The Cake Is A Lie
Nothing strums my heartstrings quite like a shamelessly memetic subtitle for a fresh new chapter. This Chapter Nine is going to demonstrate poor interdependence at best, mostly because I'm angling towards speculating and theorizing about topics that spawn from EVE, rather than the game itself. There are a few reasons for this, not least among them the release of - and my concurrent gorging myself on - the contents of Valve's Orange Box, along with the pressing need to write a few sizable papers. Another consideration is how quickly my tour of the cardinal ultimatums of EVE has gone by. Having already seen the west, north and south, I've decided to forestall my virtual pilgrimage for a short time while I think about what I'm going to do next. However, the foremost reason for this particular entry has to do with a conversation I had last night that continued into the morning.
This conversation involved superfluous references to the philosophers of old and the unwarranted tossing-about of phrases like "self-actualization" and "post-left anarcho-syndicalism." It had to do with personal politics and a limited amount of frustration over the need for information, which led to frustration with those who didn't care to root out all the information needed for the formation of their own ideas and opinions. In a nutshell.
The reason I bring any of this up is because this immensely satisfying conversation came about entirely because of EVE. More specifically, it came about as a result of my friend's comparison between his addiction to the hard facts of the great war and my relative innocence by virtue of "what I see is what is." That's less important than the intensely heartening affection I feel for the game that can inspire a lengthy poli-philosophical discussion. It's hard to put it in any less abstract notion without relating the entire transcript, complete with commentary. Mostly I want to relate the wonderous glee with which a game can bring about musings as complicated as those of the political theory essay I was supposed to be writing at the time. I imagine some EVE players may have experienced a similar realization, but for any who are doubtfully reading this I want them to know that this game really is that wonderfully, uncompromisingly elastic.
I'm not entirely sure CCP is to credit for this, just as they are not to blame for the tactics some find distasteful, or the lag voluntarily caused by thousands. It's all in the game. It is the game.
Anyway, I can't keep on this track of ceaseless hypothesises forever, so I should inform everyone that I'm twenty-two jumps from the easternmost point of EVE, RT64-C, after having encountered limited interference from Smashkill. I'm afraid if it goes too easily, I'm just going to have to go and find some trouble to get mired in. For now, I'm plotting how best to react to the Day of Armageddon before clenching my teeth as I dive again into the hopeless Drone Regions.
Here's to an endless journey and the infinite coils of postulation.