Galahad_2000
Donning his abs and armor, broadsword at his side,
_He cleaved his way through orc-infested lands
Quest after quest, a valiant paladin astride
_The beanbag, gamepad clamped in clammy hands.
Outside the sunlit April leaves awakened, dyeing
_The blinds with emerald—as if to chide him.
Each day he wrought fresh polygonal carnage, trying
_To button-mash away the pain inside him . . .
Amid receding tides of dream she would appear,
_A sunlit image fading out of view,
Whose smile filled every waking moment with despair,
_Yet made the world a place worth waking to.
So day by day he fled for refuge to his screen.
_And as he sat there, gaming by himself,
His only friend—a Tōru Honda figurine—
Smiled down at him demurely from the shelf.
When barbecues would marinate the evening breeze
And get-togethers frothed with talk and laughter,
He gravitated to the corners, ill at ease,
_Brooding upon the quests to come thereafter:
His restless eye would flicker back to where she stood
_Encircled, so he thought, by sacred light;
He’d scowl, endeavoring to hide, as best he could,
_The pangs of joy, the ache of sharp delight.
The crisp October air was rich with bonfire smoke—
_Red leaves lay limp on gutter, street, and pond.
He velcroed on his wrist-brace, cracked a Cherry Coke,
_Logged in, plinked through the interface, and spawned:
His blade slit forth a cornucopia of gore;
_His combos sent blood spraying off the frame;
He racked up coin and purchased items by the score;
_His heart hid tremors when he heard her name . . .
Watching her smilingly converse with other guys,
_He marveled that they could so calmly face
The sunshine and the kindness brimming in her eyes,
_Which shivered his composure like a mace.
The days grew dark, but he abided in the glow
_Of dual-monitors. His headphones thundered:
The happy shrieks of children playing in the snow
_Were drowned out by the screaming of the sundered.
In dreams he traced her voice through endless rooms and hallways,
_Forever hoping that she might be greeted
Just through a door, or just around a corner, always
_To find the laughing echoes had retreated.
Collapsing to the ground, he sobbed in raw despair.
_Yet through the blear of tears it seemed that he
Could see her smiling, haloed by the sunbeams’ glare.
_Then, leaning down, she reached out tenderly . . .
He woke. Spring fragged the frost—the world had been remade,
_And songbirds yodeled on with strident zest.
He looked down from a dawdling progress bar, surveyed
_The flab beneath his shirt, and grew depressed.
O for a perfect body and a perfect soul!
_He’d level up and be a better man:
He’d game less, get out more, develop self-control,
_Work out, slim down, bulk up, and get a tan.
Someday he would be wealthy, suave, and worry-free—
_Someday she would be thoroughly impressed;
Her love-lit eyes would glisten up at him as she
_Reclined upon his herculean chest.
But spring’s intentions wilted with the summer’s sweat,
_And soon he slouched back into goblin mode;
He guzzled Cherry Coke and gorged and gamed and let
_The last few fibers of free will erode.
The blinds were golden with the sunshine they had banned:
_Hunched over at his screen amidst the gloom,
He chose self-exile in a blood-bespattered land
_Where dragons lurk and hulking bosses loom.
There, blankly plying dungeons’ murk in solitude,
_He sapped youth’s summer of its short-lived fervor;
Peers took life’s crowns—the only crowns that he accrued
_Existed in the innards of a server.
One autumn day her laughter breached his headphones’ roar:
_Cracking the blinds, he saw her by the door;
Someone was there with her, and on her cheeks she bore
_A certain flush she never had before.
The sunset threaded through their interweaving fingers
_And softly gleamed between their meeting lips:
Shock broke upon him like a wave of nano-stingers,
_Sweeping his flesh from spine to fingertips.
He mashed back through the menus, shaking furiously,
_Wreaked bloody havoc at the spawning tubes,
Logged off, switched games, and whirled his sword deliriously,
_Pouring his heartache into owning newbs.
Eventually she married and moved out of town—
_The nightmare had come true, and not the dream.
He claimed he didn’t care, yet wore a constant frown.
_Existence felt like one great muffled scream.
Outside he’d freshly sense the turning of the knife
_In seeing lover hand in hand with lover—
Maybe he’d rage-quit this dumb, glitchy game of life,
_And yet he feared the ultimate Game Over.
So, donning abs and armor, he respawned instead.
_And as he sobbed and cursed and slashed and thrust,
The steadfast Tōru figurine above his bed
_Smiled down at him beneath collecting dust.
Notes
Stanza four, line three: Tōru Honda is the heroine of Fruits Basket, a popular Japanese manga (and later anime) by Natsuki Takeya.
Stanza thirteen, line one: “Frag” is a video game term meaning to kill or eliminate (an opponent); it is most commonly used in the context of first-person shooters.
Stanza twenty-one, line four: “Newb,” short for “newbie,” is a derisive gamer term for an inexperienced player.
Josh Olson resides in North Carolina.
Thank you, Josh, for this brilliantly created, tragic and rather terrifying vision. I’ve come across gaming only through my sons but think I understand enough to appreciate something of what you’ve achieved in this powerful and fast-moving 24-verse poem. Great rhymes, many felicities of expression and a judicious use of technical terms in weaving two worlds together. Best wishes, Bruce
Thank you, Bruce. I almost wanted to put a disclaimer on this one, especially for those who might play video games or who have kids who do—a disclaimer to the effect that the character in this poem is not intended to be an avatar (no pun intended) for all gamers. He’s a particular character. And I think it may be possible to engage with video games in a way that is not addictive or destructive—I don’t want to moralize or finger-wag. Having said all that, though, your comment, especially the word “terrifying,” reminded me of a passage from The Anxious Generation by Jonathan Haidt. He talked about how all human beings desire both “agency” (striving to individuate and expand the self, developing efficiency, competence, and assertiveness, etc.) and also for communion (striving to integrate the self in a larger social unit through caring for others, connection, etc.); but, on average, boys lean a bit more toward desiring agency, while girls lean a bit more toward desiring communion—again, on average; individuals vary. His point was that social media hijacks girls’ leaning towards communion, while video games hijack boys leaning toward agency. It was quite an enlightening and somewhat terrifying observation, I thought.
Josh,
I don’t know anything about video-games besides for a few bouts of Halo and NFL Madden back in the day, but this was incredibly original and intriguing; almost like a tragic romance in the same vein as “The Sorrows of Young Werther,” by Goethe, or “Rene,” by Chateaubriand. I am also reminded of the “paralysis” felt by the characters in Joyce’s “Dubliners.” Your young gamer feels an incredible urge to escape at times, but he finds himself immobile and paralyzed and incapable of doing so. He doesn’t have any other skills.
You have a young man at growing odds with society cloistering himself in the dark and dusty recesses of an alternative, and ultimately unfulfilling, universe. You capture the dichotomy between the description of the happy and natural goings-on outside (the perfumed barbecue breeze) with the cramped and stifled environment inside the gamer’s bedroom (the dust gathering on the shelf), which has become a cell.
This is further affirmation that my kids will not be getting smart-phones or a video-game platform until they are out of the house. I feel so bad for this neck-bent generation of kids. I hope your hero can one day put a hammer through the screen and go outside for a hike with a girl.
Best,
Reid
Hi Reid, thanks for your comment. It is a hard time to be a parent, in this digital age (not that it was ever particularly easy). But at least it does seem there is a rising consciousness of the harms of many of these things. My heart goes out to parents and to kids growing up in this environment.
In dreams he traced her voice through endless rooms and hallways,
_Forever hoping that she might be greeted
Just through a door, or just around a corner, always
_To find the laughing echoes had retreated.
Hearet-breaking Josh and brilliant.
Thank you for telling it like it is..
We need to get back to the real Galahad and the kind of love which only real flesh and blood and reverance can bring,
warmest regards,
Karen
Ps my ambition this year is to finish reading C.S Lewis’s ” The discarded image” all about what
the Medieval world understood and why it matters.
Hello Karen, thank you for reading. Re the Medieval world, yes—it’s a bit embarrassing to admit this as a person posting on a poetry website, but I finally got around to plunking down and reading the Divine Comedy, which is a pretty good encapsulation of the Medieval paradigm. And wow is it something. there’s a lot of wisdom there.
A superbly rendered replica of what so many – ‘the-one-that-got-away-scenarios’ – perpetually haunt a fledgling Romeo. IMO – more of us have made this mistake than have not, regardless the interference, and regardless of gender. Extremely well written, Josh, and so disturbingly right.
Thank you, Mark. I really appreciate that comment, because I hope that the poem does speak to something human, beyond the specifics of his gender and particular addiction. Personally, I find the literature of longing (Gatsby, Petrarch, some of Leopardi, some of C. Rossetti, etc.) very powerful and cathartic. It is very human to have longing, yet to fail to realize it. Thanks for reading.
Josh, the seasonal descriptions as the gamer plays on through them is a spectacular way to describe a person captivated and held captive by uncontrollable urges and habits destroying the very soul and producing nothing of value to him/her or to society. I remember on a trip to Sweden in 1982 for the first international family reunion, I learned that Disney and Looney Tunes cartoons had been outlawed there for being too violent. I believe the gore to which you refer and the isolation from reality are a major part of the deterioration of our society which engenders the present protesters and intellectual idiots that have become prevalent. Your poem is a great contribution with excellent words and phrases so well rhymed. As a non-gamer, I thank you for the notes on some of the lingo.
Thank you, Roy. I’m glad the notes helped. After this posted I was actually thinking maybe I should have put a few more notes for some terms (“spawn,” in a video game context, for example), but it is what it is. Thanks for reading.
Wow, just wow Josh! I rarely get truly touched by a poem, but boy oh boy, this hit me deep in the guts!! Such pathos, such a tragic figure!! It definitely gives a different perspective on the life of an “incel”—and the fantasy life that fulfills in some weird way, but paradoxically hinders real relationships. Incredibly good work!!
Hi Theresa, thank you for your kind comments—I’m really glad you found it moving. Your comment really makes me happy, because it gets to what I was really trying to go for… This character, on the outside, is the kind of person it would be very easy to despise—weak-willed, kind of a loser, addicted, fostering delusions of grandeur, etc. But he’s still a human being. And though we certainly have to recognize the problems and pathologies, not being morally relativistic, we always need to remember that everyone is human and thus deserving of compassion, even those we might be liable to label negatively.
A different title for this poem might be “A Screenshot of Despair.” It’s both a narrative of failure, and a warning about the profoundly addictive nature of “gaming.”
Hello Joseph, thank you for your comment, and for reading!