A stomach forest

I think people should scratch at the walls, instead of at themselves. I get so damn overloaded, and life keeps ripping me back from dissociative refuge, that'll I'll just sit at stare and rutch...but I stopped rutching, and watched the making of Bambi. 

Love labor. It enraptured me, really.

 Bitsy starts with a B.

 So, bitsy. I love it, it frustrates me immensely, but I'm sure that is my own doing, because I don't know what I'm doing. Just eating scraps and existing in an  8 x 8 space. Three colors at a time, pull the straps harder please!

 This is a short game that is more about the scenery that anything. Things talk, and there are "secrets" to be found. The Bitsy music maker brings me glee. I hope that shines through. I don't know if anyone reads this shit. I wouldn't bother. Just play the game and be the deerthing, and hear the terrible shit that sentient fecal matter have to say, or don't. It's fine. Scratch at the walls to make them more a part of you. By accumulating drywall under your nailbeds, you assimilate with your surroundings. It's not about what's missing, it's about what you take. You can't have more of your face than you already have. So don't rip it off and ingest it. It is so easy; you are literally refraining from action. A good little ball of potential, that will not rip its own face off. I know that the mirrors lie to you, and that the only way to really know what you look like is to rip off your own face. Reflections in the pond? No. :( Lies. Living things, algae, plankton, conspirators. Warping your input. The ocean is foam, leave it alone, unless you are ready, to call it your home. There is no water in this game. There is dripping. But thats ok. Leave your face in place.   

This was a love labor...because of 1942 and the people that worked on Bambi (I feel like I'm in someone elses body, like 80% of the time)