If Dylan Thomas/Jack Kerouac had played Quake2.
through the gl_modulate “15” of red-mist,
my Rampage zeroed toward the splash in,
ready to meet, with RL and anger on water out,
my foe, armed fresh with blue spikery.
Railpool, unruffled, lay beneath.
With ammo-packed Chain I drove,
down into the silent water_warp,
where, with polyblend “0”,
I spin amidst hum and tracery,
chain roar and painwave; my enemy evades.
Out and after, dodging among stimpacks;
Hopping Athena dances,
among mushrooming blooms of rocks thrown.
And on slope jump of waters edge,
amid particles “1”,
spiked and ping schminged,
tangled around with panic and madness,
I blow myself up.
Bind F1 “say Fuck it!”