Hasta Carmen: 12 Works by Camila Galaz


Camila Galaz | ‘As the Spanish say, Hasta la vista, ta ta for now, Hon.’ | 2021)

When I met the co-leaders of San Marino at the Olympics, I knew where it was because of Carmen Sandiego.

–President Bill Clinton, The New York Times, 1996

We just don’t know the geopolitics of Carmen Sandiego, and in some sense, it’s really important to find out. What did the game include about history? More importantly, given the brevity of the information presented, what did it exclude? Were there outright falsehoods in these games or racial, ethnic, or gender biases? We don’t know the answers to any of these questions.

–Alexis C Madrigal, ‘The Geopolitics of Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego?’, The Atlantic, 2011

Games come to signify not just code, but interaction with a certain kind of machine, space, and time.

–Rhiannon Bettivia, ‘Where Does Significance Lie: Locating the Significant Properties of Video Games in Preserving Virtual Worlds II Data’, International Journal of Digital Curation, 2016

I’ve always loved the video game Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego. First released in 1985, it spawned the edu-tainment software revolution of the 90s, which I was very much caught up in. While the Carmen universe has expanded to include live-action and cartoon TV series, books, and multiple versions of the video game focused on history and specific geographic areas, the original Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego game was a world geography challenge. With Carmen as the brilliant antagonist and leader of a crime organisation known as VILE, players would track her and her cronies around the world in an attempt to thwart their brazen attempts at stealing famous monuments and items of cultural heritage. Ostensibly made for children in the United States, the game positions the player as a gumshoe ACME agent (a quasi-CIA operation) on the hunt for Carmen, a hispanic-coded criminal – though, interestingly, Carmen is largely positioned as non-threatening to the player.

At the time I was playing Carmen in my youth, I was also beginning to fully comprehend my Chilean cultural background. From Australia, I absorbed any Chilean references that came my way, trying to piece together an understanding of my cultural identity without being present in the country itself. How strange to look back on this now, thinking of myself as the daughter of a Chilean exile who fought against the CIA backed Pinochet dictatorship, play-acting the role of a United States agent.

When considering the individual players themselves, the geopolitics of Carmen is incredibly complex. The selected locations are often presented as exotic or other-ised to the United States and displayed within the context of a criminal investigation. This US-centrism also plays out in other ways, as Marsha Kinder infers of the 90s TV cartoon version in Media Wars in Children’s Electronic Culture:

The red coding [of Carmen’s outfit] also evokes Carmen’s past as a former spy who speaks flawless Russian and who got her hardware from the Soviet Union – a backstory that helps recuperate the cold-war paradigm.

Carmen played a huge role in geography education for generations of children. While the game developers preferred to see the games as exploration rather than education, it is clear that the game’s success was deeply rooted in its positive reception within schools and its marketing as classroom-based software. The games did develop over time, with the country facts changing due to shifting geopolitics. However, what is learned from these games is not solely contained within the borders of code but permeates into the physical social experience of gameplay, the temporal contexts, and the relationships of individual players with the content presented. Using my personal experience as a conduit, in Hasta Carmen I attempt to interrogate the information learned from a political and sociological viewpoint – looking at how the positioning of a specific country within the game merges with the lived experience of the player over time.

In Hasta Carmen I use the visual lexicon of these early games (specifically Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego? classic and deluxe editions), redrawing and playing with elements of the graphical interface. Collated clues, to-do lists and country information specific to Chile from within the game are mixed with notes and photography from my first trips to Chile in re-drawn gameplay fonts and framing. These two sets of information come from very different sources and perspectives. However, they combine to acknowledge the complex web in which we construct understandings of cultural identity. Both my experience of Chile and the gameplay of Carmen are focused on investigations (as is much of my art practice).

In working on this project, I began to wonder if my experience of playing Carmen also influenced the way I process information. Marsha Kinder further suggests that

… since these young viewers are still undergoing a process of cognitive development, which helps establish the basic schemata by which they organize perceptual data, that very infrastructure can potentially be inflected by the structure of the particular medium they are monitoring.

Regardless, the clues have brought me here and I will continue my sleuthing. As the Spanish say, ‘Hasta la vista, ta ta for now, Hon.’

Posted in ARTWORKS | Tagged , ,

GAME Editorial

As we write this, we are living in cities that are both in lockdown. Our days see us bouncing from one device to another, room to room to room. In these days that feel increasingly unreal, it’s invigorating to look back over the selections for this edition and step back into the magic circles marked out by each poem.

In this GAME issue, we have collected poems that took their play sincerely. Their constraints – be they formal, thematic, or functional – are not a cage, but an opportunity for transformation, an invitation into a new logic. Play here is a mode that supports Paul Valéry’s image of the poem as ‘a little machine, one that for the reader produces discoveries, connections…again and again, as many times as we need’.

We have chosen works that we feel exceed the lightweight connotations of the word game. Not every game we play is opted into, and in this selection are responses to labour under capitalism, dealing with loss, familial conflict, and international borders. Many of these poems sought a lateral dialogue with the invisible rules we gestured to in the call-out to this edition – depicting resistance, resignation, and the ambiguous manoeuvres that are needed to coexist within these complex and often cruel systems.

At the same time, we were equally invested in the work collected here that engages with silly, undiluted joy. Whether they are revelling in the inner workings of language, or making space for the absurd and dreamlike, these poems create an intimacy that can only exist through the communion of play and confirm our belief that solemnity is not a requirement for affecting poetry.

We were happy to see many enticing digital-born works submitted, a reflection of the efforts of publishers and organisations that have supported the overlapping worlds of writing, games and new media art: from Emerging Writers Festival and Freeplay Festival to Voiceworks, Liminal Magazine and Running Dog to name but a few. There are also some poets in this edition being published for the first time, or for the first time in Cordite, Poetry Review, which is an immense joy and honour to us!

Finally, we’d like to thank these writers and artists for trusting us with their work, and to thank you, the reader, for giving us your trust, and entering the magic circle with us. We hope the games, discoveries and connections here serve you, again and again, as many times as you need.

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Family mathematics

But now the huge trick: continued fractions allow you
to go on forever, with infinite nesting, just as we allow
infinite decimals to go on forever.
— Marty Ross

i. Nest

if you’re talking children
and ordinals
I was 1st

if you’re talking
children and fractions
1 in 4

if you look just at girls
it was 1 in 2

if each unit in a family
is given equal value
1 in 6

not that we were

reality was rationed out
to the powerful

which generates complex equations
hides the damage

in a family of 6, what is the ratio
of care to distance
knowledge to silence

the longer you follow the pattern
the closer you get

to the secrets
nested in secrets

lies nested in lies
nested in lies

Posted in 102: GAME | Tagged

Double Glazed

Posted in 102: GAME | Tagged

eastern line

as much as we imagine reliable
emotional landscapes in the blink
of a grazing cow’s eye life is re-invented
paddocks & a station rush past
look & sigh, elsewhere without colluding
with the overwhelm to explain
layers beneath feelings behaviour
in mid-sentence a sudden chill
ends the conversation one’s theory
of the universe no longer tenable
as much as we function without
humour or rainy-day attire
(remember on the island when we got caught
in a sudden deluge?)

on the eastern line steel wheels
clatter the tracks train, window
cows chew cud a dutiful father
listens—his keen eye roves the light

tail-swish ball…bell…balance—ear-flick

his voice falters along the suture line
aberrant cells sweep aside the gift of life
truth—paddocks yellow-grey grass
shimmers—head-long to evening.

Posted in 102: GAME | Tagged

Ready or Not

Under the railway bridge,
the creek smokes cattails.
Sweat courses your clavicle
like bubbles on a bottle
of Coke. In your childhood
kitchen, your father said,
Marry a man who loves you
like I love your mother.

And you did—
one who opened his hand
like a map,
and kept it flat
when he hit you.

Honey, take courage.
Hear the train just there.

Posted in 102: GAME | Tagged

Tables

Tables

We are just ordinary people, despite our greatest endeavor,
    memories of us do not last for a significant time;
as for the great who do nothing, it’s they who just need to be breathing,
    and, as the Libyan says, last long in adamant stone.

So, it was one day that Zeno, the guardian king of our city
    playing a curious game, staged with capricious dice
found himself fully surprised, when a complex position was showing
    as for the pieces of white, they were returning back home,
first, there were seven white pieces that occupied field number six and
    then there was one on the ninth, followed by two on the tenth;
nineteen and twenty had two stones and then there was one final counter,
    on a position alone, taking the second from last.

Black had its pieces as follows: a double on place number eight and
    leaving another two stones on the eleventh domain;
finding a similar number at rest on the following twelfth spot,
    only a single black piece, took the thirteenth as its place;
right on the number fourteen there were two who had just settled in there,
    analogue pieces were found sitting on number fifteen;
in an identical fashion, the eighteenth had two pieces staying,
    counting the fourth from the last, this had the final black two.

Now it was time for the king’s move, because he was playing the white side
    he did not notice the trap showing itself on the board,
after the casting of dice from a wooden receptacle downwards
    tumbling down ladders inside, leading the dice to a rest,
three of their numbers appeared and they turned up a two, six and fiver,
    eight of his fields were now split, leaving just singles in place.

All of you, flee from this game board, as even a sovereign ruler
    could not evade his bad luck, playing this treacherous game.

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Crown Of Moons

Energy sandstorm crackling
granular bismuth plankton
and not correlating its seethe
but finding the temerity of wave
in flared points that are pregnant
with voids backward spark cathedral
masochistic trash archipelagos
sutures of lava flow and disembodied
flames make flesh eager to amass
dendritic silhouettes of matter trees
rock swallows wood to become water
in a bliss of levels and effort circles
a crown of moons a calendar of milks
synthetic eyes arranged to monitor insect
apocalypse downgraded to cell errata
bouquets of freshly destroyed steel
man made of remnants among lasso rope
reflection of edifice skyreach tortured
dancers in gleaming wheelchairs no
one can count the tragedy arcs
heavy inked on expensive paper
feverish mutinies in gravel dugouts
fecal ribbons in the city water
dogs mutating in tumblewood chatter
videocassettes sold in dust markets
whereby objects multiply platforms
and beach towels you are a memory
for the fact of stuff haloed bank integers
like tallies across jet realms animals
scissored in halogen rooms halogen attic

Posted in 102: GAME | Tagged

eelegy

eels by the dozen stained questions,
shimmering mud deep in slime.

natural science ends this unknown lineage,
a deathbed world more abundant still alive.

new eels old lives as beetles
born of sea-foam or glass muscle.

any eel answer another eel question
a world war finally

here lie the great currents of their home
fluid and strange. with opened stomachs

the mature dusk of eels: quivering, watered
freshly writhing surges of wriggling.

what we wanted the eel
to be eludes


After “Where Do Eels Come From?” by Brooke Jarvis.

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Light variations at the bomb museum

I heard the footsteps again, you know who it was.
The fish tank inhabited by a strange artwork.
There was nobody home to explain, we waited.
I remember tampering with the core and the first stage of fission,
a hollow impact orphaned from history.

Polished white concrete and conditioned air.
An atmosphere ecclesiastic. An impossible heat
and futuristic toilet facilities, supine tourists, black rain.
An exit the opiate of jargon and the
difference between then and now,

igneous rock like mirror. Nothing to intercept
nothing to the horizon, wastelands of artefact.
A sinister experiment in my underground laboratory.
The jet streams magnesium pink being pulled to the sun.

More colours to the desert,
a calcified giant from dead myth. A daring
and most ingenious project: the curve of the wall from which
an osprey tips. Far below an angel submits to hypothermia.
Voters may form false memories
after seeing
fabricated stories.

Posted in 102: GAME | Tagged

Grenadier

I pour a blush of wine
into my housemate’s glass.
Orange tiles & succulents in jars.
Rolling through sulfur is hard
when you’re stuck in other muck.
There can be too much adrenaline
stim. As an example, what will we call
summer when it’s more than four months long?
Yesterday, I thought I saw my
dead friend at the depot: black Docs,
leggings, two ribbons of hair falling
from undercut. Our friends are counting on us.
I don’t mean a lonely medical droid. I’m talking
before Alderaan’s demise. I wonder if
there’s guilt in hyperspace. I already know
the answer: in-game & at that market a sonic
imploder detonates my mouth.

Posted in 102: GAME | Tagged

Impossible Borders

Instructions

Impossible Borders is a ludic response to the distorted everyday of COVID-19 lockdowns, where once familiar spaces were imbued with new meanings.

Drawing on a range of experiences and shifts of perception—like the hardening of hands due to constant washing, or how a softened gaze tessellates the leaves of a house plant—seven 14 word poems were composed and ‘distorted’ (from the Latin distorquere—‘to twist apart’) across a disc of seven segments, obscuring the original poems while inviting unconventional reading approaches.

We recommend using one of these reading patterns:

Option A                                                                                                             Option B

                              

You can read the downward poems in each segment (Option A), or you can read the poems by way of an inward spiral (Option B). After reading each poem in your selected pattern you can start at the top of the next segment and repeat the pattern to read the next poem.

You can start with either or neither, but whatever reading pattern you choose will require being constricted to the confines of the disc. External devices (abacuses, cards, die, dictionaries, grimoires, etc.) as well as internal stimulants (preconceptions, prejudices, apprehensions, etc.) are encouraged, but not required. Methodical application of these devices will yield consistent results. It is up to the player to determine if this is preferable.

Warning: reading patterns other than Option A (including the recommended Option B) may create ocular disconcertion.

Posted in 102: GAME | Tagged

What Animal Could You Beat in a Fight?

a Twitter Found Poem

I’m glad you asked.
It would have to be small. Maybe an insect. Not poisonous ones.
Would I be wearing body armour? Or some kind of stiffened leather?
Do I have the advantage of surprise or terrain?
Any animal which is low to the ground, if it is snowing,
or a kangaroo because they can’t go backwards.
Definitely a goat or a goose. Geese are not as tough as people think:
I’d slide under its wings and grab it by the neck.
I could probably take a bear if I had to, once the adrenalin kicked in,
15% survival chance. But not a Gorilla, Gorillas are a one punch K.O.
Yep. A whale or a shark. But only on dry land.
I won’t fight mythical creatures, though: griffins and armadillos and Big Foot.
You. You’re not an animal? Then myself. If someone cloned me.
In a fistfight, I couldn’t take a Puma, but I could beat a racoon.
I’m glad you asked.
I’m glad you asked.
Tactically, spiders and snakes are out, and I can’t fly, so not birds.
You can’t let a panda get in too close, it’s all about reach.
I’ve been thinking about this for some time.
It depends on the rules: I could beat most animals in chess.
Not vertebrates, even jellyfish, though. Jellyfish will swarm you.
I’m glad you asked.
Could I make an alliance with some of the animals against the rest?
Nothing smarter than a cat.
If I was a samurai, then easily killer bees.
Oh wait…no weapons? What about the animals? Do they have weapons
or are they declawed and defanged?
No point choosing wolves or big animals. They don’t exist anymore.
A cougar once you tire it out.
A human can kill anything.
We are the ultimate predators.
I reject the premise of the question.
I’m glad you asked.

Posted in 102: GAME | Tagged

A Field Guide to Triplines

Before crystal and gold dolphin
wind down end of the day emotions wash so hard
overlooked lavishly by the blunt attention of mirrors.
Aeroplanes high time to relax the concept of failure
is hideous. Between ignoring and not hearing there is
a difference where human error constructs its unreliable
batteries. That we would eat each other shortcuts loss
of signal, as if the difference is the remote is on the blink
and the robot you are, that I am, follows us and trouble
-some diagnostic knobs direct us in circles. The dogs
are excited because we’ve found the switch to turn you on
and all it took was a remote salvaged from a plastic toy.
In my hand, a difficulty, a comfort you fall within
enough to shake the messages you leave.

Posted in 102: GAME | Tagged

a gordian knot

i never was one for
patience and strategy

biting down on the bit,
an anxious habit

pop a blakfella
on the line up –
soft furnishings to dress
the set of your scene,
to brandish completed puzzle cubes –
kids upload videos
to YouTube, demonstrating
that one trick, still
give yourself a pat on the back

like a Magic Eye puzzle –
an optical illusion –
to look at me
there is just flat image,
to perceive the full picture
you have to change your
point of view

Always Was
Always Will Be

all to service your brand.

Posted in 102: GAME | Tagged

A Game of Life You Don’t Always Know You’re Playing

A short history of songbirds: declivities, banging pans,
eyes scratched out of religious icons painted on cave walls.
In the marrow of debate, the preservation of power.
You pretend not to see: in stones, the disappearing trees,
the lobster flaying its disconsolate torso in a steel pot.
An ichthyologist detonates explosives to study fish.
No apologies, only a timetable outlining the dates
of all the season’s matches, and the arenas they will be played in.
Survivors of a shipwreck are paid out in instalments;
the ones who can prove in a document they are dying
can apply for a supplement: unrooted plants, honeybees,
yellow lichen. In a department store, on the entry level,
women’s attire; here you can consult a fashion expert,
ask about the meaning of life, entangle yourself in saying
the word ‘fossiliferous’. It is here that you throw dice,
sign a piece of paper that you are, in fact, rudimentary,
and insecure, and require a credit card to ensure your name
is not forgotten, or erased. At the back of the displays,
administration, where your application for eternal remembrance
is approved, sent to government departments, a catalogue
of businesses, and finally, to pharmaceutical corporations
and airline companies to ensure that you will resign yourself
to visiting amusement parks and circuses on a regular basis.
Nothing is insurmountable on this journey, as long as you abide
in the umbrella practice of the requirements of hammers.
The world is an oyster, they say, and you are a clam with no eyes.

Posted in 102: GAME | Tagged

A Compendium of Failed Relationships

Posted in 102: GAME | Tagged

Reverse Reverence

.
..

…..
……
……..
………..
Reverence ……………
Reverse and you and I ………………..
your______[radiant] compass
_________omission, only _____
____I glisten. And _____
________[glory]___distance_______
we_wander … _________________space
[luminous]_____glinting._____span
Stars_____connect[ing/ion/ed]
ever________and upwards.
To roam and_______, gliding
________was only _______
______in our [glory] and
and__________as if________could
into [transmutation]. We traverse
______dots and_______transform
Higher and [escalation] as______becomes
as we climb [ascension].
lighting our way
and radiance
Stars in their multitude
out the_______window.
little [colour] [contour] leaves waving
on the dash. Me with my
Me in my little pot jostling
and out, skyward and [surpassing].
and______as we thrum past
The rain-streaked roadside gleams
at least, not like this, not like [reverence].
Never thought I’d ever travel

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First Game

Rayman II
before you m’dear –
we got a taste who she

couldn’t even on a chair
without sideways
mysterious
on the floor
three at most
she moved him
around
big cloppy shoes
air where a neck

stepped him forward
through the water-fall
turned
turned and then
through the water-fall
turned
turned the water-fall
the water-fall

Rayman so
no quest
instead
delight
moment moment moment moment

Posted in 102: GAME | Tagged

LuLi

The name LuLi actually originated from the island’s constant state [of] flux:
“lulubog, lilitaw”, which translates to “sink, float”.
– Archipelago

Once, far from my city, there was an island, and then there wasn’t, and then there was an island. This morning, my house was in the city, and then the city lost it. From the bridge, I could see the edge of the river, and then I couldn’t, and every dog was barking outside, until they just weren’t. Between there and not, I was rowing a boat to the island that is and isn’t, looking for dolphins. But wild animals know better than to stay around the morning after a storm. All the time, water stretched around me. I remember thinking the sun is unbelievable and soon, this island will be. I dug an oar into water and hoped for sand, for mud, for the new edge of a new river. I passed the island because it wasn’t, and I passed my house. Every wild animal passed me: dolphins, and barking dogs, and one carabao after another. After that: unidentified clutter. Once, I had a future. Today, I have an oar and in my mind, an island. I don’t know the difference between high tide and low, only now and after. I keep wading for my house, far from the lost edge of a river that isn’t. In my mind, my city loses one house after another, which means I’m almost not alone, flung so far into the water that all the time, stretches around me. From my boat, there is an island, and I am close to it. Wading near the edge of the world, I am close to it.

Posted in 102: GAME | Tagged

The lost poem

It had a sense of presence,
of solidarity in light’s embrace,
despite the blind-folding, the winding drive,
the tuning-up of crowded Tehran streets
dissonant in cupped glass; then voices only,
interrogation, an art-form of power
where everything fits, as in paranoia;
but nothing was lost on you.
In what was planted or removed that night,
loyalty travelled in a few straight lines
on the crystalline wedlock of light
in the mosaics of dawn in Esfahan,
the only words a faithful man
could bring himself to write.

Posted in 102: GAME | Tagged

Inheritance

Often, it’s April in my chest, a tremor caught
just before I can say: fuck you
for every little thing you couldn’t do, for the sound
of jars losing their porcelain history on the floor,
the air, charged with your breath
and my breathlessness.
Rage is your only lullaby, and eventually I learned
all of the words. I can’t touch a man without
vibrating, the constant yearning
to knuckle things out of order that you swore
was love. No sense of tomorrow.
Once, in a room with all the noise
of an ailing city, I felt my own heart,
something alive inside me,
threatening to abandon the body that treated
it so poorly. Deep in the vein
of nowhere, I like to think there is a flash
stunning enough to blind me. That I can reach
to find an arm, knowing I can trust what I can touch.
No longer April, and the monsoons
would have reclaimed everything;
every sun that vanished after you,
the gaps in my palms every night I tried
to reach for yours,
and all of your sad wind.
Even us and the equal parts we hate the world.

Posted in 102: GAME | Tagged

Jennifer Nguyen has a secret, very sexy fetish

Jennifer Nguyen moves backwards in order to go forward. She cries frequently in order to cry less. Her work has been ingested by people she will never meet but nevertheless hope they were nourished. If you catch her doing nothing, actually, she is very busy, doing nothing, which, in her experience is the greatest something. And, if you think that last sentence was nonsense, that’s because it’s all nonsense.

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Jennifer Nguyen is currently hardly working on her next book of poems, titled, ‘Have you gotten a real job yet?’ to which she thought nothing is as real a job as writing poetry, except maybe, literally anything else. The only logical conclusion she has to the question then, is, nothing and everything is real.

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Jennifer Nguyen is having her 444th existential crisis. If you know what the hell is going on in this reality please contact her at: youdaredmetoreadmegatronxreaderfanfic@soidid.com

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Jennifer Nguyen didn’t want to make this all about her so instead she will make some of this about bread. Blueberry bagels. Sourdough with cream cheese and smoked salmon. Milk bread. Melon bread. Twin sausage buns. Melon bread (again). Garlic bread. Garlic bread with cream cheese.

… — once, someone made her actual garlic bread with actual garlic they actually peeled and diced in real life, like, right in front of her. Needless to say, the whole experience changed her and now her only god is bread.

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Jennifer Nguyen is the author of countless drafts of poems based on dreams that likely no one will ever read, due to her lack of motivation to edit them. Some were so horrifying it made her smile. Others so full of unconditional love it made her sick with bliss.

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Jennifer Nguyen believes you can become anyone and anything you want to be so long as you believe it enough. For example: Jennifer Nguyen believes you can become anyone and anything you want to be so long as you believe it enough.

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Jennifer Nguyen has a secret, very sexy fetish that the professional bio will not only die out and become redundant but be replaced by something that makes your body react violently as soon as you read it, like a snort of laughter that ejects snot, or a long, chest filling howl to the moon.

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Jennifer Nguyen recently sold her second collection of poems in a hot two-way auction where soju was guzzled down recklessly, and lips were pressed on lips. There, she said to her love, they don’t know her just because they’ve read her work. Only her most unpublishable drafts have that privilege.

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Jennifer Nguyen is trying to (for the first time) achieve 100% true completion in Stardew Valley, on what is now her fourth or fifth save file. Please do not engage with her unless it is to bring her snacks (bread), where she will thank you by giving you a short tour of her farm and asking you: ‘It’s nice, right?’.

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Jennifer Nguyen is really, really sick of writing out her name like this, so from now on will go by a small image of bread. Not the bread emoji but one of those cute pastel pixel breads you put as your cursor for your Myspace page.

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The artist formerly known as Jennifer Nguyen asks that you do not refer to The artist formerly known as Jennifer Nguyen as ‘The artist formerly known as Jennifer Nguyen’.

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[Pixel Image of Bread] recognises the opaque nonsense of everything you’ve just read and does not apologise for wasting time, as, we have all the time in the world. [Pixel Image of Bread] promises if you peel back the layers you will find a fleshy white banana that will allow you to transcend the oppressiveness of time and space, but only when eaten through the heart and not the mouth. If the nonsense is still opaque then it was not the right time and it might be someday but for now, it was fun and for [Pixel Image of Bread], it is all that really matters.
Posted in 102: GAME | Tagged

Switching Stages

I thank you for this scene
Of your mother in a lounge room,

Your father in a garden and your brother
Who refuses to share his mind

But I should explain, at least, that your
Mother, from your story, has not flopped

Into a chair, in a room in your house
But in mine; and your father, see,

I have him here, looking out
Across a lawn, in our backyard.

Well, he does not notice your brother,
Your father, but we have this link,

Your brother and I, for he has
Known me, all of his life.

Now I ask, if my story is taking place
In your home — if you have marbled

My mother, in rooms which I have
Never seen before;

And so, is my father, in your patio
Sending out his cigarette-smoke-signals

And my brother, if you have him
Do you have that link, for he has known you

all of
your life.

I ask, if in these reborn scenes,

If disbelief
is what we share?

I have you next
to your mother,

In a haze, a wool of grief.

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