About six months ago I was obsessively watching Bioshock clips on YouTube, mainly this one with the Moby remix of "Beyond the Sea":



I just found this, typewritten on a torn piece of paper:

all bioshock and no play makes jack a dull boy
It was the best of times, it was the blurst of times. All the people that weren't starving in the streets were huddled in the trenches. Or so the newsfeed claimed. There wasn't much faith to go around, especially not for the Terran government. The system was like a child that never matured past the point of lying to your face. Startling how effective that remained, even at this point in the Magic Pony Wars.

I have forgotten that I may not live to explain this in person. It probably doesn't matter anyway. Like God, like Vishnu, like what you had for breakfast yesterday, you have to want to believe it's how you remembered it. But maybe it wasn't like that. Maybe it wasn't like anything. Maybe all there is are your whimpering words and the skeptical stare of your audience for as long as they'll listen.

It began with the God-Makers Suspicions should have been aroused by the mere fact that they named themselves that and subsequently started referring to themselves in the third person. None good signs.

Their department was a small one until some bureaucratic mis-step merged the bio-ethics with bio-engineering and then left the annual budget sheet in the printer. Suddenly there was only enough money in the Tri-Terra Media Corp. for eighteen million new lines of stem cells and a mop bucket.

I almost suspect the scamp who altered the abandoned financial document never expected it to go through. But it did. It has. We are all of us living through the result.

The blisters on my hand have not yet healed. My pace is slowing as they grow more tender. Bandages now. When will people learn? Man was never meant to play God with an unlimited budget and no stockholder accountability.