IceM
03-01-2010, 03:15 PM
Okay, so, in our English class we were assigned to write about something we're passionate about. I chose to write about online video-gaming, as it proved the easiest. Here's the thing. While the prompt was ours to make, we had specific guidelines: match your structure with your subject at hand, experiment drastically with your writing, and try to establish a flow.
Well, here's my essay that I wrote. When you read it, understand that this is NOT my style at all; I usually incorporate FAR more complex sentences, more adjectives, and have better structure. But, because I'm forced to experiment, here's what I've produced:
Online video-gaming is sky-diving from 20,000 feet above sea level without a parachute; it is racing in a Lamborghini down a highway at 150 miles per hour with no brakes or seatbelt; it is fighting for your life in the Colosseum. It is adrenaline-pumping brilliance. It is rapid-fire exhilaration. And it is a time-consuming hobby. But sometimes I cannot discern whether my passion is truly a passion or an addiction. On occasions I could pick up the controller and fight endlessly on Killzone 2, consumed by the action at hand. Vesalius had the same consuming flame with surgery. It is everlasting. Some say our passions damage our ability to function in life. But our faith in our passions are a reflection of life itself; a psychological and moral struggle. So we continue.
Games of free-for-all on Killzone 2 are fast-paced madness. Initially combatants are assigned to a team; either Helghast or humans. Then the action begins. Death runs amuck. Grenades maim bodies while bullets whistle by overhead. Knives tear flesh and mutilate organs. Purple blood splashes on-screen while my character’s body takes five to the chest. I respawn. A flash bang goes off and no one can see. I press R1 and pump bullets into the blinding light. Two people die. Six points. They respawn. The process continues. The first team to 1000 points or the most in 30 minutes wins.
Much of the level designs cater to the action. Pyrrhus Rise is a desolate plateau with endless vision in any direction. Vekta Head is the fight for a beach with minimal coverage and maximum ammunition. I can spend hours playing these levels. The competition always varies. Gamers with little ability typically swarm the levels, making for easy killing. The matches typically end in ten minutes. But on occasions, players from the top 100 standings on the Killzone leader boards stray into our games. While the match speeds slow, they become more intense, as the better players are more adept at strategy, stealth, weaponry, explosives, and finding useful hiding spots. The game takes on a life of its own. Personal rivalries for bragging rights form as top players exhibit abilities otherwise dormant during matches with lesser competition. Profanity screeches across the airways as the match draws to an end and the strategy becomes more refined. The level design becomes crucial, as what was initially considered filler space in the environment becomes significant battle posts.
At last, the battle draws to an end. The scoreboards then display the points leader, kills leader, and individual deaths leader. It is typically a glorious occasion, assuming I have won. The airlines fill with mockery towards the deaths leader. Reverence and awe-inspired compliments are shot towards the kills leader. And the title of “Supreme Gamer” is indirectly given to the points leader. Until the next level.
After the statistics are seen and the comments said, the game continues. Everyone votes on the next level to play. Thirty seconds expire and the game resumes More murder, more death, more points, more profanity; the process begins as though nothing is different. Then the level ends and the statistics are shown…And the process repeats.
It is a shame life cannot be this way. We load bullets into other people in the name of war. Flash bangs go off and they cannot see. They, too, shoot into the light. Two people die. Zero points. Online players can respawn; soldiers cannot. Online gamers can see past the blinding light after they respawn. The soldiers’ blinding light is either one of Heaven or Hell.
Life and video games sadly have much more in common. We revel in the murder of opposing forces. Armies and soldiers, countries and nuclear arsenals are ranked on the global scene. Fights take place on virtually the same battle fields; Pyrrhus Rise is our Gettysburg; Vekta Head, our Omaha Beach.
In life, too, there are the premier players. Killzone 2 gamers utilize explosives and their surroundings for murder. Electrical conduits pump lightening into other bodies. Surrounding vehicles are the melee expert’s treasure trove. Open windows are prime for snipers. Alleys are molded for heavy artillery. Guns do much less of the killing for the better players. Life meets this step for step. Vietcong utilized guerrilla warfare and close-combat melee. Stryker regiments are key snipers in Iraq. The United States manipulates explosives detrimental to nature; just ask Hiroshima and Nagasaki.
If we know video games and life are reflections of each other, why do we still play them? Killzone 2 has its master snipers; the melee specialists; the grenadiers; the heavy artillery experts. We applaud headshots. One-shot kills are at a premium. Online murder is exploited for entertainment. But why? The top Killzone 2 player kills 300 people per hour in competition. Those 300 people can all respawn. Live soldiers cannot. Neither can live people. If one real soldier could maintain “efficiency” like that, there would be no soldiers left to fight. No more war. No more civilization. No more us.
It has been almost two months since I have played Killzone 2 online. I have since then learned my passion for video gaming has indeed been a passion and not an addiction. I am the Vesalius of war, feeling guilt for my opposition but still murdering helplessly and racking up point totals. But I cannot stop.
And perhaps I prefer not to.
While my rank as #97 in North America has been replaced due to my inactivity, that soon will change. With every positive, there comes a negative. I know video gaming perpetuates gluttony. I know war games harden the senses and diminish the empathy of those who play them. But that will not stop me. I enjoy the adrenaline rush. I enjoy shredding corpses, crushing hopes, smiting lives, desecrating dreams and seizing victory. I enjoy being revered in awe by my lesser competitors as their carcasses lay wasted and corpses maimed with my bullets. It makes me smile. And I will continue to smile until I become the #1 Killzone 2 player in the land.
I just pray Man still exists when my slaughter is complete.
Please understand that, as indicated in the title, this is a ROUGH rough draft. I'm sure many paragraphs will require editing, if not the whole paper in general. I'm sure sentences will be omitted, words will be adjusted, and grammar will be criticized (I intentionally have two fragments included).
This essay is due Thursday. While I'm not expecting a complete rewrite from anyone, I pray someone can help guide this sinking ship. And and all criticisms are much appreciated.
Thanks,
IceM
Well, here's my essay that I wrote. When you read it, understand that this is NOT my style at all; I usually incorporate FAR more complex sentences, more adjectives, and have better structure. But, because I'm forced to experiment, here's what I've produced:
Online video-gaming is sky-diving from 20,000 feet above sea level without a parachute; it is racing in a Lamborghini down a highway at 150 miles per hour with no brakes or seatbelt; it is fighting for your life in the Colosseum. It is adrenaline-pumping brilliance. It is rapid-fire exhilaration. And it is a time-consuming hobby. But sometimes I cannot discern whether my passion is truly a passion or an addiction. On occasions I could pick up the controller and fight endlessly on Killzone 2, consumed by the action at hand. Vesalius had the same consuming flame with surgery. It is everlasting. Some say our passions damage our ability to function in life. But our faith in our passions are a reflection of life itself; a psychological and moral struggle. So we continue.
Games of free-for-all on Killzone 2 are fast-paced madness. Initially combatants are assigned to a team; either Helghast or humans. Then the action begins. Death runs amuck. Grenades maim bodies while bullets whistle by overhead. Knives tear flesh and mutilate organs. Purple blood splashes on-screen while my character’s body takes five to the chest. I respawn. A flash bang goes off and no one can see. I press R1 and pump bullets into the blinding light. Two people die. Six points. They respawn. The process continues. The first team to 1000 points or the most in 30 minutes wins.
Much of the level designs cater to the action. Pyrrhus Rise is a desolate plateau with endless vision in any direction. Vekta Head is the fight for a beach with minimal coverage and maximum ammunition. I can spend hours playing these levels. The competition always varies. Gamers with little ability typically swarm the levels, making for easy killing. The matches typically end in ten minutes. But on occasions, players from the top 100 standings on the Killzone leader boards stray into our games. While the match speeds slow, they become more intense, as the better players are more adept at strategy, stealth, weaponry, explosives, and finding useful hiding spots. The game takes on a life of its own. Personal rivalries for bragging rights form as top players exhibit abilities otherwise dormant during matches with lesser competition. Profanity screeches across the airways as the match draws to an end and the strategy becomes more refined. The level design becomes crucial, as what was initially considered filler space in the environment becomes significant battle posts.
At last, the battle draws to an end. The scoreboards then display the points leader, kills leader, and individual deaths leader. It is typically a glorious occasion, assuming I have won. The airlines fill with mockery towards the deaths leader. Reverence and awe-inspired compliments are shot towards the kills leader. And the title of “Supreme Gamer” is indirectly given to the points leader. Until the next level.
After the statistics are seen and the comments said, the game continues. Everyone votes on the next level to play. Thirty seconds expire and the game resumes More murder, more death, more points, more profanity; the process begins as though nothing is different. Then the level ends and the statistics are shown…And the process repeats.
It is a shame life cannot be this way. We load bullets into other people in the name of war. Flash bangs go off and they cannot see. They, too, shoot into the light. Two people die. Zero points. Online players can respawn; soldiers cannot. Online gamers can see past the blinding light after they respawn. The soldiers’ blinding light is either one of Heaven or Hell.
Life and video games sadly have much more in common. We revel in the murder of opposing forces. Armies and soldiers, countries and nuclear arsenals are ranked on the global scene. Fights take place on virtually the same battle fields; Pyrrhus Rise is our Gettysburg; Vekta Head, our Omaha Beach.
In life, too, there are the premier players. Killzone 2 gamers utilize explosives and their surroundings for murder. Electrical conduits pump lightening into other bodies. Surrounding vehicles are the melee expert’s treasure trove. Open windows are prime for snipers. Alleys are molded for heavy artillery. Guns do much less of the killing for the better players. Life meets this step for step. Vietcong utilized guerrilla warfare and close-combat melee. Stryker regiments are key snipers in Iraq. The United States manipulates explosives detrimental to nature; just ask Hiroshima and Nagasaki.
If we know video games and life are reflections of each other, why do we still play them? Killzone 2 has its master snipers; the melee specialists; the grenadiers; the heavy artillery experts. We applaud headshots. One-shot kills are at a premium. Online murder is exploited for entertainment. But why? The top Killzone 2 player kills 300 people per hour in competition. Those 300 people can all respawn. Live soldiers cannot. Neither can live people. If one real soldier could maintain “efficiency” like that, there would be no soldiers left to fight. No more war. No more civilization. No more us.
It has been almost two months since I have played Killzone 2 online. I have since then learned my passion for video gaming has indeed been a passion and not an addiction. I am the Vesalius of war, feeling guilt for my opposition but still murdering helplessly and racking up point totals. But I cannot stop.
And perhaps I prefer not to.
While my rank as #97 in North America has been replaced due to my inactivity, that soon will change. With every positive, there comes a negative. I know video gaming perpetuates gluttony. I know war games harden the senses and diminish the empathy of those who play them. But that will not stop me. I enjoy the adrenaline rush. I enjoy shredding corpses, crushing hopes, smiting lives, desecrating dreams and seizing victory. I enjoy being revered in awe by my lesser competitors as their carcasses lay wasted and corpses maimed with my bullets. It makes me smile. And I will continue to smile until I become the #1 Killzone 2 player in the land.
I just pray Man still exists when my slaughter is complete.
Please understand that, as indicated in the title, this is a ROUGH rough draft. I'm sure many paragraphs will require editing, if not the whole paper in general. I'm sure sentences will be omitted, words will be adjusted, and grammar will be criticized (I intentionally have two fragments included).
This essay is due Thursday. While I'm not expecting a complete rewrite from anyone, I pray someone can help guide this sinking ship. And and all criticisms are much appreciated.
Thanks,
IceM