infosoldier.com

Yes, I know. That last post was completely wierd. It was good for me though. Reading it back to myself I saw some flaws in my writing. You could say I gained some insight. What an elusive and completely satisfiying thing, insight.

And now for something comepletely different.

For no reason at all I remembered the first video games I played. The first arcade video game I played was either, Pac-Man or Popeye. However, the first arcade video game that truly immersed me in its experience was Karate Champ.

I remember there was this room, right next to the barrio's supermarket. There must have been only a dozen or so arcade machines side by side; and just enough walking space to get to them. It was dark, smelly; colors emitted from the machines danced physically in the cigarette smoke emitted by the teens. It was a holy union, the teenagers wanted escape, the videogames provided it, and the smoke closed the deal. It was wonderful.

One night, I sat next to some young man as he played Karate Champ. I watched motionless, awe-struck at the digital fighter's agility. Somebody came over and had a verbal exchange with the young. He tells me, suddenly, "Take over!"; and almost runs ot of the place. I stand in front of the machine; the controls were arcane. It had two joysticks and no buttons. What kind of video game machine had two joysticks?! I had never seen that before. The machine yanks my attention back to the screen by making the digital referee yell "Fight!" My red-garbed computer opponent starts advancing while menancingly shooting a fist then a jump kick. Meanwhile, I desperately wiggle the joysticks to try to defend myself, I know not how. The red fighter lands near me. I think I push the joysticks down and my fighter ducks, just in time to evade the red fighter's punch. "Oh my!, he's gonna kill me, he's too close!", I think. I frantically push the joysticks in disparate directions. My fighter stands, and lets out a kick... It connects! I get a full point.

The computer trashed me afterwards... but I feel exhilarated. No wonder street fighter is my favorite video game.

The first console game I played was Pac-Man, on an Atari 2600. I got my first, own TV set just for my Atari console. The Atari was not impressive nor inmmersive however, except for River Raid. I played that for hours. All was quickly forgotten, when I got my first computer, a Commodore 64. The Commodore came with lots of 5 and 1/4 inch floppies, and in one of those was the most immersive game I had played to date. Zork.

It isn't so much a game, it is more like a dynamic book. Text adventures they were called. I played that for months, hooked by the writing and the puzzles. The description of places, people, treasures and events were superb. It made me want to read everything.

I wonder if I should replay Zork again, to see if I can learn something from that writing style and improve my flawed writing. Hah! I wonder someone has made Zork run on a PSP.

The information soldier is also a scholar...

I've had the wierdest dream just now.

I was in a typical town public plaza; typical of Puerto Rico with lots of concrete and few trees. I hear some people talking about a concert that has just ended; some obscure Puerto-Rican artist is linked to it, the one that sang the first Spanish rap. I gather from the people's conversation that it was artsy and cultural.

I suddenly decide to see if I can interview this artist; odd, since I am no journalist. I walk slowly to the concert's meeting place and see that very few people remain. I don't see Glenn, but I see Danny in his traditional white garb. Now, what is he doing in my dream? There's a generational gap already between my generation and Glenn's, but there's a deep chasm between me and Danny Rivera. It's like a generation x-er dreaming about Sinatra. Anyway, I decide to interview Danny. Try to see what he thought of the concert, and what he thinks of current affairs in Puerto Rico.

I sit down next to him and try to spark off a conversation. Man, I used to be so timid. But, Danny looks at me with a strange look in his face. Like a trap has been sprung but he hasn't to fear. He gets up and leaves, and as he does so I keep staring at the place where he sat, then past it. And I see a vision of wild beauty. A woman sits, just close enough for me to look in her eyes and get lost. And far enough that it seems I could never reach her and go mad.

She wears light colored and loose clothing, but somehow it ascertains her curvaceous body. She has wildly curly and long black hair, and around her neck a tribal choker. I feel rapture and asphyxiation for a second. And as I find it hard to breathe, it seems that she starts to. It seems like she was breathlessly waiting for me, but now that I am here she can let out a sigh like saying, "At last, you've come."

She gets up and walks unto me, and sits where Danny sat before. We engage in verbal judo in our introduction. She wins. I give up my name but I can't manage to get hers. She starts to promise interesting tidbits of information about her, about the world, about it's people. Some of it is true and some is not. I feel a searing pain, a burning of the mind. I want to write. I have a vision of rolls of white paper falling at her feet. And within them diamonds in the rough ready to be cut into stories, articles, columns, novels, epics.

It is too much! I try to stop the flow, I ask her: what about business?, human resources?, computers!

"That is not what you want," she says, "if it was I wouldn't be here." And then...

A scream pierced my dream, my daughter has trouble finding her sleep. As I feel my wife stir and get up, I lay in bed thinking. Wondering if I had found a muse in my dreams.

The information soldier waits and hopes for the muse to come back...