Hoenn roller coaster ride?

Hunting the Suicune; this is a new phrase in the land of its birth, one coined by recent developments, a recent person who is becoming legend. To hunt the Suicune is to chase your dreams; to quest after a hopeless cause; to seek and never give up, though you never glimpse your quarry, but to carry on seeking from pure orneriness; to go to see the elephant, travelling because you’re sick to the stomach of staying in the same place; to try and go out beyond the edges of things. “Now, bring me that horizon.”

I’m waiting on the delivery of the Hoenn games, fingers twitch-itch-itching to press the little buttons on the little controller and begin to kythe. Only that’s a lie; I’m kything already, but bits and pieces, guesswork and stepping stones. When the package comes in the post and the cart’s in the bottom slot of my little red spaceship, that’s when I’ll let myself fall into the river, be carried by the currents out to sea. When the kything becomes the air you breathe and the ground you walk on. (Earth, sea and air; Hoenn again there, the slow strong amoral forces that birthed the world where life can be.)

I don’t know what I’ll kythe from Hoenn, though I have guesses.

(And there’s an irony in all this; I walked those paths before and didn’t feel a thing, too caught up in annoyance at new game mechanics and the absence of old favourite Pokémon. I didn’t care for the third gen ‘dex; couldn’t see the beauty in the Hoenn beasts. Too narrow. Always too narrow. It’s always that way with me, maybe with everyone, like Jack pointed out in The Magician’s Nephew; try to be stupider than you are and you’ll succeed, try to be deaf and blind and you’ll succeed. Say No, not this, I do not accept this-and it won’t go away-it never does-but it’ll go from you. Or never show itself at all. It’s possible to go through the world with eyes closed, sleepwalking, and everybody does it at some stage, in some places.)

My guesses, my snippets, my dreams; earthquakes, volcanoes and tidal waves, hurricane and typhoon, twister coming-

-it's about the stars
the way they burn, the way they kill
it’s about the black acid ocean
the way the planet’s heart is red-hot iron
gravity that crushes
radioactivity
so many different ways to die-

so many different things we need
because we need all of them to be
or we cannot be.

the world is destruction
fury without malice.

all order is based on chaos.

Glory to Groudon. Glory to Kyogre.

...

The people of Hoenn-from them I kythe human warmth. Schoolteachers in sensible shoes. Old men who like to laugh. Lovers billing and cooing. An exuberant twychild. Stories, human stories, familiar as paving stones and sweet as Cadbury’s Dairy Milk.

Maybe that’s paradox, but to me that just looks like life.

I’ve been listening to the Lilo and Stitch soundtrack lately; the gorgeous sounds of Mark Keali’i Ho’omalu and the Kamehameha Schools Children’s Chorus have become the Hoenn Sound, for me. Hoenn roller coaster ride? Maybe so. It crossed my mind just now that Hawaii is volcanic. Lava and ocean water. Hoenn has Mount Pyre; I’ll have to wait for the playthrough, as I really can’t remember the geography, but perhaps there’ll be some similarities of appearance at least?

And I’m pretty sure that Wallace knows how to surf, as well as Surf. Hehe.