in the above quotes, dot is making a large number of claims directly about gameplay (forever), and i thought: maybe i have something to say to all of this? here are six separate claims that i feel can be addressed in some interesting way:

• gameplay (forever) is badly designed
• gameplay (forever) is badly designed on purpose
• there [is] no rhyme or reason to what blocks appear where in gameplay (forever)
• gameplay (forever) generates impossible situations to climb through
• gameplay (forever) is one of a number of "lackluster parodies of better games"
• gameplay (forever) is asking why anyone would bother with it

the event that happened to motivate me recently was reflecting upon certain obviously (to me) incorrect assumptions/conclusions in this youtube video by "i am a dot." about my game the end of gameplay: "I Played the Game That Hates Gameplay and I Have Thoughts"

Quote from: i am a dot.[22:32-]In the case of "gameplay (forever)", this endless tower is badly designed. It's bad on purpose, but it's still bad. There seems to be no rhyme or reason to what blocks appear where, which leads to impossible situations to climb through. Also, the controls are weird, and floaty.[-22:47]

this claim of dot's is part of a larger theme in his video -- he observes that many of the levels are, or appear, impossible, and concludes all these seemingly impossible levels comprise a kind of rhetorical expression of futility: why would you play, if there is no reward?

this particular level or sub-game or poem within the end of gameplay ("gameplay (forever)") seemed, to me, to be a particularly interesting site for making a counter-claim.

dot summarizes his observations about a series of levels, including "gameplay (forever)", as follows:

Quote from: i am a dot.[23:06-]The End of Gameplay gives the audience lackluster parodies of better games and asks why anyone would bother with them.[-23:12]

i started to play gameplay (forever) to get a high score.
sometimes when i play an arcade game, i think, i could get a high score.
this happened some months ago with adamatomic's KOLYDR
where i scored 90900 points and satisfied myself with "dethroning adam".
he had said (see above linked bleet) "100K was in reach"
and to me that felt like an impossibility made possible.
having previously played KOLYDR i thought, there's some upper bound, and i don't feel like getting there.
but suddenly when that upper bound was brought into focus i felt drawn to get there. it was within reach.

there are now significantly higher scores. even at the time that i posted my 90900 score (though i did not know it at the time of posting), derek yu had already scored 100200, and now the high score sits at an impossible 236800, by none other than my good friend pancelor (link to itch page, with many various games to play including make ten deluxe).

at some point with a game like this i start to feel an internal sense that either, or both, the peak is unreachable, or i'm not willing to put in the effort to reach it. in the case of adam's prophecied 100K, i felt that it was possible for me to achieve. in the case of pancelor's 200K+, i felt, and feel now, that it is unreachable, at least given the techniques that i have and know now.

sometimes i don't like these sensations. other times i like them. sometimes i am inspired to knock over one or the other or both. in that last bleet pancelor writes, "learned a couple bizarre new techniques for this one, it's wild how much depth this game has :)" -- if i was so motivated, i am sure i could ask pancelor to teach me of these techniques, seek to master them, and then submit myself to the process necessary to extract a high score from skillful application of these techniques.

another game to remind me of imagining movement but also real movement. proprioception but also body. touching

second game:

"hold infinity gently one two
 cradled in your mortal hands three four
 smile five six smile seven eight
 select anything at all smiling nine
 make it real like ten
 you are certain eleven
 you are correct twelve
 because you are thirteen fourteen fifteen sixteen seventeen eighteen nineteen twenty."

a game to remind me of imagining movement, my movement, in the gymnasium, on a day when i recovered despite being poorly rested and making undirected decisions, and surreal proprioception in the real world, touching

"player's doing and being
     everything and everywhere
 placing hand on stovetop
 leaping and standing still and running
 screaming and not screaming
 crawling while screaming and not screaming
 wearing own clothes and another player's clothes
 touching wall
 touching ceiling
 touching sky"

"player's
 infinite
 hands

this morning late at night i imagined being with you nobody in the dark room, wondering

could i be nobody with you without you or with anyone?

tomorrow after a sleep insufficient through noon and after i walk under a burning sun and before i reach out for my lost pride

i thought i don't want to write anything except in the dark room with you but what or who are you? only darkness? like sleep and dream your shadows

in the bright room my dark room anywhere, even here where the suns glow creeps, even tomorrow where the suns fledged and scorches cartops

my dark room even at night when everything is already dark and already room, my dark room on purpose, my dark room with everybody.

neon yellow. flash!
my little body flies like a breeze.
my quick movements flow
     less and less clumsy.
i live and i die in a tomb,
who am i?

i collect coins
     on my way to the summit
i'm given a wallet
     and gratitude for it
i'm given no choice
     and sweet simplicity it is
     being a fish on a hook baited
     with my favourite treat!
who am i?

the philosopher's book in my city
(in bright blue, white circles,
     the sky made simple,
     for simple skygazers, cloudwatchers, moonlookers, sunbathers)
says the beauty
is the oubliette itself
we choose our prisons
who am i?

entomb me in the last stone that you bury underground
and when the final red key locks the magic door
     give me no score thing and ask no more.
who am i?