The Nostalgia Settles

Feeling no regret for late nights.
A fleeting tinnitus to write
The games of old...
What joy they hold...

Improvised at the last second.
Surprised by the words beckoned.
The memories of the past...
Inscribed to forever last...

When I arrive at thoughts of her,
A faded convivial feeling occurs.
The games we would play...
Hold true to this day...

When I think of my other friends,
How the memories do blend.
How they seep from my mind
Into fiction they're entwined...

The Nostalgia Swells

The quick glance, the stymied smile
Those brief moments erstwhile
Always under evaluation
Inveterate hopes and expectations

From the lens of a stolen moment
I found proof of your involvement
I see hints of its actuality
Against imagined practicality...

Mnemonic frequency increases
Reset the board and its pieces
An idioglossic glance
Affirmed I had a chance...

The distant birds, the lapping waves
I hear you in my mental caves
From the echoes of recurring thoughts
The nostalgia swells, the mind is wrought.

You were glowing in the firelight
On that warm but ever distant night
Worlds shifted when I heard you sing
A simple and wondrous and beautiful thing...

Now I wonder all the time
Were those the days of our prime?
Let's look to what the future holds
As we've a while until we're old.

The Nostalgia

A memory, a clear dream

A dripping cone of ice cream

Days so windy they would hurt

The seas of gulls in a desert

Greetings with outstretched arms

Now we're safe from harm

Friends and borrowed hats

They could never relate to that...

Background discussions over wine

Sitting on carpet while we dine

Laughing at the top of our lungs

Our silly jokes and puns...

A car ride while it snows

Tired eyes and a runny nose

Unsaid words, a warm touch

Didn't have to amount to much

One of these days I'll think of you

I'll think of the ages we're coming to

The nostalgia seems so transient
Sending memories off on a tangent...

---

A poem three and a half years in the making, I guess. Well, I wrote it that long ago. Yes, SumodudeSalad is back. And yes, it has a lot to do with my other blog, Sumo Sonatas, being so active. It's kind of an under-the-radar comeback, but I think I'm okay with that. I'm not going to say, "expect big things!" or anything, but you can generally expect to see more activity here (especially after all that Camp Mix hubbub dies down a bit)...

This is the first in a trilogy of old poems I'm planning to post over the next two weeks. After that, we shall see...

The Grid

Battle-ready for re-ignition.
The time we prove ourselves.
Forward through the thick mire.
Let go of our old desires.

You expect opposition.
War's not something I predicted.
Harsh, cruel, often too dire.
I will not let go of what I desire.

One voice mute among the crowd.
Opinions themselves against it.
To be persistent we must be selfless.
Nomadic, a brush on blank canvas.

You imply a fierce grace.
A momentous progression.
Distractions destroy you, leave you hapless.
Where living ignorance brings bliss.

Join us on the grid.
Or lose yourself within your walls.
We'll travel beyond you.
Conquer worlds innumerable.

This is not a matter of choice.
A plan ambitious, but with false-hope.
I can't join forces with ones so blind.
Go on your own. Leave me behind.

Thirteen Years

The first has since faded with a golden tint.

The second was concerned with the U.S. mint.

The third stands proud with its squeaky-proof walls.

The fourth was overshadowed by the approaching fall.

(The fifth didn't happen in the usual sense. It's best to ignore at the listmaker's expense.)

The sixth year was longest, but came and went so fast.

It has left an impression that is sure to last.

The seventh remains impressively weird,

Filled with owls and horseflies and invisible beards.

The eighth was definitely not long enough,

It cannot be defined as just "riddles and stuff.".

The ninth will forever stand on its own

As the year when the light of the Wenis was shone.

The tenth year saw fit to amaze and confuse.

It's as poignant and passable as a scar or a bruise.

The eleventh, like a dream, felt impossibly right.

'Twas lazy and pleasant; condensed to one night.

The twelfth, it seems, was a year well-spent.

How many can fit inside one little tent?

It was epic and powerful but not very warm.

Having characteristics of a great thunderstorm.

On the thirteenth year, I regarded all these

Whilst munching on whales made from sharp cheddar cheese.

I found it so strange yet relaxing. So hard to define.

It wasn't smooth nor perplexing. Neither dull nor divine.

The thirteenth year was delightful at best.

But how does it stand apart from rest?

While abundantly fun and without a regret,

The thirteenth year was the worst year yet.

Whelms

Thinking, thinking thoughts that could fill a room

Seeking, seeking solace that so many thoughts consume

Writing, writing, waiting for old rhythms to return

Holding, holding hope that not every thought will burn

It surely seems to me

You live in another realm

(Telepathically sending packets of yourself)

That are sure to overwhelm

Thoughts clearly come to you

In a manner apparently strange

Aliens would have a field-day

Dissecting your beautiful brain

On the busiest of busy days

A thought like this still emerges

Causing interdimensional rifts

Within powerful emotional surges

It's weird but on days like these

I begin to move backward

I retreat to maintain what whelms

And become socially awkward

Shaping, shaping sentences out of pieces of ideal words

Laughing, laughing locally at such an over-dramatic nerd

Doubting, doubting defiantly that I won't habitually hesitate

Believing, believing beautiful things will come to those who wait

¡¡Frandere!! (Two)

"We all can attempt to imagine a prosperous future. We can try to envision our incredible home system as a 'utopia'. But we will never succeed. Never entirely. We can never clearly imagine anything that we have never experienced..."

...Blah blah blah blah blah...

"…I believe in attainable perfection. It is within our grasp. It is inchoate even as I speak..."

He's beginning to sound preachy. I suppose he always sounds preachy, but... Soup.  (Funny. But now's not the time to argue with yourself, Frandere)...

"Unification is our destination. We have seen it happen throughout Quirillia in times of great duress. In times without the apocryphal leaders and esurient businessmen we have today. Do not worry, I will not mention their names, yet I will allow your imaginations to estimate which of my fellow politicians I speak of..."

There. He winks again at his groupies. Laughter fills the audience. I guess it's possible for him to be more direct, but why hasn't he made more enemies? It is rather amazing that he hasn’t noticed me yet. He must be focusing hard on what he’s going to say. No time to be distracted by my presence. And now, for some weird reason, I am getting an uneasy feeling in my gut. And I’m pretty sure it's not those peas I ate earlier.

"Excuse me while I expatiate, but I am going to illustrate…”

He sure likes to rhyme today. But I guess that is okay. Could be worse. He could be terse. No, that wouldn’t be worse, it’d be just fine. Okay, I can see why he likes to rhyme. No, dine. I’m… wasting time? Crackers, he’s better at this than me.

“…and our economies will then dilapidate…” Wait. What’d I miss? “We’d be without an iota of a real, tangible hope.” I think he’s serious now. Well, he’s always serious. But I mean seriously serious. I caught Eathös’ glance right then. He was looking a bit unsettled. He didn’t eat any of those peas, so his discomfort must be from something my father said. This surely can’t be anything good. I should probably be listening, then.

“…like I have said, we are not the only ones with a consistent government. We are not the only ones with seemingly limitless systemic power. As our territories accumulate growth at this rapidly increasing rate, we are bound on a collision course. We cannot slow our expansion, though. That is not what I suggest. If we lose our momentum, they could trample over the borders of our ‘nearly-pristine’ civilization.” Oh, sarcasm. That’s rare. “No, we must channel our ambition with theirs. Steer away from an impending calamity. We do not need a war. They can ally with us.”

They? Does he mean… Myans?! I looked at Eathös. He was shaking his head. Oh. Kararve. Not good.

“Here is my proposition. I do not claim it to be modest, but I do believe it as necessary. As our current rulers are ever-extending our reach without much concern for the well-being of our planetary neighbors…” A few agreeing boos from the audience. This is a point he’s nailed on many times before. “..and our upcoming candidates are recommending our preservation, to momentarily retreat from our expansion in order to preserve the wealth of our high-class citizens…” Many more boos from the audience. Especially from the groupies. The crowd was just loud enough to be cut back into silence when he said:

“…It is all verisimilitude. So I propose… You allow me to run for president.”

And then the room exploded again. I actually had to protect my ears. Yet the screaming and yelling was more focused. It was cheering. Rooting. Now becoming chanting. Unanimous support from everyone, of course. But this is wrong. So ridiculously wrong. He can’t do this! This is exactly the opposite of what he needs to do!

Eathös grabbed my arm and then leaned over my ear, yelling, “You weren’t expecting this, were you?!” Of course not, Stupid! And I wish I could ignore the smell of your breath at time like this. All I managed to yell back at him was, “Let go of me!”. The crowd was still in freak-out mode. I don’t think anyone actually expected him to run for candidacy. He usually openly opposed the idea, stated it as power-hungry. Although, his argument did seem to be sound to those oblivious. As I already knew, he’s the only one who sees the state of Mactcha as it really is. His solution just isn’t the right one. It’s far from the right one.

“Whoa, whoa… Please, please…” His voice temporarily soothed the insatiably insane ones in the audience. “I did not expect such fervent support.” (Ha!) “I mean to assure you – as soon as a solidified, united alliance is formed, I will step down from presidency.” Boos and no’s from the groupies. “But you can rest assured, if I am elected, I will be as efficient as possible. There will be no dalliance. I will not equivocate. I will have one goal. I will stop at nothing to accomplish it. Because our survival depends on it. If we are content with our own obesity, then we are ignorant to what happening right now. Because while we prosper, so does Mya. And we are already competitors. Soon, though, if left unrestrained, our competition will turn to conflict. Our homes will turn to battlefields. But we can unite with them. Before we are too late.”

The ecstatic audience seemed to be shaking the room. Oh, wait. They are shaking the room. They’re not just screaming and fainting and having joyful hernias anymore. They are jumping up and down like one happy mosh…

“This is my aim! With your backing support, we can unite Mactcha!” Another ear-shattering uproar. I’m glad there are no windows in here. “We can join forces with the Myan Empire and repair our collective damages…” Please, Dad. Just stop. “…But I need all of your support. A united front… By show of hands, who here is in favor of my candidacy?” Everyone raised their hands and shouted “aye”. He didn’t ask for verbal agreement, but I’m pretty sure his fans are incapable of not shouting when they’re excited.

“Who here does not favor it?” The audience laughed. But there was a resurgence of rebellion swelling in me. Wait, no, it’s not rebellion. Somebody needs stand up to this. And then he can finally notice me. And besides, he’s a haughty whatever-you-call-it. So… I raised my hand.

The collective shock from those standing closest to me and Eathös spread through the small room quite quickly. All eyes fixated on us. Eathös was shaking his head again, but it was this time directed toward me. And there was Dad – in the center of the stage – looking down at me with that familiar expression of anger and confuddlement. He showed no apparent sign of surprise. So I returned the expression.

I started to taste a lot disdain in the air. I wasn’t too familiar with the taste, but I definitely didn’t like it. Every rabid pair of eyes pierced me with a palpable hate. Eathös was tense. Like how he got tense just before he leaped onto Myan’s faces. Just before imminent danger. Just before… Oh… Kararve…

And that’s when the crowd became a mob. Then there was a loud noise. And I quickly faded from consciousness.

the capitals

there is no way to define it. it's meaningless and yet it's most of me. i cannot fully separate imagination from experience. you have no idea how much this paragraph annoys me.

it's seamlessly flat. perfectly flush. streamlined into my obtuse life. irritatingly obscure. persistently present. it's cdo, of course not. no. it's everything i'm not. it's part of what I am.

for on an average, every other second is a thought of non-worth. wasted time and effort pours into extreme discrimination. it's comical, it's functional. and it's often more than I can safely bear.

i worry over everything. i can't not. but i'm so good at pretending, i'm not pretending anymore. there's always a voice to tell me to start over, to try again. even when I've yet to really begin.

i dream all the time. in the day and the night. i confuse realities with what i know just couldn't be right. so when someone comes to talk to me, i feel i've done it before. yet i haven't. yet i have. yet i haven't yet i have yet i haven't yet i have. i pause and examine my ridiculous thoughts. no, that was in just in your mind. yes, you've paused for too long. no, this isn't insanity. you're wasting time.

Then a moment comes so swiftly and it sweeps me off the ground.

I realize I've been corroding in my own mind.

Unexplainable peace spreads from new thoughts I find.

It's worthy of the Capitals and all the attention I can conjure.

When will I fully conclude that it's completely profound?

I must be slow and lazy for it hasn't happened yet.

The indescribable meaning of this stable mindset.

It's real and tangible and no delusion of grandeur.

In Place

I guess it's something predictable

But I never see it speeding this way

An actual obstacle

I guess it's what I'm about to say

I had to face a question

In the midst of self-doubt

After due hesitation

Was relieved to get out

I think it would be easier

To imagine you as distant

If you weren't so very close to me

If I didn't ever really care

I always swerve to disaster

You said you wished it was different

And every time you redirect me

It creates a stillness in the air

I wonder if I need new friends

Add them to my old

Simple as it should have been

I wonder if I'll fold

I could crumble away... forever

But you'd pick up my pieces

Then glue me back together...

I can't imagine my life

Without your lovely face

Without unnecessary strife

Without you somewhere in place

In these situations I'm relapsing

You know I'm hesitating

I'll lean on you to prevent collapsing

And thank you by not waiting

Ch-Ch-Changes

You may notice that I've tweaked a few things here and there. I also added some new pages: the prologue and first three chapters of what is now the old, outdated version of my book.

If you have a bit of spare time, feel free to read them and possibly critique them at your own leisure. Bear in mind that the first two chapters were written when I was 12 years old and the third chapter was written when I was only about a year older. My sense of direction in these beginning chapters is at best undefined. But the pacing improves later on. The inconsistency of these chapters is the primary reason why I decided to rewrite everything.

I had to deal with nightmarish formatting problems while I converted these to HTML, so I apologize if things don't quite look right on your browser. And... Be aware of pre-laptop crash grammatical errors (especially comma splices); they are frequent.

I will post the next three chapters a little over a week from now. I will appreciate any feedback.