Gaming is a deeply compulsive activity, negating the worlds natural lethargy for riveting pageantries of cathartic absorption. But when we eventually regress back into the disparity of life to fulfil some liable allowance to reassure friends of my enduring mortality, we (me) can sometimes interpret the world from an oblique perspective. Gamings abusive duplicity almost felled me today when, on one of rare excursions into reality led me to the convenient vicinity of an individual, baring a striking resemblance facially, to my constructed protagonist in GTA: on-line. Had life begun to imitate gaming? Had this been an incidental coincidence? Had I suffered a mild, almost concussive seizure that somehow convulsed my already fractured neurosis? Any of these hypothetical’s could be true, but ultimately can’t be appropriately substantiated, but what I can tell you is that this isn’t a confined incident, but one of many perpetual observations.
There have been various separate occasions of mistaken identification that highlight the percussive catharsis of gaming. On a train journey, admittedly mildly influenced by the pacifying hallucinogens associated with alcohol, I receded cautiously into the corner of my seat, glancing perennially at the follicle challenged individual adjacent to me, ominously resembling Agent 47. Though he’s current vocation seemed more concerned with analytically deduction of his crossword/Sudoku/hit-list I didn’t feel compelled to highlight the glaring similarities to a contractually obligated assassin. I’ve been served a particular brand of fried chicken by William Birkin, a geneticist in Resident Evil 2 who helped to create and spread the virally contracted T Virus, and was singularly responsible for the resulting contamination in Raccoon City that mutated its inhabitants into marauding cannibals. Though courteous and respondent in delivering my order, his familiar resemblance to a man who favours chemical genocide was not appreciated. I’ve met Nathan Drake in the pub, Tommy Vercetti at an airport–though sadly his bright, Hawaiian shirt was sadly absent–and in one embarrassing encounter I attracted the curiosity of one innocent pedestrian after falsely and all too vocally identifying her as Madison Paige from Heavy Rain. Perhaps virtually inseminated characters are so realistically generated in tone and appearance that it becomes increasingly difficult to differentiate between reality and the comparable, virtual contemporary. Or perhaps I shouldn’t leave the house that often?
If you’ve been affected by any of the digressions noted above in this article, then please seek the advisory assistance from the relevant mental health association. But certainly don’t contact me.