Perfection for the ages.

When I look outside and get a glimpse of the fuzzy Belgian sun caressing the permanent cloud cover, I know that this is what I want to capture in Bientôt l’été.

It’s not the most glorious thing on the planet, not the most spectacular or surprising. But it is home. It is delicate and subtle.

No, the masses will not devour the game on launch day. Or shower it with paper stars and plus signs. But through the years, the decades, lone wanderers will come back to it. As to a simple source in the middle of a jungle. It’s not the only water in the world. But it is the only water of its kind. There is very little of it. But I have drank some. And so have a few other brave men that I am honored to call my brothers.

When the human spirit has finally collapsed under the pressures of its vanity, Bientôt l’été will still be there, dripping its feeble sunlight for unsuspecting mouths of unlikely survivors living like a hermit on the overgrown ruins of what was once a promising civilization.

It is for them that I want to achieve perfection. Not an awesome game, flavor of the month, indie darling, game of the year blah blah. But a solid, stubborn rock that doesn’t draw attention to itself but that is there for those who know how to find it to lean there weary bodies on for a moment, before they struggle on.

To capture the heart of will-free existence, the joy of everything, happy and sad. The pointless wonder over the absurd. Sharing in-jokes with the cosmos.