Mummy Sandbox Reviews

mummy sandbox

It's like if minecraft was good

You dig in sandboxes with the goal of building yourself a body. 90's point & click songs play to soothe your mind of it's clinging to the unwholesome desire of immediate gratification. You want a body of your own, and you will dig dirt, and build sand castles to get it. You recognize that your labour will eventually bear fruit, but the image that occupies your mind is a you that is greater than the you that is now. It scratches at your internal monologue, and murders the actions you take. Why do you cling to something that will eventually happen to the detriment of your experience with the present? Your assumption is that you will lose your motivation in the noise of more sensory things. You see the fruits of your past labours of digging, and climbing as a result of that focus you've never really questioned, and find joy in them as yearly gifts of reflection from yourself to yourself. In those moments, you give yourself time to look back, and see the flame you've used to write words into others' lawns blowing out. You stare at your soil-worn spade, and your plastic sand castle mould as you reach the supposed pinnacle of everything. Of your life, and everyone elses'. You build your perfect body, and smile. On that beaming face is grind, and hustle. Like the Joker, you're a baby out of utero, and into car hand door hook car door. Your precious body is a wireframe pyramid without a bottom, and that lack of a bottom seems to suggest freedom. That same non-existence traps you in it's coil. You're now like a copper wire, limited by physical space, and forced to accept any currents, whether you can understand them before transmission, or not. You're incomplete. You should've never started on this journey to making a body; you're forever lost in the currents attracted by the lightning rod of material existence.