Ho-lee shit! Age of Reptiles by Ricardo Delgado was a portal to my childhood, and I was just as intelligent back then, by the way. A thrilling tale of vengeance and irony told in stunning silence and brilliant illustrations? I can’t even tell you how awestruck I am in over Delgado’s work.
Hieroglyph is also just as striking, visually and as a story. He’s a master, Delgado, and there ARE people in this world worshiping him, no doubt.

It really is difficult for me to get into how this writer actually makes me feel. He makes me believe in these outrageous and forgotten landscapes, like there’s no room for any doubt that these things could’ve happened, and there’s nothing in existance to stop me from facing it right here and now. He’s a rare type who shows us a world from his imagining, and there’s a bridge between all of humanity, and this man’s comics transcend whatever separates us.

I added quite a few more titles to the wishlist. I love seeing it grow. That’s what it’s for. It shows that I have more to look forward to in life, and that I’m willing to stick around for that.

Getting tired.

Listening to /Filmcast. They’re about an hour away from starting their review of G.I. Joe, while Spill has the unedited form of their review online already. It’ll be removed as soon as it’s edited and animated.

What I’ve heard from my most reliable resources tell me exactly what I expected to hear, except for the “having fun” part. I don’t think I’ll have fun watching this movie. I think that I am far above whatever shitty humor makes up for how terrible the plot and acting are.

I’m starting to have lifted spirits.
School next week, comics tomorrow, I have a handful of readers who still pay attention! That last one is reason enough for celebration! I love you guys! Now love ME more!

Bad thing to write: I’m depressed now. Don’t think you’ll understand why, but I am, and I hate myself again.

I’m still trying to use up space as filler to make the image aesthetically fit where I’ve placed it. It would look like shit if it got any smaller, and it’s much easier to come up with bullshit to make the page look pretty, and it’s a lot of fun anyway. Just look at that illustration. Isn’t it gorgeous. My god, I may ejaculate just looking at the damn thing!

Holy shit! I’ve just capped Invincible, and the last seven issues, begin to end, is an all out war! I can’t remember ever getting a violence-gasm like this, with tangible plots and enriching characters, and such an emotional tidal wave to carry the action… THIS is what a superhero comic is supposed to be like! Robert Kirkman is much more than a writer! Having finished the conclusive issue of Conquest, I was breathing hard, my heart was beating so fucking rapidly… nothing I’ve read so far has been as exciting and fulfilling as Invincible has been recently, and I’ll be damned if this book isn’t added to my subscription this week!

It’s been a while since I’ve read any Walking Dead, and apparently, it was to do with the inclusion of another series’ first issue printed on the back. I’m sure it’s quality reading. I’ve no reason to doubt Kirkman or Image.

I’ve had to catch up with Astounding Wolf-Man, to make sense of the crossover issues, but I’m not entirely sure that I care about the series as much as I did in the beginning. It’s taken some interesting turns, but so slowly. The rate of change in the story’s plot is relatively rapid for a superhero story, but it takes two issues to set up a drastic change that can just occur in half the reading material. My exposure to the art also affects my view of the story, which I can’t seem to take as seriously with this pop-rock cartoon style. I know that they’re trying to steer away from being another gothic vampire/werewolf comic, but the character’s existence in the Image universe is enough for me not to mistake it for another horror story. The art makes me want to mock the main character, when I should sympathize with him. Maybe it’ll pay off to continue reading, the same’s happened for me when I stuck to Preacher, when I had my doubts with it.

I’ve grown to love Ryan Ottley’s artwork. It’s cool to see how it’s changed so subtley over the years, and the gore has certainly been amplified a great many times over. When Omni-Man slaughtered the Guardians of the Globe, I thought I’d seen some real hardcore shit, but goddamn!

Mom’s watching a documentary about some teenage asshole who killed himself. Fuck that kid. If life was so fucking terrible for him, none of those people should mourn him as much, giving him credit for being a person he wasn’t, honoring him with this documentary, glorifying the human youth’s desire for self destruction. Fuck that shit. He didn’t celebrate his own life, why should anyone else?

You may think I’m being harsh, but I don’t care. I face many times a day when I could kill myself, and I don’t. I’m not celebrated for doing what comes naturally, to overcome this wild depression without any fucking assistance.

Took a couple of days to actually build up the interest to continue reading Invincible. I love it, but I always feel a sense of betrayal when the writers take a breather from the heavy action. I want it all, here and now, page after page, action, drama, violence, fantasy, a complete bombardment, and Invincible devlivers, but with three issues of stand-still in between.
When I catch up, I’ll probably subscribe to it, and then start reading Wolf-Man. Robert Kirkman’s a superhero’s writer and-a-half, man, I tell you what.

I also intend to add Kick-Ass to my subscription at Soundwave, and I’m SO looking forward to the movie!
Five minutes later: I just saw someone’s video recording of the trailer from Comic Con. I’m less thrilled. With time, who knows how many times I’ll change my mind on the matter? Millar and Romita are doing a great job, and that’s all I care about.

Power Girl is turning out to be one worth following. Her short story at the beginning of JSA Classified was great, and I like being able to follow a character who’s supposed to be attractive without feeling like a pervert or an asshole. Now, after reading issue three of her new comic release, I can only hope that we get to follow her in a continuing series.

I put these down, today. I'll get around to giving MF Doom some black and color. I might have to shorten his neck, it looks too long, here, and the hand needs to cover the opening for his mouth, like in the reference I used. I try to stay true to the photographer's work as much as possible.

Guess what. Guess, damn it! You fucker, I said “guess”, so guess you piece o’ shit!
Now that you have, I gotta say, that was pretty stupid. You were nowhere near–
No, I was gonna say “Guess what. Fuck spellcheck!” but I sort’f hammed up the beginning. Whatever. I hate that phrase, “ham up”, by the way, and also “by the way”, so why the fuck do I use them?

I finally cracked open the first volume of Scott Pilgrim, by Brian Lee O’Malley, and I absolutely love it. (The art sort of reminded me of Octopus Pie, but with a little more of a Japanese influence, like most Canadian Artists I’ve found, and humor that I can relate to easier, like most Canadian writers I’ve found.) I’m two volumes from catching up, now, and I’m looking forward to a lot of cool shit, with this new branch of entertainment opened up to me: the future hi jinx of the Canadian freeloader, the possibility of an origin for Ramona, video game related humor that doesn’t copy-paste all of the popular Newgrounds jokes like most people do, and speaking of video games… the game based on the comic itself! Awesome?

Yes.

I think I’ll be fine, this school year. When I head back in, I won’t be detained by reeling emotions surrounding a person who isn’t there anymore, and I won’t be as troubled with other girls, because I think it’s safe to say that my mainstream status at school has diluted over the coarse of the summer vacation. Yes, I’ll be a free man, so to speak, and I’ve been personally assured by a teacher I had in middle school that I’ll be entering two classes she’s teaching for some advanced version of what we so curiously call “social studies”. I hope I remembered correctly, and I also hope that I can enjoy it as much as my previous class covering that tier of education. Meuse was pretty cool, and he actually wanted to teach, instead of repeat, the great thing about all history teachers I’ve had the pleasure of meeting.
Also looking forward to art class. I know people who have problems with Traeger, but they aren’t my problems, and I can only hope for exposure to the most unrelenting of instructors in this field. It’ll probably turn out to be the only thing to fuel me creatively in times of doubt, when before, I had to wait until my hands started grabbing shit and moving on their own. Jeez, sometimes when an idea comes up, it’s down so fast I’ll wonder if I ever did it myself, and sometimes I feel like the idea’s walking over to me, late, because I forgot to pick it up at the airport. I can’t drive!
Nor do I look forward to it.

Was that a pun? Oh, Wally, and a poor one at that! I'll just have to imagine giving him quite a thrashing, like Superman did to Lois, back in the day. I love that writters for comics just had Superman clock guys whenever they thought it'd shock little kids. His shot at Ronald Reagan was priceless. I've been educated on these matters by a site called Superdickery, in case you thought I actually read through terrible Bronze Age comics.

Oh! I forgot that I found some of Wally Wood’s erotic comics. I found Malice in Blunderland to be the most entertaining rendition of Lewis Carol’s story I’ve seen or read so far, despite the appalling inclusion of rape, the sloppy layouts and suffered writing, the love for the book that I know most of my friends have, and how captivating the Russian experimental Alice (found on Netflix) was.

Wait, wait, there’s more space, right here, that I feel the need to fill up.

About the title of this post: I can’t always come up with a clever title, or enough distaste to even care to come up with something suitable. All entries are dated (twelves hours late) and I’d hate to have too many posts without titles, so every now and then I may type in something that has nothing to do with anything.

I hated the New Frontier cartoon movie, but I thoroughly enjoyed the comic. It must be due to my pace of reading, since I can’t remember a single moment of the comic that didn’t make the cut, and the pacing in a movie can break a film as easily as immortalize it.

Aku from Samurai Jack is so fucking evil, until he’s conquered the known world and turns into Cobra Commander, who bends to the will of writers who treat their viewers like children.
Well, Samurai Jack was a Cartoon Network series, and the target audience was children, but I was a smart kid, dammit, and I knew the difference between a cruel slaughtering bastard and Dr. Evil, the villainous mastermind who creates the means by which the hero foils the master plan to destroy shit. Aku posing as a hermit and Jack pretending not to know just to move a plot-less episode forward is some Adam West shit.
Another franchise with which I’m in an abusive relationship. When can I find a cartoon that will treat me right, love me as much as I love it? Oh, it’s scheduled to return in 2010 on Comedy Central. As much as I’ve grown to hate the channel, I’ve grown to love Futurama.

I hardly know shit about comics. When I talk about them to other nerds, I don’t feel harassed for the lack of knowledge I carry. Am I the only cat like this? Seriously? I feel like a king amongst most of my friends, and the only boost into the right direction I can get at that point is somebody to ask me a question I don’t know the answer to.
“Why is Carol Ferris the Star Saphire?”
“Where did Bizzaro come from?”
“How many times has Wolverine fallen in love?”
“Who the fuck is Captain Marvel?”
“Who came first, Aquaman or the Sub-Mariner?”
“Why couldn’t Cap just bust into Berlin and just end it there?”
Actually, for that last one, Captain America’s participation in the conflict was prolonged for the same reason America entered in the first place: capitol. Victories are like natural resources to superheroes, because the fewer they are, the more profitable they are.
The only reason I thought of the Carol Ferris question, other than wanting to know the answer for myself, because Joe Quinones’ depiction of her in the Green Lantern Wednesday Comic is absolutely gorgeous.
Wait! Green Lantern? Carol Ferris? The New Frontier? I brought it full circle, bitches.

Allow me to ask a favor of you, to benefit us both, reader and I, and follow me back to a time of wonder, when the world was made of possibilities and every person was his and her own… I’m referring, obviously, to the 1990s: the greatest time to to be born. I was alive to see, and goddamn if I didn’t become a better person because, I’d gotten and taken the chance to grow up with Jurassic Park, Michael Crichton’s science-fiction thriller playing along an ageless fantasy, brought to life before my eyes with an art–

God damn! My fucking parents can’t stop flirting and cackling like tactless toddlers for more than a fucking minute! I can’t concentrate.

Anyway, Frank Cho’s seven issue revival of the discontinued Shanna is a shameless indulgence that sends me reeling back to my youth, when I didn’t have any fucking worries. Holes in logic are clear and present, but what does it matter when I can see a muscular Arian woman slaughter giant lizards? Why can’t I have more Shanna?

I wish they’d shut up! Jesus, MASH is entertaining, but it’s first three seasons aren’t that funny.

Anyway, I can, and so can you, but in my opinion, Edgar Rice Burroughs falls flatter than a maple leaf, and Bronze Age comics don’t get much better. My imagination is enough, and perhaps, in the future, somebody like myself can make something… as unique and defining as it is long lasting with the character. Frank’s the man, man. Read Shanna.

I don’t think I like the art for Survival of the Fittest, though. May be a while before I decide to look into that one.

EDIT:
Enjoyed some of Adam Warren’s Dirty Pair, and look forward to reading the rest, and getting a start on Bad Girls. I’m really fucking tired. Really fucking tired.

I found myself feeling almost exactly the same way I did in the theatre, with tears and everything, as memories from my first reading returned to me, and all I could focus on was how I felt so close to this other world, from a time I was never alive to see. Even on a screen 1/20th the size of the one in the theatre, with an audience of two people whom I dislike watching anything with, I got completely wrapped in with the film… until I saw, once again, that Zack Snyder fucked up the beautiful sex scenes and butchered the political logic and suspenseful thrill building up in the later half of the movie, but the first act was a magical moment. I heard from someone that Doc Manhattan’s origin story could’ve worked as a short film on its own, and while I disagree, I still feel like the moment’s establishment within the story is separate, in that it begins, has a climax, and ends on its own without interference from the rest of the show, and could certainly hold up better as a separate feature with a lot of work.

BOOK:
Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince
I haven’t touched a book from the series since the only plot-driven, plot invested, plot oriented, and, frankly, entertaining character in the series died by falling behind a black curtain. You can imagine my outrage to find that the woman writing these books expects me to invest my time in following an adolescent ass hole who thinks himself hot shit, when the only well developed character with dependable behavior dies so soon after taking my affection. Perhaps that is her way of pushing the main character’s internal conflict into my own mind, making me come closer to relating with him. Whatever, point is that I’m listening to the audio book, and it ain’t quite as thrilling as I’d hoped it’d be, so far.

COMICS:
Blackest Night seems cool. Really dig Red Robbin’s costume, and he’s okay for a start, but should he become a permanent character, he should at least find some inner conflict that drives him outside of his lost-father complex. Half of all the folks ever met Batman have that now, and he’s got potential to be a very disturbed, very tragically flawed figure. Dark Reign is okay, too. Bringing a gun to dinner may not make sense within the context of the story, and it might even stunt the progression of the story, but Nick Fury certainly is entertaining, and I forgive that the whole world stands still just for his romantic conflicts, as long as it’s a very grueling and ugly world waiting for his return. Of course, I’m very late in continuing to follow him and Dark Reign. And everything, for that matter.
Introduced the Luna brothers’ Girls to Nathan, who responded very positively to it.

MOVIES:
Rifftrax
These guys really improve any movie. Alex, if you’re reading and you haven’t heard their commentary on Spider-Man 3, I think you’ll find it isn’t all that bad of a movie with them to guide you through it. Same for Crystal Skull.
Audition
Didn’t like it.
3-Iron
Kim Ki-Duk continues to dazzle me with amazing cinematography, and with a story deserving of such dedication. The visuals, every sound and even the dialogue seemed mathematically arranged to equate the nearest value of perfection. To some, it may demand attention, and that may annoy those people, but it’s captivating and constantly peeking interest for me.

Speaking of Asian films, I had a doozy of a past-blast, to the days when I was a kid and Cartoon Network had incorporated Japanese imports to prime-time television, over here. A program idiotically called Toonami stole my attention, and everyday after school, I’d wait for the moment to watch gimmicky shows for impressionable little kids like myself. I’ll probably never go back to watching Dragon Ball Z, if that’s what you’re thinking, and if you’re actually reading and care about what I’m typing, no. Yesterday, I sat through the first run of episodes from the Tenchi Muyo franchise, recalling how much I’d loved the show, noticing that the plot shifted to match the comedic or dramatic liking of the writer(s), and hating, once again, how cool visuals met with not-bad vocal talent completely won me over without a hint of tangible plot development. Of course the plot exists, and it’d be idiotic of me to say that it wasn’t planned out, but it suffered from something that all captivating child-targeting series do so from, and it has something to do with predicting the kinds of things that grab a kid’s attention. I never noticed how stupid it was for the villain to show up unexpectedly to kidnap the demonic space-pirate just long enough to lose control over her and vanish to his organ keyboard-powered labyrinth spaceship and await the arrival of the only person who can kill him patiently, because I was distracted by the lightsaber fights, the slight comedic moments, the cute rabbit-thing, the “I’m your granddad, and you’re the savior” drama, the spontaneous love triangle and so many other things. As probably the first animated series to capture my emotional investments, when I was a lonely little boy without friends, the show still has a very special place in my heart, despite its failure to respect my intelligence.

Slept early, this morning, so woke early to day. Diet colas stacked in fridge, limited supply is just enough to control the rate which I slow down caffeine intake, to prevent headaches in future. Just took first shower in probably two weeks, and my hair is gorgeous, as always. Listened to Harry Potter episode of LEOG for the third time, and did not expect dad to want to head to Soundwave today. Will head out soon, and will hopefully return to find numerous updates on my favorite webcomics, and I will finish the comics Nathan lent to me today. Some of the Batman runs should exist in parallels, but the cracks in continuity between them have me more confused than trying to understand Alan Moore’s Green Lantern stories (without having read them, of course). Past couple of days’ve been exactly like this:

wake
eat
drink
read page one
read page two
blurry vision
try to watch something to wake the fuck up
fall asleep
wake
eat
drink
accidentally read page two again
read page three
read page four
blurry vision
try to watch something to wake the fuck up
fall asleep

UPDATE:
Fell asleep while watching the copy of Fistful of Dollars we got at Soundwave. Been dropping out of it at the damndest of times. On our way back from Soundwave, earlier, we stopped at Walmart for food, and with the energy invested in me by Clint Eastwood, I put full use of my fedora and squinty eyes to make myself feel like the badass of the grocery store, seeking justice in a lawless box mart, spreading dread in the hearts of capitalists as I strode without a flinch through the deli.
The following takes place in the passage of a complete second and a half. As we left, I was hauling everything in both arms, and just before making way to the parking lot, I caught a look at this pair of eyes staring from ahead of me. She looked young, but I’m also young, so the barrier of appropriate attraction becomes moot, which is not to improve or condone illegal and psychologically harmful tracks of mind, but I all but completely ignored her until she did the damn cutest thing a girl could do. She looked ahead at me, and without noticing fixed her hair. That I could inspire an impressionable young lady goofing around with girl-pals in a Walmart to unconciously desire better looking hair for a second sent my esteem sky-rocketing. I’m sure it was the way my delicious curls perch just beneath the brim of my withering fedora. I am beautiful that way.
Next time, on The Subtle Victories of What’s-His-Fuck in Public Situations…

Recently, my curiosity’s tossed me onto a course to discover the appeal of a single Japanese series known as Oh, My Goddess! I am thoroughly thrilled to discover as much as I can about the culture surrounding me, and though I am a nerd, and nubile in my status as such, I know little more than nothing about it, though my collection of trivia is staggering against many others who allow such a multi-faceted thing slip right by their existences. Growing up after the introduction of anime and manga as a part of popular culture in America, I developed interests based on American companies’ distribution, and when I became more comprehensive, I found that most of the Japanese imports lacked something very important, logic. These were all, of course, things that were brought up over the years to sell things to children, which I’ve come to understand is called “shonen”. The writers and artists of such stories can’t anticipate a universal interest, so the possibility that logic in story-telling is lost-in-translation intensifies the frustration that came with trying to find quality entertainment in anime as a youth, when I am an American boy being sold Japanese stories intended for Japanese boys. Other youths who accepted these shows and comics in America are growing up to be what the Japanese call “otaku” in their own culture, but with the limitations at the time, there are stronger followings for individual series, as there once was a particularly strong following of Star Trek fans who never kicked their obsessions, called “trekkies”. As the budding brilliance of Japanese wealth forms over here, there are more and more “trash-culture” facets coming into view.

By “trash-culture,” I am referring to a phrase that I invented to help me understand my own perception of entertainment in multiple cultures, as well as our own. There are many different idols of trash-culture, and such a complex culture like our own breeds them every decade, as the Japanese do. The link: trash-culture, for example, can include Elvis movies, which were made to sell Elvis Presley through movie theatres, and have formed followings that block out the cruel truths behind the mediocrity of such idols of trash-culture. Exploitation films are trash-culture. B-movies are trash culture. Pulp comics are trash culture. “Trash-culture” is not intended to be used as a negative term, though the misuse of such power over an audience is a greater offense than many that I’d refuse to forget in a Lifeboat situation, if you catch my drift. I am a huge fan of trash-culture idols, like films released in the eighties and nineties that put teenagers through steriotypical situations that have died out long ago, and are being written about today, because the nerds in the 70s don’t knkow what it’s like to be nerds in the 90s… did that sound like ranting? It shouldn’t. It defines our culture, and as a cultureless-culture, as Americans have been described, there is nothing more important than another man’s trash: hence the term “trash-culture,” a modern treasure to people like myself.

Unaware of the importance of trash-culture, I’d reached teenage years with the mind-set that all Japanese imports are for little kids, because of the tight leash that American industrialists held for the products coming in. This was before I’d seen Ghost in the Shell, which helped me become more aware of just how many limitaions I was setting myself up for. Also, around the very end of this time, for me, I’d become completely devoted to movies, and comics were, like Jap culture, something to visit for kid-nostalgea. My complete immersion into film was slow, I couldn’t have gotten very far being limited to HBO and Blockbuster. Netflix hefted me into the history of Searchlight and Miramax, indie films opened my understanding of genre and integrity, and the acceptance of mediocrity for the sake of entertainment. Trash-culture filled everyone’s existence, as John Wayne for my father, primetime television for mother, and I was still exploring the millions of niches that the information age had created within and for itself.

I found a great confusion come about me, when I noticed the trends forming in fanboys and fangirls in America, who attempt to mimic the stereotypical otaku behavior. It’s the niche, I see, that they try to fill in order to pay back, respectfully, to the creators of their trash-culture idols. On close inspection of Oh, My Goddess! and similar other titles, the similarities made my confusion greater, to see a bunch of American kids worshiping plagiarists, until I realized that such stories follow a set of expected events, which have become staple within otaku trash-culture. The nerd gets a woman who loves unconditionally and has magic powers: this may be a familiar premise to Europeans and to Americans, but to the Japanese, this is a genre. An entire genre is based on a single common fantasy. It amazed me. This is the cycle of the “meme,” which develops naturally within a culture as a part of our evolution as humans. When I conducted this research I’d spent time reading American comics that aren’t necessarily recognized universally, but within the brotherhood of comic fans as must-reads. Bill Hicks, Pynchon, Raoul Duke and Hunter Thompson, George Carlin… these are all idols of a sub-culture that extends beyond the “one man’s trash” idea, and formed followings based more on their legend than their work as human beings. (This idea is thoroughly explored in a comic series called Transmetropolitan.)

The genre, the sub-genre, the idol, the sub-culture, scenes, memes… they all occur and coexists, like the millions of species of plant-life growing off of the husk of our information and entertainment. The living thing that culture is, thrives and reproduces, with its masters, the writers and artists, their worshipers: hipsters, nerds, geeks, fans, listeners and viewers, readers, true believers, otaku and anorak, we are all a part of this massive, gigantic artery of information in the body of the human race, and it is at a moment like this that I feel like the only person who sees it all. Like all the beatniks and trainspotters should find something in me to envy, like children looking up to the stiff-lipped gunslinger strolling through town, like a monolith on legs. What makes me so much more important than others? Richard Dawkins wrote these same principles down, more thoroughly, mapping down his thoughts and interpretations in a manner that allowed his own literature on the subject of memes to become a meme itself. In my mind, I see a map of all of these things I’ve collected in my research, and I’d swear it resembles diagrams of the human brain, but when I try to convey my understandings, the more scrambled I become, trying to find the words to describe my connections as five more are created. Every instant not spent on the next, new thing, is thrown into oblivion, as far as I can understand, and just sharing my ideas makes the entire endeavor to learn unravel.

Fuck my memory! I have been such a fucking idiot! I walk around, talking about shit, casually, and nobody even thinks of correcting me when I’m FUCKING WRONG! What the fuck?