What the ever-loving fuck… what an achingly intimate, queer mindfuckery this is.
Both poignantly appalling and exhilarantly visceral in equal measure.
It felt like my rotting, stinking shame was being slowly and meticulously...
…homoerotically dissected like a frog on a cold slab.
And it didn’t just relentlessly probe and poked around my quivering, guarded insecurities then pierced a gaping hole, an opening, somewhere amidst all the convoluted mess of such bloated, obscured layers of esoteric cringing, but goes further... fucking right through it, making sure to savor even the most universally inconsequential layers of intimately personal and vulnerable idiosyncrasies.
There’s a seductive cruelty in how it plays with your sensitivities. It’s not merely exposed but held, embraced, cradled in a way that obscenely merges cruelty/depravity and care… and somehow make it feel perversely thrilling. There’s somewhat this sadistic charm despite how condescending, infantilizing even, it all feels.
I feel wretchedly seen... perversely understood...?
There's... this crooked intimacy that's uncannily impassioned it feels almost impossible to refute... and that's just exquisitely frustrating. The tension in this game made me ache in shameful places I didn’t know could actually dare to ache.
It’s as if I’ve been made to watch in horror as transient, flaky, half-formed, and long-orphaned fragments of my pitifully desperate paracosm, naïve psychosocial fantasies, and compensating metaphorical another dance naked—lurid, vividly animated, grotesquely embodied—squirming within an endearingly obscure video game for anyone else to see.
There’s almost a masochistic joy in how these games confront you with yourself—like you're watching a grotesque parody of your inner world, yet somehow, it feels like home.
There are at least hints of an oddly-comforting familiarity within its pleasantly vertiginous limbo of an inordinately shared agitation I feel I could collapse into.
It's a heartfelt & intricate assault and battery on your queer senses... and you'll thank it for the opportunity to finally bleed.
I've always wanted to feel like my obscenely neurotic, quivering teenaged brain—abominably enshrouded and choked beneath bloated layers—is being slowly and lovingly scraped out with a blunt spoon.
Ah, I just can’t help but to sinfully adore these sinfully weird games to swallow me down and breathe my face and ache my ache and embody my only-partly-accessible, unnamable, contemptible intensities and wear my inscrutable grimace to kiss you on the cheek.
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epic
What the ever-loving fuck… what an achingly intimate, queer mindfuckery this is.
Both poignantly appalling and exhilarantly visceral in equal measure.
It felt like my rotting, stinking shame was being slowly and meticulously...
…homoerotically dissected like a frog on a cold slab.
And it didn’t just relentlessly probe and poked around my quivering, guarded insecurities then pierced a gaping hole, an opening, somewhere amidst all the convoluted mess of such bloated, obscured layers of esoteric cringing, but goes further... fucking right through it, making sure to savor even the most universally inconsequential layers of intimately personal and vulnerable idiosyncrasies.
There’s a seductive cruelty in how it plays with your sensitivities. It’s not merely exposed but held, embraced, cradled in a way that obscenely merges cruelty/depravity and care… and somehow make it feel perversely thrilling. There’s somewhat this sadistic charm despite how condescending, infantilizing even, it all feels.
I feel wretchedly seen... perversely understood...?
There's... this crooked intimacy that's uncannily impassioned it feels almost impossible to refute... and that's just exquisitely frustrating. The tension in this game made me ache in shameful places I didn’t know could actually dare to ache.
It’s as if I’ve been made to watch in horror as transient, flaky, half-formed, and long-orphaned fragments of my pitifully desperate paracosm, naïve psychosocial fantasies, and compensating metaphorical another dance naked—lurid, vividly animated, grotesquely embodied—squirming within an endearingly obscure video game for anyone else to see.
There’s almost a masochistic joy in how these games confront you with yourself—like you're watching a grotesque parody of your inner world, yet somehow, it feels like home.
There are at least hints of an oddly-comforting familiarity within its pleasantly vertiginous limbo of an inordinately shared agitation I feel I could collapse into.
It's a heartfelt & intricate assault and battery on your queer senses... and you'll thank it for the opportunity to finally bleed.
I've always wanted to feel like my obscenely neurotic, quivering teenaged brain—abominably enshrouded and choked beneath bloated layers—is being slowly and lovingly scraped out with a blunt spoon.
Ah, I just can’t help but to sinfully adore these sinfully weird games to swallow me down and breathe my face and ache my ache and embody my only-partly-accessible, unnamable, contemptible intensities and wear my inscrutable grimace to kiss you on the cheek.
nhhnhnhg/10
ohhhhh
damn.....
holy shit