Thoughts:
Fun literature's different from serious literature in one simple way: it's fun, not serious. But they're still alike in one major way—they're both literature. Take everything I'm about to say however you want: you can take it seriously, or you can smirk like a little gremlin. I warned you.
The Hero's Home.
Hey. My name's your inner voice. No, not your conscience. We broke up ages ago and decided to stay friends. I'm that annoying little whisper in your head that some folks would label as early-onset schizophrenia—but don't listen to those bastards! They don't want what's best for you. I do. I'm here to talk straight, 'cause I'm the only one who really gets you.
Let's start from the basics, as one should.
You never really belonged anywhere. Always the odd one out. Always the extra piece that doesn't fit the puzzle. No matter how badly you wanted a little space to call your own—out there, beyond the door, there's a hostile world full of bitey little humans just waiting to grab your love handle like some psycho Wolf chasing a girl in a red hoodie, totally ignoring the fact that—hey, bro—that's a felony.
So, to avoid all that noise—you learned to make your own sandwiches, and you memorized the number of your fave food delivery service, which lowkey became your replacement mom. To avoid their shrill-ass voices—you put your phone on "Do Not Disturb" and "Silent Mode." Then you turned your voice into letters glowing softly on your screen.
That's how you became a floating code fragment, living inside messengers—and, though rarer— social networks (where you linger only for the sacred scroll of sarcastic memes).
What more could you want, oh valiant warrior against society's pressure? Of course you've collected every gadget that could possibly replace a human being. And you're praying that someday soon, a fully-functioning AI will become your one true friend—ideally shaped like a robo-dog or a robotic waifu with big sparkly eyes. Also, pro tip: pay the internet bill on time. Without it, your sweet sweet content dies a sad, offline death.
Got a bathrobe? No? Who cares. Tracksuit pants and a hoodie work fine. Got a job? No? Doesn't matter. Same outfit. Just slightly more despair.
You've even earned yourself a unique title—way cooler than those worn-out buzzwords like "introvert" or "socialphobe." If there was a king somewhere who wanted to tap your shoulder with the tip of a sword—or better, a game controller—he'd knight you on the spot as Sir Hikikomori.
Sure, your parents get annoyed. But they don't understand the things your terrified brain whispered to you in confidence. It told you—without being asked—that humans are some seriously sketchy creatures. You knew that already, of course. But still—nice to get confirmation.
Maybe you've got a girlfriend, a boyfriend, a wife, a husband. What? You think I'm gonna
stereotype you just 'cause your name's Nerd McGeekerson? C'mon. You might even have a partner. Maybe more than one.
If you got lucky, they totally vibe with your main goal—never sticking your nose out of your home fortress. They've got their desk right beside yours, and the two of you are deep into a MOBA
honeymoon or binging "Love, Death & Robots." You've even figured out a fair system for domestic duties: today they wear the bathrobe, and you're rocking the tracksuit and hoodie. Tomorrow? You swap.
Of course, you might not have been that lucky. Stereotypes may have sucker-punched you into pairing up with one of those basic partners who whine non-stop. One day they complain that you're just sitting around doing "nothing" (their words). Next day, they're mad that the curtains are drawn tight even though it's a blazing summer day outside—and no, you don't have fangs or a taste for blood.
So what do you do? Give up? Hell no! If you give up, you'll stop feeling like a typical Japanese high schooler from your favorite manga and start turning into one of them. You know who I mean: those Creepy Street People.
Scared now?
Damn right you are. Even just the phrase "Creepy Street People" is more terrifying than half the horror flicks out there. And you've got zero intention of letting your glorious anime hair get
shampooed. You won't abandon your beloved bangs—the ones that hang into your mouth so you can chew on them grimly while pondering the meaning of life and the family tree of the Penguin. Though, yeah, since the show, he's kinda gone mainstream. Not as fun to think about anymore. I feel you, bro.
Your reality is four walls—and you're not gonna break the fourth just to chat with someone. Concrete's way more trustworthy than bio robots, and I'm with you on that. I gotchu.
There's really nothing good out there. Even though therapists—eyeing you, trying to make actual eye contact (the audacity!)—will say stuff like, "Traveling through Romania or Angola could really open you up." Even if you don't wanna walk that far, they'll tell you to at least go to the nearest store to stock up on energy drinks while they're on sale.
You gonna listen to them?
The catch is—they don't know you. But I do. I'm your inner voice—literally part of you. I've
studied you better than anyone. I'm perched on both shoulders, having sent the angel and demon out for a smoke break. And from up here, lemme tell you—your chair is warm for a reason. Its fabric has soaked in most of your farts already, and—like a seasoned sommelier—it's trying to decode the delicate aroma of that burrito you ate with caramel sauce.
You and that chair? A solid couple.
If you think about it, it might even be better than a real relationship. It'll never betray you. Never dump you. Unless it breaks. You and your seat—best community out there. But if you dare to stand up, put on anything other than your fluffy centipede slippers, dig up those rusty keys, and open the door... out there—
The Worst Graphics Ever.
You literally couldn't design anything uglier if you tried. The detailing's trash, and the character rendering? Absolute nightmare fuel—even at max FPS. It's a failed project from the get-go, despite all the hype and fanboy anticipation that lasted longer than the wait for "Elder Scrolls 6" and "STALKER 2".
Wherever you look—jagged edges, glitchy surfaces, all kinds of visual bugs. You could solve most of them by simply shutting the damn door and putting the key ring back where it's been for years. I mean, be honest—why would you even bother with these weird, unwelcoming worlds?
1) The Western World.
You know about it even if you've never actually been part of it. It's been formatting your brain clusters since birth. You grew up on its trends, brands, and aesthetics—starting with cinema and ending with the brand word "Arman…," which, let's face it, you remember way better than your neighbor's name.
Are you real? Probably, yeah. But are they? Highly doubtful. You're a swirling tornado of introspection and anxiety, a walking crisis wrapped in questions, just trying to figure yourself out without getting shredded by the rotten teeth of the mob.
When you stand in front of a mirror, what you see is raw and unfiltered—moody, tired, existential. Now imagine if they looked into that same mirror (double-check the lock, just in case!). They'd see our long-lost pal Slenderman… except with one extra accessory that always shows up on their blank faces—a smile.
But not a smile like yours. Yours leaks out once in a while, fragile and honest, even through that
black hole inside you. Nobody sees you, so you don't need to fake it. You don't have to call a plastic surgeon to get one installed. But they? They're part of the system. Every damn morning, they stitch on a synthetic smile, wear it to work, and peel it off at night in front of the Jimmy Kimmel show.
If you unmuted the world and cranked their volume up just a notch, you'd hear: "Thank you, sir. Absolutely, sir. Fascinating, sir. Much appreciated, sir."
What they're actually thinking is: "Your mom's a hoe." And you know that. You hate mother-slut- shaming, obviously, but that doesn't change the truth. Their politeness isn't genuine—it's just social protocol, not heartfelt respect.
Etiquette's cool and all. But these people? They freak you out. Creepy little androids, acting like background NPCs in some movie called The Useless Man. Haven't seen it? Watch it. You'll love it.
Then there's diversity and inclusion—great ideas in theory. But you? You've got a dark sense of humor and a guilty love for guro. The stuff that makes others cringe is what makes you laugh.
Especially the non-PC jokes. They're the sharpest kind.
You don't wanna laugh at some lame joke about melons or taxi drivers. That's baby food. Bland and toothless. But walking the edgy line isn't so easy anymore—'cause that line got sharper, and now it slices tongues instead of just challenging them. That's another reason you stay silent and off the radar. Every word you say might get turned against you. Maybe not in a courtroom, but definitely in the group chat of judgment.
Your choice—Silence. Their choice—Judgment.
So are we staying in the apartment? Obviously.
2) The Eastern World.
It's as diverse as your own culinary menu. And… your fridge only has chips and cola? Okay, bad comparison.
Zoom in on Google Maps and the first thing you're gonna hit is China. Big place, huh? And just look at the number of people there. That alone is enough to make you sweat, and understandably so.
About 1.4 billion humans live there, and you… well, you could become one of them. That's rough, buddy. Sure, your sudden appearance wouldn't change much for them, but your own life? Oh yeah, you'd definitely feel it.
For starters—it's still a communist country. If you're into ideologies—well, help yourself, comrade. But communism brings along its faithful buddy: collectivism. And let's be real—you're not exactly a team player. Your ant cosplay wouldn't fool anybody. You love silence and comfort. China? Not so much. It's noisy, chaotic, and full of subtle (and not-so-subtle) threats to your precious personal space through... well, let's not go into that just yet. I'll whisper it to you another time.
Like, say, in the next chapter of my seductive ramblings. India. You're checking it out too, huh?
Same issue as China. Massive population. And an ambient soundtrack of never-ending chaos. In the glossy tourist brochure, you'll find: ancient Hindu architecture, wild nature, and food that'll send your stomach into an existential spiral. But let's be honest—you're not into that.
You're terrified some snake charmer will start tooting his flute and hypnotize you into leaving the house. And, by the way… please don't compare yourself to the local sadhus, even if you do look kinda similar. They lock themselves inside temples of the mind. You just lock the door of your rented one-bedroom and call it a day.
Look, I'm not trying to insult you. Just saying: you're not quite ready to sit cross-legged on the banks of the Ganges, because you haven't finished downloading the entire internet yet. So let's fast- forward to:
3) Eastern Europe.
Ohoho, now we're talkin'! Those grim, brutal buildings from the post-Stalin era? Chef's kiss. As bleak as your own vibe. And the people? Also not really into fake smiles. You love that. But your knowledge of this part of the world is about as deep as your knowledge of quantum physics: you've heard of gopniks, Adidas tracksuits, vodka, and those weird-ass dances you saw on YouTube. These are freaking stereotypes, but unfortunately they work...
And yeah, sure, maybe you dream of moving into one of those gray concrete blocks—but lemme break it to you gently: "You ain't built for this, son." Remember the paradox? The one that keeps you from belonging to any part of the world because of mental dissonance?
You're an outsider everywhere.
You hate the West for its overwhelming fakeness. You hate Eastern Europe for its brutal honesty and soul-piercing directness, which, to you, often crosses the line into straight-up rudeness and unnecessary audacity. And you? Sensitive soul. Certified whiner.
Of course you'd love to live among Real People™. But the problem is… People, as a species, tend to be total assholes to each other—unless forced by society to behave. And when that social glue wears off, it's back to tooth and nail.
Which is exactly why this place doesn't suit you either:
4) The Middle East.
Way too much sun.
Your pale skin ain't built for that kind of ultraviolet onslaught, and you're obviously too lazy to slather yourself in sunscreen by the gallon. Plus, they've got a boatload of rules, laws, and cultural codes—mostly driven by religious ethics—and you're not exactly the kinda guy who's gonna dive into that with a joyful scream. You zone out just reading the sunscreen label, let alone sacred texts.
Music, architecture, food, people, customs—yeah, it's all different. Is that stuff fascinating? Of course it is!
But are you ready to live in one of those flashy megacities like Dubai? Probably not. You already live in a big city, so why switch it for another one just with more sand and luxury malls?
Sure, you could try meditating on a sand dune in the Arabian Desert, but let's be real—you'd give up five minutes after trying to plant your butt on that sun-cooked sand. One scorched cheek and you're rage-quitting enlightenment. And oases? Yeah, those exist mostly in fantasy books, man.
So, nope. Not our scene, buddy. I see you now, pausing mid-thought, gently shutting the front door, kicking off your sandals, and hanging your keys back up. Then you lock your phone and whisper to yourself: "Google Maps can wait."
You look around your good ol' apartment and think—"Hey, it's not half bad." And you're right. Why trade it for some big question mark? The unknown is terrifying as hell.
Sorry, man, but I do gotta scare you a little. Gotta make your knees start tap dancing like a System of a Down drummer on Red Bull. Not because I want you to move, but because—
There's a reason.
Maybe it's imaginary. Maybe it's all in our heads. But who would know better than us, huh? We're professionals at being afraid of absolutely everything, everywhere, all at once. And when fear comes knocking, the goal isn't to work through it—it's to crawl into the deepest hole you can find. One too narrow for even a curious ostrich's head.
I can see you frowning now, trying to figure out where I'm going with this. So just… sit down on the couch, alright? I've got some bad news.
But if we act fast, we might just be okay.
Chill, bro. Calm your twitchy knees. They're drumming harder than Serj Tankian in an earthquake. We're just talking. That's all.
Outside, the traffic's still buzzing. Clerks rushing to work. A drill somewhere in the distance. Sirens screaming.
Just another normal day in your city.
And while it's still that kind of normal—I need to tell you about the rules of this new, not-yet- released game.
So sit back, and listen up.