Posted in StevenDPodcast

Steven D Podcast Episode 6: Coins, Rock Music… oh and Horrible Death.

Ep 6

This podcast features just me, Steven D. I start the podcast off by providing an opinion-based game play review of the Mine Racer game from 2mb Solutions, and then I move on to drag out an old yet still majorly addictive and rather enjoyable title from the now abandoned Dan Z Games called Super Deekout to mess around with for a few minutes.
As usual, you can expect some epic failure as I attempt to play these games, as well as interaction with listeners and all around random discussion. Remember that if you want to participate in an episode as it is being streamed, feel free to check out the main podcast page at for the streaming schedules. Streams will usually be done on Friday afternoons in the American Central timezone. You can also use this page to submit feedback about any episode or the podcast in general, and if you feel like it and have the means, support the podcast as well.

Links to Games Played in the Podcast

Posted in journal, life, stories

A Story All too Often Told

Even the wisest of men don’t see when they’re about to be blindsided, for if they could then how could it be labeled such? No sense of togetherness, completeness, or awareness is completely fool proof; one cannot possibly look at every minute angle at once. But far less plausible is the idea that they can not only look in every direction simultaneously, but process and understand the information they receive in doing so and use it to completely and accurately predict future events. No, a wise man can still be made a fool, so much so that he questions the reality of his supposed wisdom, and wonders if it existed in the first place.
I think of it this way: wisdom envies the need to love, be loved, and to belong. The aforementioned _need_ wields such awesome powers of persuasion that they can be likened, perhaps, to the hammer of Thor. What is wisdom though apart from words and ideas implanted into the mind as part of growing up? How is it more than a quiet voice, or a book that’s so easily ignored? It’s nothing, literally nothing more. It speaks, but even the loudest voice can’t be heard over the strike of an almighty hammer and a crack of thunder. It’s a book those of us who care to read often flip open for guidance, filling in the blanks as we go – maybe it starts out, when we’re 3, telling us that maybe we ought not touch that stove – it’ll hurt, very bad, but expands as we grow so that by the time we reach adulthood, we know who to trust and who to be careful with, among other things. It can’t remind us of all of its words if it’s closed though, or if its voice is muted – I’ve learned that way too many times and I think you have as well, at some point.
Even to the wisest of men, beauty speaks louder than wisdom, and being blindsided by so much of it strips the wise man of all his inhibitions except those of greatest importance. Wisdom is cast aside like yesterday’s leftovers, then the need to love and be loved and belong takes over, and brings with it some of its best friends – compassion, empathy, fondness, desire, love, and blissful blindness. And together, those little guys, so small and cute and dressed like angels, softly caress with gentle hands the wise man’s misgivings into loving, trusting submission, whispering softly to them that everything is going to be okay; “Let down your guard, this will make you happy. Let the heart guide the way.”

It’s all foolish fantasy though, and any truly wise man should, and would, know that. The heart casts aside everything that is logical, everything that is, in favor of “hope hope, hope hope, hope hope, hope hope, hope hope,” ringing the word with every beat. It tells you it’s okay to feel the way you do, that everything will work out like you wanted it to in the end; ‘Don’t worry! We got this!’
And the book of wisdom, that living, talking, apparently not so all knowing source of guidance, sits patiently in the background – and it waits, waits for the man to realize that his heart is wrong and it was right all along. And on that day when he inevitably falls on his face, abandoned by his broken heart and rolling on to his side, wiping the blood from his chin and staring despairingly into its helpless eyes, wisdom comes back and extends a hand to help the man up. And it speaks, in its ever quiet voice, “See what I was saying, you foolish little child? I still have much to teach you. Now we aren’t going to let this happen again, are we?”
And all the wise man can do is hang his head in humility, and lie to wisdom itself once more: “No. I’ve finally learned my lesson.”
Do you hear me? Do you hear me more clearly than I hear myself? I speak these words so often in my own mind that they are a mantra, so why can’t I understand them? If you have read any of this and given it so much as a second’s thought, then yes. You hear me, and that’s enough for me. I can’t expect you to understand that which is so far-fetched that I can’t come close to grasping it myself.

Posted in StevenDPodcast

Steven D Podcast Episode 5: Scramble… to Nowhere?

Ep 5

**This stream is informal, and all in good fun. Anyone jokingly called out at the beginning is actually a friend and no one is being genuinely insulted on stream. Most people know this, but figured I’d include it **
Welcome to Episode 5! In this one, Sam, Alec, Carter and I demonstrate this fun new game I’m creating called Scramble. It’s a rather arcade style game, but it’s unique and has several different and interesting concepts. You won’t want to miss this one!

Posted in journal

Cartwright Road

I never really knew much about the town I grew up in. I couldn’t see what was where and always had people to drive me places, because being a suburb it always suffered a severe lack of public transportation.
I did know a select few places though – my schools, my home, and of course I knew that Cartwright Road in Mesquite was either where, or close to, the location of McDonald’s. So, to me, Cartwright Road was always associated with McDonald’s.
Now though, it’s a cross and flowers; a monument to a truly beautiful soul, as it will be from now on. That McDonald’s is no longer just another McDonald’s, but the last place my bro would ever try to go and something we both loved. On Cartwright, just 30 seconds from McDonald’s is where he made his final thoughts, his final plans, saw his final rays of sunshine, maybe said his final words. Cartwright Road is more than just a passing point to other destinations now, or the route to McDonald’s, it’s Justin’s road home.
When he left, he took his one of a kind light with him. All those names written on the cross, all of us who didn’t mark it but stood by it, stroked it, contemplated it, we know how dark it is now. All those strangers who drive past it may see it out their window – but no way can they see the names and messages written on it, probably already blurred by time and the weather. It’s okay though, because I know it’s not their cross to bear. There’s no way they can feel the pain now because though they continue to drive on, he’s already home. I only wish they’d been given the blessing, as have I and several others, to share some of their lives with him.
And that’s what Cartwright Road means to me now – years and years of stolen life and opportunities. So much sadness and sorrow. Such deep longing and feelings of loss that it seems they have no end. Nights of silently and sometimes, when I’m alone, not so silently calling to the heavens for just one more opportunity to hear his voice, for him to tell me, “Hey Stuge, come here and give me a hug,” just one more time.
In my lowest points I wish I was the one on Cartwright Road that day – anything if it would bring him back to us. But just as it’s not the burden of all those strangers driving past his cross to stop and morn, it wasn’t my time to go; it was his. I don’t think it’s fair, but I know I’m not the one to make that call.
I do not know how long it will be before I get home, but at least I know that when I get there, I know that one of my favorite people in the whole wide world and beyond will have a light on for me. And when I walk in, he’ll want to know all about my journey, and I his. We’ll sit down to a table of chili dogs, both of us cradling cats in our laps, and we’ll talk, and laugh, and be absolute weirdos as we sit and listen to all those heavy metal bands he liked but I never could remember the names of.
And that is what I’ll remember, as I drive towards, and call out to my buddy at home just a little ways down Cartwright Road. And I hope that anyone else suffering with loss, unexpected or otherwise, can find strength in the fact that you too will get to walk into a warm house one day, warmed by not only your loved one, but Justin. Maybe they’ve already met, maybe Justin’s up there pulling pranks on them or sitting there with them for hours on end helping them through something they can’t figure out, or maybe he’s trying to impress them with his super long beard or the muscles he worked so hard to buff up. He’s probably telling them that unlike his little brother said, those aren’t tiny water pistols, they’re rocket launchers! I don’t know, but whatever Justin’s doing, realize that he’s brightening someone’s day up there.
I love you Justin.
Forever And Always,