Unreal atmosphere. I’ve always liked this one to some extent or another, but it only dawned on me recently just how good it truly is.

Tenderness is a feeling that is not very common in GD levels, and I think it stems from how it's very hard for players to get into that mindset of collected-ness and intimacy with the editor. There are a lot of factors that influence this, but the biggest one is that many players often feel they have to justify their time and dedication spent to this craft with expressions of grand spectacle, often leaving more quiet, humble projects to the wayside. We are constantly seeing it today, with the community's most lauded works being shallow, fast reels of ideas, imagined in intricately detailed art reflective of other games' artstyles or real life. It feels inauthentic, and it leads to our discussion of current topics in the community to be incredibly short-spanned when there isn't anything to discuss in depth about these levels.

The Moon Below stands as a defiance of our contemporary situation in GD. It's a thoughtful journey through what I like to describe as the wash of blots of colors one sees when they close their eyes. It's a very personal feeling- your eyes are looking inward, towards yourself, towards your own psyche. You call upon past memories, and the blots of color take shape, dancing through your view, accompanied by the symphony of your inner monologue, echoing through your mind. Within this level. I see myself.

I call upon my regret. It washes over my face with embarrassment, embarrassment for the person I once was, embarrassment for what I've done throughout my life, for those I've disappointed many, for the many mistakes I've made, and I will do no different in the future. Ruins of my own failures, failures to keep promises, failures to express my authenticity, failures to be the person I want to be, litter my mindscape, towering over me like monoliths.

I call upon my nostalgia. Its spirits swirl around me like fuzzy, bumbling bees. Reaching out to one causes it to list away lazily before settling back into its spot as I retract my hand. I try again, more forcefully, before numbness surrounds my body, my gears slowing down, the needles and spines of my most formative memories lulling me into a stupor. False desires- that I could stay like this forever, that I could remain in the countless episodes of memory for as long as I want, that I don't have to worry about what comes next- crowd around me like vultures waiting for their prey to expire.

I call upon my hopes and dreams. My body responds. My legs and arms become heavier. My battered hands radiate burning, numb pain from my years of using them. My shoulders and eyelids droop, barely able to keep themselves upright. My heart, god damn it my heart, feels a million pounds heavier. I am held back, held back by everything else, always out of reach from them, their starlit shells taunting me. Always sitting at the edge of the table. Always a bridesmaid, never a bride. Even if I were to touch them, their protective bubbles repel anything that could potentially free them. This is for my own good, I think to myself, I have to atone before I get what I want. I have to serve others before I serve myself.

Maybe I shouldn't overthink things. Maybe I should open my eyes.

Esteemed readers, it is with the utmost pleasure and profound admiration that I endeavour to elucidate upon the unparalleled merits of that literary opus, "Back o' the Moon," penned by the illustrious Oliver Onions. This narrative, a veritable paragon of literary excellence, transports the discerning reader to the rugged terrains of Yorkshire, where the indomitable spirit of the region's inhabitants is rendered with such verisimilitude that one is irresistibly compelled to immerse oneself in their world.​

From the very commencement of this magnum opus, one is ensnared by the vivid tableau vivant that Onions so masterfully conjures. The depiction of the miners, their visages begrimed yet illuminated by an unquenchable fervour, evokes a palpable sense of camaraderie and resilience. The scene wherein Monjoy, that redoubtable figure, ignites the furnace amidst a cacophony of jubilant exclamations and the frenetic dance of lanterns, is rendered with such meticulous attention to detail that the reader is virtually transported to that very hillside, amidst the fervent throng.​

Onions' portrayal of the human condition, ensnared in the vicissitudes of fortune and the inexorable march of industrial progress, is nothing short of sublime. The intricate tapestry of relationships, fraught with tension and underscored by an unspoken code of honour, is delineated with a subtlety that bespeaks the author's profound understanding of the human psyche. The ritual of drawing lots, a moment suffused with palpable dread and fatalistic resignation, serves as a poignant testament to the precariousness of existence and the capricious whims of fate.​

The topographical descriptions are rendered with a poeticism that elevates the very landscape to the status of a living, breathing entity. The ascent of Soyland, with its formidable cliffs and labyrinthine heather-clad slopes, is depicted with such evocative prose that one can almost perceive the chill of the moorland breeze and the treacherous footing beneath. The cavern, a sanctuary amidst the relentless pursuit, is imbued with an almost mystical quality, symbolising both refuge and the inescapable isolation of those who dare to defy societal conventions.​

Furthermore, the narrative is punctuated by moments of profound introspection and existential rumination. Monjoy's internal deliberations, as he grapples with the ethical ramifications of his actions and the spectre of mortality, are articulated with a philosophical depth that invites the reader to engage in their own contemplation of life's ephemeral nature. The juxtaposition of the tangible, corporeal struggles against the backdrop of the immutable, indifferent cosmos serves to underscore the transient yet resilient essence of humanity.

In summation, "Back o' the Moon" is an unparalleled tour de force, a literary gem that scintillates with the brilliance of its prose, the profundity of its characterisations, and the timelessness of its themes. It stands as a testament to Oliver Onions' prodigious talent and his unwavering commitment to the craft of storytelling. To partake in the reading of this novel is to embark upon a journey of the soul, traversing the undulating terrains of human emotion and emerging, irrevocably transformed, into the luminous expanse of literary enlightenment.

i didnt write this chagpt did !!!