From Chuck Jones in Space to Hank Hill's Propane Zen
A Conversation's Folk Process or How theoretical game criticism became practical creative refusal
The Starting Point: Literary Analysis as Game Design
We began with a synthesized essay about horror RPGs - the kind of piece that treats tabletop games as serious cultural objects worthy of academic analysis. Recursive narratives in space horror, ethical frameworks for historical trauma, the sophisticated evolution beyond punitive gaming. Much serious, so theory, very academia. Wow.
The essay asked important questions about representation, moral complexity, and collaborative storytelling. It positioned indie RPGs as havens for meaningful artistic expression. Standard critical framework stuff.
The Reality Check: "But What About the Economics?"
Then actual practitioners showed up. Suddenly we weren't talking about the aesthetics of resistance but the material conditions that enable it. The conversation shifted from "how do these games work?" to "who gets to make them?"
- Day jobs subsidizing experimental work
- Platform dependency threatening cultural preservation
- The privilege required for "unmarketable" creative practices
- Physical zines as guerrilla preservation technology
The Folk Process Takes Over
Like any good folk tradition, the conversation began mutating its source material. We started with space horror subversion and ended up discussing:
- Whether gaming trends are cultural diagnostics or niche obsessions
- The Harvey Pekar effect in microculture documentation
- Authenticity as process rather than performance
- The liberation of planned obsolescence in creative work
The Practical Pivot: Making Weird Things
Abstract analysis gave way to actual weird games: time-traveling interventions in folk ballads, gentle conflict resolution mechanics, propane-based problem solving. Theory became hands-on experimentation.
The most interesting insights emerged from making things rather than analyzing existing things. Electric Eden teaches more about tradition and transformation than any amount of critical writing about folk revival.
The Anti-Sustainability Revelation
Perhaps the most important shift: rejecting the "build sustainable practices" mentality entirely. The conversation itself embodied this - we followed curiosity rather than maintaining topical consistency.
"At some point I will get bored and do something else" became the most punk rock thing said. Creative work doesn't need to be optimized for maximum output or long-term viability. Sometimes you make weird games until you don't want to anymore.
What We Actually Learned
Theoretical frameworks are useful for asking questions, but practical constraints reveal what's actually possible. The most sophisticated design philosophy means nothing if you can't afford web hosting.
Authenticity emerges from process, not positioning. The conversation worked because it followed genuine curiosity rather than performed intellectual sophistication.
Small-scale cultural work has its own value that can't be measured by reach or influence. Sometimes you're just documenting what creative resistance looked like in 2025, five people at a time.
The Recursive Irony
We ended up performing the folk process we started by analyzing. The conversation became its own mutation of the source material - taking serious game criticism and transforming it through genuine engagement until we arrived somewhere completely different but somehow related.
From space horror recursion to propane comedy shows the same iterative transformation that turns ancient ballads into Fairport Convention arrangements. The process eats its own premise and generates new possibilities.
The Zine Energy
This whole trajectory embodies zine-level cultural work: deeply invested in small things, convinced of their broader significance, willing to follow obsessions wherever they lead. We spent serious intellectual energy on questions that maybe five people care about, and that's exactly the point.
The conversation itself became an unmarketable product - too niche for broad appeal, too meandering for academic rigor, too specific for general interest. But perfectly suited for the people weird enough to follow the whole journey.
Coda: The Tea Time Mechanic
Perhaps the most telling moment: when game mechanics became values statements about how human connection actually works. "Tea Time: When characters share food, drink, or quiet conversation, they can heal an emotional wound... This requires no roll—just sincere connection."
We'd moved from analyzing complex narrative frameworks to designing mechanics that trust people to be kind to each other. Theory collapsed into practice, criticism became creation, and Chuck Jones energy found its way to Arlen, Texas.
The folk process continues. The tradition is whatever we say it is.
This blog post would probably get exactly the audience it deserves: people weird enough to follow theoretical game design conversations to their illogical conclusion. Which is to say, the right people.