Driving Home West
Driving home west.
The dinge of the day
murking your mind
clouding your eyes
dismal mental pollution.
The sun dropping
so bright and direct
no visor or glasses
will divert
its power
forcing you to
squint
demanding all your focus.
And then the glow drops a bit
blessedly
your eyes clear
and the colors
unimaginable
seeing as if for the very first time
soothing stirring restful
a calm
making you remember what’s important.
Driving home west.
Robert Frost
"The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep."
The last stanza of Robert Frost's
" Stopping by woods on a snowy evening ". I credit this poem for getting me interested in poetry, I loved the beauty of its simplicity yet for me it expressed something so profound about life... for we all have miles to go before we sleep. (When I first read it, I nearly cried.)
Interpreting Gristwood
Unless one is as into Great War literature as much as myself, I doubt that they have ever heard so much as the name A. D. Gristwood. Yet, he was, in my opinion, an even better war-story author than Remarque and Hemingway. All of these gentlemen were Great War writers, and yet, I think that Gristwood trumps the other two greatly. Like Hemingway and Remarque, Gristwood’s tales are believed to stem from his own experiences in the Great War. Gristwood was in the British military, wounded twice over the course of his service,
He is quite unsung, however, because he faced a problem that many other authors have faced: where to seek publication? Finally, sometime after the Great War had ended, Gristwood landed his first book, “The Somme” (and later, “The Coward”) in the hands of H. G. Wells, a popular author and publisher at the time. It is likely the case that the only reason why these two books ever even made it to the shelves of a public bookstore was because Wells forwarded it. And I agree with Well’s claim about the works: the dead do not write books, and so the only stories that a civilian can read to understand war are the ones written by the survivors. But Gristwood’s books, he continued, came close to a book by the dead.
Indeed, Gristwood does not focus on dialogue, imagery, or even character development, so much as he stresses the internal fear, anxiety, and dread felt by his main characters. The emotion his poor soldier’s suffered, and the challenges they faced, and the actions which they took to evade and survive them…These are not stories of bravery, they are stories of realistic and logical fear and cowardice.
In fact, Gristwood’s own life seems morbidly poetic in its own right. It is largely believed that Gristwood had self-inflicted a wound to evade combat the second time he was wounded, and that is presumed to be the inspiration behind “The Coward.” In fact, Gristwood’s work holds the best quote I have ever read in literature: “Fortune favours the coward.” For truly, it would seem that the main character in “The Coward” only survived because of his cowardly action, an action that was prompted by pure fear and utter terror of death. And, in life, the coward, though not often the winner, tends to come out of any given dilemma the least scarred.
Although, perhaps Gristwood was wrong, however, because, in 1933, at the age of thirty nine, he committed suicide. He had been diagnosed sometime earlier with post traumatic stress disorder (then termed “shell shock”). A few years prior to his untimely demise, his books had been taken out of print after a few unsuccessful years. The only way I was even able to read his two short books was because they were reprinted within the last two decades by a Great War library, and I happened to be in loose acquaintance with the designer of the new cover. Gristwood’s tales do not make war seem romantic for even an instant: they show how truly awful the practice is, and how far its victims will go to evade it.
sad truths from a 27y.o.
After you turn twenty-five, life accelerates at an incredible pace.
Health is not a given. My prostate needs urgent attention, as do my knees.
People who were once your friends are becoming strangers.
Sometimes you are the bad guy.
There's no such thing as karma. Sometimes bad people win and never face consequences.
You can’t save people.
Doing your best and making sacrifices do not guarantee success. You can speak as many languages as you want, have multiple degrees and certificates and still be doing a monotonous shitty job or be rejected at the simplest of jobs.
Work is not fun. My coworkers are not my friends. My boss doesn't care if I am happy. HR is there to protect the company from me, not the other way around. I am replaceable no matter how intelligent and diligent I may be.
Merit is bullshit.
I am nowhere near as intelligent and attractive as I thought I was.
$100 is actually not a lot of money. Less so, when your currency is in a free fall, and so is your salary. Making $700 a month sucks, more so when you have to pay $150 as a monthly mortgage installment.
No matter how much you care for and value someone, they’re never obligated to be the same to you. Especially friends.
In a relationship, love is not just enough.
Nostalgia is always a liar.
Worrying about what others think is pointless, most people are so caught up in themselves they barely know anyone else exists. Don’t let your ego convince you that anyone gives a shit about what you’re doing.
The idea of God is basically Santa for adults.
Harry Situation Reviews: Dead Space
Alright, let’s finally talk about Dead Space.
Depending on who you ask Dead Space is one of the most famous (or infamous) science fiction survival horror game in existence. It was developed by Visceral Games and published by EA, which is a company known to send fear into the heart of gamers everywhere. Set in the far future, you play as an engineer named Isaac Clarke (a nice homage to science fiction authors Isaac Asimov and Arthur C. Clarke) traveling to a large mining ship called the Ishimura to do some repairs. Unfortunately as you arrive you find that the entire crew has been killed and reanimated into monstrocities called Necromorphs. The only source of this outbreak comes a mysterious artifact known as the Red Marker. You must fight your way and survive against the onslaught of Necromorphs as you uncover secrets about the Red Marker and the Ishimura, as well as try and find your girlfriend Nicole, who is stationed somewhere on the ship.
This game is famous (or infamous) for two main reasons:
1) It is terrifying. I mean it. This game is scary as balls. When I was younger I couldn’t even finish the game because I was so terrified to progress any further. That’s a testament to its infamous legacy.
2) It is extremely violent and gory. The amount of excessive blood and gore is enough to turn any gamer away. If you’re someone that’s not a fan of this kind of content then avoid this game if possible.
A major positive towards this game is the lighting and atmosphere. Much of the ship is in darkness, creating the most eerie atmosphere in space since Ridley Scott's original Alien. You're constantly looking over your shoulder and around every corner because you know that's when the Necromorphs are hiding and they'll pop up any given moment. They'll pop out of vents, they'll pop out of the doors, they'll burst through the walls. There's no such thing as safe on the Ishimura. This is how you do horror in a video game right, aside from having a bunch of monsters run out and attack you. The first 10-15 minutes of the game (which I'm sure most are familiar with) are without a doubt one of the most terrifying moments in the games.
The second positive is the game's combat. Unlike in other survival horror games, the necromorphs are not like traditional zombies. Shooting them in the head won't do a damn thing. If you want to put them down for good you gotta take out their limbs. And the weapons you use are not really weapons. They're engineer tools because the character you play isn't some space marine or super soldier, he's an engineer, so you use what you can.
The graphics are another major positive. This game was made back in 2008 and the graphics really do hold up very well today. Everything on the ship feels and looks very real like you yourself could be apart of this universe. It makes it feel very alive, despite the fact there are shit ton of dead bodies and necromorphs everywhere.
I'm also in love with so much of the backstory and lore within this game's universe. For example, you learn that the Ishimura is out in illegal space and their main operation is to retrieve the Red Marker for a religious group known as the Church of Unitology. Think of them as a combination of Evangelist Christians and Scientology. You can actually learn more about the backstory and the Ishimura's crew through a series of diaries and audio logs that are scattered throughout the ship. I must warn you, the audio logs are one of the most eerie things I've come across. A majority of them are about how some crew members have when crazy after discovering the Red Marker (which is one of its many sinister affects) or how the crew is desperately trying to stave off and survive the Necromorph outbreak. The most disturbing audio log involves a crew member dismembering his own limbs so he doesn't hurt anyone should he turn into a necromorph. It's pretty fucked up and it keeps you up at night. I would love to talk more about the story and of Dead Space but sadly there's too much to cover in this review.
There are also plenty leave plenty of room and quiet time to do some puzzle solving. You'll need to do these in order to progress through the game. Some are pretty, others are pretty challenging. But what I like about these puzzles is that they serve as a welcome break from all the Necromorph-slaying you'll have to do throughout the game. Trust me, after the 50th Necromorph that's tried to kill you you could use a breather because this game doesn't offer a lot.
Sadly I can't go into more details such as talking more about the story due to trying to contain this review under 1000 words. There's also not much to criticize either. I will say that one criticism I do have is that there isn't much character development in the game. You don't really get much character out of Isaac Clarke, who is pretty silent the whole game. They fix that in the sequels which I consider an improvement. Overall, I do consider Dead Space one of the most terrifying games I've ever played. If you want to try the game, its available on Steam and backwards compatible on all systems. Just play it with the lights on.
Positives:
-Lighting and atmosphere
-Pretty damn scary
-Great combat
-Amazing graphics
-Puzzle solving
-Lore and audio logs
Negatives:
-Lack of character development
Final Grade: A
So those are my thoughts on Dead Space. Have you played this game before? What were your thoughts on it? Please be kind, leave a like and comment, and check out more reviews here on Prose!
#harrysituationreviews #videogame #gaming #opinion #EA #scifi #horror #survival #AGrade
I know what I am
Chloroplasts churn
until they don’t, and
the dessicate thing
can only clasp the bark
so long.
Wind separates the stem;
leaf falls to earth atop
a dozen more.
A hundred will follow
tomorrow
on every block
in every forest
and will again next year
from the same dimple on
that branch
where no one sees.
Kneel.
Lift it.
Nothing more
beautiful and vital
will ever touch your palm.
Teddy and Professor Wiley
My doorbell rang and when I opened it, it was my neighbor's next door son standing there.
"Hello, Teddy. What do I owe to this unexpected visit?"
"I need to talk to somebody about my mom."
Teddy's voice sounded nervous and he wouldn't look at my face, and kept staring down at his tennis shoes.
"Well, come inside and tell what seems to be the problem."
"Mr. Wiley, my mom's in the hospital. She has that virus thing."
"The Covid-19, you mean."
"Yeah, and I don't know what to do."
"I would imagine you should be talking to you father about-"
"My dad left three days ago; the Army sent him to Syria."
"Oh, then you do seem to have a problem. So then, tell me, how can I help?"
"I...I don't know. I just thought cause you're smart and all that, you could give me some advice. I'm scared she might die."
"Teddy, let's not think the worse just yet. She is in the hospital, so obviously she'll get expert care. Of course one issue you have is that you won't be able to see her anytime soon because of the hospital's..."
"I tried calling but some lady on the phone kepr saying for me to call back in a few days. That I have to wait until they do some tests on her."
"Teddy, my boy, that's just part of their protocol. In the military they call it Standard Operating Procedure. It's for her safety and well being, and you have to consider the doctor's and nurses have a huge responsibility with the amount of patients they have to attend to, so I would say just give it that few days they mentioned. Things will work out fine."
"You think so?"
"Of course."
"Thanks for listening to me."
Who was Jorge Agustín Nicolás Ruiz de Santayana y Borrás?
After the last statue comes down, after the last book is burned, after the last voice of opposition no longer speaks, what then?
Do the new revolutionaries begin building something better?
Will freedom ring for all as you were told?
Will no more lies be told as you were promised?
Will everyone get what they were promised as you expected?
If history is the example, how many such utopias made it past their second day?
Ever wonder why?
What if we change the promise to a "worker's paradise"?
Do you feel better?
Will Boxer and Benjamin work even harder than before?
Does history look favorably upon this vision?
Will your children?
Did you fall for the assurance that everything will be free?
How do force a doctor to work forever in your best interest for free?
Why should a farmer rise before dawn to give away the fruits of his labor (and his labor)?
Does anyone remember the Soviet Union?
Is it better to be a Karen or a Kulak?
Does it matter after you you are collectivized?
Can you petition the old government for a redress of grievances when the new government you wanted is the source of your grievances?
Will the new oppressors support your freedom to inquiry?
Or complain?
Or seek justice?
Or will you enjoy the uniform distribution of misery slaves call equality?
No tyrant educates a population to overthrow them, only to use them.
The Bolsheviks needed the Mensheviks only until the death of the Tsar. Then only one version of the truth, one vision of the future, one story teller was required.
Hitler purged the membership of his own party (Night of the Long Knives) thus eliminating competition to his war plans.
Fidel didn't lose any sleep upon the death of Che.
The new government always kills the enemies of the revolution and then the enemies of the state and then the enemies within the state.
Search the "Reign of Terror" if you still can.
Or, simply move cautiously within the bubble of ignorance that shields you from reality.
You will make an amusing target in the new world order.
You just won't know it.
The Joy of the Challenge
I come here solely to write challenges. I love topics that shake my smug knowing and make me squirm, ponder and often research pushing me beyond what I’ve known. The winning comes from writing something you never would have considered. It is the prompt that expands you to reach for new words and express concepts uncomfortable to your soul. Challenges improve your writing skills, exercises your creativity and helps you to find your true voice.
Winning should never be the object nor should creating something to collect admiring remarks or likes. Likable prose never changed the world and people often stagnate, settling for mediocrity, when rewarded for popularity. So you can win but the very act of taking on challenges one by one is the win.
Prose is a bit like the old saying about life being like baseball - you only strike out when you stop swinging. So take a swing, pick the challenge most distasteful to you first and write it. If you hate it, delete it...but keep swinging. Do it because every time you are working to make you a better writer, never ever for the affirmation of others.
EVENING OF SORROWS
My body has melted
As ice set under fire
The pant I wore
Loose as a child
In a battle with diarrhoea
The breeze is as scorching like sun
The warmth I feel was wrath
So painful as lovers parting ways
My eye red as hot as charcoal
All my thoughts swimming in perjury
Oh my dear soul
My furry hands
As a child denied her lunchbox
My spores ooze out sweats of blood
My strength was taken away by a pit of misery
Oh my dear soul
My hands touch nothing but despair
I am famished by the strokes of despondency
Oh my dear soul
My heart pants
Faster than the running streams
Speedometer slower to the noise of my agony
I am in a web of depression
Oh my dear soul
My contentment is only anger
My visitors are thoughts of suicide
Oh my dear soul
Although, one of my visitors asked?
Why all these upon you?
Why all I see in the chambers of your heart is misery?
My silent look
My drop of tears
Burst in anger
My heart explodes
Oh my dear soul
Just a day to end my pit of hell
Long before the hope was forgotten
A morning voice of consolation crow
A sweet sugared and butter bread
Place before my table of agony
To calm my taunt soul
Oh my dear soul
Joy danced before me
Again and again
Happiness jumped out of my hopeless bed
Again and again
Warmth clashed their cymbals at the door of my mouth
Again and again
Comfort strung the guitars of hope
Again and again
Peace played the classic melody in my chambers
Once again.
Another morning of gratitude
Just as the evening of sorrows elopes
Oh my dear soul