Archive for November, 2008

30 November, 2008

Lex Luthor













Professor X

King Mob


 Spider Jerusalem

The Metabaron

Uatu the Watcher


Luke Cage

Bald comic characters are just plain cool.



Alphabet books
29 November, 2008

I want to write an adults only alphabet book, the kind of thing in the vein of Animalia.


Dirty Deranged Dutch Deviants Deftly Drill David Duchovny’s Derriere During Dadaist Dance Duels.

Now, who wants to Illustrate?

Critical Mass
26 November, 2008

He’d had his fill of the Abrahamic god in all its forms by the age of 8.  Jehovah, Yahweh, Allah, the triple headed single god was long consumed by his voracious appetite for belief.  The Awakened One, the his ancestors, totems, dreaming all too within him, firmly held in his mind. 

Truly a believer. 

He worshipped no god before him but all he others in equal portions.  His head filled as he discovered the dead gods.  The Aesthir, Olympia.  The dead gods half forgotten and mused by academics.  He praised their name in love and fear like no man before or after.

The Peacock King, the anima of all, demiurge and primal force.  Titans and Demons, ghosts and Loas.  Half held souls,  fake gods praised and worshipped.  The mountain was no longer a mountain, and yet it was a mountain once again. 

The books piled high – a shrine to all and none. From the Alpha to the Omega and back again.  His mind fed on gods and spirits, and with each, his faith grew stronger the more he gave himself to them.

He praised and worshipped proto-gods.  Waves of beleif limited by observation and deduction – Diana the huntress and people’s princess – the market tested, committee built icons of Ronald and Mickey lay before him next to the icons of Mary and Paul,  and he bowed down before them all.  His faith never tired, never faltered, never failed and was never sated. He was the sound of one hand clapping while the other held a contoured bottle of the Real Thing. His faith fractured and spintered, multiplied and spread. 

He was the fisher of gods, the shepherd of the demiurge and keeper of pantheons – machina ex deus.

And then there was no more. 

Almost infinite is not infinite enough when there is nothing more to believe in.

22 November, 2008

Fables just finished.

Bill Willingham let the ball drop at the end.  Not enough fun, or action, or sense of danger, or escalation of scale.  The Adversary didn’t bring the fight to the Mundy world.  He ended it with a well thought out military campaign, which doesnt make for a fun read.

Ah well.  There’s still Jack.

Mr Shandy
16 November, 2008

Two metres of chain attached him inevitably to the radiator.  It gave him free reign within the room, which included a bed, toilet and a small kitchen, but obviously, but not the world beyond. 

“For his own good,” said the Jew when he gave him the address.  Mr Locke didn’t question it.  His purpose went beyond feeling sorry for a sick man.

Mr Shandy sat on the bed expectantly.  “About bloody time.  What’s it been, three years?”  He said when Locke entered the room.  It wasn’t tbe reaction Mr Locke had been expecting, and he faltered slightly before answering.

“My name is Mr Locke.”  He said before Mr Shandy interrupted.

“No it’s not.”  He said.  When he saw the face Mr Locke made, he followed on, “Well, prove it then.  If that’s your name you must have some identification.”

It was never good to defy the insane, thought Mr Locke.  No knowing how they’d react. He put his jacket down and pulled out the brown leather wallet John had given him for his last birthday. It was all there.  His business card proclaiming him to be a consulting detective, complete with email and cell number, the money and photo of John and him from their last trip overseas…but no identification.  Actually, thought Locke, I don’t ever rememember having a driver’s licence.  He tried to picture how he looked on it.  Deadpan face unsmiling, like every other licence ever issues, but he couldn’t.    Mr Shandy smiled as Locke went through the contents of his wallet. 

“You don’t have one, do you.”

“No.”  Said Locke.  “I guess I’ve never needed one.  I walk most places, or take a taxi.”

“So what is your name?”

“Locke, as I said. I’m a detective, helping the Yard out with a crime that has, through various means, led me to you.” Said locke.

“Ah yes, but what is your name?”  He asked again.

“I told you, Locke.”  But Locke’s confidence was gone from his voice.  He knew he didn’t know the answer to the next question Mr Shandy would ask, even before he asked it.

“But Mr Locke, what is your first name?”

On the Death Penalty and Abortion
11 November, 2008

Two queries I put out there to my 3 readers to help answer. 

1:  Does anyone know what proportion of children born and/or put up for adoption are the product of incest in any country/state/region that happens to keep records?

2: Does anyone know what factors, other than appeals, postpone executions of people sentenced to death in US states for so long? I mean, even those who want to die and choose not to appeal are kept in jail for years.

I ask purely out of curiosity.

10 November, 2008

They landed in their flying silver disk down the street from here, but I don’t think their heart was in it.

They walked down the ramp and wandered around, tut tutting about the environment and leerin occassionally at an introduced specie, but it was all by the by, really.

“We’ve seen this kind of thing before.” S/he said to me, after feeding the carbon readings into a tentacle held device.  “Over sized holes in the ozone, increase in base temperatures.”  It sighed and rambled on for a while about 15 other planets, spheres and rings to inspect today.  

“On the bright side, you’re killing off the whales.  Those fuckers are irresponsible.  They never paid their last infringement from our last decamillenial visit, and they tried to eat our ship.”  It said before waving the rest of their team back onto the ship and issuing me with a fine and a regulation “Don’t do this again,” Speech it had obviously given a million times before, then dematerialised into the ether.

5 November, 2008

Remember, remember the Fifth of November,
The Gunpowder Treason and Plot,
I can think of no reason
Why the Gunpowder Treason
Should ever be forgot.
Guy Fawkes, Guy Fawkes, t’was his intent
To blow up the King and Parli’ment.
Three-score barrels of powder below
To prove old England’s overthrow;
By God’s providence he was catch’d
With a dark lantern and burning match.
Holloa boys, holloa boys, let the bells ring.
Holloa boys, holloa boys, God save the King

“Good” vs “Christian”
3 November, 2008

The bravest people in the world are those who use the word ‘Christian’ where others would use ‘good’ and ‘right’, when that person knows full well they mean different things, because sometimes the Christian thing to do isn’t the right thing to do and yet they choose to do the Christian thing.

Those unique little verbs
2 November, 2008

There are the occassional verbs in the english language which are really only used in one situation.

I mean, other than pain, what else do you writhe in?  Mud?  Sauce?  Agony…Okay, I’ll pay agony.