I believe in the shared self through writing. It’s a medium that provides an unrivaled openness. I wrote this in hospital, waiting for news on my unwell grandfather who had suffered a stroke. He sadly passed aged 90 and a half less than a week after the event.

The below isn’t finished, but like a short tweet, I don’t think it needs to be a complete piece of prose.

Everything is ridiculously trivial. A vast blanket pulled over you eyes preventing you from seeing the truth. That spilled coffee? You’ll live. The person who bumps into you on the way to work. An accident. The burglary when you were out – things can be replaced. The football matches, the video games, the long nights in the pub.

They all conjoin to make the fabric of existence, but when it comes down to life and death, these trivialities wash away. In a daze you stumble along, unsure on procedure – should you cry, laugh, sit solemn in silence? How about occupy yourself with a book, your mobile phone or your twitter feed.

Pieces of pointless information flying by in the name of social. Anything but. An informational resource, yes, but tangible communication? Try again. It can bring together in ways unseen, but it subtly pulls you apart from the inside

“I’ll see you next week.” Online. Well, you won’t. Even with Skype you’re interacting through a screen, unable to touch. I strug

At this point we were called away by the Doctor and I didn’t finish my thoughts. Thanks for reading.

Last weekend I went to the WWT (The London Wildfowl and Wetlands Centre) for a day of (cold) photography. I’ve added some of the photos to my 2012 showcase (look at the fluffy baby geese!), but a full set is available on Flickr here. I also met Iron Man on the Tube on the way home.

People say a lot of silly things, but once in a while someone comes along and speaks the truth. The above was said by the man the film 127 Hours is based on – Alan Ralston. I don’t think I’ve ever heard such truer sentiment.

How can your mission in life change in an instant?

I’ve grappled with my current journey a lot recently and it’s evident that a return to reading is changing everything. I’ve just finished Barack Obama’s autobiography (if you can call it that) and there’s one particular point that stands out.

The text overall is a fascinating insight into Obama’s life. Whether he’s discussing issues of race, his false start in life or his earlier years in Hawaii and Indonesia, he doesn’t hold back. I expected a political bore fest. What I actually got was a re-evaluation of what’s life’s all about.

Consumerism is a lie – I’ve always known this, but it’s a fact that’s very difficult to escape. The world is what it is and it takes a huge amount of effort to go against this conformity.

Before you ask, I’m not off to join a commune.

In Obama’s book he describes an encounter at 22 years old. A particularly astute man questions his career choice with the words, ‘don’t waste your youth. Don’t wake up old, tired and [for the sake of this argument] regretful.’

Our time on this earth is limited. The key is having no regrets. ‘Stuff’ is essentially pointless and recently I’ve been clearing out vast amounts of junk that doesn’t hold any value to me. Life is about experience. This TED talk is particularly relevant and well worth the watch.

I’ve always seen myself moving slowly towards a counterculture existence – a movement which begun with my discovery of beat poetry at University. I’ll get there eventually. It’ll be a modern version – living by 1950s counterculture ideals is impossible in 2012, but the belief that things don’t equal happiness is still easy to live by.

Sometimes there’s a point to these mini essays. Sometimes there’s no meaning behind them. Other times I write them for a future self that holds the key to the lock. Who knows.

Wow. It was a year ago today. A whole year has passed. The trip’s memory is still fresh in my mind. It changed me forever and more than I’d ever think it could. It set me on track to begin an amazing journey. If you’re interested in what I did for those three weeks a year ago, be sure to check out my diary.

There are no words to describe just how bored/depressed I am with suburban clubs. Or maybe there are…

Writhing, a messy pile of ugliness. Not physically, but an outlook. A lack of perception. A repetitive strain upon the consciousness.

Drunk on self destruction without a thought to the damage done to others. Skin on show, titillation defunct. Unattractive, aggressive creatures caged in their personal hells. A key to the lock at £2.99; shot shaped, piecing the heart.

No escape. Angry young men crowded round a test of strength; unable to communicate without fists, a hollow number cementing their lack of worth. No desire, sexual or self-betterment no matter how hard they try.

Black walls, black lights, black hearts. A cyclical event – a show to the gods of consumerist depression. Play it louder, the game harder, the loser the only one actually winning at life.

Heels; heel girl. Hot pants without the hot. Or pants. It’s all pants, the stained underwear of the failed suburban dream on the outskirts of personal worth. Or wealth, notes dipped into alcohol, drinkers guzzling down sorrow and pain. Numb, feeling nothing but the swill.

London is wet. That is all. Enjoy a resurgence of street photography.

The best criminal drama you haven’t seen since Mesrine? Romanzo Criminale, an Italian series set in the 70s. It’s fricking (yes, I used fricking) phenomenal. I’d go as far as saying it’s the best crime series since The Sopranos (arguably the most impressive, consistently great TV series ever). Romanzo is particularly adept at capturing the style, sound and violence of a criminal underworld. The acting’s superb, the narrative on the money and the setting delicious.

Something else it does extremely well is position the story within the context of the period. I for one, despite being half Italian, am not hugely familiar with Italy’s past pre 2000. For example, I’d not heard of the 1980 Bologna Bombing and the 70s political turmoil before watching Romanzo. 85 were killed in the worst event in Italy’s history since World War II. I always just thought the country was beautiful women, pasta and sleeping between 1PM and 4PM.

It seems you learn something new every day, which leads me onto this:

Might do a semi-regular blog post sharing what I’ve learned (in terms of knowledge, books, films, photos, business) would you read that?

— Marco Fiori (@M_Fiori) April 10, 2012

One person (C.Y.) responded positively. That small number is enough. If I can share knowledge with someone, then that’s fine – I’ve bettered an individual’s life. So, stay tuned for whatever I deem important enough to share.

Also Game of Thrones has been renewed for a third season only two episodes into the second which is fantastic news.

Happy Chocolate Day +2. Did you have a good Easter? I did. I realise it’s been a while since I wrote my last entry; a possible end to 16 years of gaming indulgence. To demonstrate just how far I am from my previous state two years ago, I spent my Bank Holiday clearing out an old board game cupboard. Rock ‘n Roll.

At the moment I’m really into music (and Alan Sugar’s Autobiography) – you can find me on Spotify (Marco Fiori) where I curate various genre playlists. When I get bored (read: overplay) tracks, they get moved to the all encompassing playlist Eclectic Bin. In there you’ll find 20s big-band, hardcore rap, swing-house, hardstyle, Ibiza Electro, classic crooning, Detroit hip-hop, French R&B, commercial pap and everything else in-between.

Let me know on Twitter if you have any recommendations of artists. I’m probably the most musically-broad person you’ll ever meet. Just no Indie.

The following post was written in France.

Two and a half years ago I was on track to be a games journalist. It’s what I wanted from life. Then something changed.

Despite my flurry with PC Zone, the now extinct UK PC gaming magazine, I had to find a mid-recession job that matched my strengths. PR, marketing, publishing, editorial; hell, even sales at one point, were all on the radar. Luckily Bamboo PR panned out, but I now sit pondering what might have been.

Sometimes it’s hard to pinpoint the moment I stopped caring about games. In January 2011 after a particularly heavy Christmas Steam sale, I decided to stop buying games for a month.

Surprisingly, or maybe not so, I coped fine. Spurred on I decided to see how far I could go – big releases like Mass Effect 2 and Red Dead rightfully caught my attention, but around six months ago something completely changed.

Game Over

Suddenly, it wasn’t just buying new games; I didn’t even want to play those I already had. I kept myself amused over winter with Minecraft; a passive non-gaming activity that allowed me to watch films simultaneously.

In January 2012 that stopped, and the desire to play anything was even less. I’ve gone through the motions with Football Manager 2012 (another non-gaming experience) and the odd bit of freelance here and there, but there’s nothing remotely pulling me to play.

My Xbox hasn’t been on (bar the recent review of Birds of Steel) for 6 months. My Steam account’s played FM2012, 2 hours of CS:GO’s beta and a night of GRiD with Craig Lager et all. Oh, and a multiplayer session of L4D2 with some ex-PC Zone boys.

I’m trying to decide whether I’ve grown up (a stupid thing to say considering the age-accessibility of games), had a monumental shift in taste, or just come to a natural conclusion after 16 years of playing video games.

1UP

The longer I go without the medium, the more I learn to live without it. Oddly, the biggest yearn I’ve had is reading. You had to force me to read my University syllabus, but now I have the urge to re-read, taking my time.

I’ve mentioned my sudden thirst for knowledge, especially in the cinematic area, already. Maybe I’ve just come to the realisation that while gaming is arguably the greatest entertainment medium on the planet, it’s also one of the most useless.

Productivity is a funny thing – I don’t regret the thousands of hours I’ve put into gaming, but the same amount of time broadening my literature, film and photography skills is likely to leave a longer legacy than a strong k/d ratio.

I’m not suddenly lamenting those that continue to enjoy virtual pleasures, nor suggesting
there’s anything worthless with gaming itself, but I’m just struggling to see how it can help better myself, improve my cultural knowledge and help others who meet me along my hopefully long journey.

[Self Edit - Parts of] gaming, much like modern cinema, are broken. They are and will be for a long while. You don’t have to have degree to know that. Or maybe I’m broken. Who knows.

EDIT: As C.Y. rightfully points out – when I say gaming’s a pointless medium, I’m unsure at this current point in the industry, and my own life, as to whether that’s a personal statement, or a broad one I believe in.