Platform: Sega Genesis (Mega Drive)
In my early days of gaming, I was a pretty hardcore Nintendo fan.
It wasn’t until years after the Nintendo 64 came out that we bought a Sega Genesis (Toys R Us was still selling new ones at the time, and I remember the day vividly).
Along with the console, we bought two cartridges, a Sega collection cart with Golden Axe and Columns, the Sega Genesis 6-Pak, I believe, and Castlevania: Bloodlines (1994).
The Sega Genesis, or Mega Drive, seemed like a much more mature console than the SNES or NES, as all the games I encountered (Golden Axe, Bloodlines, Columns, and later, the Phantasy Star games) had these unappealing, more realistic visuals that differed greatly from their Nintendo counterparts. Even bright and stylish Sonic games were less appealing and had a more mature visual style than the early Mario games.
Columns is the focus of this article, and my experience with it.
Reversed perspective projection
behind some old Castlevania
curtain wall, I sit jumping,
leaning through cubed spike
bricks, until the HUD flashes
clear and I’m out of bounds
now, the enormous flat plane
skyline revealed, that gritty
zipper now naked
and at my feet,
ured platforms in a series
going down, unseen and stupid.
Two ground pounds
I jerk off my jeans and
pull out my dick,
but the portcullis grid sticks to my
shoelaces, and from way down
below, from the middle of
that fractal basin, miracle
bubbles burst upward,
all in a rush,
and I can’t feel my whip
and my health is so heavy.
Across denizen fields lined with green trees,
I stumble upon a picnic couple who exclaim
amid grunts and texts for cunts and lobster
“What a terrible day for a curse!”
all of my friends are dead.
Have you ever even seen the remake of The Last
House on the Left…?
A charm to ward off evil, sent through snail mail
on Christmas Eve, enclosing in a Fisher-Price
tree domain sheet music owned by Albert Einstein,
a dime bag of Spectre’s toenails, and an old collection
of poems tête-bêche written by two strangers holed
up in a grotto in the Jewish Wasteland, complete with
Jewish hexes and enchantments,
I now dream of and
Where is the Castlevania cart with the key inside?
It’s still under One-Eyed Jim’s
porch, but rumor has it he’s still shooting
trick-or-treaters point blank,
at least according to Diary of a (Dead) Wimpy Kid.
Meanwhile, under a spotlight, under the ride,
RA Colin plucks erection mushrooms
from my t-shirt, warning me to stay out of
the bushes and apologizing for the broken
roller coaster and he says that I almost died,
but I’m more interested in going back to
the old docks and watching the steam seep in,
waiting for a girl from school to give me a
clue or quest.
“Are these Gamecube games yours?” he offers.
Then: we watch Coffin Kid, age twelve, get his
brains blown out, pumpkin bucket full of
tacks and crack.
His monster horde of ten year olds ho-hums away
and I decide to ride the coaster