//------------------------------// // 39 - Nag-mificent Obsession (sonnets) // Story: Ponyville & Other Poems // by AugieDog //------------------------------// One: Giddy-Up Explosions rarely discommode my brain. Unbridled passion? Nope. I don't recall Infatuation driving me insane Before the Ponies. How'd I ever fall? My teenage years, I guess, contained the lust That crashes through the best of us. And yet? Obsession couldn't overcome mistrust: Myself, the folks around me. Life's a threat! I've never kissed. I've never held a hand. I've never brushed an errant lock away From any woman's face. I never planned To symbolize the nerdiest cliché— But here I stand, an unrepentant geek, To praise the Ponies' charm, their strange mystique. Two: In My Geekitude When asked, "Invisibility or flight?" "Invisible," I answer every time. Unnoticed, overlooked, and out-of-sight Remain my goals. Consider how sublime To vanish, insubstantial, more than gone. Experience has shown I bother folks Like sandy socks or someone else's yawn. My very breathing seemingly provokes. Which isn't true. My relatives and friends Declare enjoyment, having me around. And yet the sticky tongue of doubt extends Throughout my thoughts until I'm nearly drowned. But truth is secondary. What I feel, However false, is carved in stone and real. Three: A Geek by Any Other Name Irrationality, I hold, defines The truest form of geek—which would be me. Believing though the evidence aligns Contrariwise, I skirt reality. Like everyone, I see the facts and choose To go the other way, to trust my heart. Except I don't. My heart's decrees confuse And stupefy, the thing a faulty part. Humanity and geeks contain a lot Of similarities but differ thus: When people know they're right, I know I'm not. No matter what, I'm wrong, no muss, no fuss. I double-check but never second-guess. It helps to keep the damage somewhat less. Four: Isn't This Thing Supposed to be About "My Little Pony"? Fantastic stories draw me, moth to flame, The ones where creatures talk and beasts emote. Cartoons and comics: lacking any shame, I spend my money keeping them afloat. Attracting my attention, though, they fail. Despite their artists, writers, crew, and staff, They sink without a ripple, hardly flail, And leave behind a single paragraph. So when I read of Pony coming back, I sighed extensively and braced myself To watch the program quickly going slack Until a month would find it on the shelf. I watched the double episode premiere And loved it, even wiped away a tear. Five: Into the Ponyverse Admittedly, a reason Pony struck Me right away's the slightest bit mundane. Despite the story running them amuck, The characters have jobs they each maintain. It's work they all enjoy, and even more, They're good at what they do. It's really rare On television shows to not abhor The grinding nine-to-five, to strive and care. Employed at jobs I love, I play guitar And sing in church; I write my sweet grotesques; I host a college radio bazaar; Around the library, I man the desks. I've held these four positions decades now, Content as only lazy dreams allow. Six: Meet the Ponies! The characters themselves are analogues— Or archetypes or something. I admit I understand it less than any frog When terms get technical: I'm quite unfit. And yet the cast exemplify their types. The scholar lacking wisdom? Check! The fool With hidden talents? Check! The farmer snipes? The jock? The whisperer? The one in tulle? Accounted for, they start to stretch, expand As episodes continue. Lines are blurred. Embodying their opposites, they stand Increasingly apart throughout the herd. Becoming heroines, becoming round, They grow to meet the destinies they've found. Seven: Fluttershy Withdrawn, she shivers, sometimes even cries, And cares the most what other Ponies think. She breathes and tastes them all, can feel their eyes Dismissive—rightly so! She wants to sink. Around, before, beside her, though, her friends Include her necessarily, by rote. She wants to thank them, wants to make amends; Their happy, quick denials clear her throat. With baby steps, she blossoms bit by bit. Collapsing often, still she can't deny Her growing spine, her wants. She won't submit When inner voices try to terrify. I sure identify, but have to say She's grown much more than me in every way. Eight: Pinkie Pie Her frantic antics often disobey The laws of nature, Ponies, time, and space But all for laughter's sake, her vast array Of oddness serving friendship's sweet embrace. External brashness tries but can't disguise Her need for validation. Cheers, applause, A simple smile or happy puff of sighs: She twists herself in knots to serve the cause. Among her friends, she gets a chance to breathe. She doesn't take it. Still, she knows it's there, Receives the gift that lets her doubts unsheathe, And punts them lest they straighten out her hair. While extroverts exhaust me, Pinkie walks The line in ways a skosh unorthodox... Nine: Rarity Immaculate, projecting style and grace— Possessing both those qualities as well— She weeps, mascara running down her face, Alone within her private carousel. Perfection beckons, always unachieved But always sought, a shining, distant star. She wants its constant pressure unrelieved, Demands the target move however far. The others keep her grounded, let her know They hear her when she cries: she's not alone. Assisting with her businesses, they grow And help her stretch her narrow comfort zone. Artistic, still she expedites her plan. I've watched approving since the show began. Ten: Rainbow Dash Extreme in all she does, her heart demands A life of constant striving after goals. Agility and speed: no record stands Before the skills her toned physique controls. Humiliation flickers through her thoughts, A running sore. She knows its frigid touch And helps when friends get caught within its knots Despite the way she feels it overmuch. An unexamined life's the only prize She'll never reach. The others won't allow Her selfish sight to dominate her eyes, Will pull her out and teach her how to bow. Her stubbornness is mine. I wish it weren't. I watch her lessons cringing like I'm burnt. Eleven: Applejack A rock, a tree, an anchor: on and on, The metaphors for strength accrete, expand Until she vanishes, her nature gone, Enwrapped within an endless, fraying strand. She knows the sting of loss, has swallowed pain, Digested it, and bucked its memory. An arching brow expresses some disdain But never holds an ounce of cruelty. Her friends provide adventure, drama, thrills, Or just a walk and talk, a quiet pause Amid the grind. Beyond her orchard's hills, She finds a greater life, a larger cause. Routine defines her steady faithfulness: Like her, I've learned there's more to happiness. Twelve: Twilight Sparkle A stodgy scholar, largely humorless, Discovers friendship, saves the world, and moves To Ponyville to try togetherness. Surprise! She finds, with friends, her life improves! Her course of study leads her further on— Adventures snarling traffic, lessons learned— Until at last she greets the golden dawn With wings and horn, her princess status earned. And still she panics, needs her friends' support. Her magic nonpareil is not enough To win the day, produce results, and thwart Whatever villains think themselves so tough. A geek, in other words, who made the grade, Exemplifying traits my brain's mislaid. Thirteen: And Everypony Else Equestria, the Pony realm, supports A vibrant cast of sundry mythic folks Like dragons, hippogriffs, the standard sorts Of creatures modern fantasy evokes. Immortal sisters rule from Canterlot. Controlling sun and moon, they each display A horn and wings, but goddesses, they're not. Or even queens: they're princesses, they say. The world as much as anything attracts My rapt attention, keeps my eager gaze Imbibing while the stories run their acts. The rampant cuteness fills my craw for days. But more than cute, the show begins to seep Within my blood and bones, to strike me deep. Fourteen: A Ponyville State of Mind Imaginary? Sure. Like all cartoons, It's pixilated imagery, unreal. Reality, however, coughs and swoons Before the juggernaut of how I feel. Recall I mentioned earlier the way That facts and truth are optional at best? Acknowledging the stunning exposé Of proof, I disregard it: such a pest! The Ponies, though, distract both brain and heart, Divert my squinty eyes, and charge unstopped In waves that bid my itchiness depart, Defenses cut away, my shields dropped. I see them, see myself and far beyond The inner tumult years of doubt has spawned. Fifteen: Fantasy vs. Reality I tried to read the book A Game of Thrones But quit a dozen endless pages in. Perhaps I lack the proper pheromones To find enjoyment watching others sin. Except a villain written well will twist My heart around, will perk my little ears, Will make me yearn for heroes who'll insist Redeeming grace arrive with joyful tears. Complexity is great, but hopelessness Will strain belief beyond credulity. To pout and claim the world cannot possess Intrinsic love's naive, it seems to me. The Ponies know from jealousy and hate, But goodness lurks to soothe and moderate. Sixteen: The Advent of Nightmare Moon Celestia and Luna rule the world— I've mentioned them—immortal alicorns Possessing every Pony virtue swirled: They've earthly strength with wings and also horns. A thousand years ago, the sisters fought. Consumed by jealousy and wounded pride, The younger, Luna, grumbled, madly thought Her night was disregarded, pushed aside. Transformed by hatred, Luna burst, became The monster Nightmare Moon, and tried to slay Celestia, to drive her out and claim The throne alone by banishing the day. Betrayal, greed, sororicide: you know, The stuff you find in every children's show... Seventeen: Interregnum Subsumed within the Nightmare, Luna tore, Destroyed Celestia's defense with glee. Celestia, despairing, nearly swore And called the Elements of Harmony. The sisters used these magic gems to keep Their nation safe. About to swoon, Celestia succeeded, eyes aweep, And locked her sister mad within the moon. A thousand years alone upon the throne, Her sister's frozen silhouette above, The Elements reduced to useless stone, She waits the prophecy with fear and love. For magic tells her Luna will return, But will she come to parley or to burn? Eighteen: The Rescission of Nightmare Moon The show begins with Nightmare Moon's return, A thing that only Twilight's books foretell. She tries to tell her teacher her concern; Celestia assures her all is well. So when the Nightmare stops the dawning day, It's up to Twilight's sudden little group Of local Ponies. Through the disarray, They find the useless Elements and swoop. The Elements respond, our heroines Enlivening the stones to face the threat. The power rises, cloaks their very skins, And cleanses Luna, weeping true regret. Destruction's not the answer: that's the key To bring about a Pony victory. Nineteen: The Philosophical Pony "Deceptive depth" is not the proper phrase To label Pony. Philosophical As any eight-year-old, the show displays Its title plainly, broad and scrutable. When friendship grows, our lives will surely gain A certain magic. Simple, straight, direct, The message leaps and glitters, can't contain Clandestine meanings. No, they're striped and checked. Applying such a simple thought becomes The crux that spins the characters about. The show examines, gives a laugh, and plumbs The shadowed corners friendship leaves in doubt. Distraction rules the world; a quick cartoon Can moor my psyche's runaway balloon. Twenty: Because I've Only Used the Word "Archetype" Once So Far Consider all the archetypes involved And then consider how to make them friends. As writers—most of us, I mean—we've solved Related story problems, twists, and bends. The brain, the joker/jock, the down-to-earth, The fashion plate, the partier, the shy: A quest unites them, brings their group to birth, But afterwards, what keeps away "goodbye"? Experience is what, the daily grind, The ups and downs the characters commit. The writers focus two-by-two to find Affinities, connections, ways they fit. The big adventure starts the series out. The episodes that follow banish doubt. Twenty-One: Slice of Life For me, the point that sets the show apart Concerns the question, "Yeah? What happens next?" Our heroines succeed with spunk and heart, Reform the world, then turning unperplexed, They settle back to jobs and home and town And start the true adventure: what to do. Their lives have changed, but nothing's upside-down. They've gained a group of friends is all that's new. And yet? Disruptive! Monumentally! Routines established years ago explode When other Ponies blithely disagree. Opinions crowd and bleat and discommode. For twenty episodes, the show explores How friendship happens, stumbles, skips, and soars. Twenty-Two: Fights and Arguments Recall "invisible"? The word I used To tag myself when all this guff began? Opinion's part of why I'm so confused. I hate my brain for holding them, would ban My inner critic ever speaking out And bloviating stupid folderol. "I'm always wrong!" I try to scream and shout, But still opinions stew, grotesque, banal. I stutter when confronted, squeak and flail And lack the mental stamina to form Defending arguments. My statements fail To stop the flood. I'm lost within the storm. The Ponies, though, they often disagree While still remaining friends. A fantasy? Twenty-Three: Arrested Development The seasons flow, the characters advance A bit for some, for others quite a lot. It's television, after all: the dance Of growth and static fills the highest spot. Development's a tricky thing for shows. As soon as episodes appear, they're bound For random repetition. No one knows The order. Continuity gets drowned. Before this iron rule, the Ponies shake, But still they manage, passing through the years, To learn from every trial, each mistake An opportunity for joy and tears. Again, I watch it happen, blink, dismayed And wonder how the heck to make the grade. Twenty-Four: The Crux Inside my head, the Ponies clash and blend, Insist I pay attention, urge, incite, Declare that magic waits: "A single friend Will bear you upward, spin you toward the light!" I have my friends. We meet for D & D On Saturdays about a month apart. Enjoyable, of course, but honestly, If magic's there, I haven't seen it start. Perhaps because I've known them decades now? I breathe the old familiar atmosphere And don't detect the flash, the spark, the wow, The scent of roses sparse, the muffled cheer. When people change, they're s'pposed to leave behind Their former lives. But mine remains, I find. Twenty-Five: Welcome to My World I walk to work and back, about a mile Along a stretch of lovely ocean beach. Assisting folks with books and such, I smile— And call the cops to handle any breach. Alas, it happens. Keep a public space, And sometimes folks'll start to shout or snore. For most, a word's enough that they'll embrace The proper way. If not, they're shown the door. I strive to make a friendly spot without Conveying any sense of ownership. It's all about the sharing. Try to flout The rights of other folks, you take a trip. It's less than once a month a jerk gets banned. I wonder: would the Ponies understand? Twenty-Six: Reality vs. Fantasy Redemption's still the standard song they sing, But Ponies use a prison under ground— With triple-headed dog and everything— To store offenders shown to be unsound. Perfection calls, remaining unattained But sought with zeal and gusto unsurpassed. Neuroses flourish, find themselves restrained, And form the base that underlies the cast. Our heroines are those who recognize Their inner vices, blemishes, and bumps, And seek to cut them back, to minimize The damages they cause, the leaks and lumps. Adventures form a small minority Of what they do. It's just the same as me. Twenty-Seven: An Underlying Metaphor? Within Equestria, the Ponies thrive Amid their trials, form relationships That wobble now and then, can float and dive, A roller coaster always turning flips. Within our human sphere, the same applies— At least it holds in spheres that I frequent. Of course my life consists of pies and skies And all the privilege they represent. For Ponies power nature: make the clouds, Control the rain and wind, create the snow. Without them, nothing lives and silence shrouds Equestria, above, between, below. I'm straight and white, American, and male. Within the show, my biases prevail. Twenty-Eight: Pon-lesse Oblige Now dragons, griffons, minotaurs exist, But they're the tag-alongs, the afterthoughts. Creation spins when Ponies give a twist; The others watch dependent, tied in knots. "Exceptional," a Pony might declare Her nation, might decide her culture's best. "Enlightenment like ours, we have to share And spread the Pony way from East to West!" Is friendliness a universal trait? Compassion? Understanding? Everyone Throughout the world attempts to elevate Related virtues, honesty and fun. Hegemony? Or freedom to engage With finer attributes? The battles rage. Twenty-Nine: The Ticking Clock I haven't any answers. No one does— Except for those convinced they somehow do. They fill the nets and webs with constant buzz Describing ways of life they know are true. Conflicting visions flare accusingly. Explosive, every argument constricts, Destroys the fading possibility Of compromise. The very word convicts. The Ponies focus, touch upon the core, The commonalities we all believe. There's principles we simply can't ignore And truths that reach beyond what we perceive. Unless there's not. Recall I'm always wrong. At least with Ponies, though, we get a song. Thirty: What Pony Means to Me Simplicity's the word I often use To summarize myself: a simple heart, A simple mind, some simple clothes and shoes, A simple life a breeze could blow apart. Adrift and blessed with zephyrs, I've become Exactly who and what I want to be: An indecisive milquetoast, keeping mum, Creating gentle pieces constantly. The Ponies give me hope and entertain My inner cynic, critic, all the rest: The voices sacred, stupid, and profane Whose fatuous expounding I've suppressed. It teems with themes my every part can watch And takes those other voices down a notch. Thirty-One: "Stories About Ponies are Stories About People" Another thing the show has led me to? Community, and that's the place I'll end. Creative works like none I ever knew: To call it "fanfic" seems to condescend. I've learned as much from comments I've exchanged With authors writing Ponyfic as all The classes, talks, and seminars arranged In college, school, or church assembly hall. The title here's a line I won't forget However long I'm putting words to page. Imagination strikes its sparks, and yet The writers' task is making them engage. Another couple weeks, the show is gone. Its lessons, though, will stretch and carry on.