|Arcade games become surprisingly dull when you can insert imaginary
coins at the press of an emulator button. But I bow to
for bringing me the frivolous Alien rip-off Xenophobe;
a game I played once in a rainy seaside arcade, in my youth, and
never found again. Comically fearsome ankle-huggers and acid-spitters in the
same lizardly cartoon style as Rampage's
mighty Lizzie. Modern arcade game characters seem thoroughly soulless in
|The sport of scrawling something on a bit of paper and folding most of
it over before handing it on actually has a proper name and history - 1920s surrealists
called the results cadavres exquises and drew some
pretty odd things.|
is the 21st century reincarnation of the basic artistic idea - eclectic artists
producing communal jpegs, passing only a 15-pixel sliver to the next
player. A simple idea, with some
|The flower-wielding peace protester Alina Lebedeva - labelled "mentally unstable" by
Latvia's president - faces up
to 15 years in prison after being charged with "endangering the health and life
of a foreign dignitary". Cough. I suppose Prince Charles isn't allowed to
comment or intervene, or anything.
Tennis is good, if a little heavy-handed at times. A Photoshop
file goes back and forth between two people, layers and tweaks being
added with each volley. Intimidatingly inspirational.
"Graffiti has been written; one word, one name, again and again. It's
in the bulky, jagged style of graffiti everywhere - the sort that the
eye of the twenty-first century has learned to filter out as background;
the sort of thing a city wall is supposed to be covered with, popping up
and spreading out with the quiet, nocturnal invisibility of rust or
It's me again at Upsideclone,
waiting for the last bus.
|Spaced Penguin, a trajectory-guessing Flash game
with plenty of gravity and frustration. Must. Do. Work. [via
|Aha, someone's finally done a UK version of Where's George -
lets you feed in serial numbers from your pocket's banknotes to see
where they've been, to let future generations know that you handled
their money. Strange that there's no post-surrender "and here's where
I spent it" option, though.
||An heroic bit of reading and audience chatter from the great
Self last night, at what might well have been the book launch
for his newest pile of paper, Feeding
Frenzy. One of those rarish authors whose words fit perfectly
into their voices, with or without the little gestures and expressions.
They really should get some audio books sorted out. And put him on
television more. And in charge of the country. And everything.
"Answers to those questions reveal themselves to Lustick as brightly
colored blocks in a 50-by-50 square grid on a computer screen. [...]
Some are bureaucrats, who are loyal to the government. Some are
fundamentalists, who live in rural areas and aren't influenced by the
government. Some are fanatics, who can influence other agents but cannot
be influenced themselves."
Curiously abstract attempts to create a
computer model of terrorism in a society,
cellular-automata-style, along with some related virtual-soldier gubbins. Vaguely reminiscent of the AI thing that managed to
outperform its opponents by cheerfully
shooting its allies. [via LMG]
rather well with handfuls of loose change, it turns out. Positioning,
stacking, heads-or-tails, denomination, and all that. Getting up mid-game
to buy a drink can be problematic, though.
Media Project is an intriguing catalogue of abandoned and
neglected communication technologies. A smell organ,
a guided-missile mail service
a pneumatic postal network,
and all sorts of weirdness. Good, strange reading.
"This issue is highly important, especially in areas where bombs have
been dropped. You should not forget and take additional care. Do not
confuse the cylinder-shaped bomb with the rectangular food bag."
Ah, that whole undead-irony food-bombing thing - unexploded cluster
bombs are the same inviting and reassuring colour as the aid drops.
|Another year's worth of pent-up torch-waving insanity at Lewes
Bonfire Night, yesterday. Guy Fawkes and a Pope burnt in giant
effigy, next to this year's public enemy of choice; Mr Bin Laden with
an American eagle clawing him in the back. I'm not sure how intentional
it was that they burned the eagle as well.|
And fireworks, huge and implausible fireworks. Frankenstein-mob torches
and barrels of blazing wood and tar. Far too many people. I'm sure they
must have dozens of horrible deaths every year, and just cover it
up to keep the tourism going.