“This is why you always carry a tissue.”

I-as I have often expressed with impassioned zeal-am a self-proclaimed hoarder. Resenting any implication that my obsessive need to catalogue, document and store my hoarded possessions is in any way a selfish obsession. I have established an extensive array of games and consoles, all of which are stored within a protective, and comfortable womb that they were originally presented in (though thankfully lacking the gaming equivalent of a placenta), safely preserved away from prying eyes or inquisitive physical presence. I still proudly retain my old PS1, PS2, SNES, SEGA Megadrive, SEGA Saturn, GameBoy, GameGear and even an old 9-bit Nintendo system with cartridges that resemble cremated slices of Hovis extra thick. These ageing machines are accountable for relinquishing many accumulated hours of vivid memories, so animated that they intertwine with the augmentation of the pivotal influences of my youth, those former moments of delinquent adolescence where the most crippling of considerations that I was forced to make, was what cereal to have for breakfast; Frosties or Coco Pops? Where of course the only appropriate response to such enquiries, was an amalgamation of the two! Mmm, Frostie Pops…. My questionable, juvenile nutrition aside however, it occurred to me with contemplative lucidity, that possessing such a superfluous endowment of games is a selfish endeavour.

It was in this moment of transparency that I began to empathise with the solitary confinement that my games have been audaciously subjected too. They aren’t being patiently cultivated, or preserved like rare amethysts or antiquities for historical posterity, but shunned, forced to into disrespectful and embittered confines simply to appease my voracious avidity for selfish aggregation. It’s a calculated aversion to relinquish games that haven’t even graced my voluptuous console for the better part of a decade, just so I can satisfy my own nostalgic propensity. Imagine being imprisoned in a game, condemned to a life of virtual purgatory, with only the lucid recollections of former satisfying guidance to cling to, desperate for a reprieve from hereditary damnation. Idly observing with cynical exasperation, generously asserted at newer requisitions that emulate your former interlude of prosperity that you and your and your inanimate accomplice shared, now repressed within the seething confines of a plastic cell. But my selfish gluttony for gaming ascension is the result of acrid revulsion to some individuals callous treatment and abhorrent mutilation of their discs, which seem to be utilised as coasters and occasional, as a game as an auxiliary requirement. But possibly I was being needlessly selfish in my supposition, and perhaps there are others who could benefit from my purchased wares that I pursued with tenuous curiosity, conceivably met with contrary expectations, or emphatic leniency to its substantial floors that I proclaimed reprehensible with an accompaniment of guttural, auditory appraisals, snorted with derisive endurance

“Much Like Dragon Age, Edge of Time was disappointing. But that doesn’t mean no one else won’t enjoy it, maybe?”

I’d like to believe that games aren’t shamelessly disregarded for brief, affluent reprieve to fund a respective, sequential replacement, but rather a conflicted resolution, exhibiting all the emotional detachment that compose’s your façade with remorseful comprehension of relinquishment, contrived by necessity rather than flippant excuse for a quick redeemed fiscal acquisition, grateful of its unique virtual sovereignty rather than contemptuous loathing for an unrequited joy. I’d also like to believe that second-hand gamers are a little more receptive, inclined to interpret my relinquished purchases with a more sympathetic reproach, with scrupulously neutrality for their deliberations, not shattered by collaborative anticipation of my own self inflated expectation or boastful reviews. Perhaps I’m experiencing some form of hallucinogenic from an, as yet undiagnosed mutation in my cranium, or I’m simply becoming a mild, subdued reflection of myself, but the sophistry that games malnourished in my possession, gaining notoriety with other less critical gamers, no matter how indignant, is a comforting notion.

Do you keep all of your old games? Or do you cash them in as soon as your finished? Let me know your thoughts. Cheers.