When I was born
I’d like to think the surgeon
with his trembling hand
missed my umbilical cord
and cut a notch in each ear
like a veterinarian marking
a pig free of disease.
In grade school
I said a mouse had nibbled
tips off in consecutive nights
maybe as revenge
for lubricating landmines
with peanut butter
underneath couches and
behind VCR sets.
In middle school
I grew my hair to my shoulders
hiding notches in a veil
of fluttering blonde
imagining myself
one of Tolken’s elven
envoys, trapped in suburbia.
In high school
I cropped my hair above eyebrows
and ears, letting classmates
feel where the scalpel
cut too closely
leaving dulled edges
like a knife dropped
to the floor, tip-first
chipped from the impact.
He said he never smoked
while wadding chewing tobacco
in his cracked lower lip
like bubble gum
bulging mint ball leaking
spittle onto pine icehouse floor
where the perch flopped
in protest.
He said he never learned to swim
while cutting Superior waves
with oaken paddle
stained splinters burrowing
in petrified calluses
as our aluminum hammock
slid along jagged North
Shore beaches.
He said he never studied
while mammoth tractors
kowtowed to his crescent wrench
knocking bolts into the grass
where they rolled
like steel snakes
searching for a burrow.
He said he never shaved
as he trimmed his spiced beard
with safety scissors
slimed with discount aftershave
while I mowed peach fuzz
with electric razor.
He said he never cried
as he wrestled aching shoulders
into starched suit coat
extracting dried blueberry flowers
from forgotten funeral programs
his mother’s favorite.
he says, a conductor pale enough
to see through, leading his trundling
passenger train past steel
corpses, whistling wind burrowing
in our cheeks.
Heat saunters from the engine
crisping air on forearms
and fingers, sulfurous stench
swirling in its wake.
Its hands glide in a regal wave
as the conductor guides it outdoors
We screech into Minot
brakes grinding like teeth
rolling past garages stuffed with
lipstick-red Cadillacs
driven by men mixing morning coffee
into mugs of whisky.
The train belches me up downtown
between a shuttered cafe
and an empty avenue, leading
over the horizon. The conductor
points west, then his train lurches
forward, barreling toward Fargo.
A battalion of hypodermic pumps stand
at attention, poised to strike the earth
driving needles to bone
marrow, elevating black blood from the depths
of the core, pooling on the surface
until the spring thaw comes.
Grandmother’s crowning feature:
forest of blighted birch hair standing above
splotches of dead leaves.
Golden glasses sliding down a nose
that sheds flecks of bark with every push
of her withered fingers
Grandfather idling next to her
in his wheelchair, flask tucked
into his stained gown, its contents
lubricating his throat around
greetings and goodbyes.
Behind them stands the oldest son
beard salted with long nights
spent balancing checkbooks and
spoonfeeding pulped yams to the pair
seasoning tangy paste with pills
that push toxins in and out of their bodies.
His parents lean on IV crutches
drip-feed of saline solution slithering
through veins, sewing kidneys, livers up
like patchwork quilts, pockmarked rosé skin
illuminated against the sterile walls.
was a nocturnal waiter in another life
serving Iftar when
ISIS commandeered his street
flying the Black Standard on feathery driftwood.
This is how they take control, he said.
He and his neighbor sneaked past curfew one night
smoking pomegranate hookah
until the mango ripened sun
boiled away the Mediterranean.
The next morning, the neighbor was dismembered by a mortar.
These things just happen, he said.
Another time, he said an air force jet
an antiquated Russian warplane
had strafed his neighborhood
twenty-three millimeter rounds
punching holes the size of cantaloupes in the road.
Sometimes in people too, he said.
He said he joined the army
learning to drive a tank
in a language he couldn't read.
He fought in downtown Benghazi
clearing a college graveyard
of landmines and headless faculty.
That's the way they fight, he said.
We watched a movie together
where sandworms the size of subway trains
tunneled through a planet's arteries
swallowing invading armies whole.
I wish the West would clean up their mess here, he said.
I said nothing
as we watched the dunes vanish in the wind.
Talking, of course, about games released this year. As is the case with every year, some things are great, and other things are not. I’ve played a lot of games this year, as mentioned in my previous post. Let’s take a look at what’s on the plate for this year, arranged by release/order that I reviewed them in.
Evolve - Good ideas marred by poor execution, release policy, and an overall lack of content. There’s certainly something magical about stalking the monster, while still trying not to get murdered. As it turns out, many games this year would attempt to emulate this lack of content, all to varying degrees of awful.
Dying Light - Probably the best zombie-murdering simulator released thus far. Parkour is satisfying, and the city environs has a lot of character. The story is dogshit, but you shouldn’t miss this game, no matter what.
Cities: Skylines - A satisfying successor to the city-building genre, though it may not surpass the majesty of SimCity 4, there was simply no reason to not play this game this year. An endless supply of workshop content means that players are never at a loss for content and challenge.
Cities XXL - The ‘other’ city-building sim released at the same time as Cities: Skylines, it was a shameless rehash of previous games in the series, which wouldn’t be so bad if the previous games were actually good. Terrible UI, uneven depth, and a frankly obtrusively ugly graphical quality make XXL a frustrating purchase and a difficult recommendation.
Battlefield: Hardline - The strongest campaign in the series is marred by a multiplayer lacking depth and imagination, and the game itself was dead on arrival less than a month after release. Frankly disappointing, coming off of the lively community of Battlefield 4.
Stealth Inc 2: A Game of Clones - It shamelessly borrows from better and more established platformers, but a wry sense of wit and difficult, lengthy levels make the game worth a look if you’ve played everything else.
Wolfenstein: The Old Blood - Good level design and creative use of mechanics can’t make this game stand out beyond the shadow of last year’s The New Order. The extra challenges and levels do add some replay value, but the game itself feels uninspired compared to the previous installment.
Etherium - A few neat ideas poorly implemented in a non-interesting setting. Factions are functionally identical, and the developers relied on the multiplayer carrying the game, and it was nearly dead online almost immediately.
Kholat - A spooky scary adventure set in the Russian mountains. Great atmosphere, sadly lacking in gameplay and stability however. Definitely worth a look though.
Between Me and the Night - A spooky adventure about doing nothing but playing video games all day, and what that means for the characters. Definitely unique, even if it doesn’t work at all times.
Act of Aggression - Eugen seems to have learned that some systems work from their Wargame series of RTS games, but not others. The factions aren’t unique enough, and it’s not initially particularly interesting.
Empyrion: Galactic Survival - Reminds me a lot of Minecraft back before Minecraft seemed to suffer from feature bloat. Hard to get into without a consistent tutorial, but achieving anything is extremely rewarding. It still may be in early access, but worth keeping an eye on for the future.
Metal Gear Solid V: The Phantom Pain - Kojima’s swan song comes to PC in magnificent fashion, to mixed results. The open world is impressive in scope and detail, but the missions themselves are uninspired. Shame about the final third of the game, but still work looking at as the final episode to the Metal Gear saga.
Armored Warfare - Obsidian, after developing the masterful Pillars of Eternity, decided that it was time to make a multiplayer tank-based arcade shooter. Approachable and some unique systems make it worth a look, but it’s hard to tell what the staying power will be.
Battlefront - “Hey guys, how much nostalgia can we ride on until people get frustrated at a lack of content? 5, 10 hours worth?”
Fallout 4 - Todd Howard’s Wild n’ Wacky Wasteland Adventure comes to us on a year where both The Witcher 3 and MGS V already exist. Does it do anything new for the genre? No, but it has its moments.
Mordheim: City of the Damned - A dark and gritty fantasy version of Valkyria Chronicles, with an incredibly steep difficulty curve, and some neat persistence features. The difficulty curve evens out over time, and the plot is very lackluster, but it’s a charming take on an underrepresented genre.
Rainbow Six: Siege - Intense moments of tactical idiocy and genius collide in the year’s most engaging shooter. Is it worth $60? No, but definitely worth 40. It will be interesting to see if the community is able to keep the multiplayer modes alive.
There you have it, summaries of all eighteen games I’ve played this year. Look out for a post detailing the top five most and least worst games of the year sometime next week.
Games I’ve reviewed/played this year, though not all of them are necessarily under consideration for Game of the Year.
Evolve
Dying Light
Cities: Skylines
Cities XXL
Battlefield: Hardline
Stealth Inc. 2: A Game of Clones
Wolfenstein: The Old Blood
Etherium
Kholat
Between Me and the Night
Act of Aggression
Empyrion
Metal Gear Solid V: The Phantom Pain
Armored Warfare
Battlefront
Fallout 4
Mordheim: City of the Damned
Rainbow Six: Siege
That’s a lot of fuckin’ games. I’ll have a post soon with some brief thoughts on all of them, and then hopefully I’ll have a longer piece on the actual GOTYAY by the end of the year. Here’s to another year of doing it FOR FREE and playing more hopefully non-trash games.
Four thousand meters above sea level
we say our goodbyes.
Cry of rigor mortis brings
vortex of vultures swooning
while clothes crackle in funeral pyre
sweet wafts of crisped hair mixing
in morning Lhasa mists.
Our foreign gaze studies from afar
as we lean on tempered ruins
“Cultural Revolution,” indeed
lithe air throttled in throats
we inhale purified fumes.
I knew a Libyan once.
Nocturnal out of need, he worked
a few blocks from home
hypervigilant in case ISIS charged
up his street.
Once, he told me about a
neighbor of his, only twenty-two!
The two had gone drinking
from moonrise to moonset.
The next morning, the neighbor was killed by a mortar.
These things just happen, he said.
Another time, he told me about
a MiG-23, an air force jet
that strafed his neighborhood
twenty-three millimeter rounds
punching holes the size of cantaloupes in the road.
Sometimes in people too, he said.
He told me about a friend of his
who’d gone and joined the army.
His friend was on the frontlines
clearing a college campus
of trip mines and headless faculty.
That’s the way ISIS fights, he said.
We watched David Lynch’s Dune once.
He wanted to ride the Shai-Hulud1
through the streets of Benghazi, as it swallowed
landmines and roadblocks.
His family wouldn’t let him.
I wonder how he’s doing now.
Sometimes
we thought we saw
stinking steam rise to the ceiling
coalescing into clouds
cooking for us
boiling water for capellini
Enjoy the supple firmness, that is al dente
it'd whisper, voice cradled in
winter winds.
Sometimes
we thought it'd hang low
over our heads
cooking us, brain
down, bodies baking
while we rolled stromboli
blustering about
ahi tuna burning.
Sometimes
we thought with cigarette smoke
drifting from our lips
about taking a knife
cleaving, dicing the steam
like Romas used in bruschetta.
Sometimes
we thought about quitting
jammed in its office
contenitore di ghiaccio
Go back to school, make your own life
it'd sing, sweet pollen stinging.
Sometimes
we thought about nothing
as we boiled, rolled, diced
while it leered from above
turning white lights yellow.
yousharknotpass
vaporwave
tangentwithtanner
theartofmadeline
blakekathryn
gummygunk
kaledo-art
origamiaround
