The Mysterious Manuscripts of Snekcoatl

 I am making this post to share some unpublished poems I found in a manuscript by a previously undiscovered author. This reclusive genius once roamed a part of the earth that used to be a boring suburb in the fallen state of Canada. Their name was "Snekcoatl," which is a really weird name. This manuscript was unearthed near a high school in the suburb that has the same name as the suburb. We've found artifacts from that high school too, which has been abandoned for some 500 years since The Incident. There were plaques from the English department of the high school commemorating the genius Snekcoatl, who was apparently a prodigy. There was also apparently a rival writer named V*c. Apparently she had strong ties to Snekcoatl, though it is unclear whether the two were the best of friends or the worst of enemies. 

Some other manuscripts unearthed in Tkaranto, the city that was then known as Toronto, suggest that Snekcoatl and V*c spent a brief part of their lives there. They could have been academic rivals in the academy that once stood there, competing for influence. We have some obscure and threatening letters from V*c that were sent to Snekcoatl. It appears that there was also a building at the institution named after V*c. 

Snekcoatl did not get the recognition that they deserved during their lifetime. But perhaps some of these poems will help to shed some light about what life was like in "Canada" before The Fall. So I am sharing them because they could be useful to historians, and also because they do a fine job of capturing the feeling of yearning and languishing, which appear to be the two main themes. 

Poems of Yearning

Snekcoatl's handwriting, though childish and messy, was not impossible for me to transcribe. The only thing that was really annoying to me as transcriber was that Snekcoatl did not attempt to give their poems respectable titles. And so the first one is simply called "Poem I wrote for a Femboy who made me lose #NoSimpSeptember (it's so over for me)." From this we can guess that the poet was unlucky in love. This one appears to be insulting the sun as a symbol of masculinity.

 You must have been starving where you were,

as you hungered for beauty,

you turned to the ancient, the flowery, the romantic,

when they wanted you to see the light of reason and become a critic,

I never wanted the splendid sun,

that ball of light,

nor the urns decorated with images of heroes, warriors,

the bold speeches of leaders that conceal wicked deeds,

the bloody conquests,

I only longed for the pale moon,

She's like you in your black gowns like raven's wings,

with your love most chaotic and unreasonable

Now for the historians rather than the literary critics reading this, 

we can guess from the reference to urns that Greco-Roman aesthetics 

still had some impact on the country that the poet lived in even though 

it was a rather uncultured society. It was still a part of western civilization, after all. 

Or perhaps it represents the poet trying to grasp at some semblance of culture 

even though they lived in a rather cultureless void. 

This next one is titled "when will exam season end i can't take this shit any more."

 The diligence of a scholar, 

 alienated from the world, 

 has resulted in a row of glittering prizes, 

 on the shelf, 

 perhaps I'm doing it all, 

 to feel worthy of you, 

 but I'm losing the game, 

 consumed by my reading during the day, 

 every night is the same, 

 I return to your arms in my dreams, 

 no matter how hard I try, 

 to forget you when I'm awake, 

 how do I forget you at night? 

 My longing for you, 

 is an animal within me, 

 desiring to escape civilization, 

 and lose itself in your wilderness, 

 sheltered by you,

 my refuge from the world, 

 the others desire glory and fame, 

 but you make me want to forget my own name

The pathetic simping of this poem can alert us of the 

economic system of the poet's society 

and how it caused humans to worry about 

The Grind over human connection. 

This is what resulted in the speaker's 

feelings of isolation. However, 

Snekcoatl was in some ways ahead 

of their time. 

They realized the value of nature 

over The Grind and the dreary 

colonial cities that once existed here. 

Fortunately, under The New World Order, 

we've allowed nature to reclaim many such areas.

Poems of Languishing 

I would like to shift the focus now to poems of languishing. Although they contain less simping, they are still a bit depressing. And they can teach us a lot about the lives of immigrants, which Snekcoatl certainly was. And about the kind of culture they were part of. 

This one is called "Quetzalcoatl (devotional)." From the title, we can guess where Snekcoatl gets their pen name from. We don't know their real name, but the name Snekcoatl was certainly inspired by this Aztec deity. It also references a gathering for Indian Muslims, and so it gives us a huge clue about what Snekcoatl's culture was. The whole poem seems to reflect a desire to escape from the boring suburb where they lived, to seek love and refuge elsewhere.

Under your soft wings

Watched by your

Eyes full of love

With pupils like slits

Sheltered in your green plumes

And your endless mercy

I remember at the majilis

They said there is a world

Beautiful beyond imagination

But they must have been mistaken

About the pomegrantes and date trees

Because I am certain they must have meant

Your land of cloud forests and quagmires 

The next one references Norse mythology and is called "conversing with the Fates." The language used here certainly seems conversational, I suppose. And it is natural for one living in a world with harsh winters to turn to Norse myths for references. 

 Oh, if there be Fates spinning my destiny, 

Then we must all be at their mercy,

Sitting under Yggdrasil, those ladies,

must not know how to continue my story,

Fates! What is this?

You are cruel ladies,

and I will never understand your ways

If all you can dream up is so outrageous,

so inconsistent with the past,

How can the trajectory of my life end up like this?

I've never been more certain that there are no gods.

The last thing that I'm going to say about this poet is that they were probably young when they wrote these. I would say not far into adulthood. Their invocation of the Fates may be because their life was unfurling in a way that they never would have imagined in their childhood. And they were shocked and disappointed by this. 

I will be back if I discover more manuscripts by this author.