Been a long few weeks of coughing, wheezing and unwellnes, but we got a bit of rest. Not just body being idle, the cogs in our mind needed still, the guilt of burnout needed bleeding, the patter of sand from the hourglass needed quiet.

Feeling renewed. 

Feeling the bitter pang of piss and vinegar.

Feeling the stars aligning. 

It's been a trying decade, but we will find no bounty without toil and suffering. Perhaps we've properly wet the fields with blood sweat and tears.

Health waxes the candle burned at both ends.

As we rise from this set back, we stand on the ashes of this industry, in its wake we feel empowered. A grand horizon lays before us where once haughty towers of ivory fought for our attentions. 

We never had dreamt we'd be reforging an industry, no fathom for the length of this journey; the pitfalls of madness we would endure. But in this instance, the project feels important. worth fighting for.

Perhaps we're crazy, but it is my belief that our endeavors in SeaCrit are going much better than we've let on. 

Better to play the fool when you're attempting to move what appear to be impossible mountains. 

But today, and in this final stretch we hasten beyond the treading of water... Damn the doubts, damn the hate, damn the torpedoes.

Today we're steadfast. 

Today we are eager.

Today we are hungry.

The years of unrequited toil weighs light on our shoulders.

The rocky landscape ahead illuminates with shafts of brilliance as snow dances from above to the unventured terrain out yonder carried with ash spun up from below. 

The bitterness of what has been is sweetened by what can be, if only we nurture what is good and true

It's Christmas time, the houses sprawl to the horizon twinkling with holiday glow. There's a fresh sting of optimism in the air. 

Maybe this world is mending. Maybe the mad machine is no longer strong enough to contain us. 

The seas of glimmering spectacle rolls out into the black nothing as good will and merriment engulfs the nothing.

In this moment we pray...

For World Peace...

Just kidding...

Tomorrow we roll up our sleeves and get back into grit and grime, we amass the pungent sludge under our fingernails as we claw to bloodied salvation, our calloused forehead splits once more as we smash our brains against the brittle refactors. 

We punch the keys with blood soaked fist.

Tomorrow it's back into the  mud and guts as we fight the hordes of endless smarm fuck. 

We will claim what is owed by that blood, sweat, and tears streaming our brow, by our undying ambition, by our hard fought mastery of gamedev over the endless torment. 

Our wounds will not be for naught. 

What doesn't kill us makes us stronger. 

YOU CAN'T KILL WHAT'S ALREADY DEAD M*THER FUCKERS!

Tomorrow we drown the hoops and the hollers of the heretic as they shit kick and giggle in the shallow pools of our life blood, their feeble bodies will char to ash in scorching hot metal as we commence to ripping and tearing unrelenting.

We will make a greater, more perfect creation in our lonesome, in the dreary stillness of this cave, and it will put their paltry finger fucking paintings, wimpy ass circle jerk pity party to fucking shame.

Your suffering means nothing unless you win...

May the best game win, you conniving, dicklet, poser shits.