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Please nominate Radiator 2 for the "Whoaaaaaa Dude" category for the first annual Steam Awards!

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Hello everyone! If you enjoy pointless exercises of internet democracy, as well as artistic depictions of male sexuality, then please consider nominating Radiator 2 for the "Whoaaaaaaa Dude" category for the first ever annual Steam Awards!

To nominate Radiator 2, simply visit the Radiator 2 Steam store page and log in to your Steam account. Once you're logged in, just click the big purple box button below the video embed, and select the "Whoaaaaaaaa Dude" category.

Thanks everyone for your support! Tell your friends! Let's make Steam sexy again! Resist capitalism!

Level With Me: a new Twitch livestream show about level design, Wednesdays at 6 PM EST

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Regular readers of this blog will note that Twitch continues to ban my gay games from broadcast, and their policy is intentionally vague and ambiguous, and the selectively-enforced rules are designed more to punish and intimidate small independent game developers rather than maintaining any moral code or community norms. I've complained to the internet at-large; then I went to GDC and complained to a captive audience of thousands of game developers; and of course, nothing has changed.

This calls for a new strategy: build-up an audience on Twitch, and eventually start advocating for change on the Twitch platform itself.

So that's why I'm starting a new level design livestreaming show on Twitch called "Level With Me", riffing off the original interview series I did for Rock Paper Shotgun.

Every Wednesday at 6 PM EST (3 PM PST, 11 PM GMT) I'm going to play some kind of level design-y game (usually a first person game) and offer a bunch of commentary on the environment art, the floorplan, the lighting, etc. and hopefully it'll be interesting to watch. Eventually, I might even host guests, or do some level design during the broadcast, etc.

(At some point, I also might start doing a show about sex games, but that won't be until after I figure out how to do this whole streaming thing.) 

Anyway, come tune-in at twitch.tv/radiatoryang!

A progressive future for VR: why VR is already getting worse, and how to make it better

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Last time, I wrote about how I think of game culture as too conservative and too product-oriented to truly change or redirect toward more artistic ends -- and I confessed that over the next few years, I'm going to start transitioning out of working in games, and more into"virtual reality." Why? First, let's talk about what's happening in VR right now.

The audience isn't really flocking to VR yet. Only about ~0.21% of Steam users have Vive headsets, which means about ~200,000 users in the entire world. This slow VR adoption makes sense, considering how the Vive is still really expensive at $800.00, and there's still a lot of unpleasantness to using VR, from simulation sickness to judder to obtrusive tethers, but these are all engineering problems that the industry thinks they know how to solve. In 2017, we'll start seeing tetherless third party headsets, and then in 2019-2020 one of the big three (Valve, Oculus, Sony) will presumably sell a technically-refined "VR Jesus" headset that will finally save us all... or maybe it'll just turn out to be another Kinect rotting in your closet.

Until then, even the most embarrassing VR evangelists are preaching patience for 3-5 more years. But it would be a huge mistake to "wait and see" until VR is a success or a total waste of time. Artists and queers and weirdos need to hit VR now, and hit hard, before VR culture ends up as conservative as the worst of gamer culture. Why is it worth saving?



Imagine video games except AAA titles barely exist, and thus no one can pointlessly compare you to them... and that's the current state of VR.

If we get in early enough, we can define the general public's first significant impressions of VR, and influence how people value VR experiences. We need to develop the theory, the language, and the touchstones that others will have to adopt in order to seem fluent -- we need to be the new normal here, and we could possibly do it, because no one else has defined the norms yet.

How much should your VR thing cost? How long should it be? What art style should it have? In video games, these are all leading questions with an embarrassingly narrow range of acceptable answers. But right now in VR, half your players will barely be able to tolerate more than 15 minutes per session -- how can they possibly demand 15 hours of gameplay?

However, this window of opportunity will close within the next few years. Let capitalism and customers wait 3-5 years for VR to mature... meanwhile, we need to act now. We're running out of time to mold and shape this early "VR culture" into something less terrible.

Unfortunately, the bad news is that VR culture is already getting worse.


I've met industrial VR developers who view harassment and internet toxicity as something they can just A/B test away -- as if the perfect user flagging system, or the perfect neural net AI trained against racist speech, will magically fix everything. Even the most well-intentioned VR developers think culture is a generalized case that programmers can "solve" with the right system design.

But a few years ago when the entire video game industry was faced with a deep cultural crisis with an obvious morally correct choice, they basically did nothing because it would've meant much more work and less money. Almost every major game company stayed silent as misogynist internet fascist conspiracy-theorist failsons harassed women out of the game industry. The game industry failed, catastrophically, in moral and cultural leadership; it prioritized short-term stability in exchange for huge apocalyptic long-term losses and losing any semblance of a soul it had left.

Now guess who's leading the charge for VR?...

The very bad news is that the big three VR platform holders (Valve, Oculus, Sony) are led by game industry veterans who want to perpetuate even more of their moral failure. They regard gamer culture as a success, and would be ecstatic if they were able to replicate similar results for VR consumer culture -- gamers obsessed with numbers and fidelity that developers can optimize, and gamers who attack any radical experimentation that companies can't easily commercialize.

The game industry looks at Steam reviews like this, and their eyes light-up like dollar signs:


Just last month, Steam users bombarded Nonny de la Peña's VR documentary "Project Syria" with angry hateful reviews. While I'm not a fan of this type of work and empathy tourism is a dead end, I still think this project deserves to be available on VR without harassment. These toxic conservative factions of gamers are already claiming Steam as their "territory" and attacking experimentation in VR.

If gamers harass you, it's because the gamer consumer-king thinks you deserve it. Your experimental art would be so lucky as to run on that gamer-emperor's titanium graphics card with limited-edition gunmetal finish! Yep, everyone gets what they deserve on Steam... even Valve tacitly buys into this poisonous thinking; their business dev manager proclaimed at Steam Dev Days that "Steam is a meritocracy" and "only the good games rise to the top."... Yeah, tell that to all the creators on Steam who get drowned in hateful bullshit every day. Tell that to the developers at Hello Games, who get death threats every day because these unrestrained emboldened radical conservative gamers think No Man's Sky did not offer enough "value" for their video game dollars.

This cannot, and must not, be the foundation for VR culture.

So in this current political climate, it's up to us to act decisively, and act now. We need comprehensive action on multiple levels, before it's too late. If VR turns out to be successful and vital, then we'll thank ourselves for our foresight to prepare; if VR turns out to be a failure and waste of time, then it's OK because we'll have wasted only a few years on it.

I think the main goal should be to insulate VR culture from conservative gamer culture's "demands" and imposed norms. How do we do it? Here's a few possible ways:


Create, use, and promote, an independent VR content platform.

A less-toxic VR culture requires a less-toxic VR platform where we can distribute new VR experiences without begging for approval.

Steam will always be a hostile environment, but Valve claims that they want to keep their runtime OpenVR"open" and they'll never require VR headsets to route through Steam. In theory, this technically opens up the possibility for an independent VR store that manages your VR library with in-VR dashboard, but with more freedom and accessibility than Valve or Oculus will ever allow artists on their own stores.

As a current user of itch.io and the very good itch app, I think itch.io would be a wonderful candidate for a progressive VR platform. If you're not familiar, itch is currently the "Bandcamp of video games" -- a permissive online store system that lets anyone upload their stuff, with very creator-friendly systems in-place, like the ability to set what percentage the service takes from each sale, which can even be as low as 0%. When I first made my experimental gay sex video games, no one would let me distribute my games except itch.

What if itch.io became known as "THE place to see interesting artistic VR"? (Currently, that place is nowhere. Who will it be?) Then we can just let the zombie shooting galleries have Steam, while the rest of society has itch.io? etc.


Seek stronger and more sustainable collaborations outside of the game industry.

The film industry is very interested in VR, which could provide a very beneficial influence -- the film industry's baggage is totally different from the game industry's. For instance, women are a huge part of the movie-going audience, so what if the VR industry actually gave a shit about women? What would romantic comedy VR look like? The film industry influence also invokes new business models, like, will big budget VR-film productions have to use unionized crews like the film industry, or would the anti-union game / tech industry take control? Or what if you didn't have to buy and operate all this VR equipment at home, what if you could just go to a VR theater and pay a few dollars to use one, and you just use VR occasionally?

That said, film culture will not automatically fix gamer culture, and we know this because casual game culture already failed stopped giving a shit about us -- ten years ago, when the Facebook games / mobile games market first started growing, hopeful gamer bloggers and critics predicted this "casual revolution" would force society and gamers to normalize their everyday relationship with video games. Finally, young angry male gamers would be forced to share the "gamer" identity with their moms, and video games could now be a great big inclusive space!

... Instead, the casual revolution was cancelled. Mobile game users (i.e. the rest of society) didn't want to be associated with gamers, and this rejection just radicalized the most poisonous strains of gamer culture even further.

So if we want film to help VR, we will have to work to help protect them from reactionary gamers too. I can guarantee you that Nonny de la Peña is much more wary of publishing her documentary work on Steam now. Is that "the price" that she's just supposed to pay for working in VR? If we can't let man-child gamers intimidate experimental game makers, then we can't let them intimidate experimental film makers either... or else the film industry really will lose interest and leave, and we'll be left alone... again.



Experiment with new ways to fund VR artists and creators.

We shouldn't follow the conventional game industry model where you invest years of your life into a big product launch with even bigger marketing support. This is unsustainable practice, and the indie game dev community's transformation into a young businessmen's league is partly to blame -- once you lose any radical artistic agenda, the only thing that differentiates indies from AAA industry is that indies are poorer and have less resources.

This is something I've been talking about for a while -- why are game designers always supposed to sell their work directly in a market? Aren't there other ways of making a living? Why can't we figure out these new ways? Imagine making VR for a wedding, as if you were a wedding planner or a caterer. Imagine public institutions commissioning VR to engage their communities. Why can't we imagine anything outside of Steam?

I mean indie games basically did invent the now common practice of "bundling" old games together to squeeze some last few sales dollars out of them, and all the bundle infrastructure existed independent of Steam. Don't stop with that ingenuity.

We also need to develop new theory about what bundling does for an interactive digital work. For instance, Fantastic Arcade commissioned 5 games for a bundle to support their local games event, Devs with Ferguson was a bundle to support protests against racism and police brutality, and recently A Good Bundle raised $150,000+ for the ACLU and Planned Parenthood. No one is saying bundles are perfect activism, but at least these bundles ask us to re-imagine what the game bundle could symbolize, and what do bundles mean, and how bundles work.

Or better yet, let's stop calling them bundles, and develop a new set of language entirely. What if they were mixtapes? Why not make a VR mixtape, or a VR sketchbook? What can't all of us VR weirdos get together? Will this be a regular thing we all do? What if VR mixtapes came to define VR culture, the way they defined audio cassette culture? etc.

***

(tldr: I have AAA and VR industry friends who do good work, but as an industry they basically depend on + fear gamers, so these companies can't be trusted to rein-in on toxic gamer behavior; history proves their complicity; so we need to make sure VR culture stays insulated from gamer culture, somehow, or we'll get dragged down with them again too)

Remember, we already failed once. We were way too late. Let's try not failing again.

***

For the record, I don't hate Oculus or Valve, unchecked tech capitalism is a bigger problem that makes victims of us all, etc.

And despite my criticism, I've only had good interactions with their developer relations people. If you're a poor experimental game developer or artist who wants to get into VR, then I strongly suggest e-mailing Callum Underwood (Oculus) or Chet Faliszek (Valve) about getting some kit. While I don't like how they're willing to throw VR to the gamers, that also means they're willing to give weirdos a chance, just as long as VR gets big and popular somehow, they don't care how. Again, just send them a nice concise e-mail about who you are and what you make, and you never know...

Call for games / installations: Now Play This 2017 in London, England

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I highly encourage any designers and developers reading this to submit their games and things for Now Play This:
Now Play This is a festival of experimental game design, showcasing some of the most interesting games and playful work being made around the UK and the world. It will run for the third time at Somerset House in London from 7-9 April, 2017, as part of the London Games Festival. There’ll be an exhibition of games running throughout, plus special events including a board games afternoon, a strange controllers showcase, and, on Friday, a day for discussion between practitioners. Tickets will be available from February 2017.
It is a curated show, but they're also open to submissions and contributions. There's "a small honorarium of £75 for work [... they] also cover limited travel and production costs." Here's the basic brief, which seems to encompass, "basically anything interesting":
We’re interested in everything you can play: videogames, boardgames, street games, performances, paintings or drawings that invite you to play while you look, responsive sculptures, artist-designed toys, interactive installations, games for one person, games for twenty, things that probably aren’t technically games but never mind, strange contraptions, unreleased work, old favourites. Our 2015 and 2016 lineups given an idea of what Now Play This is like, but for 2017 we’re particularly interested in:
  • Games that look at landscape in an interesting way
  • Games that experiment with duration – very short games, games that build up gradually over time, games that are different depending on when you play them
  • Games that were never made: thought experiments, doomed proposals, prototypes that never received a public release
  • Play objects: things – digital or physical – that invite players to invent their own games or decipher the rules of the object and its interactions
  • Games around embodiment which consciously consider the physical existence of the person playing
  • Games with strange controllers
  • Games that can take place in the outdoor areas of Somerset House
We’re also particularly interested in work that uses paper in interesting ways, or that’s fun to play as well as watch, or which can accommodate a large number of players (whether through short play sessions or many simultaneous players).
Last year, they featured my dick pic game Cobra Club HD in their exhibition, and I'm told lots of giggling moms hogged the kiosk and kept shooing their kids away. Sounds really fun! If you're in London, make sure you don't miss it!

Radiator University, Spring 2017 catalog

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Registration for most students at Radiator University has already begun. Make sure you sign-up for these classes soon before they completely fill-up! Here's a selection from our Spring 2017 catalog:
  • ARTD 282: SPECULATIVE MENU DESIGN (2 credits)

    It is said that no game developer enjoys developing menus for their games. We believe this is a fucking lie, or at best, a misleading myth that reflects a developer's anxiety about framing their work. A game menu is the first thing most players see upon starting a game, it is the first second of the first minute of the first five minutes of a game.

    Does the game's options menu feature a field-of-view slider? How does the game describe "easy mode"? These trivial choices in menu UI design, while seemingly insignificant and boring, constitute a powerful paratext that suggests the intended audience for such games.

    To bypass unproductive fears about a menu's power, we will instead design and prototype main menus for video games that do not actually exist. What new games can we imagine into being, by simply imagining their menus?

    (Only offered at Lisbon campus.)
  • ARVR 601: IMMERSION INTENSIVE (6 credits)

    What is immersion? In this course, we will explore immersion by immersing ourselves in immersion itself. Participants will be asked to endure extreme environmental and cultural conditions which facilitate ultra-immersion, including but not limited to: deep-sea diving, 40 foot tall vats of nacho cheese, high gravity centrifuges, methamphetamine(s), lost in foreign cities with no money or phone, secret US black-site prisons -- and lastly, virtual reality.

    By the end of this intensive, students will understand immersion in the "real world" as an all-encompassing near-death state of sublime crisis that dramatically changes one's understanding of the world -- immersion as the world literally imposing itself upon you, suffocating and drowning-out any possible thought beyond the present.

    Our goal is to not just view VR's immersive claims as utterly laughable, but also to literally feel uncontrollable laughter when faced with the prospect.

    (Prerequisites: PHIL 201 History of Phenomenology, 1 semester of Basic Outdoor Survival Skills or equivalent)
  • LEGL 1522: ILLEGAL GAMES STUDIO (3 credits)

    How can a game be illegal? In this studio, we will attempt to make as many illegal games as possible. When doing so, students are hereby discouraged from sleepwalking into well-trodden notions of illegal games, such as IP violations and trademark infringement -- rather, the goal of this studio is to find new ways to make illegal art as an act of civil disobedience, and embed it directly in the gameplay itself.

    Past semester projects include: LARPs that force players to actively trespass and vandalize political conventions, board games that require players to use banned drugs as game tokens, and video games which help players jam police-operated surveillance drones.

    Students will consult with law students and scholars at the neighboring Audre Lorde School of Law to make sure that they don't do anything TOO illegal. The ideal learning outcome of this course involves the creation of games that are simply too dangerous to play.

    (All students must sign a legal waiver absolving Radiator University of any role in planning and performing crimes.)
Also, feel free to browse past course catalogs here.

We know you have many options for your education, so we'd like to thank you for choosing Radiator University; "Caveat emptor!"

Radiator Blog: Seventh (7th) Year Anniversary roundup

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In keeping with tradition, I do a round-up of this blog's "notable" posts from the past year, and offer a bit of reflective commentary. This year, it arrives about a month late, because I forgot. (Oops.) As always, past years' roundups are accessible here.

GAMES

I haven't finished as many projects as I would've liked this year. Ideally, I would've had one big new sex game ready by now, but both WIP sex games are much more complicated than previous games, so it's taking quite a while to develop the technology for both.
  •  "Shapeshit" is a short vulgar pooping game made for Ludum Dare 35. (The theme was "shapeshfting"...) Prototyping the dynamic poop technology for this was pretty fun, and this is probably one of the most game-y games I've made in a while. Hopefully it'll make a triumphant return in VR in 2017! Imagine: VR pooping...
  • "Cobra Club HD" remaster, prompted by various games festivals needing updated builds. Big features included pubic hair, strap-on mode, over-hauled dick physics, and a half-functioning foreskin mode. At this time of writing, there have been about ~55,000 dick pics from this game uploaded to the internet... yes, you're welcome.
  • "Radiator 2" remaster, mostly to put it on Steam and to get my foot in the door on that platform / test the waters. In the end, all I had to do was to mark my game as "for mature audiences" and it was allowed; I hope my future releases go as smoothly? At this time of writing, there have been 150,000+ users, and the game bounces between an 85-90% user rating from time to time.
  • "Good Authority", the Robert Moses-y urban simulation game I made in collaboration with Eddie Cameron, is still unreleased. Although it did well in the Power Broker game design competition, we feel the game still has serious problems, and we need to overhaul the mechanics. Look for it in 2017, when me and my husband are less angry at each other, and can finally work on it again.
  • "No Stars Only Constellations" was an unfinished stargazing game prototype from 2013 that I cleaned-up and finished for the Fermi Paradox jam. If you're a fan of my Radiator 1 work, from before my sex game phase, then this is basically an alternate remake ("alt-make"?) of Radiator 1: Polaris. Expect this to be remastered for VR in 2017.


THINKING ABOUT GAMES

I've been giving a lot of talks, teaching, and trying to finish my projects, so I haven't had much time to write about games unfortunately. I managed to squeeze these pieces out though:
  • "Into" is a small game by Charlie Taylor Elwonger about identity and relationships. I wrote about how it says what it needs to say, and it does it without wasting your time. Pretty well-crafted, and seriously over-looked by a lot of people, I think.
  • "Firewatch" and "The Witness" dominated a lot of conversations in February / March. I talk about how these games might seem similar -- "nonphotorealistic artsy first person games about exploring forests" -- but actually have very different attitudes about what environment art is supposed to do in a game. Either way, though, both games represent a triumph of the environment artist as the auteur, which is something pretty recent, mostly prompted by Robert Briscoe's 2014 re-mastering of Dear Esther.

RESISTING TWITCH

This year I continued talking about Twitch's censorship of my work-- not the fake kind of censorship, like when anime nazis complain about women blocking them on Twitter -- but the actual kind of censorship that involves a platform banning (gay) sexual content from an entire network without even offering any warning, reasoning, or even notification to me... while offering leniency for (heterosexual) graphic sexual content from large game corporations.
  • "The game industry needs to get laid and just chill already" was a talk I delivered at GDC 2016 as part of Richard Lemarchand's micro talks panel. I pointed out Twitch's vague wording, total lack of communication, and double standards that exempt big budget action games. I argued that large video platforms like YouTube and Vimeo offer better terms of service, so why can't Twitch? This is not an engineering problem, this is a corporate culture problem. 
  • "Why I am one of the most banned game developers from Twitch" was prompted by Twitch banning Radiator 2, a set of games originally released a year before, but now suddenly inexplicably banned from the entire platform. I offered three (3) simple concrete reforms that Twitch could implement to make their process more humane. It was subsequently republished by Polygon, only to garner absolute silence from Twitch. 
  • So I'm changing strategies a bit... "Level With Me" is a new weekly streaming show I've started performing on Twitch. My goal is to build-up an audience and eventually argue against Twitch's policies on the Twitch platform itself. At some point, I hope to start a dialogue with other Twitch streamers and start applying pressure from that direction, since complaining at GDC and Polygon didn't seem to do anything. Wish me luck!

GAMER CULTURE

My problems with Twitch (and others), as well as years of attending games conferences and advocating for progressive causes in games, have convinced me that video game culture is basically a lost cause. Conservative gamer institutions will always be both strong and hostile vs. marginalized voices in games. It's time for plan B.
  • "For better or worse" begins with my frustration with progressive discourse in games culture -- focusing on representation of fictional characters in commercial industrial games, rather than any real reform of how anything works. To me, it mirrors the industry's colossal failure to stand up against GG at all, back in 2014; "diversity" was "valuable" only if the numbers added up. It's now way too late to ever change how gamers discuss games / dictate game culture. But what if we all just went somewhere else?...
  • "A progressive future for VR" is my attempt at articulating how we might avoid a repeat of gamer culture with virtual reality (VR) culture, or at least insulate VR artists from the poisonous consumerism now normalized in games. VR still won't succeed for at least 3-5 more years, but this gap means artists and weirdos need to get in now, don't wait and see! What if we can define VR culture before the toxic conservative gamers do? At the end, I argue that there are three (3) interventions we must make before it's too late for VR too.
***

As you may have noticed, I haven't written much this year. In fact, a lot of game designers and critics everywhere have stopped blogging, which is probably bad in the long run -- blogging was how we had productive arguments and discussions; blogging was how we defined the critical language we use to talk about games, and thus made critical theories of games possible. With a critical community, at least we could be young and poor together, on the internet!... now we're just young and poor and even more demoralized.

For 2017, I'm going to make a more concerted effort to write and post regularly. 

My focus will be slowly shifting from game-specific concerns toward more general 3D virtual design topics and VR history / theory. I strongly believe that much of the work of defining VR culture will involve a critical mass of VR critics to debate and define language and crucial issues, much like what we started doing with games blogging circa 2006.

See you next year!

On legacy systems and Kentucky Route Zero (Acts I-IV) by Cardboard Computer

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A lot of people will say Kentucky Route Zero is "minimalist"... but I think that label is pretty misleading.

It packs every single scene with countless details and thoughtfully executes each of those gestures. Every playthrough you'll read tens of thousands of words, much of it expended on long evocative description -- this isn't actually a "minimalist" game, in terms of literary tradition nor in terms of what it demands from its players. Every scene is lush with history, detail, and allusion, and KRZ never patronizes you if you don't really get it. Instead, it patiently pushes you to grasp it as a whole.

This "whole" is something that carries over to the game's technical infrastructure as well. Everything is connected; the game frequently calls back to your previous choices, and awakens seemingly dormant "meaningless" choices. It is one of the most complex narrative designs ever attempted in a video game. Instead of a few discrete branches, there are dozens of small branches -- like Chivalry Is Not Dead, it is more "bushy" than "branchy."


This tendency to downplay every user choice goes against contemporary narrative design trends, as popularized in games like Telltale's Walking Dead series, which foregrounds every choice as a possibly significant branching choice, only for every choice to "not matter" by the end of an episode. In KRZ, you might make a choice, only for it to "secretly matter" somewhere else.

Much of the pleasure of this game is in seeing how these numerous small branches converge. It might be a small decision about naming your dog, or a detail of your character's past, or whether you will adopt a cat or not. Sometimes there are surprisingly large consequences: for instance, a recurring character in Acts 2-4 won't even appear unless you accidentally met him in Act 1. I'm also hoping / predicting a seemingly throwaway choice from Act 3, where Junebug gets paid for a gig with an IOU from the Hard Times distillery, will play a role in helping a certain character in Act 5.

If it were a AAA game, the back of the box would boast, "over 1000 story variables tracked!" (You can see all of these variables by opening Documents\KentuckyRouteZero\save.krz in a text editor.) That's a lot of game state to track. The game system remembers everything, but only a fraction of it is useful.


This is also one of the central themes of Kentucky Route Zero: decaying memory and history. Everyone in this game is always trying to remember something long forgotten, and no one remembers why anything is the way it is.

It reminds me of the "legacy system" in software engineering, a system that is old but cannot be removed or replaced -- because too much relies upon it, or because it's too hard to change, or even because no one even really remembers how it works anymore? It's beautiful how Cardboard Computer performs this same forgotten "legacy logic" in the bowels of their game engine as well -- variables which get set, but never read -- narrative branches picked up and forgotten...

But in 2016, it all just seems really sad to me: a world solely made of legacy systems, a legacy world... a rusted world where people take care of each other and no one gets angry (because they can't remember why they're supposed to be angry) while we all just slowly drown to death in debt.

Let's hope this one has a happy ending.

Resolutions, 2017

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A few general goals for this year:
  • be more active in VR communities, push for critical theory in VR
  • finally put out a publicly available VR thing
  • write more often, finish posts more often (fun fact: apparently I have ~300 draft posts)
  • finish more games and projects
And some more specific project goals for this year:
  • The Tearoom. Vintage toilet sex game. I got side-tracked into trying to make it more simulation-y, so I'm currently in the process of scoping it down, will hopefully finish and release this in late February. But I'm making good progress on it, pinning down the tone and feel at the moment, and I think I'm finally knowing what it is.
  • Like Cold Water or a Kiss. Contemporary gay bar game. I realized I was making it too much about cruising, when gay bars aren't really so much about sex anymore, assuming they ever were. Also way too simulation-y at the moment, and I foolishly thought I needed to prototype multplayer networking for this??? I need to cut this down and hopefully release it in May-ish.
  • Radiator 3. The likely Steam compilation release of Rinse and Repeat, Tearoom, and Like Cold Water, with VR support, localization, and a secret bonus game as usual. In late Summer at the earliest, late Fall at the latest.
  • Medusa. Remake of Mirror Isles, a top down sokoban-like puzzle game by Alan Hazelden. The puzzles are all imported from his original Puzzlescript version, and it's more or less playable, but it's still missing the narrative design and final character art. Will hopefully have more to say about this later, but looking to finish and release it by the end of the year.
  • Good Authority. Narrative-y city simulator game inspired by Robert Caro's book The Power Broker. A collaboration with Eddie Cameron. This year, we're looking to overhaul the mechanics -- basically, people only ever played the first half, and never really saw the second half, which kinda ruined it for us -- so hopefully this overhaul will unify the game systems better. Looking to finish and release it later this year.
  • Nostrum. An open world VR flight game about smuggling refugees out of warzones during World War II. I prototyped this back in 2014, but concluded that the VR ecosystem wasn't really mature enough yet, so I started diving into conversational AI simulation, which uh didn't turn out so good. This year I'm going to re-prototype it and scope it down, now designed the ground-up for VR motion controller and UX standards, and get a good solid start on it this year... because suddenly, a game about resisting fascism seems a bit more timely.
Wish me luck, and see you in the fuuuuture!

"Pylons are my penis": a phenomenology of building in Offworld Trading Company and other strategy games

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Game feel always has a narrative aspect tied to the player's in-game identity -- but in a top-down strategy game, who are you? Why do you know all this stuff, and why are you able to do the things that you can do?

I'm not asking for more bullshit handwave-y game lore ("it's the future, you're a space wizard") but rather I mean it in terms of interface and "raw experience". Even in strategy games with fog of war, there is still a fantasy of absolute certainty involved with your command. If you see a unit, it's almost definitely there; if you order a unit, they will definitely try to obey your order. If your unit dies, it is definitely dead.

These are all myths and abstractions away from how a real-life military often works, where commanders must constantly act on incomplete information, even about the state of their own forces. Few popular real-time strategy games let troops ignore an order, be routed, or be "missing in action", because maybe that's too unfair or it would weigh down the game a lot. (Some notable exceptions: hardcore military sim games often simulate supply lines and unit morale, the overburdened 2011 game Achron had time-travel and alternate universes of troop movements, while the admirable 2010 experiment R.U.S.E emphasized military intelligence and decoys.)

I'm going to propose that top-down strategy games let players build their own identities, and part of that identity is a body, in the form of your "base."


When we play a strategy game, we distribute our consciousness across our bases and armies. Our "town hall" is like our nerve center, our heart. Our scout units are our eyes. Our heavy-hitting spell casters are our hands. Our worker units are... our feet... or proboscis... anyway, you get the idea.

As in many games, your play style represents some aspect of you, an identity that you perform. Is your base timid or confident? Is your pylon placement funny or jealous or sexy? Your embodiment in a strategy game is not a single organic body, but an abstraction of outputs and inputs across space and time. Every resource factory you build is another step in a dance, and every additional pylon you build is yet another crystalline penis for your monstrous base-body.

And when someone sets up siege tanks and nukes your pylons, they have basically kicked you in your dicks, and your entire body reports searing pain.

Don't get me wrong, you can totally kick dicks in Offworld Trading Company, but I think the puberty in Offworld isn't really the same.


In Offworld, every additional base building / module / organ you add to your base-body is always the same size, and that size is one hex tile.

Diversity of building footprints has been a mainstay of the RTS genre since ur-RTS Dune II (1992), and I think there's a very good reason for that -- bigger structures convey a sense of progress, expense, importance. Small cheap, large cheap, small expensive buildings etc. buildings all feel very different to build. In Starcraft, town centers and crucial production buildings are larger and mineral-hungry, while tech buildings are often smaller and gas-hungry, and this hierarchy of differentiation helps bases feel complex but readable.

It's important that the high level "wonder" buildings in Command and Conquers, or Rise of Nations, often occupy larger footprints in the world -- they represent culminations of your ability to grow beyond small incremental steps. They are game changers, so large and amazing that they're still visible and distinguishable from orbit!

Civilization is an interesting exception, where every building has a "legal" footprint of 1 tile. However, low level cities and tile improvements begin visually as small clusters of shacks that occupy only a fraction of the tile... and then they eventually grow and "spill" over onto neighboring tiles. The spilling is satisfying, like your virtual nation is so prosperous that it overflows the granularity of the game engine itself.


I think Offworld lacks that crucial RTS sensory pleasure of spillage and expansion -- I want to behold my cancerous manifestation of hypercolonialist capitalism, with all its innumerable moving parts and structures, envelop the entire world and extract all its natural resources and leave it as a hollow husk. (see also: "The slime mold is as good an economic model as any")

In contrast to most other strategy games, the base-building in Offworld Trading Company feels really constrictive. You can only build new buildings if you can "claim" the land there, based on a rare "claim" resource allotted to each player. By the end of a match, your base will be maybe 15-25 tiles large, a fraction of the playable map area with hundreds (or thousands) of open tiles. If bases are our bodies, then Offworld forces our body to mature in a crawl space in the middle of a mansion.

There's a bit of a wasted opportunity with exploring the politics here, because in real-life the act of claiming land ownership is a very political act. In the game, who manages these land claims? is it the space government? as a Corporate Person, should I resent Big Space Government for regulating my expansion?...

Of course, Offworld isn't really this type of game, so instead maybe we should consider the formal game design reasoning behind the land claim mechanic. Maybe they want to make base placement more meaningful, with all these tile adjacency bonuses and limited possibility spaces, and de-emphasizing the RTS tradition of secret bases and expansion towns. This reads like Thoughtful Good Game Design that facilitates a focused Series Of Interesting Choices, but it's still so... unsatisfying.


I suspect Offworld secretly knows about this lack of satisfaction, which is why each match ends in some desperate firework effects when you win. ("What will make winning feel better?... Um, fireworks UI!")

"Juicy" effects like fireworks particles are tied to a specific event, in this case your victory for clicking a button to buy-out your opponent. But this kind of one-off event is bad at emphasizing a duration, a context, a heightened state of awareness and embodiment across space. In contrast, a thriving nation of mega-cities in Civilization feels like a never-ending firework.

To me, this is like a "slow juiciness" that comes from the pleasure of building and growing. Maybe it's a sort of "fermenting" of the juice? And it's delicious. It makes us drunk.

Some players want an RTS to help them feel clever in their risk-taking, or feel rewarded for their calm persistence. I think Offworld certainly does that for them. Strategy for the strategy gamers.

But I think I've learned that I want my strategy games to help me feel like Macro Falco (NSFW, don't click this), I want my weird base-body to feel impossibly large with dozens of fully-upgraded expensive titanium penises that spill over each other and crash the game -- as with the horrifying Magnasanti in SimCity 3000 testing the limit of the game's ability to simulate it -- the extent of my awareness and presence, multiplying endlessly, forever.

(Ian Bogost calls this "transit.")

rescheduled for Spring 2017: "Level With Me" Twitch level design show now on Tuesdays at 6 PM EST

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Just a quick note that my weekly level design show on Twitch, called Level With Me, is now on Tuesdays at 6 PM EST (GMT-5) for the new season. (That's... tomorrow!)

Keep in mind that it's a different kind of video game livestream show -- I talk a lot about the level design and environment art, and freely use cheat codes during difficult segments. I care more about analyzing the game rather than experiencing it "purely" or whatever. It's more like a guided improvised tour than anything.

Feel free to tune-in and hangout as I stumble / cheat my way through Half-Life 1! See you then.

RIP, Vine.

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The short video service Vine shut down today. I know a lot of game designers and devs who used Vine to document and share their work, and we're all pretty sad to see it go.

Below is my only claim to Vine fame -- nearly 2,500,000 loops before Vine died. This was a vine of the first sex game I ever made, called Hurt Me Plenty.



After I posted it, it quickly jumped to 1,000,000 loops within a few days. I was stunned. I had never really made anything "viral" before, and it only took me like 10 seconds to record that clip! I mean, numbers and view counts mean very little in the end, but when you haven't done much, even "very little" can be a strong boost to your self-confidence.

The breathtakingly thirsty response to this vine convinced me that there was an audience for my work, and that I should see it through, which is exactly what I needed to hear.

So thanks, Vine... rest in power.

Queer Game Studies, "On FeministWhorePurna and the Ludo-material Politics of Gendered Damage Power-ups in Open-World RPG Video Games"

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For the upcoming book Queer Game Studies (2017), I contributed a chapter on the "FeministWhore" scandal in the game Dead Island. It is a "ludo-material" political analysis, looking at gameplay as expressed by source code, intended for general audiences. Here, I'll talk a bit about the ideas and process behind writing the chapter, and then briefly summarize the main argument.

First, to remind you, here's the reporting on the scandal back in 2011 from Kotaku:
One of the unlockable skills for Dead Island leading lady Purna allows her to deal extra damage against male victims. It's called Gender Wars in the game, but the original skill was named "Feminist Whore."
There's a lot to unpack here, and one goal of my chapter is to expand what we mean by "representation" in games. Currently, whenever we criticize a game character for its politics, such as a racist or sexist stereotype, we tend to focus on the character art, animation, writing, and voice acting. Why not expand representation to encompass the richness of the entire game experience and game engine itself?

My analysis follows Mark Sample's excellent "Criminal Code: Procedural Logic and Rhetorical Excess in Videogames" in focusing on the procedural politics of game mechanics and balance, and comparing that to the systems as intended from the source code. FeministWhorePurna is an ideal case study: it was a contemporary event with modern game engine architecture and a player / modder community that practically did the gameplay and forensic analysis for me already. (I also forced myself to play a bit of Dead Island to verify everything.)

You'll have to checkout the full book from your library, or buy it, or whatever, to see the full essay, but I'll try to briefly summarize the argument here, and in more game developer-y language as appropriate:

Screenshot of Purna's "new game" character selection dialog in Dead Island (2011) on PC. Note that she holds a rifle; her in-game play-style involves heavy use of guns.
Purna Jackson is one of four playable characters in Dead Island, a kinda-mediocre AAA open world first person co-op zombie RPG from 2011. Her character bio lore, narrated aloud and displayed prominently in-game on the character select screen at the start of a new game (see image above) situates her both as an Aboriginal woman of color and former Australian police officer wronged by institutional patriarchy.

In any other game, this clearly-wronged rightfully-angry black woman could've been an extremely progressive portrayal of a woman in video games -- and so few games feature Aboriginal people! -- but I argue this isn't really the case here.

For comparison, the other playable female character Xian Mei (an East Asian woman from Hong Kong) vows to avenge her father and ends her monologue with, "I just need the opportunity to prove myself."

The contrast is clear: Purna is the angry emotional black woman who resents all white male cops, while Xian Mei is the patient competent lighter-skinned woman who feels indebted to her amazing dad. Guess which one the game pushes most strongly as a stand-in for capital-F Feminists?

Screenshot of Purna's "Combat" skill tree menu in Dead Island (2011) on PC. The "Gender Wars" ability is highlighted, which "increases damage against opposite sex" at +5% damage upon first upgrade, +10% upon the second, and +15% when upgraded three times.
Feminist Whore, or "Gender Wars" in the release version, is an upgradable player ability that gives Purna a percentage-based damage bonus against the "opposite sex", starting at +5% and up to +15% damage at level 3. The in-game icon consists of a Venus symbol (♀) with a clenched fist stencil inside it, invoking radical "Woman Power" feminist movements from the 1960s.

To progress in the skill tree, players only need to choose 1 of 3 skills in each skill tier, and the player community consensus is that Gender Wars is definitely the best choice in this tier -- the other two adjacent skills are about melee weapons and kicking attacks, which are irrelevant to Purna, who specializes in shooting guns. Plus, the vast majority of zombie enemies and bosses in the game are male.

A bit about how this skill works in the game engine: Dead Island uses plain-text scripting files (.SCR files) to bind specific abilities to a player character. In pre-release versions, "default_player_setup.scr" seemed to function as a manifest to give the character Purna all her abilities, and one was "FeministWhorePurna." It's important to remember the internal code object is called "FeministWhorePurna" and not just "FeministWhore" -- the other playable lighter-skinned woman Xian Mei does not have this ability, nor any ability that interacts with gender -- only Purna is a feminist whore.

So from a gameplay perspective, as well as a technical perspective, the game pushes really hard for Purna, and Purna alone, to represent an angry feminist of color who uniquely specializes in sniping men from a distance.


Gendered damage bonuses are, of course, a long established video game trope. Modern Fallout games have player "perk" upgrades that give damage bonuses and extra conversation options against other genders. However, the damage bonuses here are trivial, and most players read this upgrade as an opportunity to unlock more narrative content. With ability names like "Black Widow" or even same-sex equivalents like "Cherchez la Femme", Fallout designers try really hard to frame these gendered upgrades in terms of seduction rather than violence. Dead Island departs from Fallout's tradition in focusing solely on aggression and a damage bonus, and offering it only to a black woman.

I believe many players would view gendered damage bonuses to be "apolitical" in the context of an open world sandbox design tradition, where most NPCs are "generic" (as opposed to important "named" NPCs) and players understand these generic identities as mostly meaningless and arbitrary. If the game engine freely spawns / despawns these characters based on the player's location, not even their existence matters. The generic identity is just a bunch of randomly selected traits that aren't supposed to mean anything beyond how best to incidentally kill them. This kind of system implies to players that generic instances of "female", "male", and "weak to fire spells" all boil down to the same type of meaning... basically, gamers usually reserve political meaning for named NPCs, cutscenes, and authored narrative content -- again, this is "seen" representation.

(Further reading: in his book on Jagged Alliance 2, Darius Kazemi argues that a much more generic-ized NPC trait system, as exemplified by X-COM, reflects a US-style "melting pot" multiculturalism that depicts race and gender as ultimately interchangeable and meaningless details -- versus Jagged Alliance 2's Canadian "mosaic" multiculturalism.)

Screenshot of character selection screen in Dead Island (2011) on PC. The Purna character is highlighted, and the game UI clearly labels her as a "Firearms expert" from the first instant you see her.
Many game developers worked on Dead Island. Imagine months of tuning and tweaking an enormous amount of game content -- and collectively shrugging every time they saw the words "Feminist Whore" in-game as well as in the scripting files. Maybe one rogue misogynist programmer put it in the game, but dozens of people certainly kept it in the game, changing it only after most of the game was already done, because they didn't consider it to be "high priority."

But maybe the worst part of the developers' technical complicity is that Dead Island systematizes gender solely to implement FeministWhorePurna. In this game, no men ever target women for being women, and because Dead Island omits any such systematization of misogyny, it depicts Purna's male-targeted resistance as totally unprovoked, coarse, trivial, and irrational.

This is why Dead Island is anti-feminist even if it omits the words "Feminist Whore": because the logic of misogyny is baked into the game systems itself. By simulating feminism but not misogyny, it argues that misogyny does not exist, and thus, portrays "Gender Wars" as an irrational one-sided emotional vendetta instigated by women of color "agitators" against "gender-blind" men who are also mostly "apolitical" generic NPCs.

I think a better game would emphasize that feminism exists in relation to misogyny, and show that feminism is more than one thing that one person does, even during a zombie apocalypse. What if Dead Island systematized more than one kind of feminism? What if feminism had its own skill tree? What if feminism was a set of evolving strategies and play styles across the lifetime of an entire player community?

Those are big design challenges, but I think Dead Island still could've reflected the complexity of feminism in much smaller ways as well:
  • Taxonomy -- what if Gender Wars was in the "Survival" skill tree instead of the "Combat" skill tree? What if feminism was just what women had to do to survive?
  • Defensive, reactive -- what if Gender Wars gave Purna +15% defense against hostile men?
  • Women-centered solidarity -- what if Gender Wars gave all nearby women players +15% defense when hostile men attack them, and +5% more defense with each additional nearby woman?
  • Pan-gender liberation via active revolutionary resistance -- what if Gender Wars had a 15% chance, per nearby woman-inflicted attack on a hostile man, to permanently convert hostile men to friendly allies -- and converted men get +5% defense when fighting a woman's attacker?
  • etc, etc, etc
I'm not saying those are the best design ideas ever (well, that last one sounds kind of awesome to me) but rather I just want to suggest that there is a lot of unexplored possibility for gendered gameplay systems in open world games.

It is my earnest misguided hope that, some day, gender in RPG sim games will move beyond simple damage bonuses or even Fallout's fuck bonuses. What if we treated gender with the same complexity we devote to countless bullshit gun crafting systems? A boy can dream...

***

In the end, this isn't just about Dead Island. Instead, I want to emphasize Dead Island as a case study of how we shape and understand our worlds, both real-life and virtual.

GAME DESIGNERS / DEVELOPERS:
  • Do you systematize gender in your game? Do your systems suggest any equivalencies between gender and any other systems? How, when, and why?
  • If genders affect each other, is that interaction defensive or offensive, anticipatory or reactive, reciprocal or lopsided? How, when, and why?
  • How do you systematize gender in code? Do you represent gender as a true-or-false "isMale" boolean or a single-precision "femininity" float ranging from 0.0 to 1.0? What if gender was a 3D vector or a quaternion, or a bidirectional graph, or a neural network? What if gender was a process / function, instead of stored static data?
  • If you're a misogynist or racist or whatever with something to hide, then cover up all your shit and pray that no one ever digs into your game... And when someone inevitably does, then at least own-up to your biases and don't try to claim your sexism is scientific or something, because that shit is embarrassing.
  • If you're a cis-heterosexual upper-middle-class white man who wants to do the right thing, but finds all of this terribly intimidating, and you feel like this is a minefield -- then maybe call upon diverse expertise on this -- hire, and/or collaborate with, diverse people! Expand who you talk to, who you show your work to, and who you work with; de-segregate your social circles. Over-turning dominant power structures in the world takes work, and is rarely cheap or easy, but it is worth it.
PLAYERS / CRITICS / JOURNALISTS / ACADEMICS / SCHOLARS:
  • Walkthroughs / strategy guides can offer comprehensive second-hand gameplay analysis; try to read a variety of reviews, fan wikis, GameFAQS, and player forums, to understand a large sample of popular opinion and arguments. If possible, verify by playing it yourself too.
  • Modders and modding tutorials offer technical game engine analysis that game developers will rarely disclose to you themselves (because of trade secrets, NDAs, studio PR policies); again, read a variety of articles and tutorials, and if possible even try to perform the modding yourself to verify it. After all, we wouldn't have ever known about FeministWhore unless a modder looked at the game's script files and documented it.
  • Remember that digital representation is more than just "raw images", digital media is always interpreted and modified by "unseen" hardware and software layers. Interactive digital representation is further mediated by unseen notions of feel, interface, mastery, and user experience.

Teaching, Spring 2017

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This semester, I'm teaching three game development classes. Here's a bit about each one:
  • "Intermediate Game Development" at NYU Game Center. This is maybe the 10th time I'm teaching the class; it's a mix of Unity, source control, and 3D art. It's intended for 2nd / 3rd year undergrads in the undergraduate game design program, to give them enough awareness of different tools so they can start to focus their practice in future classes. Teaching it is always challenging... some students double-major in computer science and think the coding lessons are too easy, but for many other students, this is only the second code class they've ever taken. That said, the main point of this class is that code is certainly important, but making a video game involves much more than just code.
  • "Virtual Reality Studio" at NYU Game Center. This is the second time we're running the VR class, and it's kind of exciting because the department is starting to equip some state-of-the-art Vive workstations. Last year, the lack of motion controllers and room scale capability really limited a lot of project ideas, so hopefully we'll be able to accommodate the student demand better. What's challenging about teaching this semester is that there's a lot of new material: I have to figure out how to teach a Vive workflow AND I'm also trying to mix-up the theoretical readings more. Last year, we spent a lot of time reading Hamlet on the Holodeck, which was helpful, but also way too concerned with narratology for a class that doesn't focus on storytelling.
  • "Recursive Reality" at Parsons School of Design, Design and Technology. This is the fourth time I'm teaching this VR studio class at Parsons, which differs greatly from the focus at NYU -- here, at least half the students are interested in VR for film / installations. The equipment situation here is a bit less ideal, because no desktop VR HMD is compatible with the school's fleet of Mac workstations. So instead, we're focusing more on mobile VR like Cardboard and Gear, which actually works well for a lot of the students' design goals.

"Press Forwards" and the pleasing death of agency

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Trackmania games have very robust track editors that let the community build and share custom tracks very easily. This ease of use and immediacy allows new track genres to emerge organically from "grassroots" player communities, a practice that I've characterized before as "local level design" -- it is not just new ways of using the game's building blocks, but it also suggests entirely new ways of thinking about the game itself.

The "press forward" genre (or "PFs") is one of my favorite examples of emergent level genres. Instead of challenging players to hone reflexes and maneuvers on a track, a PF beckons the player to simply hold down "forward" as a mindbogglingly complex track swirls around them. Through no skill of their own, a player ends up executing amazing stunts -- spinning 1080 degrees in the air before barely grazing a ramp in just-the-right-way to land perfectly on the track below. If the player makes any kind of choice, like letting go of the "forward" key, or (god forbid) turning left by 0.1 degrees, the consequences are often fatal.

There's a famous saying that "writing about music is like dancing about architecture." PFs are maybe the closest thing to actually dancing about architecture. Sometimes it feels like the track architect wanted to impress you, sometimes they are making a joke, sometimes they want to scare you. The PF frees us, to be more open and receptive to the ways that architecture speaks to us as we traverse it.

Notably, this is a track type that resists the dominant mode of playing Trackmania. It is a video game world that basically punishes you for even trying to wield any agency or control. When virtuosity is guaranteed, how many humans can resist the urge to fuck it up?



As someone who's dabbled with the track editor a bit: the construction is pretty impressive. It's hard to build these.

Modern level editors like Mario Maker helpfully visualize the player's jumps and trajectory, letting designers fine-tune their object placement. But the last time I checked, there was not an equivalent in the Trackmania editor. If you want to build a PF, you already have to be an pretty good TM player who has internalized the car physics and handling, and can predict how cars will spin and tilt... and then I imagine it's about hours and hours of trial and error. There's something beautiful about that -- that skilled players are building places where a player's skill is irrelevant -- they are negating themselves, or perhaps, transcending into something else: skilled choreographers instead of skilled performers?

The "best" PFs seem to focus on sheer size / complex level-over-level intersections / unanticipated improvisation of non-standard track pieces. For instance, a skillfully constructed PF somehow directs the player to hit the track at a strange angle, drive across it sub-optimally, fall-off, spin erratically, skid along a decorative chrome statue, then land perfectly on a ramp. The goal is a sort of uncanny performance that a human player could probably never achieve, unless aided by a track that performs itself, like some sort of gorgeous architectural auto-fellatio. Humans are merely its instrument.

In many ways, the PF is a sort of in-engine love letter to the game engine / "ghost in the machine" itself. It's not just dancing about architecture, but also dancing about code architecture.

(captured from "Gaffer on Games: Deterministic Lockstep")
With regard to the game engine: building a game like this in Unity or Unreal would be extremely difficult. You cannot use industry-standard "PhysX" middleware implementations because that is "non-deterministic", a type of physics simulation that may end with different results each time, even if the initial conditions are the same.

Meanwhile, Trackmania's impressive deterministic driving physics mean you can reliably replicate results every time... which makes the PF genre possible. It would be impossible, or at least much less impressive, to build PFs for any other racing game engine.

In this technical sense, I think there's also a difficult but nonetheless solid connection between the Press Forward and its very distant cousin the Walking Simulator. Both genres emerged from late modding communities, both radically resist their parent genre, and both focus on large game worlds with novel spatial dynamics -- and neither demands reflex-based gameplay or any "skill" except for that ultimate universal gameplay mechanic known as "patience."

But one last question bothers me: why even bother to trust the player to "press forward"?

Why not abstract the player entirely, and reduce them to an expendable assistant whose job is to click the menu buttons that load / start / restart the track? Let me be a roadie, let me be a complete servant to the game's will.

Behold, the pinnacle of creation: the "press nothing."


Thoughts on Steam Direct

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There's news today that Valve wants to transition away from Steam Greenlight, which is a crowd-source voting system where you pay $100 *once, forever* to let users vote for your games on Steam, and after a certain vote threshold you can put any / all your games on Steam.

The new system planned for roll-out in Spring 2017 is something they call Steam Direct, where you pay a "recoupable" (whatever that means, here? Valve doesn't say) $100-$5000 fee *per game* (they haven't decided the actual rate yet) instead of going through the vote process. They want their storefront to seem more open, but they are also cautious about public perception of "shitty games diluting" the Steam store.

A lot of my thoughts are basically a repeat of past criticism of the Steam Greenlight fee, years ago, except this could be much more expensive and much worse? Here are my reactions:

  • Steam Greenlight (and Steam Direct) is not for AAA developers, or established commercial indies, or indie publishers like Devolver or Adult Swim, who already have guaranteed unfettered access to Steam. Instead, these systems are for the most vulnerable in the game developer community -- people who are starting out, students, experimental designers, etc. When you ask, "is Steam Direct good", you should be imagining how it affects poorer people with precarious situations and no working relationship with Valve.
  • The shitty games are on Steam, and the shit is there to stay, so just embrace the shit and learn how to filter / curate / deal with it. For those indie business devs who cling to 2010, I'd say the days of scarce Steam storefront access guaranteeing sales are way long past. Now it's time to share the tent. This is not your golden platform anymore.
  • The proposed Steam Direct payment structure heavily penalizes and discourages the most vulnerable devs on Steam: developers of experimental work, short-form work, or free games (i.e. LIKE ME) who will be unlikely to "recoup" the per-game fee cost. Even if it's as low as $500, that's still a big ask for a student or small developer literally living on ramen. Does Valve really want to say "less-commercial, short-form, or free work does not belong on Steam"? Even if it's good? Even if there's heavy user demand for it? (e.g. my game on Steam has 150,000+ players and an 85% rating) ... 
  • Paying a per-game fee penalizes people for being prolific and productive? Also, a per-game fee is totally the opposite of what VR needs right now.
  • One reading of "recoupable fee" would mean a temporary deposit that Valve holds. Another reading of "recoupable" would mean you are supposed to kickstart your fee somehow, or it comes out of your games sales, or something. Either interpretation places a big undue financial burden on the vulnerable creators who will actually use Steam Direct. ("Want to put your work on Steam? OK, first spend a few months planning a Kickstarter / your loan application / re-finance your loans / sell your bone marrow")
  • To the people who say I'm "sensationalizing" the outrageous $5000 proposed fee, which is the hypothetical worse-case scenario that is thus unlikely to happen -- have you been paying attention to US politics lately? Also, Valve quoted that number out loud, in public, precisely to gauge your reaction to it. If you just shrug, what you're actually saying to Valve is, "yes, a high per-game fee is good, please raise the fee as close to $5000 as your conscience will allow it." If I were a master of rhetoric, I would purposely say "5000" so that "500" seems "reasonable" in comparison.

    Instead, here's what I'm saying: "Dear Valve: I don't like what I've heard and I'm upset and I hope you don't do this and I hope the fee is much much lower ($100 or less) or ideally you figure out some other way of filtering game submissions that doesn't involve charging the poorest least-commercial developers for more money (per-game?!) just to get their work out there."

Apply to STUGAN, a bucolic game design residency in Sweden

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Stugan is a residency program for indie game designers to hang out together in a beautiful cabin in the Swedish countryside and work on their stuff.

They call it an "accelerator", but don't that word dissuade you. If you consider yourself more of an artist than a businessperson, it's OK, they have hosted plenty of artsy experimental designer types too.

There's been some understandable criticism of Stugan's arrangements: Like many artist residencies and opportunities, there are certain barriers to access -- you're basically foregoing paid work for a few months as a sort of working holiday, and you'll need existing funds to travel to Sweden somehow.

However, I think it's worth noting that many art residencies often have hefty application fees and/or require attendees to pay for their own room and board. Compared to that inaccessible norm in the (messed-up) art world, Stugan is a somewhat reasonable deal that's firmly in the middle of the pack for art, and extremely rare in video games funding.

Of course that doesn't mean it's "accessible" -- so if you're interested in Stugan but don't necessarily have the resources, you might want to do some research into funding sources for artists, you might be surprised. Also, if you're a student, talk to your school -- many institutions offer travel grants for programs like this.

Or just cross that bridge when you come to it? You can apply to Stugan for free. Good luck.

On cs_ppc, "school maps", and the politics of remediating / re-mapping real-life places

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The excellent @dot_bsp Twitter account randomly tweets screenshots from different levels in various Goldsrc (Half-Life 1 engine) games and this February 18th tweet about "cs_ppc" by "Walnut<+>Warrior" really caught my eye and got me thinking.

cs_ppc is really clean and well-built with good height variation and composition. The shapes flow into each other very well, and the scale seems very realistic. On a technical level, there's also clever use of masked transparency textures to complicate silhouettes with fewer wpolys, centering around a pretty huge atrium with a lot of open sight-lines everywhere -- this kind of craft means it was built relatively late in the Goldsrc cycle, when high polycounts and heavy use of custom textures were the norm.

This level has relatively little cover and probably plays strangely for Counter-Strike, but the author clearly prioritized real-life resemblance over gameplay. It made me wonder about the level's relation to the real world. Fortunately, when I loaded cs_ppc.bsp into the engine, I discovered that the author embedded a commemorative plaque at the very front of the level. It is definitely intended as a recreation of Peter-Paul-Cahensly (PPC) vocational school in Limburg, Germany.

So what?...


In my experience, this means that Walnut Warrior (or "Walnuss" on TheWall.de, a German level design community) was probably a student at PPC in 2002 and was intimately familiar with how the building was supposed to feel. Thus, cs_ppc is part of a long tradition of teenage hobbyist level designers making "school maps".

After Columbine and numerous other school shootings, educators and politicians quickly jump to assume the worst about how school maps function in first person shooters. However, I argue that almost no one makes these maps in order to practice school shootings; instead, a school map is an (obvious) attempt at bringing a real-life space into a virtual context, to help process our relationship to the real-life space. Why do you love or hate school? Build it and maybe you'll find out.

Or maybe it's a case of "write what you know." A school map is basically fan fiction about your school. You're so obsessed with school that you're willing to study its shape and form, and then labor on a digital homage to it. In this way, it is the ultimate glorification of a school as a place to hang-out -- and carries special meaning for classmates and friends to play this map together. This is also a bit of a funny paradox, because that means we race home from our physical school just so we can go back to play in our virtual school? Aside from how adorable and nerdy this is, I believe it is a strong example of what I call "local level design", a practice in game development that is not commercially lucrative but still personal and meaningful.

Of course, these school levels usually aren't very good. A school is the second thing a novice beginner level designer tries to build, after attempting to map their childhood home or bedroom. That means most school map designers don't even know what they're doing, and are using the school as a safe space to practice their skills. (Even outside of physical school, the virtual school functions as a context for learning.) cs_ppc breaks from that tradition because it is probably one of the most finely crafted school maps in history.


On Twitter, a lot of us old-time level designers began faving and praising cs_ppc for the implicit context that I just described. This is a well-done map, and if you recognize it as a type of school, then it's even better within that tradition of school maps... yet at the same time, I also felt strange for praising it. It was such an obvious labored copy of a real-life location that I wondered where the craft was?

How much credit should you get for mapping your school? Conceptually, this is an idea that literally hundreds of community level designers have done too.

Don't get me wrong, it probably took a long time and a lot of work to build this level and to get it feeling right. That's certainly an achievement.

However, this is not a completely original composition here. The actual designed floorplan and blueprint of the space -- where to put stairwells, how many windows, how tall, how short, how long, which shade of brick -- was not planned by Walnut Warrior, but rather it was planned by a real-life professional architect contracted by the government or trade association that built the school. Walnut Warrior is basically copying someone else's real-life level design. How can I applaud the level designer's brilliant skylight placement when that wasn't even his idea?

This is maybe an epistemological aesthetics question: if you thought this map was a completely original design, then would you be much less impressed when you find out it is actually a faithful copy of someone else's design? I'd argue that yes, I am less impressed.

In other forms of game art, there is a long-running tradition to credit the concept artist. If you model a character design based on someone else's concept drawing, you are supposed to post the original concept and credit them, alongside any presentation of your interpretation of their work. We make a common sense distinction between the "idea / design" and the "execution".


Legally, society enforces that difference between "idea" and "execution" as patent / copyright law. In architecture, applying that distinction has been a bit tricky. "Useful" things cannot necessarily be copyrighted; a sculpture is a "useless" work of art that can be withheld from the public under copyright, but a bridge is a utilitarian work that is too useful and thus cannot be copyrighted. So when is a building more like a useless sculpture, or more like a useful bridge?

Also, in digital spaces, we cannot easily make the distinction between the idea and the execution. The level editor and game engine both literally interface with the same data, the design and the construction are the same thing. The map is a territory! So when you "port" a building from physical reality to virtual reality, is that an original transformative work, or are you recreating it to capitalize on its value?

Perhaps that's the real question... it's not about what the space is, but rather, it's about what you're doing with it.

Which reminds me of the notorious case of the St. Sulpice church in the Hollywood film adaptation of the Da Vinci Code. The famous Parisian church refused to give permission to film or scan inside -- so instead, the film studio used thousands of photos and photogrammetry to build an identical half-green-screen film set on a sound stage in England. (see "On Holy Ground", in Computer Graphics World, July 2006)


Legally, this was a huge loophole that kept them safe from legal action by the Vatican: the film studio never actually filmed inside the church, they just built an identical-looking temporary room that doesn't even really exist! But morally, this seems like an asshole move? The church didn't want to be in your crappy film, so you created an accurate digital double of their space and made a bunch of money from exploiting their cultural history... and worst of all, it might give some people the false impression that the church consented to everything, when actually the church took a very political stand against the book.

Anyway. This post isn't about organized religion's beef with a shitty crime thriller book! This is about who owns a place, especially when it spans multiple realities. Even if you own a virtual place, does that get overruled by ownership of the physical original?

In the case of cs_ppc, the architect and the school principal would've likely discouraged the "porting" of their school into Counter-Strike, but on the other hand, the author and his collaborators were probably students at the school and thus deserve a stake in the school as well. If art and video games are forms of speech, then students should be allowed to make arguments about their own schools in the form of Counter-Strike maps.

These two cases do demonstrate the need to articulate a politics of mapping spaces -- who is mapping a space, does the local community consent to the mapping, and how much "credit" does the mapper ultimately deserve for the remediation / remake / design of the space? Are you bypassing a papal decree against your craven big-budget film project, or are you a group of teenagers trying to assert some (limited) control over your own community?

GDC Advice for young first-time attendees, 2017 edition

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I remember when I was totally bewildered and disappointed at my first GDC. Since everyone is doing little advice columns / threads on Twitter, I thought I'd chime in with my own shit. This is a bit of advice and info primarily for young people (ages 15-30?) going to GDC for their first time:
  • If you are a man, assume every woman you meet is a developer. Never ever ask a woman whether she is "in games" -- don't be so fucking basic, of course she works in games, she's at GDC! Women at GDC are not your mom and they are most definitely not your girlfriend: women are your colleagues. The secret is to understand women as skilled experienced professionals. Instead, you could ask:
    • "What are you working on? What's your current project? What was your last project?"
    • "What do you think about [area of expertise]? What are your thoughts on [related game]? Did you go to [related GDC session]?"
    • "Go to any good talks? See any cool stuff? Go to any cool parties last night?"
  • This is a business conference. If you're not here to "do business" or sign some deals or have meetings, then the conference is going to be kind of boring, and it'll be up to you to entertain yourself. On the other hand, if you do have something to show, this is a great time to try to talk to a publisher about a deal / getting a console devkit / getting some VR money.
  • When requesting business meetings / making appointments / approaching people, err on the side of doing it. Awkward first meetings are expected at GDC. Assume that you and your project are worth their time. If the meeting isn't a good fit, then let them decide -- they will quickly wrap it up, they're used to it... but also, use your judgment and don't annoy people if they don't look receptive.
  • Business cards exist to end conversations politely. If you ever want to leave a conversation, just make an excuse, offer your card, and then leave. Everyone knows this is bullshit, but the effort you put into this bullshit ironically indicates that you do give a shit.
  • If you ever have to choose between going to a talk vs. hanging out with people, you should usually choose to hang out with people. All sessions are recorded, you can always just watch it later or read a summary. (Personally, I've never regretted missing a talk.)
  • Stay aware of how tired you are, take short naps in the Mild Rumpus area or the park, and remember to eat enough. If you're hungover, you'll probably just have to drink a bunch of immune boosters and coffee, and try to hold it together until Friday.
  • If you are manning an IGF or Alt.Ctrl booth, it is totally OK for you to put up a "back in 30 minutes" sign and take a break, or maybe ask a friend to cover for you. Some people even just setup a looping video trailer and leave. The drawback is that you might miss some possible press coverage and interview opportunities.
  • Lunch recommendations near Moscone:
    • For the cheapest lunch, there's a new Trader Joe's grocery store near Market St.
    • The Sentinel is a popular sandwich stand 2-3 blocks away from the park, mostly frequented by nearby office workers. Don't go too late in the day, or they'll run out of the best stuff.
    • The Sushiritto is a giant sushi hand roll shaped like a burrito. It is a trendy overrated bourgeois abomination that you should try at least once.
    • Wise Sons is a trusted local deli with amazing bagels and lox, pastrami, and reubens -- and they have a convenient (but kind of pricey) lunch counter inside the Contemporary Jewish Museum, no museum ticket needed.
    • Zero Zero is a nearby kinda-pricey sit-down pizza place that's good but also pretty crowded. But if you haven't had pizza recently, it might be worth it.
    • Tu Lan is a popular (and cheap) Vietnamese lunch place, several blocks away. Cash only and no frills, but amazing deals. Good options for vegetarians and vegans too.
    • Miss Saigon is another popular Vietnamese place but it's more of a sit-down place with lots of seating that's good for groups. It also has pretty cool decor, and there's always something weird playing on the TV.
  • Monday and Friday are the quietest days. Wednesday is usually the biggest busiest day, that's when the expo floor opens and the awards shows happen later that night. A lot of indies usually leave after the first show (the IGF) to go catch a quick dinner before their party plans.
  • If you can't get into That.Party, you can often pay at the door / talk your way in... there's also literally like a hundred other less-crowded bars and parties to go to, it's San Francisco!
  • If you don't care to be around alcohol for whatever reason, then loitering around the "indie hostel" (HI San Francisco Downtown) is probably your best bet for a low-key hangout with other young indie game developers.
  • Yes, sex sometimes happens at GDC. It just probably won't happen for you, though. It's OK, there's a hundred other things to do.
  • Annual free GDC traditions:
    • GDC Run is a casual morning running group for people who want to get a little exercise and meet other light runners.
    • Lost Levels is an unconference that I helped found, and is now entering its 5th year. It usually skews pretty young and indie. Check it out on Thursday at noon in the park, and be ready to give a talk!
    • GDC Feet is a playful walking tour led by Richard Lemarchand on Saturday after GDC. You usually end exploring sights away from Moscone Center. Past years focused on Land's End / Sutro Baths / some scattered beaches / Musee Mecanique. Great way to end your week with some communal sightseeing. Follow the hashtag to see where the meeting point is.
  • MOST IMPORTANTLY: It's OK if you're not at GDC. Yes it can be fun and exciting, but it also has plenty of boring disappointing moments. If you read Twitter you'll feel like you're missing out on a lot of fun stuff, and you certainly are, but you're also saving yourself a lot of expense and hassle. It'll be OK.

"Queer Utopian VR" for MVR 2.2 in Brooklyn, 7 March 2017

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Next week I'm participating in MVR, an arts-technology presentation series by Pioneer Works and Nancy Nowacek. This particular installment, MVR 2.2, is hosted in conjunction with A/D/O in Greenpoint, Brooklyn, as part of their "Utopia vs Dystopia" series. (Wow so many event series!)

I'll be doing some standard artist talk stuff for an audience largely unfamiliar with my work, but I'll also be trying to speak to the theme a little -- "virtual reality" as a historically utopian project that is quickly descending into dystopia on all fronts. I will connect this to José Esteban Muñoz's idea of queerness as a utopia itself, where we can perhaps use the "horizon" of queer performance to preserve / salvage pockets of utopia in VR.

The other presenters are Jacob Gaboury, Laura Juo-Hsin Chen, and Rachel White, also presenting on their particular practices with art and technology... Jacob Gaboury does cool research with the history of computer graphics and queer computing. Laura Juo-Hsin Chen does playful VR that engages with materiality, like "toilet VR" and physical VR masks. Rachel White explores the fuzzy intersection between internet bots and an internet of cuteness.

It should be a fun night. See you there.

Free / open to public, RSVP requested
Tuesday, March 7, 2017 @ 7 PM
at: A/D/O
29 Norman Ave.
Brooklyn, NY 11222
(subway: G at Nassau)

The melancholy of screen space in "Universal History of Light" by Stephen Lavelle

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WARNING: This post somewhat "spoils" the 2014 game Universal History of Light.

Stephen "increpare" Lavelle's "Universal History of Light" is a highly symbolic "adventure" game released back in February 2014. Reviews at the time hinged on describing it as an "insane dog simulator" game, which doesn't really capture what the game does, so this is me trying to offer a more robust interpretation and understanding.

Universal History of Light begins with a short lecture about the dangers of using laser pointers with dogs. Because a small red laser dot is incorporeal and intangible, a dog can never actually "catch" it -- and they will never understand their inability to catch their "prey", which will supposedly haunt them and cause psychological damage for the rest of their lives.

You then play as the lecturer at the front of the lecture hall, and you point your laser pointer at a student's assistance dog / seeing-eye dog, thus inflicting catastrophic hallucinations upon the dog. The dog now enters the brilliant burst pictured above; what awaits the dog in a new dimension of pure light and knowledge?

Turns out, it is a world of monochrome trauma. In the distance, we see countless planes, searchlights, and anti-aircraft flak illuminate the night sky. As the dog, we are basically wandering the outskirts of London during the Blitz.


The whole scene feels very chaotic, with lots of jumbling masses and morphing objects everywhere. It's pretty overwhelming, and it's difficult to understand what's going on or what we're supposed to do here. But as you walk around, you eventually realize you're supposed to solve a short sequence of puzzles about acquiring abstract symbolic items like justice (a gavel), companionship (a butterfly fairy), and comfort (a hoodie).

One puzzle involves getting a carpetbeater to get warm blankets for a shivering homeless person, who gives you a key to unlock a giant keyhole near the beginning of the level. This is a pretty obvious and literal puzzle design with concrete connections (a key unlocks... a locked door!) and I want to contrast that simplicity with a different, more symbolic / more "difficult" puzzle: you have to acquire a hoodie, which will let you steal a carpetbeater from a store, and then wield the Gavel of Justice to spite the shopowner and keep the stolen item anyway.

The idea that a hoodie lets you rob a store is a very sarcastic representation of how racists believe crime happens -- for instance, the racist claim that Trayvon Martin (a young black teenager shot in 2012 while returning home from a store) was deemed "suspicious" because he wore a hoodie, which is a dog-whistle legal strategy for invoking racist fear of black kids -- combined with the racist hallucination that the justice system, under Obama's control, would enable this (imaginary, invented) black crime wave to continue.

In this way, unseen intangible forces like racism affect the seen world at all times. We are all like dogs chasing red dots like justice and equality, never quite reaching them, thus enabling suffering (the homeless man) and destruction (the Blitz) on extreme scales...

And to me, that is a pretty obvious straightforward reading of Universal History of Light, and I just want to set that interpretation as a baseline for thinking about it. Now let's think about it in another way:


Screen space is the 2D counterpart to 3D "world space", it is literally about the 2D pixels and coordinate system of your flat screen. (In a 2D game, screen space and world space are the same.) ... and I argue that Universal History of Light does brilliant things with screen-space shaders, and there's a point to why it does it:

As you walk around the world, you notice these jumbled masses of lines and noise. It takes effort to make sense of them at first, but as you stare into them, you realize there are messages hidden in them. The sculpture pictured above reads "WELCOME TO THE WORLD OF LIGHT!" and it hovers near the entrance. It teaches you to stare into screen space to read messages, and it is relatively easy to parse. Another more important but less legible sculpture reads "PRESS T, THEN H" as part of a puzzle to solve. (Many players never quite grasp that particular puzzle, and never complete the game.)

the gridded camera projection ("Image")
is the camera's 2D "screen space"
In video games, we rarely use screen-space in such a blatant and instrumental way. We usually use it to calculate certain graphics effects like bloom, motion blur, or the notorious "screen space ambient occlusion" (SSAO) effect seen in countless AAA games. (for a game that weaponizes screen space differently, see "Perspective" (2012))

You typically never want the player to stare into a screen space buffer or overlay directly, because then that supposedly ruins the illusion of a plausible realistic world. Ideally, the player doesn't even understand what screen space is, or that there is even a screen space to stare into. In short, screen space is not supposed to "exist."

In this way, the game directs us human players to act like dogs staring at red dots. Universal History of Light challenges us to try to gaze upon these distorted shapes, to peer into a projected screen space that does not physically exist inside the game world, to fixate upon these abstract "virtual" objects... like justice, safety, happiness, or the arbitrary necessity to press T and then H.


The light of these ideals radiates all around us, in a brilliant kaleidoscope; to emphasize this point, the player finds the "Gavel of Justice" in the gorgeous pulsing rainbow dimension pictured above. Rainbows are good!!! It is a gorgeous sanctuary from the stark black-and-white warzone outside.

But this prismatic rainbow look is ultimately unsustainable and disappointing. In the third and final act, we play as the friendly butterfly sprite NPC (one of the few other rainbow-colored things in the game) at home in their drab brick cottage, with their butterfly wings hanging on a coat rack and their butterfly antenna resting on the table. Epitomizing hope and optimism is hard fucking work, and now the helpful butterfly feels exhausted?

The last scene feels desperate: you pick up a roll of black duct tape, and draw a sad face on the window with it, like one last-ditch attempt at communication with the outside world. Lavelle frames this last shot with a text epilogue:
"You've seen and lived and thought
in worlds beyond my imagination,
and to such places you returned.

But if you happen to let your
thoughts wander back to here,
I hope you'll see how much i miss you."
The speaker and the addressee are unclear. Is this the butterfly speaking, or is Lavelle addressing someone in real-life? Whoever it is, the speaker seems resigned and wistful about the situation -- all they can do is miss someone, because they cannot quite follow.

I guess you can't blame the dogs for getting depressed.
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