suicide

By Hannah Ackermans, 27 November, 2015
Language
Year
Record Status
Abstract (in English)

On April 10th, 2014, game designer Porpentine released a game called Everything you swallow will one day come up like a stone with the intention of deleting it at the end of the day: “This game will be available for 24 hours and then I am deleting it forever. You can download it here until then. What you do with it, whether you distribute, share, or cover it, is up to you.” The game has lived on through what Porpentine predicted as “social means,” but it was designed as an ephemeral text, and one which the author deliberately destroyed as part of the act of creation. This idea of a vanishing text is interwoven with the experience of electronic literature, as Marjorie C. Luesebrink notes, as part of a practice of “text erasure” as embracing “self-undermining, undecidability, disdain for commercialization, ambivalence about technology, struggle against the presence of text itself, and response to overwhelming data” but also “the fragility of memory” (2014). Porpentine’s work, built using the hypertext platform Twine, is a reminder both of how easy it is to delete an electronic file but also how difficult, as the ghosts of “Everything you swallow will one day come up like a stone echo across the internet. Likewise, it asks us to engage with the aftermath of the “deletion” of a human life in a manner that makes use of the particular affordance of Twine, which Jane Friedhoff has noted as particularly suited to experimental works at the margins (2014).

The poetics of Twine embrace the uneasy boundary between the ephemeral and fixed text, as each traversal of a Twine text marks a path visible only as it is traversed. They question the assumptions of game systems, recalling Espen Aarseth’s question “what player…would actually commit suicide, even virtually?” (2004). That question, posed ten years ago, as part of a discussion of the contradictions and possibilities of “interactive narrativism,” is one Twine games are well on their way to answering by crafting literary contexts in which an apparent choice is no choice at all. In Twine game, there is often no way to win in the conventional sense, and certainly the outcome of Everything you swallow is pre-determined. Such works also recall the structures and mechanisms of hypertext novels and similar choice-driven interactive fiction. I will examine the engagement with suicide and the destruction of self and text through several Twine works: Porpentine’s aforementioned Everything you swallow, collective Tsukerata’s You Were Made For Loneliness (2014), Gaming Pixie’s The Choice (2013), Pierre Chevalier’s Destroy / Wait (2013), and Zoe Quinn’s Depression Quest (2013). In each, the reader-player is invited to consider the mechanisms and social pressures surrounding the “choice” of suicide, and in doing so to confront the consequences of the erasure of self and text.

(Source: ELO 2015 Conference Catalog)

Description (in English)

Depression Quest is an interactive fiction game where you play as someone living with depression. You are given a series of everyday life events and have to attempt to manage your illness, relationships, job, and possible treatment. This game aims to show other sufferers of depression that they are not alone in their feelings, and to illustrate to people who may not understand the illness the depths of what it can do to people.

(Source: Official Website)

Screen shots
Image
Screenshot - Depression Quest
Image
Screenshot 2 - Depression Quest
Image
Screenshot 3 - Depression Quest
Multimedia
Remote video URL
Content type
Author
Language
Platform/Software
Record Status
Description (in English)

“Paperwounds,” is an intimate look into the sometimes-surreal, often-manic realm of the suicidal and depressed. It is an intense snapshot of the numerous facets that go into the decision of taking one’s own life, each of its disparate parts aligning to form a piecemeal narrative readers may only ever really guess at in its entirety. Presented as a crumpled up piece of paper, readers “unwrap” the suicide note by clicking on the highlighted/pulsating words within its folds. Doing so exhumes other, shorter notes the writer placed within the virtual letter, each one a different illustration of–perhaps–what drove the fictional victim to this ultimate negation of self. The interface, technological sounds, and brief animations when you mouse over certain texts combined with the ruined state of the materials create a forensic tone for the work, casting the reader in the role of an investigator. The poem may be zoomed in on, zoomed out from, flipped, rotated, dimmed, and made completely invisible–though doing any of the aforementioned does not seem to change the nature of the text at first glance. (Source: Ian Rolón, I ♥ E-Poetry)

I ♥ E-Poetry entry
Screen shots
Image
Technical notes

Requires Adobe Flash to play.

Description (in English)

This piece takes us inside the brain and mind of a speaker in the midst of a nervous breakdown. Bigelow roughly maps the initial four parts of the poem on a superior view of a human brain: “My Brain Is” on the frontal lobes, “What My Therapist Said” on the parietal lobes, “The Metaphor Room” on the temporal lobes, and “How to Dream a Suicide” on the occipital lobes. The final section (verse? movement?) focuses on different types of treatment: religion, medication, therapy, and exercise. Overall, the work is richly layered with video clips, language, sound, and minimalist interactivity to examine the speaker’s mindset as a biological, psychological, and social subject. The combination of fact, dream imagery, and creative exploration of suicide all showcase Bigelow’s expert hand in crafting blended metaphors and balancing the tone with delicately understated humor.

(Source: Leonardo Flores, I ♥ E-Poetry)

Description in original language
I ♥ E-Poetry entry
Screen shots
Image