01 leeway – rushcutter (6:30)
02 conrad pack – conference (re-edit) (4:50)
03 conrad pack – outer drift (leeway refix edit) (4:59)
04 dj gonz - driven souls (5:23)
05 nebuchadnezzar – swimsuit edition (11:29)
06 III - 1607060092 (9:03)
07 dekalog – kurzweil (6:20)
08 gus cantor – penarth version (9:26)
09 conrad pack – deep distrust (raw mix) (5:16)
10 assassin – gabber smelled like pineapple and coconut (4:28)
While playing Dear Ghod you will encounter themes of death, selfishness, erotic obsession, and predation. Your character may be injured, victimised, trapped, or killed. Your character will murder and victimise people of all sorts, possibly including children, animals, loved ones, marginalised people, or themselves. Characters might engage in self-harm or drug abuse. Illness, debilitation, and body horror may come into play. Your character may have their memories altered, they will certainly forget important things. Some of this will emerge from the prompts, some will emerge from the choices you make.
このゲームをプレイしている間 死、利己主義、エロティックな執着、略奪などのテーマに遭遇することになります。あなたのキャラクターは負傷したり、犠牲になったり、閉じ込められたり、殺されたりする可能性があります。あなたのキャラクターは、おそらく子供、動物、愛する人、疎外された人々、または自分自身を含む、あらゆる種類の人々を殺害し、犠牲にします。キャラクターは自傷行為や薬物乱用を行う可能性があります。病気、衰弱、体の恐怖が影響する可能性があります。あなたのキャラクターの記憶が改変される可能性があり、重要なことを確実に忘れてしまいます。その一部はプロンプトから表示され、一部はユーザーの選択から表示されます。
release date: may 30, 2024
cd/digital available to pre-order now
mastered by mike grinser at manmade
image + text produktion: id mud
© 2023 lostdomain / doma star-sore
if you are reading this I have been murdered by ghod
My first thought was that he’d sleepwalked. They do that, apparently. I checked on the kids. No sign of him downstairs. I noticed that the security light had come on in the garden, and, without any conscious thought, I took a knife from the drawer. As I crept towards the back door, I heard the most awful wretching sound.
The door was unlocked and slightly ajar. I was able to step noislessly into the yard. Immediately I saw [him], doubled over by the shed, vomiting in heaves.
Jesus, sorry—
What the fuck… are you OK?
I didn’t want to wake you, he said, wiping a long thread of spittle from his chin. He was looking at the knife I held in my hand. I lowered it.
Thanks for cooking earlier. You know it means so much to me. The ritual, I mean. But...see for yourself. I can’t hold it down. I didn’t want to upset you. I remember how it used to upset you, before, when you couldn't feed me. But this is diff--
I know. Don't be silly. It's not your fault. Come on, come inside, let's go to bed.
It took a while to settle but eventually he fell asleep in my arms, while on my phone I studied INRI's FAQ.
Please remember that food can be ingested, but it can not be digested; anything eaten will need to be orally evacuated within 2-3 hours.
This was hardly a revelation to me, I knew the official literature inside out, had studied it as diligently as I did all the baby books and blog posts when I was pregnant with our first child. But somehow the reality of it took me by surprise.
The next day I took a mop and bucket out into the yard and gave the terrace a good going over. On the ground, by the entrance to the shed, I found a scrap of paper. Written on it in faint pencil, in a hand I recognised but couldn't quite place, were the following words:
I am the cloud
I am the father
I am the tomb of the sky
I folded up the note and put it in my pocket and...well, you know what I did. I did nothing.
t's easy to say now, with hindsight, that I should have heeded the warning, should have acted on it. But I mean, what would the appropriate action have been? I wasn't to know what was coming, was I? No one did.
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