BiblioAddict

On Warcraft, poetry, and role-playing viruses that inhabit the mind:

Because I’ve recently become yet another addicted player of World of Warcraft, I thought I’d share this poem by Neil Gaiman from Smoke and Mirrors:

Virus

There was a computer game, I was given it,
one of my friends gave it to me, he was playing it,
he said, it’s brilliant, you should play it,
and I did, and it was…

Of course I have to spend a lot of time playing it.
So do my friends. And their friends.
And just the people you meet, you can see them,
walking down the old motorways
or standing in queues, away from their computers,
but they play it in their heads in the meantime,
combining shapes,
puzzling over contours, putting colors next to colors,
twisting signals to new screen sections
listening to the music.

Sure, people think about it, but mainly they play it.
My record’s eighteen hours at a stretch.
40,012 points, 3 fanfares…

I wonder what happened to TV. There used to be TV.
I wonder what will happen when I run out of canned food.
I wonder were all the people went…

And when the power goes off for good then I
Will play it in my head until I die.

Ok, I’m not that bad, but after playing Warcraft for longer than I care to admit yesterday, I understand how easily it could happen.