General disclaimer that basically everything on this site, including the site itself, is a "work-in-progress." —Jerrika
Snow Story Excerpt
I lay myself down without my jacket in the snow with every intention of making a snow angel. It was supposed to make up for that one I protested and stopped, that first sign that I would kill your spirit with my fears. I'm not that stupid, though. As soon as my bare arms are encased in the cold I try to remember the geometric principle of translation. Transference? Immediately I sensed that those concepts don't apply off the page, even on clear paper, without the blue lines of a notebook to entrap them there. I can't send this moment of freedom back, and that transforms (is that the geometric principle?) the mood of the moment from free to locked in place. Is that the Rule of Life? That mistakes, the accumulation of which is virtually guaranteed the longer you're alive, will lock you into more and more, like Tetris? [What does Tetris even mean?] Did those poor nerds know they were naming my confinement by arranging all those codes?
Pajitnov derived the name Tetris by combining Greek with the name of his favorite sport. Tetra is a Greek numerical prefix meaning "four," and tennis was the game designer's sport of choice.
What a whimsical, quirky story. The irony of that characterizing my solitude and despair is not lost on me. That's all I am to some people, even here, even now. Quirky, whimsy. A self-proclaimed "free spirit." The irony of tha title isn't lost on me either, and fact fills the space between me and the snowline, so that I'm hidden completely in level, simple, mocking gridlock. I bet that the snow is so fortified by regret that it wouldn't shift a flake if I swung my arms out along the ground. What good are wings no one will see anyway? It'd just be another piece of hygiene to maintain.
I'm going inside.