Stop Caring
Newsletter (Digital)
Stop Caring is an attitude based on the idea that videogames are valid and sophisticated artistic expressions, filled with as much cultural sinew as any other art-form. It's about taking the lessons we can learn from gaming and implementing them in our daily lives. It's about taking all of this shit less seriously, but discussing games with the same gravitas one would use when examining any work of art.
This publication is currently run by Artemis Octavio, a queer trans woman from Venezuela. No topic is too risqué, difficult or inappropriate, but we do not, nor will we ever, tolerate, support or endorse transphobia, racism, homophobia, ableism, classism, sexism or any kind of discrimination.
We despise fascists, AI, the capitalist systems, and believe videogames should live forever.
We're not in it for the money or the fame, just for the love of the game. Source
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| Country | United States of America |
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Content Warning: sexual assault. I was 18 and he was much older. I was alone in a new city and he had his own apartment. We met for our first date in Central Park on the far edge of winter; we were bundled in coats beneath a weak, wan sun. I saw him from down the street and paused for just a moment. I don’t have to do this, I thought, I can turn around and ignore his texts. I can forget about him. And then I thought again. No. I should be open. I should give him a chance.
Court of Ash
Just thirty minutes south of where I grew up was an old Navajo ghost town. 'Town' is maybe a misnomer, being such a modern work that it conjures up a picture I don't mean. A fifty foot well over a half-acre across that plunges to a deep blue-green pit. Littering the sides of the cavernous mouth are the old dwellings. The people came and went a long, long time ago, so they say.
This Sacred Body / This Bloody Mind
I know how it is to be Harry Du Bois. I've tried to find the salve for sorrow at the bottom of an empty bottle. I've imprinted messages in my lungs my future self will have to decode. I've tried drinking myself to oblivion, howled while listening to a sad song about a tiny church: "I do not want to be this kind of animal anymore!" I know how it is to be Hershel Wilk, codename: CASCADE.
Dear Brother, Have Some Sake With Me
You remember a time when things didn’t quite go the way they do now. There’s no shortage of grief in your heart when you realize you keep having to look back further for it. You’re the captain, and your older brother’s the chairman. The family has your shared last name, though it’s always been more his than yours. It exists because of his cruelty, his newfound hunger for power and complete dissolution of his ethics unrelated to the code.
The Women Who Kill Are the Ones That Saved Me
I can think back clearly to my teenage years, gazing at my body and wondering what things would be like if I were a little curvier. Maybe if I had a fuller chest I'd be able to wear more than just baggy tees, cargo shorts, and sweatpants. Maybe if I had longer hair with a different texture I'd be able to style it more, grow it out. Maybe, just maybe, if I could play around with my proportions I’d find more comfort in this body instead of bouncing back and forth between pride and discomfort.
Thin Liminal Lines
There are very few online artefacts that allow me to carry on with the belief that video games are the ultimate art form. One that combines my favorite elements from different mediums: film, literature, puzzles, music, and the Internet. Petscop is one of them, even if it doesn’t exist, not really. To say that Petscop is a video game in the traditional sense would be a stretch.
Skating Through The Mire of Fear
The first and only time I ever stepped onto a skateboard, my older sister convinced me to ride it down our barely sloped driveway in Riverside–a Jacksonville, Florida suburb. I must have been around eight years old, memory has certainly warped the experience, but I recall shifting my center of gravity backward away from the slope. Then falling off as the momentum and added weight of my collapse jettisoned the skateboard, now a grip-taped missile, straight into our neighbor’s fence.
Like a Hero(ine)
The Hero’s Way When discussing stories of any kind, it’s impossible to avoid the Hero’s Journey. It’s the structure that writer Joseph Campbell claims in his 1949 book The Hero with a Thousand Faces to be the basis for every myth, and thus “Mankind’s one great story” (The Hero with a Thousand Faces xi).
A Vivisection of Battlefield 6
Battlefield 6 had an opportunity to depict the changes in how war is waged since the last entry in the franchise featuring a modern setting, which came out more than a decade ago. The series’ unique approach to the military shooter genre, with a focus on combined arms and taking territory, has given it a reputation for being a grounded alternative to the increasingly fantastical direction Call of Duty has gone.
Post Punk Sympathy
Travis Touchdown is looking for vengeance. The legend of Santa Destroy rides again, rising through the ranks of the United Assassins Association once more to avenge his best friend, Bishop, who was shot in the head, the window behind him splattered in crimson signage: Desperate Struggle. Goons will be decapitated. Appendages will be severed.