Is a slot machine still a slot machine when you surround it with gunky visual metaphors for indentured servitude? Is a slot machine still a slot machine when you balance all the medulla-massaging twinkles and jingles against some gloating indications that the apparatus means you harm – drawerfuls of pink, polygonal flesh; shivery text that seems to crawl away from your eyes; a first-person camera that appears to be constantly hyperventilating; a trapdoor right beneath your feet?
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