Warning! During the course of this painfully embellished piece of literary condescension, you may experience emotions of explicit loathing, physical trauma, drowsiness and conflicting emotions to destroy your respective device that allows you to receive this display. I strongly advice against such a retort for the benefit of your wallet. Symptoms may vary. Consult doctor if symptoms persist. Just don’t blame me. Please.
We live in a society governed by caution, in a civilisation that rebukes the amiable motions of a stranger with pessimistic intrigue, that suggests that everything and everyone posses a significant risk to our protection. To sustain our present equilibrium we must remain cautiously receptive to the increasingly volatile environments surrounding us, for instance; “Is that impoverished individual eagerly willing to assist me with my shopping because of genuine concern for my oppressed state, or is there a deceptive provocation that motivates their capacity for considerate expedite?” Such nugatory assumptions are a direct result of nurture. As kids we were notified regularly of the inherit dangers of conferring with adults presenting us with candy bars or other sugary treats, and we obliged because such precautions were so evocatively verbalised by our parents, that meant we avoided encounters with such predatory individuals. Safety is a naturally progressive instinct; “don’t cross the road until the green man appears”, “stand behind the yellow line when a train is approaching the platform”, and “never eat yellow snow”. Of course there are exceptions, those moments when you seriously question the integrity of humanity and ponder with increased precision, how some people are capable of oxygenating there brains. When you purchase a coffee from your generic coffee based retailer, and you read those patronising and ponderously derisive text, that contains the words “caution hot!”, you truly question the fabric of humanity. But as similar t being an impetuous teen, scaling huge oak trees and learning the cruel values of gravity with similar ideology to Sir Isaac Newton–except in this instance you’re the apple–some warnings are only fully comprehended when you’ve disregarded them.
For years we’ve been warned of the dangers associated with prolonged exposure to a game, delicately composed warnings that contain the prudent methods to prevent the general symptoms that deride from such exhibitive persistence, statically displayed before the game. Your encouraged to seek regular breaks to deter such symptoms from occurring that include; headaches, dizziness, loss of scalp and rectum, a sudden compulsion to sing Berlin’s “take my breath away”, and other detrimental ailments from occurring. The majority of my adolescence was spent with a controller in hand, with the hours dwindling until that vibrant, conductive spherical star–commonly referred to as the sun–descended meekly in the distance, merging briefly with the horizon before becoming extinguished by the distant residences. The only environmental oxygenation I would receive was from my slightly jarred window, distributing its brief interludes of ventilation. I–like many of you–have endured the intense visual or auditory stimulation generated by games with a progressive tolerance…until last Saturday.
Imagine if Michael Flatly had taken residence slightly to the left of your temple. Had invited 1000 of his closets friends to attend, attired in neon wool and proceeded to re-enact Riverdance across my scalp and eyelids, while a symphonic orchestra rhythmically conducted an extended performance of Slayer’s “Reign in Blood” album, with just symbols, chisels and hammers for instruments, and you’d go half way to comprehensively visualising the agony I suffered. My long-detained, psychological immunity to such reprehensible afflictions had been dispensed with and I was certainly liable for my own administered ignorance to the virtually displayed warnings. Nauseous, tractable, and as docile as a jelly baby, my temporal lobe thumping, like Mike Tyson jabbing persistently for a susceptible point in my skull to exploit and puncture. Of course all culpable responsibility lies with my own negligible correspondences; lack of nutritional sustenance, a descended consumption of fluids, total aversion to any natural light, mass consumption of recycled oxygen, circulating with no clear guidance were all mitigating factors for my disoriented state. But subjectively, many of these corroborating symptoms could be attributed to my intensive 8 hour gaming marathon. There’s seems to be an incidental correlation?
Despite the litany of pain received from this surrogate, totally provoked affliction, it was suitably quelled by the dissipating vegetative stupor I was placed in, and from this solicited slumber I recovered. With faculties and lateral balance restored, I returned the following evening with renewed vigour with a more mature, responsible adoration, aided by generally receptive cautions to any potential afflictions that attempt to suppress my play. I believed that these pedantic scrolling warnings were an appeasement to political legislation, keen to highlight issues that are singularly afflicting the more receptivity weak individuals, and simply an advisory precaution. But my own flippant apathy and nullified faculties taught me that it can be mutually exclusive. The self-inflicted ailment I retained through my own persistent endeavours, justifies the pre-existing warnings displayed to mediate these symptoms ferocity. Don’t make the same sensory mistake I did!
Have you suffered any side effects from extended gaming? Let me know your thoughts. Cheers.