The Game Server Tapestry

Machine embroidery and applique. 2018 (in progress).

I grew up…

I grew up inside of a desktop running Windows XP. I remember the first time I stepped inside—it was raining. The trees were pressed sheet thin and lit by an eerie light with no source. There was an entire world to explore poised on the CD tray of my machine, and in the machine I could cast spells.

Outside, there was a cul-de-sac. The next street also had a cul-de-sac. I did circuits between the two on my scooter. The sound of the highway was very near, and bounded my world. I soon learned of new worlds from the few kids on my street, and I dove in. Internet games are heady stuff, and the days are awfully short in North Jersey. It was not hard to go native. Within the computer, I could run through castles, collect artefacts, forge steel, furnish my home, learn ancient secrets, teleport, trade currency and complete quests on the behalf of the many, many entities desperate for my help. It was always twilight. The flat span of the monitor contained so much more for me than the cul-de-sac.

It was an eerie thing to come to the edge of the map, but it was also inevitable. I paused and waited for the world to render out around me, but it didn’t. There was nothing more to load. The world was bounded by absence, and there wasn’t even really a true edge. I clicked in the absence to move there, but I didn’t move. The “x” that shows where I meant to go faded, and I was no closer. But there were still castle walls to retreat to, and they were mercilessly flat, but so is drywall.