Since today I’m in the “Russian heavy metal” mood, here’s some SLOT. Do listen to the live concert version for some extra buzz and awesomeness.
The cold dawn of a new day assaults us, let it come
Everything remaining in this universe
Everything revolving in this universe
Will return back to us, like circles that ripple in the water.
I enjoyed every single minute of this magnificent film.
To become warriors, the cohiuanos must abandon all and go alone to the jungle, guided only by their dreams. In this journey, he has to find out, in solitude and silence, who he really is. He must become a wanderer dream. Many are lost, and some never return. But those who return they are ready to face what is to come.
→ in reply to @note#1733296815
Wait, you people don’t have gardeners?
From now on I’m calling my gardener Chief Senior Executive Vice President of Horticultural Affairs (Asia Pacific).
Ultra-realistic cinematography, Matteo Rovere did an amazing job here. The story of Romulus and Remus, spoken in pre-Roman Latin language, very solid story, beautiful setting and an epic film about the birth of Rome. Raw, brutal and authentic, one of my favorite films ever.
May this fraternal blood that soaks our land become as hard as stone, and may one word be engraved on it, and echo in the head of everyone who dares cross it, attack it or ask for refuge: “Tremble, this is Rome”.
Reminder, in Homeworld 1 we only knew that the Kushan were humanoids. We didn’t even know if they were completely human. Two sequels later and they’re diversity hire central instead of, I dunno, desert people like they should have been. With a character-driven plot and retcons galore you can go stupid as you want and they went deep in the stupid. They expected people to be awed by cringeworthy cutscenes and venerate Sjet because everyone loves Sjet, no? No. Particularly if you make her the Special Chosen with the Special Ship and the Greatest Crew. Compare and contrast with Cataclysm and the bunch of random miners.
I’d kill to know what happened behind the scenes with Homeworld 3, because it must have been messy, juicy and fascinating, this amount of bad decisions must come from somewhere. If somebody hands you a copy of Homeworld 3 and a 12-pack of beer to help it go down, take the beer, throw away the game. Then responsibly drink a pint or two, and enjoy life without having to go through the happy-memories-ruining atrocity that the Homeworld 3 campaign is.
Late nineties to early noughties is just one of a kind, a sudden golden era lasting just for a moment. It’s a result of many things summing up together which cannot be replicated no matter how hard one tries. Like a spirit of a long gone time that is lost forever. We should accept this and move on. I know I am.
→ in reply to @note#1733212889
To simplify, I think the crux of the problem with Homeworld 3 lies in the absence of a strong, unifying vision. The original Homeworld was driven by a clear and compelling creative force, embodied by figures like Alex Garden, in contrast, Homeworld 3 appears to have been developed by a team lacking such visionary leadership. The result is a game that, while visually and aurally reminiscent of its predecessors, lacks the depth and innovation that defined the original.
As we contemplate the origins of Homeworld, we are reminded of an era when gaming was driven by passion and innovation, a stark contrast to the often cynical calculus that governs the industry today. The story of Homeworld’s creation is a clarion call, a reminder that greatness in game development requires not just talent, but visionaries who dare to dream and have the audacity to turn those dreams into reality.
→ in reply to @note#1733212318
The crux of the problem with Homeworld 3 lies in the absence of a strong, unifying vision. The original Homeworld was driven by a clear and compelling creative force, embodied by figures like Alex Garden, in contrast, Homeworld 3 appears to have been developed by a team lacking such visionary leadership. The result is a game that, while visually and aurally reminiscent of its predecessors, lacks the depth and innovation that defined the original.
Homeworld 3’s failure is emblematic of a broader trend in the gaming industry where nostalgia and brand recognition are leveraged to sell subpar products. This trend is often exacerbated by the influence of woke capital and corporate interests, which prioritize profit over creative integrity. The constant cycle of hiring and firing within game studios, quicker than brothels in busy areas, driven by corporate strategies rather than creative vision, further undermines the development of quality games.
The tale of Homeworld 3 is a cautionary one. It serves as a stark reminder that the resurrection of a beloved franchise requires more than just leveraging nostalgia and familiar aesthetics. It demands a clear vision, strong leadership, and a commitment to innovation—qualities that were sorely lacking in this endeavor. The failure of Homeworld 3 underscores the dangers of placing too much faith in branding and studios without scrutinizing the changes in leadership and direction that can fundamentally alter the nature of a franchise. As consumers and fans, it’s crucial to remain vigilant and discerning, lest we continue to fall victim to the empty promises of corporate-driven game development.
May Allah have mercy of our souls.
→ in reply to @note#1733211924
I should be over video games dying by now, they’ve been dead since about the year 2000. The corporations also don’t seem to have much of a choice since they are shit at coming up with anything original and the industry isn’t at all geared towards giving some highly excited young adult millions of dollars to assemble a team of highly motivated and passionate individuals to make the next big thing. There’s a lot of malignity in the industry towards customers these days and the games and even people that built the industry, that’s true, but the market and business isn’t what it used to be either in any shape or form.
But I do wish everybody involved in Homeworld 3 would get a slow and painful death.
How many beloved things from our childhood do we have to watch die?
There’s something deeply revolting about these corporations fucking the corpse of the things we used to like. Things that expanded our imagination.
They’re not only content to sell your data and kill the planet, but they also want to take even your escapism from you.
That’s fucked up.
There isn’t much left to do. The fear, creativity and benediction is the only thing keeping you alive. You move because you’re afraid of stopping. Your motivation is assuaged entirely by your fear of failure and your creativity is cannibalised by both your haste and your carelessness. You’ve become this holy icon, branded your name and crucified yourself in the name of our father, so you can’t stand it; now you’ll cripple your ability and plead political immunity. Which is only natural, you’re only human.
You know the rest. John made a film and became famous. I’m being prosecuted under Article 105 for killing civilians of the Russian Federation because I was already a civilian at that time. John told everything in the film - about the woman in the jeep, about the kid and the old man there, at Aslan’s base. When did he have time to shoot it? He wrote a book as well - “My Life in Russia”. He didn’t come to the court case, of course. Gave evidence about me over there. But the brave Chechen shepherd Ruslan Shamayev came and told in detail how I tortured him, how I cynically slaughtered Chechen women and children. He lives in Moscow now. His son is studying at the Moscow University.
Considering that the future is an extension of now, and now I am satisfied, what is there more to do than grow old and die?
To strive would interrupt my satisfaction. To accept even more responsibility would fragment my energy. To be able to respond to the needs of something is to be responsible for it. To maintain my car or house or job, finances, friends, future, past, parents, body, etc.
Why should I live a more and more fragmented Life by being “responsible”?
By comparing myself with another I have found things, potentially desirable, that I don’t have. By finding something that I don’t have I have created a home in my life that I be satisfied until I fill, a privation in my psyche. By being told that I don’t have something that I “should”, by someone that I admire creates a privation in my psyche.
Why do we do this to ourselves? Why do we constantly strive when we can just as easily give up responsibility for everything but the minimum and remain satisfied?
If we stop moving are we afraid that we will die? Are we so afraid to face the reality of our death that we constantly need to chase one thing after another? We do attain wisdom after an accomplishment don’t we … not that of the goal, but of being disillusioned of its promise of satisfaction.
It is fine to carry a cross. It is fine to look and not go. Some promises are good because they don’t come to an end. You can have regrets and gratitude. You can be clothed in a cold night.
I want to explore the subterranean layers of the human conscious like no one has done before. Should I connect them to facts, statistics, research? Psychologists and social scientists spend a lot of time getting data to support why their programs are supposed to work instead of making their programs actually work.
I get shocked by the objective realities that modern science has brought us. Not the science mentioned above, but things like entropy, evolution, and how the organism of a classical economy should work. I stick to that strictly objective perspective (we’re just primates made of matter suspended in the infinite darkness). This perspective is powerful when researching tiny isolated fields of information, but it is no map for a human life. In other words, the partition between the universe and my daily life is strict and thick. The universe is a map, but life is a narrative.
I have tried to make a big sweep of a narrative with this short little text, but instead I have collated a thousand little wisps of impressions and distilled them into words.
It’s almost like watching a movie. You’re back from university now, in the shower, and you’re just reclined there against the back of the tub, hot water falling on you, like every night before you left for school. Except, it’s different now. You’re not really there. Or at least, you are there, but it doesn’t matter. Your body’s like a dumb animal, pushed to work and pleasure, while your mind is separate. Like a hazy train ride, or a waking dream.
It even happens in dreams. Is that weird? There’s no poetic flourish to this. It’s like growing old prematurely. And you don’t even care. Now, at one point you did. You went through every bit of practical wisdom out there, looking for some philosophical insight that’ll bring you back your humanity, hoping that the exercises might flip some switch and make you feel again. But the months keep passing, and life is like a parody of itself. Can you remember your childhood? Your interests? What’s happened to you?
