Survivor II: The Amazon - Page 23

The Ballad of Proberto

There once was a Protoss named Proberto.
His job to mine minerals, he would come and go
from the Nexus that he called his home.

A common display of domestic content, protrayed in a mannor suggesting reader appreciation. We are supposed to ‘like’ proberto. However, we are only given a vision of proberto that relates to his job, the way he contributes to the world, his extrapersona. The feminine perspective would indicate some sort of inward conciousness, but we are only given the masculine. It could possibly evidence for some sort of latent homosexual urge, or some sort of supressed hypermasculine sexuality.

The opening lines immediately bring forth a swell of emotion in one’s soul. Our hero, Proberto, is clearly a metaphor for poor overworked migrant laborers in California. We see from the second and third lines that Proberto is relatively simplistic in his needs, mining minerals for sustenance just as migrant workers pick fruits and vegetables. Proberto’s house is described as a simple Nexus, drawing parallels with the shacks that migrant workers live in. We are supposed to empathize with Proberto and the plight of all overworked and underpaid migrant workers.

Until one day the great hand in the sky
told Proberto to search far and wide
for what was hidden in the Fog of War.

Proberto’s journey for ‘it’ in the ‘fog of war’ is perhaps indicitive of the author’s own journey for acceptance in a extremely anti-homosexual world. Proberto fears the ‘hand’ of society and its heavy grip on his own life and sexuality, or perhaps he feels the hands weight. Regardless, he seeks refuge in the shadows of the world.

Many migrant workers are very religious so this clearly represents the work of the great lord himself calling out to this poor abused downtrodden innocent. Proberto is given a mission by this “god” to go and uncover the “fog.” This fog is a metaphor for corporate greed so we see that “god” is instructing young Proberto to help his people by appealing to the coroporate bosses.

Never before had Proberto left the base.
He was afraid of the dangers he'd face
out on the great wide map.

Proberto is obviously reluctant to begin his journey, as a simple migrant worker he’s probably never been anywhere but a farm. The “wide map” is symbolising the size of California and the difficulties Proberto will face in finding the corporate head quarters.

But the hand in the sky gave him protection
whenever he lost direction
and didn't know where to go.


This is clearly another god metaphor.

Proberto realizes the advantages of suprression of his basic urges, perhaps reflecting the narrators own struggles with his homosexual tendancies.

Proberto soon came upon a tribe of strange creatures
with metal buildings and deformed features.
He wasn't sure what to make of them.

The crux of the poem! Proberto has reached corporate headquarters but is understandably confused as to what to do next. He has probably never seen anything like a big agribusiness building and is nervous about entering.

Proberto tried to make friends with the band.
His laser extended, he tried to shake hands,
a cordial and well-meaning greeting.

Unfortunately for Proberto he is only acquainted with the rustic ways of the workers and does not know how to conduct himself in a high level boardroom. His hand shake is a common greeting method amongst the masses.

The savages didn't appreciate the intrustion.
They responded in anger and confusion
with guns, fusion cutters, and cannons.

Proberto is soundly rebuffed by the corporate bosses and thrown out by security. Judging from the violence of the metaphors Proberto was probably injured during the altercation.

This is perhaps the saddest part of the poem. Proberto’s (the author?) attempt to connect sexually with another person is met with scorn and rejection. Proberto ‘extends his lazer’ (a veiled reference to male genetalia) and is immediatly rebuffed by the heterosexual ‘other’ in the poem. This is almost certainly indicitive of the author’s own experiences with relationships.

Their bullets beat and battered Proberto's armor
and before long he could take no more.
He collapsed hopeless on the ground.

This is describing the beating that Proberto suffered at the hands of corporate security. As he is being beaten Proberto loses his drive to continue. This is the tragedy of the poem. Proberto was selected by god but in the end loses his belief when his god fails to help him during his beating.

"BWARRRGLRGLRGL" Proberto screamed and cried
as he suddenly exploded and died--

The poem ends with a dramatic portrayal of sexual suicide. Our author, sexually rejected by those who he finds attractive, is now asexual. I’d advise him to seek psychological help immediately.


This is Proberto’s faith dying.



A clumsy attempt at character development gives this mediocre poem an extra point, bringing its total up to 6.

We have before us the typical religious tragedy. Proberto begins his journey full of hope that he can help his migrant family but in the end he is destroyed by fources to powerful for him to conquer, the corporate bosses. For it’s simplistic nature this peom still displays some sparks of brilliance, such as placing the tragedy in a fictitious world of outer space but even then the poem may have been strengthened had the author just placed the poem in California. 6/10

Duty

I'm inside
Condemned to death of a scout
The buildings are moments from closing off
They tell me my job is important
I have been spotted
They tell me that I am a hero
The enemy has seen me
They tell me I will save countless lives
The enemy is chasing me

The beginning of this poem brings a sense of doom to the reader. It is as if the poet is guilty about something Let’s examine the character. The scout is willing to do anything, even commit suicide if necessary, for the sake of an all powerful “they.” We must speculate that perhaps the “they” has more influence than a normal person, for instance the “they” may be adept at mind control or some similar form of persuasion.

They have closed my escape
A hunter comes out
I do not feel fear
A hunter aims at me
I do not feel anger
A hunter fires at me
I just do my duty.

This poem seems to inhabit the soul of the feminine. Lines such as, “they have closed my escape” and “a hunter fires at me” indicate some level of introspection and almost a sort of paranoia, indicative of an extreme feminine personality. Our author is undoubtedly some sort of girl.

However, the poem is littered with “erect” masculine phrases as well. The italicized lines, “they tell me I am a hero,” “a hunter comes out,” and “condemned the death of a scout,” indicate a budding male sexuality. We can conclude that the author is probably a female → male transexual, and is just starting to take their testosterone injections.


The poet is so guilty that he cannot bear to force his mind controlled creation to live any longer. Rather than simply bussing his character out of the enemy base thus removing the effect of mind control, the poet takes the cowards way out and kills his character instead.


For an entirely predictable progression of storyline and my complete lack of empathy for the subject of the poem, I give this a 4.



The poet is projecting his guilt about recent decision making fails in regards to mind control onto a poor and helpless character. He uses the metaphor of a mind controlled scout to demonstrate his repentance. By choosing not to bus the scout out of harms way and instead killing him, the poet is demonstrating his acceptance that mind control always resolves before bus and there for this poem gets a 5/10 (the critics can only wish that the poet had come to his senses sooner).

'Ode to a Queen of Zerg society I once bowed before as her subject on a summer's day'


Dearest Queenie, empress of blades,
This lowly zergling adores thee.
Skrarking loud and sluggling soft,
On the Char you burned before me.

We’re given an interesting contrast here, the balance between the affectionate “queenie” and the formal “empress of blades.” Interestingly, “empress of blades” isn’t capitalized, indicating a direct fondness for and familiarity with Kerrigan. The narrator is clearly setting us up for a love poem.

We’re immediately tipped off that this is an avant gaurd poem by the poet’s rejection of the standard “kekeke” for zergling noises. Rather than taking the established route, the author makes his own words up, perhaps indicating a penchant for pretentious hipsterism.

I love you Queenie, I serve you loyal,
And lust in my humble blood pit,
For your fulsome glupules and pierced slipulate
And scaly saggy blood-tit.

A porely constructed rhyme still manages to avoid ruining this stanza, within which we are told precisely nothing that the previous stanza has not already demonstrated.

Continuing the trend of made up words, the author also introduces another element which suggests a hipsteresque attitude. The element I’m referring to of course is the author’s preference for scat or necrophelia, both easily seen through the author’s referencing of blood and “glupules.”

My uncles warn, my brooders cry,
Saying emotions are wrong and obtuse.
But I betray the celibate Cerebrates aloud,
The love slime i provide is profuse.

Further rejecting the norms of life, the author brings incest into the mix with this mysterious uncle figure who warns against the dangers of scat/necro, perhaps out of belated love from a long forgotten tryst. The mention of “celibate cerebrates” further reinforces this notion as the author is clearly trying to block out his memories of his uncle by convincing himself that they were celibate. However his “love slim” betrays him. It clearly refers to the nocturnal emissions he had as a child whenever he thought about his uncle.

Here we are given evidence that the narrator is going against the bonds of society with his love for the empress queen of blades. However, given his previous familiarity with her, we can assume that they are already intimate. Therefore it is their public association that he/she fears, specifically the thoughts of the “celibate Cerebrates,” although he/she insists that their ‘love slime’ is profuse, an obvious reference to the zergling’s sexual excretions.

So think on me sometimes, oh dangerous miss,
And if perhaps you feel some frustrations,
Visit my puddledrome of prickly pleasures,
And we'll screechingly pump out primal pulsations!

Continuing the now well established use of made up words, the author reveals a whole new side of himself here. He’s really into tentacle rape. He fantasizes about pumping out his “primal pulsations” with his “puddledrome.” These are merely code words for hardcore tentacle rape, the stuff that’s only legal in Japan.

Finally, it is in the second to last stanza that the poem resolves itself and we are made aware of the proclivities of the narrator. Kerrigan is connected here with “danger” and excitement, and our narrator projects some of his/her own fustrations upon the empress. Our narrator clearly feels some sort of fustrations that he or she expresses through sexual fantansies involving a giant bug lady. We can conclude through this that Tackster is either a sexually repressed lesbian or an extremely sexually dehydrated basement dweller, bored of masterbating to real women who has graduated to imaginary ones.


P.S. If you do come by give me some notice, would you? I need to cart the brood partner off to the spawn-pit-in-law.

The author has now fully revealed himself. He is obviously a hipster who tried married life out but found it too mundane. To satisfy his perverse sexual needs the author tries more and more hard core things. This final line only reaffirms what we already know about the author’s desires by revealing that he is indeed a married man but wants to cheat for the thrill of it.


For brief, humorously bad alliteration effort and a small amount of creativity in the final two lines, I grant this poem a 7.

This is a very daring poem. The author reveals some very disturbing details about himself. But other than being shocking, the poetic value is rather low and for that I’ll rate this poem a 6/10

End of passion play
Crumbling away
I'm your source of self-destruction

We are granted here an extremely pitiful expression of the narrator’s love life. Undoubtedly the narrator is a woman’s uterus, complaining about the lack of attention its been getting lately.

The author just had an orgasm. The details are all there.

Veins that pump with fear
Sucking darkest clear
Leading on your death's construction


We can conclude that this was probably during a bit of S&M play and quit possibly this was a “forced orgasm.” By using words such as “dark” and “fear” and “death” the author is letting us know where his mind is while he’s being dominated.

Taste me you will see
More is all you need
Dedicated to
How I'm killing you

Our narrator completely avoids the boundaries of common decency, going directly for the sexaul imagery here. Our narrator (the uterus), tired of not getting any attention from men, desires that somebody “taste me,” an obvious expression of a lesbian fantansy.

Despite having just been humiliated, the author wants more. He desires to taste his lover and play with his lover’s cock (yes it’s safe to assume at this point that the author is gay). However this is being denied from him and it makes him wish his conqueror dead.

Come crawling faster
Obey your master
Your life burns faster
Obey your master
Master

S&M. What else? Clearly our narrator is bored with masturbating to the tame stuff.

My fellow reviewer is a bit slower than myself in picking up on these hints. While he is only just now making the connection that the author is into really kinky S&M stuff, I have known this for a while. My fellow reviewer also makes the mistake that the author is referring to masturbation when in reality the author is referring to his male lover. He desires to be dominated but at the same time we may be picking up on a hint of self loathing, a trait that will undoubtedly cause him problem in any relationship he pursues.

Master of puppets
I'm pulling your strings
Twisting your mind and smashing your dreams

Here we are given a brief illumination of the heterosexual side of our narrator; she is clearly desiring ‘erection’ or the masculine presence in her (‘im pulling your strings’), evidence for a desire to be dominated, especially given the previous stanza.

This stanza builds on the self loathing aspect. Here the author has become delusional about his position (both literally and figuratively) in the relationship. He desires the power but cannot have it so he has reduced himself to imagining himself as the puppet master (or mind controller). It is through these fantasies that the author keeps himself under control.

Blinded by me
You can't see a thing
Just call my name 'cause I'll hear you scream

Master
Master

Just call my name 'cause I'll hear you scream
Master
Master

A few extremely poorly written stanzas extolling the usefulness of silence while writing poetry. What, are these song lyrics?

The author breaks radically from his previous format. This is indicating that the author is currently imagining what it would be like to be the one on top.

Needlework the way
Never you betray
Life of death becoming clearer

The poor rhyme in “way” and “betray” can’t manage to entirely destroy this strong stanza, given the wording of the third line. “Life of Death becoming clearer.” Beautiful, given our narrator’s previous indications of sexual fustrations. Finally we are given some sense of relieved tensions in this poem. At this point it is clear that the previous stanzas were mastubatory, and this stanza is post-climax.

This is an extension of the previous stanza. He is solidifying his position on top (remember that this is all in the authors mind, he will never achieve this position in real life).

Pain monopoly
Ritual misery
Chop your breakfast on a mirror

Further fantasy about life as the dom.

Taste me you will see
More is all you need
Dedicated to
How I'm killing you

Come crawling faster
Obey your master
Your life burns faster
Obey your master
Master

Master of puppets
I'm pulling your strings
Twisting your mind and smashing your dreams

Blinded by me
You can't see a thing
Just call my name 'cause I'll hear you scream

Master
Master

Just call my name 'cause I'll hear you scream
Master
Master, master, master, master...

Master, master
Where's the dreams that I've been after?

Master, master
Promised only lies

Laughter, laughter
All I hear or see is laughter

Laughter, laughter
Laughing at my cries

FIX ME!

Hell is worth all that
Natural habitat
Just a rhyme without a reason

Never-ending maze
Drift on numbered days
Now your life is out of season

I will occupy
I will help you die
I will run through you
Now I rule you too

Come crawling faster
Obey your master
Your life burns faster
Obey your master

Master

Master of puppets
I'm pulling your strings
Twisting your mind and smashing your dreams

Blinded by me
You can't see a thing
Just call my name 'cause I'll hear you scream

Master
Master

Just call my name 'cause I'll hear you scream
Master
Master

I don’t give a shit about the rest of the poem, it should have ended at my last comment. 6/10.

Like my fellow reviewer I felt that the rest of the poem was unnecessary. The author had already made his point that he was secretly unhappy with life as a sub and this poem is the written representation of the author’s fantasy life. For the parts where the author was not repeating himself, the poem did contain the essential “tortured” essence that all good poets must have however it’s excessive length did make it tedious (perhaps the length was the author’s way of compensating). 5/10

Of Ulaan

A lone Protoss, running, whispering
Silently through over crags and bones;
In the dark, in the dark, in the dark

The way in which our hero is described “the lone protoss” demonstrates a certain amount of racism on the part of our author. If the protagonist were black, would we read “a lone negro, running, whispering”? I think we might.

This poem begins with lots of stereotypically “scary” images. From “the dark” to “bones” the author possibly is trying to rid himself of a dark childhood memory.

He plods on, visions of his past
Threaten to overwhelm, but he is not there;
In the dark, in the dark, in the dark

A common theme in racist thought patterns is that of ancestral memory. During the most racist times in American history, black people were criticised because their ancestral memories weren’t as ‘pure’ as that of the aristocratic white people. I am reminded of H. P. Lovecraft’s own psychology, which was informed in part by his own aristocratic ancestry, and the ‘lower class’ families of many of his neighbors, but was entirely unaffected by his own extreme poverty.

The author straight out says it here. “visions of his past” is a clear message to us as the reader that this author suffers from severe emotional torment over something that happened involving bones in the dark when he was young

He can feel his brothers, hear the mock fighting
And the call of the High Templar, but they are not with him;
In the dark, in the dark, in the dark

Our narrator is struggling with the ‘dark desires’ of his brothers. In other words, he is desperately trying to break free of the inherited ‘flaws’ of his race. In reality of course, all races are more or less equal in their strengths and weaknesses, but this knowledge is not always extended to our society’s more racist elements.

The key word in this stanza here is “feel.” Remember what we have so far, the author was traumatized when he was young in the dark with “bones.” It’s all clear now, the author was molested by his brothers when he was younger. He also remembers the call of the high templar who are “not with him.” This suggests that perhaps it was a ritualized molestation he went through, presided over by demonic and unhearing high templar.

His mind returns with his urgency, and he
Senses their eyes watching;
In the dark, in the dark, in the dark

Voyeurism was involved apparently.

Zeratul's psi blade flashes to life,
and the graveyard of Ulaan grows;
In the dark, in the dark, in the dark.

“Zeratul’s psi blade”... need we say more? This is probably the ritualized dildo which his brothers used on him. And we even have a location for this sordid event, the graveyard of Ulaan.

For poor attention to rhythm and completely cliche word choice, i give this poem a 4/10.

My fellow reviewer wouldn’t understand art even if it nailed him in the ass like Zeratul’s psi blade, this poem is a genius metaphor of an abused soul crying out for understanding. 7/10.

Battle Anthem of the Dominion 137th regiment, the “Avengers of Tarsonis”
(sung to bagpipes)

Gunshots flash and bullets sing.
Zerglings howling: a piercing ring,
corpses stacked on this bloody field.
To the zerg we will not yield!
Now the medivacs have flown,
fight to keep this world our own!
Ignore the mutalisks chilling cry,
We refuse to yeild and die!

A clumsy attempt at an empathetic connection with the terran indicates that our either identifies with the zerg or is a horrible writer.

Aside from choosing the most godawful instrument in the universe to sing to, the author starts of well... to well actually, our author is speaking in the smooth tones of politicians. He is clearly urging young men to take up the fight against and enemy that is unkillable. The zerg swarm never stops but the author knows this and the longer the war goes on the more money his halliburton stock will be worth.

Dodge the baneling as you were told,
make their yellow blood run cold!
Into then zerg base we will drop.
Their horrid armies will not stop.
Ignore the chafing, drilling pain,
we will not give up the main.
Not with seigetanks placed nearby.
We refuse to yeild and die!

Assuming the latter, we learn here that our narrator is fustrated by “chafing, drilling pain,” the word ’drilling’ a clear reference to sex. we can conclude that our narrator is sexually fustrated.

Drawing on the same sort of imagery of the first stanza, the author continues to beg for more troops to fight his war. He even appeals to protecting the “main” which is an obvious metaphor for the homefront. The author is using outdated patriotic slogans from WW2 to try and get people to throw their lives away in the war against the zerg so he can make more money.

Forget the horrid putrid smell!
We will make our worlds their Hell!
“the zerg will fall” is what we swore
bring up the tank and massive thor!
Let it be said that not a single one of us fled.
Stand your ground 'till you are dead
The might of the zerg we will defy.
We refuse to yeild and die!

Nevertheless, our narrator insists on trying to contribute sexually to his relationships. An admirable commitment to sexual equality. Nevertheless, I think we can assume from the extremely defensive final stanza that our narrator is ultimately unsuccessful.

This stanza serves one purpose and that is to make sure that enthusiasm for the war never ends. As long as there is an enemy, the author can manipulate the public into supporting his wars which do nothing but line his pocket book.

Even though all looks bleak and glume
The dominion will not succumb!
Our lives are the way we pay the toll,
to the dominion we owe our heart and Soul
slaughter the zerg, every last drone!
The queen of blades we shall dethrone!
The time to fight is nigh!
We refuse to yield and die!

For very poor rhymes and a bad sense of the virtues of repetition, I give this poem 4/10.

Yet another “stay the course” paragraph. Appealing to the homefront again and identifying “public enemy number one” in order to ensure support for the war.

I find the author to be a despicable scum bag who wants people to die so he can make money. Also he wanted this played with bagpipes. 3/10

Letter to the Sky...ReDux
(the total distance from my heart to your seoul)


responsibilities burden my shoulders
crushing
me
logical fallacies pervade my thoughts
frightening
me
these drinks that I drink to forget-about-me
cause deep scars in my memories
of days gone by and your big strong arms
carrying
me

This poem begins with clear anologues to sexual repression and the desire for homosexual contact. The “responsibilities” that burden the narrator are clearly references to the repression of his homosexual identity, as is clearly explained by the desire for ‘big strong arms’ to carry him.

Let’s face it, the author has some unexpressed emo tendencies which he is afraid to let out. He tries to throw us off the scent by saying “scars in my memories” but that’s just a code. It would be socially unacceptable for the author to really say where the scars are, they’re on his arms. The burden he’s talking about most likely refers to the box of knives and razors he keep hidden under his bed.

The me I forgot is the me that lives on in your dreams,
continually floating in the seams,
between here and the forever widening sea
that I tried to flee
to when you were underservingly
taken from me

“undeservingly” is a slight mistep here in several ways (grammatically, coherently, and with regards to spelling), but the rest of this stanza is illuminating. Our narrator is distraught that the only way that he can enact his sexual fantansies is through his dreams. Likewise, he only exists in his subject’s dreams, though they are seperated by the ‘forever widening sea.’ Our narrator is not hopeful that he will get to enact his desires in the real world.

We have made a crucial mistake, the author is not a he but rather a she. This explains the first stanza even better and makes this one clear as well. The author’s boyfriend recently left her and so she’s lamenting in the only way a teenage girl knows how, by writing a ridiculously soppy poem to try and capture her “feelings.”

lost between the shots of gin and tonic
my mind stops working
because of traffic,
the traffic that caused you
to stop walking
to stop talking
to stop being
by my side

In fact, it is only through the powers of alchohol that our narrator is able to find release from his tensions. Interestingly, it is not the lack of control that the narrator finds attractive in the bottle, but the dulling of the mind. We can conclude that the author, in addition to being a latent homosexual, is also a useless drunkard.

She’s sinking into desperation. When cutting no longer cuts it, she moves to alcohol, probably illegally procured by either stealing from her parents cabinet or by selling herself to a local bum, the second scenario is much more likely given her temperament.

an error of the sky
this is not destiny,
more like a melody
gone horribly wrong,
the rain will not stop,
stop falling on my tears
as the total distance between my heart
and your soul
continues to grow

Emo bullshit about nothing in particular that doesn’t elaborate on any of the other themes in the poem. I’m liking this poem so far, so I’m going to pretend that this stanza doesn’t exist.

Once again my fellow reviewer is behind the times, I knew this was emo from the beginning. What this stanza is referencing is her selling herself for alcohol. It as most likely her first time and he was probably rough.

but my bravery I must get back,
to again pull myself up
by my own two
bootstraps
and wake up
cause I ain't a hack

‘Pulling myself up by my own two bootstraps” is a clear reference to masturbation. Our narrator is revealing that he is managing to overcome his or her sexual fustrations through the ‘universal practice.’ Apparently, he’s pretty good at it too, given the final line of this stanza.

Despite her horrible experience getting alcohol, the effects so soothed her emo tendencies that the author has decided to get more. Her method of procurement is to remain the same as she’s going to get it “by her own bravery.”

back to the practice
back to the satsi
-faction that
my wins and my honors
will bring me and my family clovers
of luck and fortune and
perhaps then
the total distance between my heart
and your soul
will grow closer

Poorly executed repetition and a few uninteresting stanzas can’t stop me from giving this poem a 7/10 for its interestingly futile use of line breaks and its depressing sense of itself which, while it ultimately completely fails at the authors goal of empathy for the narrator, manages to resurrect some sense of dignity through the pure force of its pitifulness, which while a depressing reflection of the authors inadequacy, is nevertheless very compelling.



"so im going back ...
dont worry...
im going back to the real nada...
so
remember
i will take care of my family dad..
and this is my letter...to the sky"

This last section rather garbled however we are able to determine that the author has decided both to procure more alcohol and to “go back.” By “go back” we can only assume that this is a reference to her emo ways. Thus the author has descended into a black hole of destruction. Prostituting herself for alcohol and cutting herself to relieve the shame. Then drinking to relieve the pain. This poem does a nice job representing the tortured artist however it was a bit too heavy on the imagery. 6/10

There once was a zergling from char
that was tragically hit by a car
He was hit by a man
and away the man ran
but I assure you he did not get far


No. 3/10

Post this in the TL limrick thread if you’re really in the mood for limricks.


An excellent limerick however it would have been better to perhaps include a series of limericks to better tell the story of the man after he hit the zergling and perhaps give us some back story to the zergling’s life... why do we care that this particular zergling died? 5/10

Psionic Dream


Sun Rising

Red sky surrounding

Rippling Disruption

Aching cogitation

Homelessly Waking

I think all of us can be very clear that our narrator is having her period.

Distant Brewing

The Storm is soon to come.

Lightning Flashes as Terrain Crashes

Shocking Waves flow through the Air

Clear references to our narrator’s desire for sex while she is ovulating. As a reader, i’m interested at this point in the poem about whether or not these desires are matched by the author’s partner.

Leaving only the Sturdy

Whelp, I guess they are. Somebody feeling sturdy today, hmm?

In What wheel of flame does this power dwell?

I guess we have a name for that particular partner!

Who wields the concentration or lacks the control thereof?

Is it the High Templars from afar?

Or perhaps the Queen of Blades?

Whomever it is, matters not

For A Psionic Storm Approaches!

I’m intrigued by the ‘psionic storm’ metaphor. Could this perhaps be a metaphor for the sexual energy of the narrator’s partner? Or is it a metaphor for the desire for children on the part of the narrator? “whatever it is, it matters not,” I suppose. 8/10 for solid use of language and such adorablely childish use of abstract imagery that it made me laugh.

For once I don’t have anything to say that my fellow reviewer hasn’t already said. 8/10

A cry of panic pierces the calm:
"Banes, Banes! Into the bunkers
and behind the Tanks!"
Then nothing more is heard

Immediately with the first stanza we are presented with a sense of sexual defensiveness. Our narrator is imagining banelings entering the ‘bunker’ (a clear reference to female sexual genetalia), clearly expressing a suppressed hostility to the feminine organ; he wants it to explode while he, the ‘tanks’ watches erect from the sidelines.

Another poem that builds on the theme of fear. A quick note, a bane is not just a green suicide bomber, it is also something that someone cannot stand and is constantly tormented by. With this in mind we have another repressed memory. The author could have picked any zerg unit from sc2 but he stuck with the baneling so he could subtly make his cry for help.

With that they are upon us,
the scramble for survival begins
each man pushing for his own place
amongst those who shall live

It is now that the female genetalia is mutilated our narrator is able to express his sexuality. The men in this stanza are clear metaphors for sperm.

The author is describing a nightmare he had as a child but is still too afraid to discuss as an adult and is reduced to making starcraft related poetry to find some release from his inner demons.

The sounds of death surround us,
and caught up in a haze of fear
We stumble forward and grasp
for some kind of lifeline

Overly vague imagery here, perhaps the lifeline refers to the clitorus?

Strong imagery here, this is what the author is seeing in his dream. The author is brilliantly putting the reader into his position in the dream.

Acid rain and deadly spray
amongst those who are too slow,
as we finally begin to turn
and fire upon our aggressors

This is the first time author has confronted his fears. He has finally realized that his dreams are only creations of his mind and that he has the power to destroy them.

Screaming into the face of the horde
fire courses thick through our veins
as we fall, one, by one, by one
taken by hungry claws and clamping jaws

Ultimately our narrator’s gambit is hopeless as he discovers that even when his sexual fantansies are fully expressed, he is still just as sterile.

Tragically though, the author is unable to fight against his own mind and he is overwhelmed by himself. He has fallen victim to himself and the best course of action would be immediate psychiatric care.

The Swarm Consumes Us.

Indeed, as boredom has done with me. 5/10.

After reading the last line the best course of action is actually long term confinement in the psyche ward as the author is clearly letting his imagination influence his real world actions. Thank you to the author for revealing these dangerous traits about you 7/10

Rage Quit
The battlefield is virtual,
But the rivalry is real.
Damn straight, it is real—
Anger bubbling to the surface;
Overwhelming, growing
Bigger
Bigger
Bigger
A bubble of rage about to burst,
Vision clouded in red haze.
Fury—seething
Madness—brewing
Dignity—
Where is his dignity?
We are presented very early with this poem with clear erectile imagery (bigger, bigger, bigger, “about to burst,” etc). However, the immediate sense of rage that the author effectively forms seems defensive somehow.

The author addresses this rage with a shocking familiarity and casualness. In this first opening we are forced to confront the fact that the author is one of those ragers on the ladder who lift their buildings and float them to the corners, message you after the game and call you dispicable names when you beat them, and are general douchebags.

Flagrant insults about his mother; his beliefs; his lifestyle choices
Unforgivable assumptions about his sexuality
It would be settled with this.
A “grudge match,” a “personal war”
Terms too mild for what was to ensue.
A sweaty palm clutching the mouse, a clenched jaw
Eyes narrowed and focused, attention paramount to none
Holding his breath at the 5, 4, 3, 2,
One.

More evidence of tension. Given the erectile imagery in the previous section we can assume that the “grudge match” is sexual intercourse.

Again, the author is casual and familiar with these instances of rage confirming what we already knew about his nature, the author is a raging ladderdouche.

Clicking furiously, not a single misstep, perfect execution!
If they thought even for a second that they could break him down
If they dared to even think that he lacked—
In the midst of his manic glee, a sea of zerlings!
It was too soon, too early; he was not ready!
The bitter taste of defeat in his mouth
And lo! the words appear... an offensive "gg."
Cheeks flushed with anger and humiliation, hands trembling with rage, he hits:
Alt-F4.

Here we have confirmation of our earlier assumption. The author rage quits when he does not win a grudge match. Why is he in the grudge match in the first place? Because his BM attitude pissed someone off who then handed him his ass and he wasn’t a gentleman enough to say GG. The tragedy of people like this is that it’ll happen again and they’ll never learn. 3/10

Ah. It is at the end here that we are explained what the source of the rage in the first stanza was. Our narrator feels extremely inadequate with the size of his penis. Despite the erotic nature of the previous stanza, our narrator is unable to impress his ‘opponent.’ He can ‘click furiously’ all he wants, but it is not enough. Then, embarrassingly, his stamina fails him; the ‘zerglings’ come ‘too early.’

For a surprisingly candid amount of honesty, tempered by the clear immaturity of the author, I give this poem a 6/10.

The Casting Archon
A Sonnet

Ah, Nick, your voice the gravel of lost Aiur,
How fair the flash of your spontaneous smile!
With charming cheer like Raynor’s famous fire,
And jokes to entertain us all the while!
What words are fit for brash Artosis’ style?
Who any build’s nuances can diffuse.
Whose Protoss wit and calculating guile
Help him both commentate and bring the news!
But O! How blessed are we that need not choose
A panda bear guy or a guinea pig,
And we the viewers could not ever lose
While great Tastosis casts upon that rig.
For all the joys of watching GSL
No simple words of mine suffice to tell.

8/10. The author doesn’t make use of the typical 9th line thematic shift that good sonnets employ, but he does employ all the other proper forms of the italian sonnet, including the meter, rhyming pattern, and the cliche shakesperian language that this generation undoubtedly associates with Sonnets. Modern poets rarely use “o!” and word arrangement like “need not choose,” preferring instead to focus on quality word choice and casual, common langauge in order to connect with the reader’s sensibilities. Sonnets have evolved beyond this. Nevertheless, for more or less proper structure, the poem gains an extra point which makes up for its lame, uninspired homoerotica.

The only problem with this is that the author chose not to go purely Shakespearean. The language is a little modern and the lack of a 9th line swich does mean it isn’t a true sonnet. However these don’t take off too much in terms of score and this is probably the best of the drivel I’ve been forced to read through tonight, an expert of my caliber shouldn’t have to deal with this. 8/10.