This blog is dying, alone in the wilderness, with all the tools for survival but defeated by cold indifference. Mother nature may look after its own, but the unit of salvation is not the individual. Stumbling blindly through the forest, I seek the life of another whose blood can enrich my iron deficiency. But there are no boars, goats, or rabbits in my blind colour-depleted vision, and I can only stumble back to an infested town, where I succumb to a glitching Z whose arm reaches through the floor boards and causes me to bleed my remaining life away.
I then respawn on the beach, and in a reversal of hatching turtles, I scramble to the hills away from the shore, while snipers sadistically take the easy-pickings, and other turtle+s rush to steal my beans. Such are the South Coast Beans Wars.
DayZ has been around for a while, but I joined in after a number of RPS posts which almost inevitably boosted player numbers into the stratosphere. Like all video games, immersion and experience can be broken at any point by logging out and making a warm cup of tea to take with choice biscuits.
In contrast, a wander across the vast plains of Novaya Zemlya requires foresight and perseverance, but may reward via immeasurably beautiful desolate plains and windswept colonies, and occasional Russian environmental governance, i.e. abandoned works of industrial activity strewn across the landscape. I have not, and know not if I will, traverse the quietest places of the Northern Hemisphere, and am currently chained to drab domesticated Northern English damp, illuminated by an old monitor. But had I to choose a sonic outlet to experience somewhere between this life and the next, then I would listen to Thomas Köner's reflective experience of this place, which for me is but a location for extracting screensavers from Google Earth...