the podium around the royam to take notes and calm the crowd.

Royam
(exuberant)
Today our own (coughs) Yzal has come across something amazing! Sneila, capable of language and something called, uh, emo shon are out there in what looks to be an upside down version of our own existence. Upon careful consideration, I’ve decided its necessary to test our understanding of these sneila before visiting their world for habitation.

A voice from the crowd
(confused)
What? Sneila?

The crowd starts to talk amongst each other, confused and nervous as to what the royam was saying. They murmur a second before the officials standing around the royam start to again corral the crowd.

Royam
(Calmly)
We will be diligently working on testing sites, and will randomly select the best amongst you to see how well you might acclimate to this sneila society. Those chosen will be the first to descend upon the foriegn world! Our etartsigam will send the information we’re looking for to each one of you, but only a few will be selected.

The crowd again murmurs to each other in bewilderment.

Royam
(excited)
Come, friends! Let’s explore a new society!

Exit intro cutscene.

Enter second short cutscene into gameplay.

Mini Story: The End of My Career- A Day in the Life of Shagwella Blitz

Here’s a funny little story I wrote a few years ago. Enjoy! 

Careening through clouds over a pristine beach of white sand, I take a second to ponder the lives of those who can’t fly. What a downtrodden population it must be, not being able to feel the wind whip their hair back sharply, caressing their shoulders as they navigate the skies. As I reluctantly land at my destination, careful to avoid the haphazardly placed palm and forest trees, a rather odd assortment for such a temperate location, I jerk a bit, my walking staggered by the evil creature known in my world simply as “Lag.”

Suddenly, my senses dull, and three flimsy, grey carpeted walls come into my sight; a large, off-white, fluorescent light glares overhead, and directly in front of me is my computer screen, with a human character standing in front of a beach house, rather impatiently. I then remember that I did not fly, and do not have physical impairments that prevent me from walking fluidly; I have yet again allowed myself to abandon reality as we know it and lose myself in my Second Life, a virtual, user created platform where one can begin life anew.

Looking around my cubicle, I suddenly feel a twinge of guilt; piles of documents begging to be processed lay strewn about, and a familiar voice looms over head- it’s that of my boss, making rounds. I quickly minimize the Second Life screen, pausing for a second to look at my character, of whom I named Shagwella Blitz (a name that I now kick myself in the pants for, as I am not able to get a decent SL job because of its…uniqueness), and pull up the company database, hammering away at the keys like a happy little administrative assistant. “Hi Paul, how are you this morning,” I squeak, rather guiltily might I add. “Oh, just fine, Linda- how are you coming along with those expense reports?” I quickly glance at the disheveled stack of papers and grimace, swiveling in my uncomfortable faux leather office chair to peer up at my boss. “Oh, they’re coming. I should have them complete by this afternoon.” Satisfied with my answer, Paul nods his head solemnly before walking around to the next set of cubicles to check on his accountants. I sigh loudly, and after lifting slightly from my chair to check out my surroundings, I hit the maximize key on my Second Life screen.

My boyfriend had already arrived at my beach home by the time I’d rejoined life number two, and my instant message box was filled with queries as to my whereabouts. I saunter into the house clad in a purple cropped jacket from Thimbles over a plain white system undershirt, Armidi jeans and silver Stiletto Moody pumps. Taking a final alt-scroll look at my appearance, I change my hair from an extravagant long curly ‘do to a bun with side-swept bangs. As I settle on the couch’s poseball next to my Second man, as I so affectionately call him, I notice he’s watching “I Think I Love My Wife” on the Speakeasy big screen.

 

Shagwella Blitz: hey, whatcha up to?
BillyRay Courtois: nothin much, just watching your tv lol
Shagwella Blitz: well, you should be watching something else *winks*
BillyRay Courtois: oh trust me, I am *licks his lips*
BillyRay Courtois: hey, where’s your collar? how dare you take it off without my permission!
Shagwella Blitz: oh you mean the amethyst one? I got a dari’s instead- you get more control
Shagwella Blitz: I’m sorry Master…girl will not do it again
BillyRay Courtois: w/e…just put it on so I can lock you to a metal ball lmfao

 

Dropping to my knees in submission before my boyfriend, my first self giggles a little bit at the exchange, wondering how such an independent woman could allow some virtual man to control her actions. I pull up my inventory, and “snap” the Dari collar around my neck; a black leather collar adorned with sharp looking spikes, it almost felt as if I had transformed into a beast- a lustful, pleasure seeking maiden who lives up to her name. Somehow my real life crept in again, and I thought about my husband- what a wreck he was in this department! Thank goodness for the magic of virtual reality.

I crawled over to my boyfriend, my stylish outfit magically transforming into a skimpy black silk teddy with fine lace detailing. Where did I get this from again? Oh, Nyte and Day! I’ll have to get another, I think to myself. Kneeling in front of my Abyss-skinned lover, I smile, watching as a pink and blue poseballs appear in front of me, with rather risqué commands listed on both.

 

BillyRay Courtois: get on, now.
Shagwella Blitz: yes, Mast

 

A sudden tap on the real life shoulder disrupts my lusty banter- it was Paul, my boss, glaring. “Hi Paul, I was just-““Linda, this is the second time I have caught you in this…this game, neglecting your work responsibilities. Do you know how many people would kill to have your position right now?” I blinked, stifling a giggle as the $10.60 an hour Administrative Assistant position at Barney and Associates seemed less important than what Paul believed it to be. “Uh, I am sure many would, sir. I’m sorry- I’ve just been having trouble concentrating…“ Whizzing around in my chair, my mouth drops as I notice BillyRay is naked on my screen, his…attachment inches away from my virtual face. I put my hands up to the screen in a futile attempt to cover my lover’s nudity as Paul looks on with wide eyes. “What! Linda what in the world are you doing? Just…just pack up your things…you have until lunchtime to be out of here!” His face beet red with embarrassment, Paul storms away into his office and slams the door, leaving a small crowd of my peers huddled around my computer screen, snickering.

Another job lost to Second Life. Oh well, there’s always virtual escorting. Thanks, Linden Lab!

Manifesto of the Grrrl Gamer

I wrote this a few years ago for a self-publishing site, and felt the sentiment applies for today’s blog post. Enjoy! 

I’m a 24 year old super social fashionista who loves nightclubbing with my homegirls, chugging imported beers with my collegiate peers, and browsing vintage boutiques for quirky additions to my wardrobe.

I’m also a grrl gamer.

Yes, the stereotypes are out there- you know, the overweight, glasses-wearing, greasy-skinned low self-esteem having outcast chick that has a penchant for gothic attire and ill-placed mascara. She’s not me, and moreover, I’m Black- fancy that. Just because I enjoy thrashing Bane in Tabula Rasa, questing with a Paladin in Everquest, or kicking back in my virtual mini-mansion with my closest Second Life friends doesn’t make me any less of a diva, it makes me one kick-arse, highly desirable girlie. I mean, what dude wouldn’t want to marry a woman he could depend on to heal him when he tanks a quest?

And guys- like you have room to talk! You bury yourselves into sports, holding Shaq up on a pedestal while I scratch at your leg like a forlorn kitty begging for a morsel of tuna; yet surprisingly you complain when my level 60 Necromancer gets more attention than does your boo-boo. Just like you need your NHL fix, I need to kick major booty in a non-illegal way. And trust me- you’re not as hot as you think.

Some of my friends think I’m absolutely loco for assuming a virtual manifestation of myself and buying things with my hard earned dollars that aren’t real. Some have even threatened to tell my mom, who knew that my hopeless addiction to internet chat rooms and 8-bit Nintendo would eventually progress to the hard drug known to my people as MMO’s. “Just don’t turn into one of those computer nerds with pale skin and acne,” she’d warn. Do you know what I say in response to their feigned pleas? Shove it. Yes, two little words with the uncanny ability to sum up my expletive tirade to all the naysayers who have over the years criticized my lifestyle choice-because as you know, being a gamer is hard work and long hours of finger manipulation.

Phew, and don’t get me started on virtual love. I’ve dated some wonderful guys offline that I’ve met in guilds or while sunbathing under the virtual sun in Second Life, and I can be the first to tell you that some of those relationships, however awkward in the beginning, were far more meaningful than the ones I’ve shared with a guy I’d met in a bar. While it’s true that some MMO hotties can be super creepy, there are good pools of men and elves looking for an amazingly interesting girl like you to fight Thrax or whatever enemies lay in your path.

Girls, call me Karla Marx; I’d be more than obliged if you’d compared my rant to a new-age communist manifesto of the gaming variety, a declaration of independence from grrl gamer stereotypes. You’re awesome, and can still be a hip and fashionable gaming diva.

Vive la Grrl Gamer Revolution!

The Reclamation of Me Before I

I was 16 when he stole from me. Stole my virginity, my dignity, and myself-esteem. I want it back.

I met him on the internet. A newly turned 16, I knew that my mom would not approve of me talking to boys that were over 18 in person, but online, as I thought, was different. He said such sweet things. I met him offline two weeks later, and he looked normal enough, with big, pink lips and a kind, welcoming smile. We dated for three months before he told me he loved me as he took my innocence. I knew that I was in love. Just knew it. It felt so right; I was happy beyond measure, and even though my parents had a bad feeling about him, they didn’t know him as well as I did. I was the one that he loved.

Then he hit me.

HE punched me with closed fists in my face, my stomach, and one day even gave me a black eye. He told me I was ugly, stupid, fat, and that he is the only one that is stupid enough to have any emotion towards me, so I became a bulimic “cutter”. After he hit me, he would kiss me on the forehead and apologize, and I would forgive him. Then he would bruise my face again. I didn’t drive, so the three-hour journey by public transportation came with confused stares; the other passengers watched me cry as tears and blood rolled down my cheeks.I left him eight months later.

I was 18 when he stole from me.

I met HIM through a mutual friend. While I didn’t think that he was very attractive, I thought that I should humor him and go out on a date. We had a great time, filled with laughter and jokes all night. Towards the end, I parked my car around Montebello Lake and we sat in the backseat to talk. He started to get closer and closer.I told him no. I told him to stop. I told him to get off of me.He held me down so strongly that I was afraid he’d break my arms. He told me to shut up as I screamed, and told me that I wanted it, when I didn’t.I was afraid that he’d hit me, so I stopped fighting back, and after he was done I took him home.

I remained friends with him until we lost touch.

I am 21 and I want it back.

Every day they haunt me in some capacity, their memories clinging to my being like lint to a black sweater. They befoul my relationships, my sexual life, and most importantly, my self-esteem. I’m pissed off because I want her back. The innocent, overly confident, happy girl who just wanted to love and be loved is gone, and what’s left is her oversensitive, self-conscious sister. The three of THEM are out living normal lives, free from the hurt and confusion that comes from being physically,mentally and emotionally abused. They should pay, and I have already planned my revenge. I will live a full and complete life, finding love,getting married, and sharing my love with my children. I will educate young women on the warning signs of domestic abuse. I will talk to those that can relate and help me through the angst that the three of them have put me through.I will be a strong woman.The little girl who has been taken away from me will be avenged by preserving the little girl inside of young women in future generations.That is what will not only make them go away, but that will bring her back to me.I will regain my sanity, my dignity, and ME.

Stylistically Schizo

Written for Passion Life, an online publication.

I recall a time not too long ago, of which I fondly remember as the “musical golden years” of my youth. The powerful voice of Tupac, Nas’ enlightening spiritual banter, and the radical rantings of the Fugees were featured on the radio in heavy rotation, and made me proud to embrace hip hop as my own. Queen Latifah taught me to have pride in my womanhood, TLC about safe sex, and Montell Jordan taught me the correct way to party.

I now hold fast to my belief that hip hop is full of schizophrenics.

Schizophrenia is loosely defined as a mental disorder that affects perception and reality, and is characterized by delusions and disorganized thinking. In examining the word, the connotation attached to it, as well as the definition and symptoms of the condition, I have come to believe that the term ‘schizophrenia’ is a condition that most contemporary hip-hoppers possess. As I write this, I can hear and envision different scenarios witnessed throughout hip-hop- Tupac’s shooting and eventual death, the explosion of both songs “Chicken Noodle Soup”, and “Chain Hang Low”, and the creation of rock-rap. These aforementioned examples provide a clue in to a hip-hoppers’ random and jumbled brain, deciphering and transmitting information in an uninformed fashion. In the case of Tupac’s shooting, for example, how many of us still think that he is “chillin” in Jamaica, sipping spiked cane juice, having a conversation with Elvis? And concerning “Chicken Noodle Soup” and “Chain Hang Low”- was slavery and the age of blackface simply a pesky remembrance to the artists who made these tracks?

I wonder: how do we cure this mentally debilitating disease, schizophrenia? A wise woman once told me that hip-hop and the artists of my youth will always exist for me, as long as I keep them alive, no matter the current state of the genre. While this will remain constant in subsequent generations, what will happen to the positive messages once laden in hip hop music and culture? Will we continue to have instances of the Imus slip (much like the Freudian slip, but racist)? If so, who will speak to justify the modality of hip hop culture as it relates to misogynistic banter as a means of self-soothing? It is my hope that as we prepare to witness yet another transformation in hip hop, we move less with the Shop Boyz and more with Lupe Fiasco. Besides, if hip hop turns into no more than goofy, super-synthesized, easily consumed tunes, who would we turn to satisfy and solidify our angst for the woes of society?

As hip hop is an ever-evolving, multi-dimensional culture, it will be interesting to see the direction over the next few years. I yearn to see hip hop do a 360, ridding itself of its schizophrenic state and returning to the strategically lyrical neo-nationalist banter of my youth.

Reorganized, focused and back to its roots. Hip Hop isn’t dead, it’s just a bit confused.

Mini-Story: There’s Waldo

My twist on a popular children’s book, written for a writing course.

Waldo’s lifelong quest to reunite with his father tragically left unanswered the question that has defined his life to countless inquisitive children in search of a red striped t-shirt: “Where’s Waldo?”

After his father mysteriously disappeared during a trip to Trinidad, Waldo decided to dedicate his life to finding him. At the age of sixteen, Waldo fled his home to begin his life’s mission, traveling the globe in search of his estranged pater.

Waldo’s mother decided after Waldo’s sudden disappearance to create a book in the memory of the men in her life; entitled “Where’s Waldo?”, she illustrated a visually demanding book highlighting her son as the prize, urging children to locate him on each page, dressed in his favorite red striped shirt and cap.

Waldo knew it was a bad idea when this book was published; seeing it on the shelves of international bookstores led him to question his own existence. Was it Waldo’s destiny to search for a man who did not want to be found? Was this the destiny of the children who would search for him through his mother’s books?

Feeling misguided, Waldo took his life at 26, diving from the top of a tall building into a sea of people dressed in his traditional garb to commemorate the tenth anniversary of the book that caused his suicide.