“What could be worse than Watch Dogs being a bad game?! Surely confirming your pessimism?”
As we each progress through life with alternating destinations and a finality exclusive to our own decisions, there is one progressive commonality that the cruelty of reality often affects; the accelerating empathy of youth, the slow declension and hesitant vulnerability of your testis, that dip tepidly into a bath your partner dispersed that is as hot as Emma Stone sunbathing on the sun’s surface, and–more to the point–the encumbering frailty of optimism. Many of us game to alleviate the sickening, comprehensive vulgarity of worlds destructive inclinations; such as war, poverty, famine and another series of CSI, NCIS, or any number abbreviated, cancerous acronym’s. But such scepticism can manipulate which games we play. We as a species our constantly wary of the lingering sense of anxiety that copulate’s our apprehensions, on an all to regular basis. My family for instance live a solitary life, confined within the detailed cells of resounding caution for the honesty and gregarious actions of fellow humans. This fervent trepidation often manifests itself in a multitude of irrational entropy; such as insisting that we immediately calculate that we have received the correct amount of change from any, and all proprietors before accepting our purchased wares with courteous virtue, which to the untrained observer seems like a cautious, though wise expense. But the courtesies and thanks are often superseded by a patented, fiscal authorising technique, by orally authenticating the currencies legitimacy, by biting the change–just to make certain that it isn’t made of chocolate. My existence as a result has been tainted by a bloodline fixated on pessimism and the futile finality that my ancestors associated with optimism (I realise how pedantic I’m being, but bear with me).
“Colonial Marines; where fighting Aliens with acidic blood, is laboured and dreary.”
Blame alleviated (sorry mum), hopefully I can achieve similar alleviations by suppressing certain, wistful lusting’s of diligent pessimism that dictate my gaming purchases. Being openly flippant to a games generated credibility is an ideology that comes naturally to many of us. It’s an instinctive defensive mechanism against disappointment; if something in my perpetual foresight deems a significant title to be more heinous than the queen in tracksuits and baseball cap, then it can’t conceivably irritate me. It’s a logistical nightmare, not to mention mentally fatiguing when every game has to be facilitated in the most hazardous, ominous facets of my psyche, because I’m fearful of how my own created perception will generate delirium that no game–even with the imagination of a sugar-fuelled toddler, could emulate. Previews just compound the issue, which flatter and boast with eager ferocity, escalating the expectations to unassailable proportions. With the delicacy of information distributed, often its better to avert your attentions from speculative expectation. Games such as Aliens: Colonial Marines for example, which roughly a year ago was receiving widespread reverence for its conceptual scope, vision and authenticity to the movies they were attempting to convey; and we all know how they turned out?
“Chris and Sheva’s new production of “Singing in the Rain” wasn’t greatly received.”
Complacency is a comfort to be condemned, as too often we find ourselves susceptible to our own nullifying expectation. There’s a distinguishing correlation that I’ve always associated with anxiety and optimism, despite the obvious contrary terms, as though maintaining blind optimism is a slightly more polished sense of apprehension and an exhausting expense of time, until you disregard negative ridicule and understand statistical consistency is irrelevant when your stern belief in a titles capabilities is–admittedly seldom realised–a valiant truth. Scepticism can be both vexing and fatiguing that develops into self instilled fear, a fear that is a contemptuous poison that dictates the readiness of your gaming ambitions. It’s a crutch all too often leaned upon to stabilise and balance the buoyancy for apathetic suspicion We are each culpable for our own disappointment to a certain extent, small wonder I feel inclined, almost dutifully obligated to suppress such derisive, mentally crippling yearnings in favour of more positive outlook. Money has become such an integral means to, in the sense that most of us outside the wondrous, “Hogwarts” banking system have to be careful of how our funds are distributed, limiting our desires. But in such instances I find purchases rely heavily on instincts, which are more passionate than any review you’ll read.
“The death of Uncharted. This notion terrifies me more than Hilary Clinton in a bikini.”
Hope, optimism and positive thinking has become something of supplementary assistant, initiated only when the certainty of a game’s success is guaranteed. I openly fear the day I play a bad Uncharted game, I still look upon the current direction of Resident Evil with contempt with wistful, contemplative musing of its former superiority. Surely its better to adopt a mentality of wild optimism, to contribute to a realised dream rather than nightmare? Hope should become a sigil, something to grasp tightly–it worked for Andy Dufresne? Sure, your be disappointed more often than having your expectation matched or even exceeded, but what’s the point in gaming if you’re embracing negativity?
Do you constantly worry about a series future? And is hesitancy something you rely on in games? Let me know your thoughts. Cheers.