I'm just saying. Is it THAT hard to understand? I mean, honestly.
Friday, November 8, 2013
Monday, November 4, 2013
Just Checking In!
Hey y'all! I'm just poppin' by to check in!
I hope someone is enjoying the posts, poetry and all! :p
I plan on having a few more things up in the next day or so, depending on how crazy things are over here on my side of the screen.
Stay Tuned!
I hope someone is enjoying the posts, poetry and all! :p
I plan on having a few more things up in the next day or so, depending on how crazy things are over here on my side of the screen.
Stay Tuned!
Friday, November 1, 2013
On the Razor's Edge
the struggles of yesterdays resurface
and i feel my pain cut into my wrists
a beautiful relapse of what used to be
a wonderful memory of whats lost
i try to take it through shallow
but it digs in so deep
that the blood flowing from me
radiates this constant defeat
the crimson wall blocks me
from the release that i should seek
but this accidenatl relapse
just holds the forbidden fruit
with such a sweet allure
i can't resist such shattered beauty
such denied pain that feels so good
i close my eyes in sweet agony
the iron taste in my mouth
from biting my lip in effort to remain silent
i watch the blood drip from the blades edge
and smile in a hazy satisfaction
i am reprieved temporarily of the insane pain
and before it hits again
i draw a symbol, a little line
this isn't attempt of suicide
or a cry for help
standing here on the razors edge
its more of a whisper for love
and i feel my pain cut into my wrists
a beautiful relapse of what used to be
a wonderful memory of whats lost
i try to take it through shallow
but it digs in so deep
that the blood flowing from me
radiates this constant defeat
the crimson wall blocks me
from the release that i should seek
but this accidenatl relapse
just holds the forbidden fruit
with such a sweet allure
i can't resist such shattered beauty
such denied pain that feels so good
i close my eyes in sweet agony
the iron taste in my mouth
from biting my lip in effort to remain silent
i watch the blood drip from the blades edge
and smile in a hazy satisfaction
i am reprieved temporarily of the insane pain
and before it hits again
i draw a symbol, a little line
this isn't attempt of suicide
or a cry for help
standing here on the razors edge
its more of a whisper for love
Welcome to Auschwitz
Children cry in the dead of night
screaming for solace
As their mothers try to tell them it’s alright
as they are told to hush, be quiet
The silence is broken by their pain
and filled with tears and moans
Saturated with their unveiled shame
crying silently for what they were denied
The corpses already litter the ground
Those of who cannot take the expectations inflicted upon us
The ashes of the weak and old can be found
Burned for being unable to pull the Nazi's weight
We stare into eyes so hard and cold and cruel
So unfeeling, unrelenting
I have to wonder, can we get through?
But we have no choice, we have to try
My father sighs, then shuffles forward
Slowly, trying to bide his time
As if he knows he’s moving towards
The end of his life
Closer to an untimely death that can not be helped
That cannot, will not be prevented
I never thought I would go through hell
At such a young and innocent age
We stand in line, naked and shivering
With nothing but our pride to cover us
All these people surrounding me
Standing straight, some hunched in silent defeat, the first to die
And the wind biting into my arms and legs and neck
Stinging against my bare body, making me cringe
Burning my skin, making me regret
My life, my existence, my very being
Ever being born into this world
Being exposed to this brutality I do not deserve
And as the events around me unfurl
Slowly unraveling in front of my very eyes
I can see all these lives destroyed, fragile and shattered
Forgotten like they are of no importance
As if these peoples, these hearts didn't matter
Nor their souls, their families and friends
Like our accomplishments meant nothing to them
Like WE meant nothing
As if we're just a game, a nuisance to them
An unwanted burden
And a marking on my arm, branding me forever
Striping me of my identity
So if I DO survive I will remember forever
And never be free of the monstrosity we are subjected to
Remember the screams, the fear, and the chills
The crying of the poor innocents with no chance
Of standing at the foot of this hill
In a silent line
And seeing that child thrown into a burning flame
Melting its skin away like paper
As though this were a sick, cruel game
With rules we do not know
Where we are the victim, the prey, and the unwilling opponents
And they are the experts
And it's common knowledge we don't have a single chance
To win the battle, nonetheless the war
And by eliminating those you deem 'unworthy' those who are different
Those who do not meet your standards
You can win the prize; take the path of least resistance
The one for the 'greater good'
A joke that held no humor for those of a certain type
Those like us with no laughter
It was all a ploy to decide what is 'right'
And what deserves to exist
As the master is a dictator, someone with all the power
Who makes all the rules?
And when the clock strikes the final hour
And the sun goes down for the last time
It is he who will own our fate
Call our destinies
He who will create the days
And he who shall be the night
And mold the lives the strong will lead
And end that of the weak
Leaving nothing of what used to be
And the remains from what I loved
And the memories in my mind all begin to fade
To decorate in small pieces
As my long, horror filled days
Stretch and turn for the worse
Turn to months of fear and terror, ultimately numbness
That renders me unfeeling and impassioned
A sort of feeling that makes it possible to have known this
Couldn’t possibly become any worse
More and more people die, falling all around me
To the ground in saddened, dies-spirited heaps
And yet hope in the future I still cannot see
I still cannot decipher
My life is in their hands, they get to be God
Holding the knowledge of my ultimate demise
And never before did not knowing ever seem so hard
And being me such an imposition
Hated for who I am, rejected for what I’m not
And forced to pay for my blood in my blood
Told to forget everything that I was ever taught
To forget everything that I ever was
The eyes of my fellows grow cold and detached; as I’m sure do mine
When you look into their empty depths
And we have lost all track of time
And do not wish to know how much longer we must endure
We fight for food, killing those who used to be neighbors, or even close friends
For a small scrap of dry, molded bread
Because it's all for ourselves in the end
For the end is all there is now
Every man for himself, only the strong shall survive this war
Is what we are constantly told
And those who cannot will exist nevermore
To be forgotten in the aftermath
I’m dying now, at the tender age of 19
A mere child who has seen nothing, known nothing
And nobody in the world will ever miss the likes of me
Never notice the missing link
There is a voice, but it continues to grow weak
So unstable and weary
It’s been days since I was able to speak
Doing so drains my energy
So now I’m tired, and am ready to give up
To sapped of all will to continue
But all around me, there are people who put up enough
Who try hard enough, forcing enough
Of a fight to keep living, to try and make it through
The hell we call life now
Even if putting off the inevitable is all they manage to do
All they can accomplish, its more than I
They can continue to breathe and hope and dream
To say it will be alright
Trying to make it all seem
To make it honestly appear
Like its ok, it will end soon
To be a terrifying memory
But if it was, I would be too
Able to live, and move on
And now on the brink of death
On the edge of surrender
As I take my very last breath
Ragged and shallow
I sigh, knowing this hell is over and done with
That it can continue no more for me
Welcome to Auschwitz
screaming for solace
As their mothers try to tell them it’s alright
as they are told to hush, be quiet
The silence is broken by their pain
and filled with tears and moans
Saturated with their unveiled shame
crying silently for what they were denied
The corpses already litter the ground
Those of who cannot take the expectations inflicted upon us
The ashes of the weak and old can be found
Burned for being unable to pull the Nazi's weight
We stare into eyes so hard and cold and cruel
So unfeeling, unrelenting
I have to wonder, can we get through?
But we have no choice, we have to try
My father sighs, then shuffles forward
Slowly, trying to bide his time
As if he knows he’s moving towards
The end of his life
Closer to an untimely death that can not be helped
That cannot, will not be prevented
I never thought I would go through hell
At such a young and innocent age
We stand in line, naked and shivering
With nothing but our pride to cover us
All these people surrounding me
Standing straight, some hunched in silent defeat, the first to die
And the wind biting into my arms and legs and neck
Stinging against my bare body, making me cringe
Burning my skin, making me regret
My life, my existence, my very being
Ever being born into this world
Being exposed to this brutality I do not deserve
And as the events around me unfurl
Slowly unraveling in front of my very eyes
I can see all these lives destroyed, fragile and shattered
Forgotten like they are of no importance
As if these peoples, these hearts didn't matter
Nor their souls, their families and friends
Like our accomplishments meant nothing to them
Like WE meant nothing
As if we're just a game, a nuisance to them
An unwanted burden
And a marking on my arm, branding me forever
Striping me of my identity
So if I DO survive I will remember forever
And never be free of the monstrosity we are subjected to
Remember the screams, the fear, and the chills
The crying of the poor innocents with no chance
Of standing at the foot of this hill
In a silent line
And seeing that child thrown into a burning flame
Melting its skin away like paper
As though this were a sick, cruel game
With rules we do not know
Where we are the victim, the prey, and the unwilling opponents
And they are the experts
And it's common knowledge we don't have a single chance
To win the battle, nonetheless the war
And by eliminating those you deem 'unworthy' those who are different
Those who do not meet your standards
You can win the prize; take the path of least resistance
The one for the 'greater good'
A joke that held no humor for those of a certain type
Those like us with no laughter
It was all a ploy to decide what is 'right'
And what deserves to exist
As the master is a dictator, someone with all the power
Who makes all the rules?
And when the clock strikes the final hour
And the sun goes down for the last time
It is he who will own our fate
Call our destinies
He who will create the days
And he who shall be the night
And mold the lives the strong will lead
And end that of the weak
Leaving nothing of what used to be
And the remains from what I loved
And the memories in my mind all begin to fade
To decorate in small pieces
As my long, horror filled days
Stretch and turn for the worse
Turn to months of fear and terror, ultimately numbness
That renders me unfeeling and impassioned
A sort of feeling that makes it possible to have known this
Couldn’t possibly become any worse
More and more people die, falling all around me
To the ground in saddened, dies-spirited heaps
And yet hope in the future I still cannot see
I still cannot decipher
My life is in their hands, they get to be God
Holding the knowledge of my ultimate demise
And never before did not knowing ever seem so hard
And being me such an imposition
Hated for who I am, rejected for what I’m not
And forced to pay for my blood in my blood
Told to forget everything that I was ever taught
To forget everything that I ever was
The eyes of my fellows grow cold and detached; as I’m sure do mine
When you look into their empty depths
And we have lost all track of time
And do not wish to know how much longer we must endure
We fight for food, killing those who used to be neighbors, or even close friends
For a small scrap of dry, molded bread
Because it's all for ourselves in the end
For the end is all there is now
Every man for himself, only the strong shall survive this war
Is what we are constantly told
And those who cannot will exist nevermore
To be forgotten in the aftermath
I’m dying now, at the tender age of 19
A mere child who has seen nothing, known nothing
And nobody in the world will ever miss the likes of me
Never notice the missing link
There is a voice, but it continues to grow weak
So unstable and weary
It’s been days since I was able to speak
Doing so drains my energy
So now I’m tired, and am ready to give up
To sapped of all will to continue
But all around me, there are people who put up enough
Who try hard enough, forcing enough
Of a fight to keep living, to try and make it through
The hell we call life now
Even if putting off the inevitable is all they manage to do
All they can accomplish, its more than I
They can continue to breathe and hope and dream
To say it will be alright
Trying to make it all seem
To make it honestly appear
Like its ok, it will end soon
To be a terrifying memory
But if it was, I would be too
Able to live, and move on
And now on the brink of death
On the edge of surrender
As I take my very last breath
Ragged and shallow
I sigh, knowing this hell is over and done with
That it can continue no more for me
Welcome to Auschwitz
A Lost Ball of Helium
like a lost thought
or a tear dropped in the ocean
i'm flying free of these boundaries
ready for the great unknown
i don't think i'll hit the stars
but i might go away so far
that i can never find my way back
it's a chance i will gladly take
this risk of self-induced solitaire
just rising out of your sight
out of your thoughts, a forgotten memory
of what you let go
willingly, or cause i was tugged away
i will blend in with the area surrounding me
shrinking into nothingness
until i disappear forever
but do not fear
look up one day: you just might see me in the distance
floating above you
you will look at me with a vague familiarity and longing
but im gone, no longer yours
or a tear dropped in the ocean
i'm flying free of these boundaries
ready for the great unknown
i don't think i'll hit the stars
but i might go away so far
that i can never find my way back
it's a chance i will gladly take
this risk of self-induced solitaire
just rising out of your sight
out of your thoughts, a forgotten memory
of what you let go
willingly, or cause i was tugged away
i will blend in with the area surrounding me
shrinking into nothingness
until i disappear forever
but do not fear
look up one day: you just might see me in the distance
floating above you
you will look at me with a vague familiarity and longing
but im gone, no longer yours
Flawed Perfection
she sits by the ocean side
with a sketchbook by her side
and charcoal behind her ear
thinking quietly with no one near
she looks at the jewels dancing in the sea
and sees an image so heavenly
that she picks up her book and draws a line
so dark, so ragged, yet so fine
for days she returns to this spot
and adds to what she has got
a crooked curve, a narrow dip
resting her elbow on her hip
she concentrates, she erases and screams
nothing is as easy as it seems
she adds a little, detracts a little
shades something in the middle
after weeks of watching the sunset
she thinks her work is perfect
she staps back, to enjot the view
what she sees she never knew
instead of the beauty she saw
she has an image flawed
that it brings her to her knees
she tried so her best to make the sea
but the lines on her pad
turned so sharply, looked so bad
but when she looked again
she merely saw flawed perfection
with a sketchbook by her side
and charcoal behind her ear
thinking quietly with no one near
she looks at the jewels dancing in the sea
and sees an image so heavenly
that she picks up her book and draws a line
so dark, so ragged, yet so fine
for days she returns to this spot
and adds to what she has got
a crooked curve, a narrow dip
resting her elbow on her hip
she concentrates, she erases and screams
nothing is as easy as it seems
she adds a little, detracts a little
shades something in the middle
after weeks of watching the sunset
she thinks her work is perfect
she staps back, to enjot the view
what she sees she never knew
instead of the beauty she saw
she has an image flawed
that it brings her to her knees
she tried so her best to make the sea
but the lines on her pad
turned so sharply, looked so bad
but when she looked again
she merely saw flawed perfection
Cutter's Lullaby
Go to sleep and close your teary eyes
Never again wake to see the night
Hush little girl don't you dare cry
Sit back and enjoy your final night
Here we are once again
All alone with no friends
They let you bleed and said not a word
Not really knowing how depression hurts
A Cutters' Lullaby
Screaming in your ear
All the things you hate to hear
The names the accusations and suggestions
Suffering from hard learned lessons
Can anybody hear you now?
Your mouth is open, tihnk you are screaming so loud
But a sound doesnt escape your pretty lips
And you just let the knife slip
A Cutters' Lullaby
Can anyone see her here?
Down on her knees and the end so near
Invisible in such a crowded place
Eyes just sliding over her tear streaked place
Under the shadow of the steeple
Passed by the forgiven people
Holding the razor so close, and in her hand her final letter
All these people who never even met her
A Cutters' Lullaby
I sit here with nothing to hold on to
But this blade and you want to take that away too
I am alone and I have nowhere to turn
How many lessons must I be forced to learn?
And in the dead silence on the night
I hear the sounds of my own distant cries
Singing a tune noone else seems to know
And its one I wish I never had to know
A Cutters' Lullaby
Never again wake to see the night
Hush little girl don't you dare cry
Sit back and enjoy your final night
Here we are once again
All alone with no friends
They let you bleed and said not a word
Not really knowing how depression hurts
A Cutters' Lullaby
Screaming in your ear
All the things you hate to hear
The names the accusations and suggestions
Suffering from hard learned lessons
Can anybody hear you now?
Your mouth is open, tihnk you are screaming so loud
But a sound doesnt escape your pretty lips
And you just let the knife slip
A Cutters' Lullaby
Can anyone see her here?
Down on her knees and the end so near
Invisible in such a crowded place
Eyes just sliding over her tear streaked place
Under the shadow of the steeple
Passed by the forgiven people
Holding the razor so close, and in her hand her final letter
All these people who never even met her
A Cutters' Lullaby
I sit here with nothing to hold on to
But this blade and you want to take that away too
I am alone and I have nowhere to turn
How many lessons must I be forced to learn?
And in the dead silence on the night
I hear the sounds of my own distant cries
Singing a tune noone else seems to know
And its one I wish I never had to know
A Cutters' Lullaby
Cry
look at this girl, isnt she beautiful?
don’t her eyes capture your soul
making you feel warm and full
who’d guess she was so cold
look at those lovely lips
smiling so sweet
and with a young innocent
who would ever see?
she laughs so softly
a tinkling note of merriment
everybody laughs along you see
cause they dont know she doesnt mean it
behind those captivating eyes
is pain and tears
she keeps welled up inside
mixed in with all her suppressed fears
they all think she’s beautiful
she seems so confident on the outside
but this girl in my mirror
all she does is cry…..
don’t her eyes capture your soul
making you feel warm and full
who’d guess she was so cold
look at those lovely lips
smiling so sweet
and with a young innocent
who would ever see?
she laughs so softly
a tinkling note of merriment
everybody laughs along you see
cause they dont know she doesnt mean it
behind those captivating eyes
is pain and tears
she keeps welled up inside
mixed in with all her suppressed fears
they all think she’s beautiful
she seems so confident on the outside
but this girl in my mirror
all she does is cry…..
In Another's Eyes
In another's eyes, you were never given a chance to try
No one ever took the time to see into your eyes
And see where you've been, and who you are today
They all lived in the reputation of what others had to say
All they knew is the way you used to be
They never took time to know you like you were with me
All the playfulness and love, all the tenderness and care
For some reason everyone else thought it wasn't there
In another's eyes, you were meant to die
There was no one on Earth who would ever give you a try
And so now you're no longer here, now there's no more you
I didn't know what else I would be able to do
I sat and scratched your ear, I watched your breathing cease
I cried silently as I betrayed your trust in me
You looked to me to protect you, like I promised I would
I'm so sorry baby, there's nothing more I could do
Man's best-friend, you've finally been given up
In another's eyes, you just weren't deserving of a chance to love
And so now there is nothing in my heart, but this sadness and pain
I'm so sorry boy, maybe we'll see each other again someday
So when it was said and done, and there was no looking back
I silently in my head tried to fight the cold hard facts
It seemed as though I was looking through another's eyes unsure of what to do
So I just leaned down, kissed you one last time, and said I'd miss you, reminded you I loved you
And even though you were never really mine, and though you are gone
In my mind and in my heart, you will always be my number one dog
No one ever took the time to see into your eyes
And see where you've been, and who you are today
They all lived in the reputation of what others had to say
All they knew is the way you used to be
They never took time to know you like you were with me
All the playfulness and love, all the tenderness and care
For some reason everyone else thought it wasn't there
In another's eyes, you were meant to die
There was no one on Earth who would ever give you a try
And so now you're no longer here, now there's no more you
I didn't know what else I would be able to do
I sat and scratched your ear, I watched your breathing cease
I cried silently as I betrayed your trust in me
You looked to me to protect you, like I promised I would
I'm so sorry baby, there's nothing more I could do
Man's best-friend, you've finally been given up
In another's eyes, you just weren't deserving of a chance to love
And so now there is nothing in my heart, but this sadness and pain
I'm so sorry boy, maybe we'll see each other again someday
So when it was said and done, and there was no looking back
I silently in my head tried to fight the cold hard facts
It seemed as though I was looking through another's eyes unsure of what to do
So I just leaned down, kissed you one last time, and said I'd miss you, reminded you I loved you
And even though you were never really mine, and though you are gone
In my mind and in my heart, you will always be my number one dog
Think of You
I know it might sound silly, and I know no one else quite gets it,
But sometimes I wonder about you, even though I don't wanna fix it.
You cross my mind at the oddest times, your voice I can still hear
There are times when I swear it feels like you are still here.
Don't get me wrong I don't want to go back to how things used to be again
Why would I want to pick things up when we left off at the end?
There are places that I go that sometimes the hurt takes me by surprise,
I look at my favorite brown shirt and suddenly I'm looking in your eyes.
All my friends would think I'm crazy, they wouldn't get what I mean
When I say I move on, but I can't let go of the memories.
I keep forgetting, and then something makes me remember and wonder,
At one point your voice was my soundtrack, your smile was my summer.
I'll hear a joke and it throws me back in time,
And then I'll hear your laughter mixing in with mine.
I guess it's only natural to remember what used to be,
But it seems so strange because now you don't mean anything.
When they ask what's on my mind, it seems like I always lie;
I know they wouldn't get the fact that sometimes memories know where to hide,
Until they seem to be forgotten and then they hit me like a bullet out of nowhere
I can bury you and forget you, I already have it just ain't fair.
I'm glad we're over, I don't regret walking away and I never have,
There hasn't been a second I truly ever looked back.
I know it sounds silly, and I know no one else quite gets it,
But sometimes I wonder about you, even though I don't wanna fix it.
But sometimes I wonder about you, even though I don't wanna fix it.
You cross my mind at the oddest times, your voice I can still hear
There are times when I swear it feels like you are still here.
Don't get me wrong I don't want to go back to how things used to be again
Why would I want to pick things up when we left off at the end?
There are places that I go that sometimes the hurt takes me by surprise,
I look at my favorite brown shirt and suddenly I'm looking in your eyes.
All my friends would think I'm crazy, they wouldn't get what I mean
When I say I move on, but I can't let go of the memories.
I keep forgetting, and then something makes me remember and wonder,
At one point your voice was my soundtrack, your smile was my summer.
I'll hear a joke and it throws me back in time,
And then I'll hear your laughter mixing in with mine.
I guess it's only natural to remember what used to be,
But it seems so strange because now you don't mean anything.
When they ask what's on my mind, it seems like I always lie;
I know they wouldn't get the fact that sometimes memories know where to hide,
Until they seem to be forgotten and then they hit me like a bullet out of nowhere
I can bury you and forget you, I already have it just ain't fair.
I'm glad we're over, I don't regret walking away and I never have,
There hasn't been a second I truly ever looked back.
I know it sounds silly, and I know no one else quite gets it,
But sometimes I wonder about you, even though I don't wanna fix it.
Wednesday, October 30, 2013
Bendis' Alias Review
I have an extreme love of Powers by Bendis and Oeming, and it was the first comic series I have almost completely finished. We are still missing like, three issues! :(
So, when Michael handed me Alias by Brian Michael Bendis, I had very high expectations. I've read some of his other work, really enjoyed it, and love how he is so raw with his writing. There's a bit too much F-This and GD-That for my overall likes, but it certainly wasn't enough to detract from the beauty of this comic. And it was most assuredly not enough to stop me from reading it, and recommending it, to everyone reading this, or who I talk to for the next week.
It starts off pretty normal.
Jessica Jones is a private detective in New York (where all crime sees to be located), and she has a very upset client on her hands. There's some introspect on her job, some verbal abuse from the client's mouth (Hey, if you don't want answers, don't ask questions.) and a broken window. Whoops. Nothing starts off an excellent story like a call to the authorities, and some smart-mouthed cops.
Another client comes in, throws some money around, cries a bit and it's a mad dash to the internet, every detective's best-friend. Jones locates the missing quarry, goes to collect some video evidence and... Bendis swiftly reminds me that despite the very Noir-ish feel, this is a Marvel comic. Odd. I was envisioning it in black and white, bad music and an airplane flying over head during a reflective monologue. Due to a huge part of Jones' past, one I dare not reveal in case I'm labeled a spoiler, she freaks the freak out.
Bendis paints an unbelievable, powerful and very addictive picture of deception, discovery and mystery, wrapped up with some sex, politics and the American Flag. His characters are likable, or at least, they invoke some emotion. Pssh. Rick Jones. Whatever! I'd like to clock him with that Sidekick book, right over his falsely swollen head. Either will do. The amount of text looks daunting, but your eyes take it in like water to a man lost in the desert, and before you know it, you're staring and going, "That's it?!" I would have bitterly snapped at my husband, but the smart man disappeared soon after I cracked the pages. I get emotional, especially at endings. All the Bendis works I have read have left me gaping at the end, in love and furious it was over. Darn you.
I don't think I've ever read anything with Michael Gaydos illustrating it before, but I'm super glad I have. I love the way he did this comic. It's hard for me to descrbe art sometimes, I can never word it quite the way I'd like, or even pin point WHY I like it. Gaydos's work on Alias is the latter. There's something about it that draws me in and makes me look over each panel carefully. They all flow together so well, and married with Bendis' text, it's so easy to fill in the between sequences.The way the panels are arranged, like in the alley with the cell-phone, is perfect. It goes with the actions, the movements and it adds to the over-all effect of what's happening in each panel. Plus, they just look freaking awesome. I like how the use of color isn't excessive, or too complex, and the shadowing looks great! I'm a little thrown by Jones' face sometimes, and even Power Man's back, but I guess that's 'cause I'm not into men that have muscles bigger than their heads. Eh. I suppose he wouldn't be Power Man otherwise.
"So, I said to him, I said, Well, if that's true, shouldn't you shoot the webs out of your ass?"
A line that paraphrases conversations Michael and I have had a thousand times over. There are little lines like this that bring it all together for me. Simplistic, human and very every day mundane. One of my favorite things about Bendis is his ability to sensationalize, and at the same time, drive home the point that even super heroes are every day people sometimes. They talk, and gossip, and curse, and get mad. That's part of what this book is all about for me. I know the story line behind it is much bigger and way more complex, but Jones is as average a woman as her name most of the time, despite her past, and it shows that no one is perfect, especially not those living in the very public eye.
The only thing that could have made this any better was a surprise appearance by Batman. I'm just saying. Keep it in mind.
So, when Michael handed me Alias by Brian Michael Bendis, I had very high expectations. I've read some of his other work, really enjoyed it, and love how he is so raw with his writing. There's a bit too much F-This and GD-That for my overall likes, but it certainly wasn't enough to detract from the beauty of this comic. And it was most assuredly not enough to stop me from reading it, and recommending it, to everyone reading this, or who I talk to for the next week.
It starts off pretty normal.
Jessica Jones is a private detective in New York (where all crime sees to be located), and she has a very upset client on her hands. There's some introspect on her job, some verbal abuse from the client's mouth (Hey, if you don't want answers, don't ask questions.) and a broken window. Whoops. Nothing starts off an excellent story like a call to the authorities, and some smart-mouthed cops.
Another client comes in, throws some money around, cries a bit and it's a mad dash to the internet, every detective's best-friend. Jones locates the missing quarry, goes to collect some video evidence and... Bendis swiftly reminds me that despite the very Noir-ish feel, this is a Marvel comic. Odd. I was envisioning it in black and white, bad music and an airplane flying over head during a reflective monologue. Due to a huge part of Jones' past, one I dare not reveal in case I'm labeled a spoiler, she freaks the freak out.
Bendis paints an unbelievable, powerful and very addictive picture of deception, discovery and mystery, wrapped up with some sex, politics and the American Flag. His characters are likable, or at least, they invoke some emotion. Pssh. Rick Jones. Whatever! I'd like to clock him with that Sidekick book, right over his falsely swollen head. Either will do. The amount of text looks daunting, but your eyes take it in like water to a man lost in the desert, and before you know it, you're staring and going, "That's it?!" I would have bitterly snapped at my husband, but the smart man disappeared soon after I cracked the pages. I get emotional, especially at endings. All the Bendis works I have read have left me gaping at the end, in love and furious it was over. Darn you.
I don't think I've ever read anything with Michael Gaydos illustrating it before, but I'm super glad I have. I love the way he did this comic. It's hard for me to descrbe art sometimes, I can never word it quite the way I'd like, or even pin point WHY I like it. Gaydos's work on Alias is the latter. There's something about it that draws me in and makes me look over each panel carefully. They all flow together so well, and married with Bendis' text, it's so easy to fill in the between sequences.The way the panels are arranged, like in the alley with the cell-phone, is perfect. It goes with the actions, the movements and it adds to the over-all effect of what's happening in each panel. Plus, they just look freaking awesome. I like how the use of color isn't excessive, or too complex, and the shadowing looks great! I'm a little thrown by Jones' face sometimes, and even Power Man's back, but I guess that's 'cause I'm not into men that have muscles bigger than their heads. Eh. I suppose he wouldn't be Power Man otherwise.
"So, I said to him, I said, Well, if that's true, shouldn't you shoot the webs out of your ass?"
A line that paraphrases conversations Michael and I have had a thousand times over. There are little lines like this that bring it all together for me. Simplistic, human and very every day mundane. One of my favorite things about Bendis is his ability to sensationalize, and at the same time, drive home the point that even super heroes are every day people sometimes. They talk, and gossip, and curse, and get mad. That's part of what this book is all about for me. I know the story line behind it is much bigger and way more complex, but Jones is as average a woman as her name most of the time, despite her past, and it shows that no one is perfect, especially not those living in the very public eye.
The only thing that could have made this any better was a surprise appearance by Batman. I'm just saying. Keep it in mind.
Phil Hester - The Darkness Review
After reading this particular trade (Accursed Volume One) I shut off the lights, rolled over in The Darkness, and tried to sleep...
"And The Darkness? The Darkness resented it."
My mind resented it.
My sense of adventure resented it.
Every particle in my being screamed at me to instantly get online and find out if there was more, and to sit down and write this review. Instead, I yammered my husband's ear off, and Tweeted about a work of genius on the part of Phil Hester, who has by far been one of my favorite writers/artists since being introduced to the wonderful world of comic. I was not familiar with Michael Broussard's work, but I am looking forward to Google-Stalking him for a while.
Hester opens up with a simple five panel page, with few words, but words that as a Christian made me go, "That is the coolest spin off of Scripture I have ever read." As a writer myself, amateur but in the words of Michael Avon Oeming, writing makes you a writer, I screamed at myself for not thinking of something so... defining... first. The text on this first page is something that will forever stick in my mind as profound and freaking awesome. If nothing else about Phillip Hester stays with me, this page will. The artwork, Broussard, was stunning. It looks so simple, but I am willing to be a ton of work went behind it to achieve that. It illustrates the beginning of the world in a beautiful light, and at the same time, shows the underlying evil that comes with all that is good, and righteous.
I kept saying one more part, then I will be ready for bed, just one more. And then another, and another. The plot had me so hooked on it I could not put it down to sleep, or pay attention to the movie playing on the television, and I really was not all that ready to put the babies to sleep because there was no good stopping point!
Besides, to be perfectly honest, Jackie Estacado is not the sort of man you can just say "No" to. Everything about him draws you in, from the outward appearance of mystery business man meets badass biker dude, to the very-badboy attitude. He is the kind of bro you want to hang out with, but you won't, because who needs a friend you can't trust your best girl with? Except, in Jackie's case, you can. He's got Eve, and other issues. He might get her a little stoned though, he definitely makes some powerful drugs! You hate him, but you find yourself caring about what happens to him, and unable to stop yourself. Maybe caring isn't the right word. It's more like when you see a car crash on the interstate. It's brutal and terrible, yet, you can't look away. It's human nature. We are all fascinated with the morbid and the chaotic, and The Darkness delivers you that wrapped in a nice package with pretty hair.
I'm not sure where in the Hello Kitty Hester comes up with his plot lines, his ideas and all the details in between, but if you can somehow come up with a character (I think that's an okay term for her) like Eve, I salute you. I mean, what is going on his mind to think of this?! It's so hard not to be a spoiler!! In the introduction, Jason Aaron likens her to a blow-up doll, and that's an EXCELLENT description but there is so much more going on there. It's like Jackie truly found someone that completes him, his other half, if you will. She has some jealousy issues, but Jackie does try to mold her a bit, maybe a lot, and it seems like he may have a small thing for another woman, Marisole...
Who is part of the rebel group opposing his control, or supposed control, over their small country, and the drugs he uses to help further his cause. Of course, HE doesn't know they are addictive, but she doesn't know that...
Sex, drugs and creepy religious undertones? What's stopping y'all from going out right now and getting this?
Broussard did an amazing job on this. His drawings perfectly depicted The Darkness, the evil and the desperate hope to rise above a curse as old as time. The amount of detail in everything, even the parts most people aren't going to look, astounds me. There are some awesome leaves, and floors! Not to mention a gruesome birth scene, and a fiery explosion. You can feel the emotions rolling off the characters, and every nuance in their facial expression. It's so easy to hear the voices in your mind, because Broussard has made them so real. It's a simple feat to tense up, and hear the light ticking of the bomb, made louder in the hollow tunnels. Looking at Jackie, it makes you want to beg Marisole to just believe him, trust him and let him go. Ack. There are so many emotions poured into every panel, into every drawing and into every character, I felt like I was involved in the story, standing in the middle of the room, with it spinning around me and the plot unfurling before my eyes, helpless to do anything to stop it, and eager for more.
That is what The Darkness does to you. It draws you into the chaos, the treachery and the pain. And then it rubs your face in it until you can't breathe.
Hester and Broussard were unified in the perfect marriage of art and word, "and just wait'll you meet the bouncing, baby boy."
"And The Darkness? The Darkness resented it."
My mind resented it.
My sense of adventure resented it.
Every particle in my being screamed at me to instantly get online and find out if there was more, and to sit down and write this review. Instead, I yammered my husband's ear off, and Tweeted about a work of genius on the part of Phil Hester, who has by far been one of my favorite writers/artists since being introduced to the wonderful world of comic. I was not familiar with Michael Broussard's work, but I am looking forward to Google-Stalking him for a while.
Hester opens up with a simple five panel page, with few words, but words that as a Christian made me go, "That is the coolest spin off of Scripture I have ever read." As a writer myself, amateur but in the words of Michael Avon Oeming, writing makes you a writer, I screamed at myself for not thinking of something so... defining... first. The text on this first page is something that will forever stick in my mind as profound and freaking awesome. If nothing else about Phillip Hester stays with me, this page will. The artwork, Broussard, was stunning. It looks so simple, but I am willing to be a ton of work went behind it to achieve that. It illustrates the beginning of the world in a beautiful light, and at the same time, shows the underlying evil that comes with all that is good, and righteous.
I kept saying one more part, then I will be ready for bed, just one more. And then another, and another. The plot had me so hooked on it I could not put it down to sleep, or pay attention to the movie playing on the television, and I really was not all that ready to put the babies to sleep because there was no good stopping point!
Besides, to be perfectly honest, Jackie Estacado is not the sort of man you can just say "No" to. Everything about him draws you in, from the outward appearance of mystery business man meets badass biker dude, to the very-badboy attitude. He is the kind of bro you want to hang out with, but you won't, because who needs a friend you can't trust your best girl with? Except, in Jackie's case, you can. He's got Eve, and other issues. He might get her a little stoned though, he definitely makes some powerful drugs! You hate him, but you find yourself caring about what happens to him, and unable to stop yourself. Maybe caring isn't the right word. It's more like when you see a car crash on the interstate. It's brutal and terrible, yet, you can't look away. It's human nature. We are all fascinated with the morbid and the chaotic, and The Darkness delivers you that wrapped in a nice package with pretty hair.
I'm not sure where in the Hello Kitty Hester comes up with his plot lines, his ideas and all the details in between, but if you can somehow come up with a character (I think that's an okay term for her) like Eve, I salute you. I mean, what is going on his mind to think of this?! It's so hard not to be a spoiler!! In the introduction, Jason Aaron likens her to a blow-up doll, and that's an EXCELLENT description but there is so much more going on there. It's like Jackie truly found someone that completes him, his other half, if you will. She has some jealousy issues, but Jackie does try to mold her a bit, maybe a lot, and it seems like he may have a small thing for another woman, Marisole...
Who is part of the rebel group opposing his control, or supposed control, over their small country, and the drugs he uses to help further his cause. Of course, HE doesn't know they are addictive, but she doesn't know that...
Sex, drugs and creepy religious undertones? What's stopping y'all from going out right now and getting this?
Broussard did an amazing job on this. His drawings perfectly depicted The Darkness, the evil and the desperate hope to rise above a curse as old as time. The amount of detail in everything, even the parts most people aren't going to look, astounds me. There are some awesome leaves, and floors! Not to mention a gruesome birth scene, and a fiery explosion. You can feel the emotions rolling off the characters, and every nuance in their facial expression. It's so easy to hear the voices in your mind, because Broussard has made them so real. It's a simple feat to tense up, and hear the light ticking of the bomb, made louder in the hollow tunnels. Looking at Jackie, it makes you want to beg Marisole to just believe him, trust him and let him go. Ack. There are so many emotions poured into every panel, into every drawing and into every character, I felt like I was involved in the story, standing in the middle of the room, with it spinning around me and the plot unfurling before my eyes, helpless to do anything to stop it, and eager for more.
That is what The Darkness does to you. It draws you into the chaos, the treachery and the pain. And then it rubs your face in it until you can't breathe.
Hester and Broussard were unified in the perfect marriage of art and word, "and just wait'll you meet the bouncing, baby boy."
Sunday, October 27, 2013
Daddy's Day, By Unknown
Her hair was up in a ponytail
Her favorite dress tied with a bow
Today was Daddy's Day at school
And she couldn't wait to go.
But her mommy tried to tell her,
That she probably should stay home.
Why the kids might not understand,
If she went to school alone.
But she was not afraid;
She knew just what to say.
What to tell her classmates
Of why he wasn't there today.
But still her mother worried,
For her to face this day alone.
And that was why once again,
She tried to keep her daughter home.
But the little girl went to school,
Eager to tell them all.
About a dad she never sees,
A dad who never calls.
There were daddies along the wall in back,
For everyone to meet
Children squirming impatently,
Anxious in their seats.
One by one the teacher called,
Each student from the class.
To introduce their daddy,
As seconds slowly passed.
At last the teacher called her name,
Every child turned to stare.
Each of them was searching,
For a man who wasn't there.
"Where's her daddy at?"
She heard a boy call out.
"She probably doesn't have one"
Another student dared to shout.
And from somewhere near the back,
She heard a daddy say,
"Looks like another deadbeat dad,
Too busy to waste his day."
The words did not offened her,
As she smiled up at her mom.
And looked back at her teacher,
Who told her to go on.
And with hands behind her back,
Slowly she began to speak.
And out from the mouth of a child,
Came words incredibly unique.
"My daddy couldn't be here,
Because he lives so far away.
But I know he wishes he could be,
Since this is such a special day.
And though you cannot meet him,
I wanted you to know.
All about my daddy,
And how much he loves me so.
He loved to tell me stories
He taught me to ride my bike.
He surprised me with pink roses,
And taught me to fly a kite.
We used to share fudge sundaes,
and ice cream in a cone.
And though you cannot see him,
I'm not standing here alone.
Cause my daddy's always with me
Even though we are apart.
I know because he told me,
He'll forever be in my heart."
With that, her little hand reached up,
and lay across her chest.
Feeling her own heartbeat,
Beneath her favorite dress.
And from somewhere in the crowd of dads,
Her mother stood in tears.
Proudly watching her daughter,
Who was wise beyond her years.
For she stood up for the love
Of a man not in her life.
Doing what was best for her,
Doing what was right.
And when she dropped her hand back down,
Staring straight into the crowd.
She finished with a voice so soft,
But its message clear and loud.
"I love my daddy very much,
He's my shining star.
And if he could he'd be here,
But heaven's just too far.
You see he was a fireman
And died just this past year.
When airplanes hit the towers
And taught Americans to fear.
But sometimes when I close my eyes,
It's like he never went away."
And then she closes her eyes,
And saw him there that day.
And to her mother's amazement,
She witnessed with surprise.
A room full of daddies and children,
All starting to close their eyes.
Who knows what they say before them,
Who knows what they felt inside.
Perhaps for merely a second,
They saw him at her side.
"I know you're with me Daddy."
To the silence she called out.
And what happened next made believers,
Of those once filled with doubt.
Not one in that room could explain it,
For each of their eyes had been closed.
But there on the desk beside her,
Was a fragrant long-stemmed pink rose.
And a child was blessed, if only for a moment,
By the love of her shining bright star.
And given the gift of believing,
That heaven is never too far
Her favorite dress tied with a bow
Today was Daddy's Day at school
And she couldn't wait to go.
But her mommy tried to tell her,
That she probably should stay home.
Why the kids might not understand,
If she went to school alone.
But she was not afraid;
She knew just what to say.
What to tell her classmates
Of why he wasn't there today.
But still her mother worried,
For her to face this day alone.
And that was why once again,
She tried to keep her daughter home.
But the little girl went to school,
Eager to tell them all.
About a dad she never sees,
A dad who never calls.
There were daddies along the wall in back,
For everyone to meet
Children squirming impatently,
Anxious in their seats.
One by one the teacher called,
Each student from the class.
To introduce their daddy,
As seconds slowly passed.
At last the teacher called her name,
Every child turned to stare.
Each of them was searching,
For a man who wasn't there.
"Where's her daddy at?"
She heard a boy call out.
"She probably doesn't have one"
Another student dared to shout.
And from somewhere near the back,
She heard a daddy say,
"Looks like another deadbeat dad,
Too busy to waste his day."
The words did not offened her,
As she smiled up at her mom.
And looked back at her teacher,
Who told her to go on.
And with hands behind her back,
Slowly she began to speak.
And out from the mouth of a child,
Came words incredibly unique.
"My daddy couldn't be here,
Because he lives so far away.
But I know he wishes he could be,
Since this is such a special day.
And though you cannot meet him,
I wanted you to know.
All about my daddy,
And how much he loves me so.
He loved to tell me stories
He taught me to ride my bike.
He surprised me with pink roses,
And taught me to fly a kite.
We used to share fudge sundaes,
and ice cream in a cone.
And though you cannot see him,
I'm not standing here alone.
Cause my daddy's always with me
Even though we are apart.
I know because he told me,
He'll forever be in my heart."
With that, her little hand reached up,
and lay across her chest.
Feeling her own heartbeat,
Beneath her favorite dress.
And from somewhere in the crowd of dads,
Her mother stood in tears.
Proudly watching her daughter,
Who was wise beyond her years.
For she stood up for the love
Of a man not in her life.
Doing what was best for her,
Doing what was right.
And when she dropped her hand back down,
Staring straight into the crowd.
She finished with a voice so soft,
But its message clear and loud.
"I love my daddy very much,
He's my shining star.
And if he could he'd be here,
But heaven's just too far.
You see he was a fireman
And died just this past year.
When airplanes hit the towers
And taught Americans to fear.
But sometimes when I close my eyes,
It's like he never went away."
And then she closes her eyes,
And saw him there that day.
And to her mother's amazement,
She witnessed with surprise.
A room full of daddies and children,
All starting to close their eyes.
Who knows what they say before them,
Who knows what they felt inside.
Perhaps for merely a second,
They saw him at her side.
"I know you're with me Daddy."
To the silence she called out.
And what happened next made believers,
Of those once filled with doubt.
Not one in that room could explain it,
For each of their eyes had been closed.
But there on the desk beside her,
Was a fragrant long-stemmed pink rose.
And a child was blessed, if only for a moment,
By the love of her shining bright star.
And given the gift of believing,
That heaven is never too far
Date a Girl Who Reads
Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on
books instead of clothes. She has problems with closet space because she
has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to
read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.
Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag.She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she finds the book she wants. You see the weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a second hand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow.
She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.
Buy her another cup of coffee.
Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.
It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas and for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry, in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.
She has to give it a shot somehow.
Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.
Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who understand that all things will come to end. That you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.
Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilight series.
If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.
You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.
You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.
Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.
Or better yet, date a girl who writes."
Written by: Anonymous
Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag.She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she finds the book she wants. You see the weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a second hand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow.
She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.
Buy her another cup of coffee.
Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.
It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas and for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry, in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.
She has to give it a shot somehow.
Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.
Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who understand that all things will come to end. That you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.
Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilight series.
If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.
You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.
You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.
Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.
Or better yet, date a girl who writes."
Written by: Anonymous
Saturday, October 26, 2013
A Child's Nature
"If God wanted us to be naked, we would have been born this way." - Oscar Wilde
I, being a somewhat decent mother, love my children with all of my heart and soul. I want them to love themselves, and to not have to depend on other's opinions of them to shape who they are, or who they could be. I want them to make up their own minds, be their own persons and to be comfortable in their own skins. I committed myself to giving them every tool I had in my belonging to help them grow up to be independent, confident and proud. That is what any parent should be willing to do for their child, or children. Right? Then why is it we teach our children to be ashamed of their natural bodies, and that it is proper to be fully clothed, and to never allow someone to see them naked?
Now, my children are 2 years 6 months old, and thirteen months old. A lot of people tell me that I have plenty of time to work on their self-worth, that they are babies and it doesn't really rank as vital right now. Um, excuse me? The way my children view themselves at any age is very important to me. I'm that annoying parent that says, "No baby, you're not stupid. You just need time and practice. We don't say stupid in this house. It's mean." Yep, I have informed my still-in-diapers children that hurting other people's feelings will not be tolerated. Shame on me.
When I got together with my husband, we had different ideas of parenting, and we had some points we were the same on. Nude children in the household were not one of those.
"But why is it wrong," He would ask me.
"I don't know! It just is!"
I lost the argument, and he began to educate me. Children who are raised where nudity is accepted in daily life have higher self-esteem, and lower teen pregnancy rates. Once you take the mystery away behind the zipper, what is the point of tugging on it? The more we spoke, the more I honestly came to realize, Hey, he's right! Of course, don't tell him that. I would never live it down.
It wasn't hard for our son, at eight months old he had already shown a love of being nude, or in his diaper if he couldn't get away with it. He took to the new experiment well, and wore a diaper and shoes, his obsession, most of the time. When our daughter was born, she got a lot of diaper time, or skin-to-skin time with Mama. She wore a diaper for that with my husband, because she always took the opportunity to pee on him. Now, all this time later, they both love being naked. It's our potty-training technique, and it worked wonders for our son, who is almost there. Our little girl gets a little bit of time everyday, but not much as she isn't training. She giggles like a madwoman whenever I take her diaper off, even to just change it.
We haven't ran into a problem of being overly interested in private parts other than their own, and my son's concern I don't have a penis. It was a swift explanation on the difference, and a firm direction that you only touch yourself there in your room, when you are alone. No issues.
My children look at a nude person, and see nothing out of the ordinary. They see us hug and kiss, never anything more, and they don't seem to see a difference between that and when we are clothed and out and about. The second we walk in the door, my son is begging us to take his clothes off. He really enjoys being naked, and to me, that's the most important thing. I firmly believe this is helping them grow and be more confident in their appearances, even at this age.
I hated being nude growing up. I hated people seeing my body. I never wore bathing suits, even one pieces, without something over them. Preferably a top and shorts. I went to the beach for the first time the other day in just a swimsuit, and barely even registered it in my mind. I can sit on my couch with my husband and not wonder if he is counting the stretch marks I managed to earn during both pregnancies. I can go out on a date with him, or to the store, or to the family get togethers, and not worry if I look too fat or if too much skin is showing. I started buying clothes that -gasp- actually fit me, and show off some of my assets.
I suffered as a child, from middle school on up, from terrible low self-esteem. If kids at school weren't making comments (and looking back I can see a lot of them I misconstrued from my own imagination), my siblings were. My parents would, of course, drone that I wasn't fat, but maybe I should watch what I eat a little more. Then that stopped, and it was constantly, cover up more, you can't wear that tank-top, your boobs are out. Wow, thanks guys. It isn't my fault I have a larger chest, and you buy my clothes so... yeah.
A friend told my husband, "You better not be walking around naked in your house." First off, it's his house and he pays the bills. Literally. I'm a stay-at-home mother and wife. Secondly, it's my house, and the only other say that matters is mine. She wasn't raised in a way to accept someone enjoying being naked in a non-sexual or outside-the-shower sort of way. Actually, she wasn't allowed to wear clothes that showed off her curves, and for years, despite being a size 4, was buying sizes 8 and 10. Sex was a sin, and there should be no enjoyment in being nude, naked, or any which form of those.
I don't want my children to go through that. I don't want every time they dress out in the locker room to be a source of embarrassment or self-loathing. I don't want them to skip lunch and sit in the library, or not eat because they can't stand having people watch them. I want them to always hold their heads up high and be secure in who they are, and what they look like. I want them to look past the different shapes and sizes, see the person within, and appreciate the outside as a piece of art and beauty, as God intended us to.
Shame is an emotion taught to children, and it is not an emotion I ever want my babies to look at themselves in the mirror for, especially not for something as minor as their physical appearance.
I think my children in their most natural forms are beautiful, and I don't appreciate the sexualization of something so innocent, pure and wholesome. That is exactly what it is: sexualizing what a child sees as a natural, normal and fun thing in their life.
I'm not exposing them to rapists, and so far, we haven't had an opportunity to take them anywhere to experience what a naturist's life is like, such as a resort or campground. Of course, due to their age and lack of bodily function control, they will be in diapers. But I can guarantee neither of them will look and point at a human being that is nude as a freak, because they understand. It's fun to be nakey, they like it and to them it isn't weird.
Children are the future. Why do you want to make that future self-conscious and afraid to awknowledge their God-given beauty?
I, being a somewhat decent mother, love my children with all of my heart and soul. I want them to love themselves, and to not have to depend on other's opinions of them to shape who they are, or who they could be. I want them to make up their own minds, be their own persons and to be comfortable in their own skins. I committed myself to giving them every tool I had in my belonging to help them grow up to be independent, confident and proud. That is what any parent should be willing to do for their child, or children. Right? Then why is it we teach our children to be ashamed of their natural bodies, and that it is proper to be fully clothed, and to never allow someone to see them naked?
Now, my children are 2 years 6 months old, and thirteen months old. A lot of people tell me that I have plenty of time to work on their self-worth, that they are babies and it doesn't really rank as vital right now. Um, excuse me? The way my children view themselves at any age is very important to me. I'm that annoying parent that says, "No baby, you're not stupid. You just need time and practice. We don't say stupid in this house. It's mean." Yep, I have informed my still-in-diapers children that hurting other people's feelings will not be tolerated. Shame on me.
When I got together with my husband, we had different ideas of parenting, and we had some points we were the same on. Nude children in the household were not one of those.
"But why is it wrong," He would ask me.
"I don't know! It just is!"
I lost the argument, and he began to educate me. Children who are raised where nudity is accepted in daily life have higher self-esteem, and lower teen pregnancy rates. Once you take the mystery away behind the zipper, what is the point of tugging on it? The more we spoke, the more I honestly came to realize, Hey, he's right! Of course, don't tell him that. I would never live it down.
It wasn't hard for our son, at eight months old he had already shown a love of being nude, or in his diaper if he couldn't get away with it. He took to the new experiment well, and wore a diaper and shoes, his obsession, most of the time. When our daughter was born, she got a lot of diaper time, or skin-to-skin time with Mama. She wore a diaper for that with my husband, because she always took the opportunity to pee on him. Now, all this time later, they both love being naked. It's our potty-training technique, and it worked wonders for our son, who is almost there. Our little girl gets a little bit of time everyday, but not much as she isn't training. She giggles like a madwoman whenever I take her diaper off, even to just change it.
We haven't ran into a problem of being overly interested in private parts other than their own, and my son's concern I don't have a penis. It was a swift explanation on the difference, and a firm direction that you only touch yourself there in your room, when you are alone. No issues.
My children look at a nude person, and see nothing out of the ordinary. They see us hug and kiss, never anything more, and they don't seem to see a difference between that and when we are clothed and out and about. The second we walk in the door, my son is begging us to take his clothes off. He really enjoys being naked, and to me, that's the most important thing. I firmly believe this is helping them grow and be more confident in their appearances, even at this age.
I hated being nude growing up. I hated people seeing my body. I never wore bathing suits, even one pieces, without something over them. Preferably a top and shorts. I went to the beach for the first time the other day in just a swimsuit, and barely even registered it in my mind. I can sit on my couch with my husband and not wonder if he is counting the stretch marks I managed to earn during both pregnancies. I can go out on a date with him, or to the store, or to the family get togethers, and not worry if I look too fat or if too much skin is showing. I started buying clothes that -gasp- actually fit me, and show off some of my assets.
I suffered as a child, from middle school on up, from terrible low self-esteem. If kids at school weren't making comments (and looking back I can see a lot of them I misconstrued from my own imagination), my siblings were. My parents would, of course, drone that I wasn't fat, but maybe I should watch what I eat a little more. Then that stopped, and it was constantly, cover up more, you can't wear that tank-top, your boobs are out. Wow, thanks guys. It isn't my fault I have a larger chest, and you buy my clothes so... yeah.
A friend told my husband, "You better not be walking around naked in your house." First off, it's his house and he pays the bills. Literally. I'm a stay-at-home mother and wife. Secondly, it's my house, and the only other say that matters is mine. She wasn't raised in a way to accept someone enjoying being naked in a non-sexual or outside-the-shower sort of way. Actually, she wasn't allowed to wear clothes that showed off her curves, and for years, despite being a size 4, was buying sizes 8 and 10. Sex was a sin, and there should be no enjoyment in being nude, naked, or any which form of those.
I don't want my children to go through that. I don't want every time they dress out in the locker room to be a source of embarrassment or self-loathing. I don't want them to skip lunch and sit in the library, or not eat because they can't stand having people watch them. I want them to always hold their heads up high and be secure in who they are, and what they look like. I want them to look past the different shapes and sizes, see the person within, and appreciate the outside as a piece of art and beauty, as God intended us to.
Shame is an emotion taught to children, and it is not an emotion I ever want my babies to look at themselves in the mirror for, especially not for something as minor as their physical appearance.
I think my children in their most natural forms are beautiful, and I don't appreciate the sexualization of something so innocent, pure and wholesome. That is exactly what it is: sexualizing what a child sees as a natural, normal and fun thing in their life.
I'm not exposing them to rapists, and so far, we haven't had an opportunity to take them anywhere to experience what a naturist's life is like, such as a resort or campground. Of course, due to their age and lack of bodily function control, they will be in diapers. But I can guarantee neither of them will look and point at a human being that is nude as a freak, because they understand. It's fun to be nakey, they like it and to them it isn't weird.
Children are the future. Why do you want to make that future self-conscious and afraid to awknowledge their God-given beauty?
Gothic Stained Glass Windows
This is a research paper I did for my Art History course! I thought maybe someone would be interested.
1.) Thesis: "...This study will show that the association of panels of prophets now in London with the Tree of Jesse window at Troyes cathedral is well founded."
2.) Article Summary: This article was written to show that the similiarities the Victoria and Albert Museum prophets and the Tree of Jesse from Troyes Cathedral were based on fact, and were true. The Tree of Jesse was "easily discerned in the distinctive crowned and frontal figures seated admist foilage." (PG. 232, Paston.) The four original panels represent King Solomn, King David, the Virgin, and Christ. There are physical factors such as dimensions, condition of glass and pitting that link the two pieces of art together. The style of art, with its lines and coloring, are another commonality. Some parts of the reconstruction of the Tree of Jesse window may have occured a few decades after other parts of compostition. This is easily explained by the events surrounding the Troyes Cathedral. August 9, 1228 a vicious whirlwind caused unspeakable damage to the cathedral, while in the following year a group of furious barons attacked the same holy church. While believed to have been located in the "central clerestory window" (PG. 236, Paston) due to King Philip Augustus donating thirty pounds "for making the large stained glass window in the center of the church." (PG. 236, Paston.)
3.) Article Critique:
Strengths: I found this article to be very well-written and informative. The author captured my attention with the way she stayed focused on her defense of the two windows being linked, yet made sure to provide adequate proof, not just "you're wrong and I'm right." Paston showed her research into the past with connection Grodecki made to King Augustus' gift of thirty pounds, and with her knowledge of Gothic art, more common in northern parts of the country than where the Tree of Jesse is believed to have been originated. She looked into the history of styles around the time period in question (1220-1240), such as Claudine Lautier with her discovery of the "co-existence of several hands" (PG. 236, Paston.) and Michael Cothren's find of three different styles in an axial chapel.
Weaknesses: I found myself wishing it was a bit longer written, with more detailed history into the art of stained glass, the story behind the representations of the Tree of Jesse, and the discovery of the restoration.
Audience: I believe this was written for an audience of college-level (at minimum) architects and art historians. There is a lot of focus on the stylings and the history of the pieces involved, beyond the simple beauty of a piece of art many could enjoy. The article delved into the representations behind the Tree of Jesse, and into the historical events surrounding the cathedral at the time it is predicted to have first been involved in restoration.
Relation to Today: Every day things are being discovered and used in restorations, or new creations. There are always pieces of art that are being lost and popping up somewhere else in time. The article about the Tree of Jesse is relatable because it was such an important piece that was destroyed and lost, only to mysteriously surface elsewhere. The value of an already beautiful window increased with the discovery of the fragmentations of the Tree inside them.
"And He Shall Gather Together the Dispersed": The Tree of Jesse at Troyes Cathedral
Elizabeth Carson Pastan
Gesta , Vol. 37, No. 2, Essays on Stained Glass in Memory of Jane Hayward (1918-1994) (1998), pp. 232-239
Published by: The University of Chicago Press on behalf of the International Center of Medieval Art
Article Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org.db23.linccweb.org/stable/767264
1.) Thesis: "...This study will show that the association of panels of prophets now in London with the Tree of Jesse window at Troyes cathedral is well founded."
2.) Article Summary: This article was written to show that the similiarities the Victoria and Albert Museum prophets and the Tree of Jesse from Troyes Cathedral were based on fact, and were true. The Tree of Jesse was "easily discerned in the distinctive crowned and frontal figures seated admist foilage." (PG. 232, Paston.) The four original panels represent King Solomn, King David, the Virgin, and Christ. There are physical factors such as dimensions, condition of glass and pitting that link the two pieces of art together. The style of art, with its lines and coloring, are another commonality. Some parts of the reconstruction of the Tree of Jesse window may have occured a few decades after other parts of compostition. This is easily explained by the events surrounding the Troyes Cathedral. August 9, 1228 a vicious whirlwind caused unspeakable damage to the cathedral, while in the following year a group of furious barons attacked the same holy church. While believed to have been located in the "central clerestory window" (PG. 236, Paston) due to King Philip Augustus donating thirty pounds "for making the large stained glass window in the center of the church." (PG. 236, Paston.)
3.) Article Critique:
Strengths: I found this article to be very well-written and informative. The author captured my attention with the way she stayed focused on her defense of the two windows being linked, yet made sure to provide adequate proof, not just "you're wrong and I'm right." Paston showed her research into the past with connection Grodecki made to King Augustus' gift of thirty pounds, and with her knowledge of Gothic art, more common in northern parts of the country than where the Tree of Jesse is believed to have been originated. She looked into the history of styles around the time period in question (1220-1240), such as Claudine Lautier with her discovery of the "co-existence of several hands" (PG. 236, Paston.) and Michael Cothren's find of three different styles in an axial chapel.
Weaknesses: I found myself wishing it was a bit longer written, with more detailed history into the art of stained glass, the story behind the representations of the Tree of Jesse, and the discovery of the restoration.
Audience: I believe this was written for an audience of college-level (at minimum) architects and art historians. There is a lot of focus on the stylings and the history of the pieces involved, beyond the simple beauty of a piece of art many could enjoy. The article delved into the representations behind the Tree of Jesse, and into the historical events surrounding the cathedral at the time it is predicted to have first been involved in restoration.
Relation to Today: Every day things are being discovered and used in restorations, or new creations. There are always pieces of art that are being lost and popping up somewhere else in time. The article about the Tree of Jesse is relatable because it was such an important piece that was destroyed and lost, only to mysteriously surface elsewhere. The value of an already beautiful window increased with the discovery of the fragmentations of the Tree inside them.
"And He Shall Gather Together the Dispersed": The Tree of Jesse at Troyes Cathedral
Elizabeth Carson Pastan
Gesta , Vol. 37, No. 2, Essays on Stained Glass in Memory of Jane Hayward (1918-1994) (1998), pp. 232-239
Published by: The University of Chicago Press on behalf of the International Center of Medieval Art
Article Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org.db23.linccweb.org/stable/767264
Tuesday, October 22, 2013
Mario's Big Problem - An Original!
Mario had a problem. You see, Mario was awfully small. He weighed in
at about 300 pounds, and only seven feet long! How tiny! How mortifying!
Wait a minute, you're saying, that's not small at all. Why, that's
huge! And you would be right, if we were discussing a human being. But,
you see, we are not. The creature in question, Mario, lives off the
coast of Spain, deep in the ocean. Mario is a Dwarf Sperm Whale, and
even for the smallest whale in the ocean, he is so very small.
Mario's brother, Luigi, was a respectable eight and a half feet, and weighed nearly five hundred and fifty pounds! His mother, Shroom, was always consoling her younger son, who was very sensitive about his size.
"It's not the size of the whale," She would sing daily. "It's the size of his heart! That's what really matters dear." Affectionately nudging his side, she would send him off to whale school. Mario hated whale school. The other calves were so mean! They called him terrible names, and hurt his feelings. His brother Luigi was the worst.
"Hey, it's him, Mario!" He would let his voice echoe around the reef. "What a shrimp! If only he had something magical to eat to become big! Haha!" Mario would bow his head and drift on by, sad and alone with no friends.
Just hold on, you might be saying, this is a terrible story! Poor little whale, no one likes him! And his mother! Why isn't she home-schooling him? Well, if you must know, she works. She is a crossing guard for the reef, and works long hours. His father, before you ask, was a sperm-donor-whale. He was never really involved with the boys. Now, shut up and let me finish.
One day, as Mario was swimming to the corner store for some kelp, he saw an AD in the store window.
Ready for a BIG change?!
Mushroom-Flavored Coral For Sale!
Limited Time Only
Please note all purchases are at discretion of customer and we are not held responsible.
Mario had never seen this store before, so he pushed the door open and entered. I'm ready for a big change, he thought to himself as his not-so-big head looked around. Sitting on the dusty counter, yes dusty!, was a basket of coral labeled, :free sample: No one was around, so Mario snatched one up in his mouth and took off. He was so excited for his big changes as he munched his delicious snack, he forgot all about the kelp he had wanted. He went home, where he felt oddly tired, and floated to his bed and shut his eyes.
When he awoke the next morning, he found himself staring at a dumbstruck Luigi, who gaped up at him. Yes! I said up! With a cry only whales could describe, he left a trail of bubbles behind as he found the nearest looking shell. All he could see was one eye!
"Mario!" Shroom yelled from behind him. "What in the world... Oh, you look so much like your father. I-I-I don't even..." And with that, his mother spun and fell to the floor, glowing stars circling her head. Her youngest, but by no means smallest, son preened. He had grown into the size of a huge humpback whale!
Now whenever he swims through the newly-widened halls at whale school, no one dares makes fun of him to his face. After all, they can't see it any longer! And what do you say to the Dwarf Sperm Whale who was no longer so dwarfish?
Mario's brother, Luigi, was a respectable eight and a half feet, and weighed nearly five hundred and fifty pounds! His mother, Shroom, was always consoling her younger son, who was very sensitive about his size.
"It's not the size of the whale," She would sing daily. "It's the size of his heart! That's what really matters dear." Affectionately nudging his side, she would send him off to whale school. Mario hated whale school. The other calves were so mean! They called him terrible names, and hurt his feelings. His brother Luigi was the worst.
"Hey, it's him, Mario!" He would let his voice echoe around the reef. "What a shrimp! If only he had something magical to eat to become big! Haha!" Mario would bow his head and drift on by, sad and alone with no friends.
Just hold on, you might be saying, this is a terrible story! Poor little whale, no one likes him! And his mother! Why isn't she home-schooling him? Well, if you must know, she works. She is a crossing guard for the reef, and works long hours. His father, before you ask, was a sperm-donor-whale. He was never really involved with the boys. Now, shut up and let me finish.
One day, as Mario was swimming to the corner store for some kelp, he saw an AD in the store window.
Ready for a BIG change?!
Mushroom-Flavored Coral For Sale!
Limited Time Only
Please note all purchases are at discretion of customer and we are not held responsible.
Mario had never seen this store before, so he pushed the door open and entered. I'm ready for a big change, he thought to himself as his not-so-big head looked around. Sitting on the dusty counter, yes dusty!, was a basket of coral labeled, :free sample: No one was around, so Mario snatched one up in his mouth and took off. He was so excited for his big changes as he munched his delicious snack, he forgot all about the kelp he had wanted. He went home, where he felt oddly tired, and floated to his bed and shut his eyes.
When he awoke the next morning, he found himself staring at a dumbstruck Luigi, who gaped up at him. Yes! I said up! With a cry only whales could describe, he left a trail of bubbles behind as he found the nearest looking shell. All he could see was one eye!
"Mario!" Shroom yelled from behind him. "What in the world... Oh, you look so much like your father. I-I-I don't even..." And with that, his mother spun and fell to the floor, glowing stars circling her head. Her youngest, but by no means smallest, son preened. He had grown into the size of a huge humpback whale!
Now whenever he swims through the newly-widened halls at whale school, no one dares makes fun of him to his face. After all, they can't see it any longer! And what do you say to the Dwarf Sperm Whale who was no longer so dwarfish?
Rainbow Dash Blurb
As I sat brainstorming this blog, it made me realize something: My husband is to blame for most of my obsessions.
He's the one who bought me my first My Little Pony comic book, and put Friendship is Magic and the Micro-Series on our pull list at the comic store.
He encouraged me! I blame him. Due to his loving support, I am not pretty fixated on Rainbow Dash, the pony in charge of the element of loyalty.
Rainbow Dash is awesome, and cool, and radical. She's a Pegasus pony, who lives in a cloud above Ponyville (formerly Cloudsdale), with a rainbow mane/tail and the power to manipulate weather, create storms and fierce winds, followed by lovely rainbows. RD is a little cocky and over-confident, but it often comes across as lazy. One of the first episodes I watched, re-runs are amazing, opened up with her languishing on a cloud doing nothing, apparently shirking her duties as a weather manipulator, and just hanging about. When Twilight Sparkles accuses her of being too lazy to work, RD proves that isn't the case. In ten-seconds flat, she has the skies clear and her job is done! Her speed and agility as a flier gets her called "a champion flier" on more than one occassion, and helps feed her desire to become a Wonderbolt, a member of the elite group of weather control ponies.
RD is also a smidgen rude. She belittles Fluttershy, one of the more shy and introverted ponies, for being too cowardly and soft-spoken. She never apologizes to her friend for her hurtful words, but she also defends her against others, which ultimately caused her to be the first in her class to earn her Cutie Mark, a rainbow and lightning bolt combination! She's brash and loud, and likes being fast and winning. In a way, it's almost her own obsession.
Aside from the awesomeness that is RD, she also has a pet! In "May the Best Pet Win" Fluttershy offers her all sorts of pets, ranging from tiny ground animals to a very proud and haughty hawk. RD was unable to decide which was worthy of her, so she set up a set of challenges. The challenges were based on style, agility, speed and other such important qualities. She was determined to get a pet that could keep up with her, so she automatically focused more on the birds and flying animals. The entire day, she tries to get a little turtle to just give up because he was to slow and wasn't radical at all. He doesn't, and she is forced to endure the aggravation all day. The final challenge is a race, and the hawk wins! But RD is trapped in the canyon, her wing caught under a fallen rock, and no one stopped to help her, all being too focused on winning the game. The turtle is slow enough that he was way behind the pack, and he stopped to lend a... hand? Paw? Err... Anyways. When RD crosses the finish line on his back, she apologizes to him for her rude behavior. Then she announces that Tank was the only one to cross the finish line with her, which is what she requested. She chose the turtle, and named him Tank. Tank had a little magic-propelled router on his back and aviator glasses to keep up with his new friend.
I love Rainbow Dash. I love her attitude and her arrogance and her intense loyalty to her friends. I adore her sense of fun and adventure. She's very mischievious, always playing pranks on everypony, often needing someone to step in and remind her it isn't as fun as she thinks it is. She's nicknamed Rainbow Crash by Spike the dragon, and is very competitive.
She allowed Rarity to make her over, even though she frowned and sulked the whole time. She has a huge love of books, something she hid as "egg-heads like you Twilight Sparkle" are the only ones who read books. She's often seen with a Daring Do novel throughout the series, both television and comic. I love reading, so it makes me very happy that there is a pony that has a great love of books as well, and it certainly helped her become my favorite pony!
Stand by for my future tattoo design, Rainbow Dash dressed up as Batman, courtesy of my husband!
He's the one who bought me my first My Little Pony comic book, and put Friendship is Magic and the Micro-Series on our pull list at the comic store.
He encouraged me! I blame him. Due to his loving support, I am not pretty fixated on Rainbow Dash, the pony in charge of the element of loyalty.
Rainbow Dash is awesome, and cool, and radical. She's a Pegasus pony, who lives in a cloud above Ponyville (formerly Cloudsdale), with a rainbow mane/tail and the power to manipulate weather, create storms and fierce winds, followed by lovely rainbows. RD is a little cocky and over-confident, but it often comes across as lazy. One of the first episodes I watched, re-runs are amazing, opened up with her languishing on a cloud doing nothing, apparently shirking her duties as a weather manipulator, and just hanging about. When Twilight Sparkles accuses her of being too lazy to work, RD proves that isn't the case. In ten-seconds flat, she has the skies clear and her job is done! Her speed and agility as a flier gets her called "a champion flier" on more than one occassion, and helps feed her desire to become a Wonderbolt, a member of the elite group of weather control ponies.
RD is also a smidgen rude. She belittles Fluttershy, one of the more shy and introverted ponies, for being too cowardly and soft-spoken. She never apologizes to her friend for her hurtful words, but she also defends her against others, which ultimately caused her to be the first in her class to earn her Cutie Mark, a rainbow and lightning bolt combination! She's brash and loud, and likes being fast and winning. In a way, it's almost her own obsession.
Aside from the awesomeness that is RD, she also has a pet! In "May the Best Pet Win" Fluttershy offers her all sorts of pets, ranging from tiny ground animals to a very proud and haughty hawk. RD was unable to decide which was worthy of her, so she set up a set of challenges. The challenges were based on style, agility, speed and other such important qualities. She was determined to get a pet that could keep up with her, so she automatically focused more on the birds and flying animals. The entire day, she tries to get a little turtle to just give up because he was to slow and wasn't radical at all. He doesn't, and she is forced to endure the aggravation all day. The final challenge is a race, and the hawk wins! But RD is trapped in the canyon, her wing caught under a fallen rock, and no one stopped to help her, all being too focused on winning the game. The turtle is slow enough that he was way behind the pack, and he stopped to lend a... hand? Paw? Err... Anyways. When RD crosses the finish line on his back, she apologizes to him for her rude behavior. Then she announces that Tank was the only one to cross the finish line with her, which is what she requested. She chose the turtle, and named him Tank. Tank had a little magic-propelled router on his back and aviator glasses to keep up with his new friend.
I love Rainbow Dash. I love her attitude and her arrogance and her intense loyalty to her friends. I adore her sense of fun and adventure. She's very mischievious, always playing pranks on everypony, often needing someone to step in and remind her it isn't as fun as she thinks it is. She's nicknamed Rainbow Crash by Spike the dragon, and is very competitive.
She allowed Rarity to make her over, even though she frowned and sulked the whole time. She has a huge love of books, something she hid as "egg-heads like you Twilight Sparkle" are the only ones who read books. She's often seen with a Daring Do novel throughout the series, both television and comic. I love reading, so it makes me very happy that there is a pony that has a great love of books as well, and it certainly helped her become my favorite pony!
Stand by for my future tattoo design, Rainbow Dash dressed up as Batman, courtesy of my husband!
Batman: Haunted Gotham Review
First off, let me just say how much I love Batman. When my husband introduced me to comics, I hadn't seen any superhero movies, read the comics or played the games. I had seen Spider-Man with Toby McGuire, and really, need I say more on how those films just didn't cut it? I finally deigned to read Batman for his sake... and I fell in love.
The darkness, the mystery, the pain and the rage! It hit me, slammed straight into my heart, into everything my nineteen-year-old little psyche romanticized. I sympathized with the boy, empathized with the man and fully supported the legend of the Batman. My husband thought it was funny how quickly I became obsessed, demanding that we watch the next movie, and yes, of COURSE he should raid his (rather impressive) comic collection for anything even referring to the Dark Knight.
My two and a half year old son has known who Batman was since he could barely walk. And he harbors his own, partially forced upon him, love for the alter ego of Bruce Wayne. I say alter ego, but really, Bruce is a farce, the cowl is an unmasking.
So, it came as a pretty big surprise when I discovered I really didn't care for the Elseworlds book, Batman: Haunted Gotham. And by "didn't care for" I mean I really, really, really wish I had never read it. I disliked the entire idea of the plot, though no offense meant to the writer Doug Moench, but despite none meant...
I understand that Haunted Gotham is an Elseworlds book. Truly, I get it. But sorcery? Werewolves? Talking freaking skeletons? No. Just, no. For my first delve into a supernatural realm with Batman, I felt like it was a bit much, but that's probably just me. I will admit, I walked into this one eager as a puppy. The first page didn't disappoint.
Beware
All Who Enter
Haunted Gotham
Where the gates
To Heaven are
Forever Barred
Where Evil
Has declared victory
Where Hell
Brushes the earth
Where dark
Demons steal
All light
Chills, right? This was my favorite page, and my favorite part. Ignoring the annoyingly invasive speech bubble located elsewhere on the page, the art was beautifully dark. The tombstones were simple and perfect, the distant city forbidding and uninviting, untouchable. Then WHAM! An amazingly drawn, and inked (thanks to artist Kelley Jones and inker John Beatty), marker, with a gargoyle and a kneeling angel. Daniel Vozzo did very few colors, and the effect is utterly stunning. All in all, I was all set for a remarkable read.
Yeah, about that....
I cannot quite put my finger on it, but maybe it was the way Bruce Wayne inherited the Batman-dom. Actually, it could be the fact that he INHERITED the Batman-dom! That isn't something you inherit! The whole point of Batman is that he is driven by rage, and pain, and guilt, and a very unhealthy need for revenge. He needs to punish his parent's killer, he needs to find a reason to exist. Being Batman is that reason! He trains hard and fast to become who he needs to be, to embrace the fear he has that is constantly eating away at him.
It. Isn't. Handed. To Him.
Batman isn't a family tradition! It isn't a legacy to be passed down from father to son, like Thomas Wayne did after his death, through the ever faithful Alfred.
Maybe I'm ridiculous, but I feel like the crime-fighting passion that burns within Bruce wouldn't be nearly as fierce as it was in the real world of Gotham. In Haunted Gotham it's just a convenient, "Oh hey, I know I'm dead. Here's an outlet for you. Carry on both the family businesses!"
Puh-lease.
I didn't really find myself liking the Batman design either. I love the blanked out eyes. I agree with Phil Hester, who feels that Batman is less believable with blanked out eyes, and therefore, should always have them. On that, I salute you Mr. Jones. However, detracting from the awesome eyes are the ears.
Hello, are we trying to pick up Sputnik?
I almost feel like the ridiculously tall ears are going out of the way to emphasize the bat-inspiration for the Caped Crusader. I guess that's understandable to most people, but not to me. Just why? What purpose do they serve? They'd get in the way, get caught in things and just look plain ole silly. On the other hand, they DO help make an impressive shadow I suppose.
I love the artwork. I love the simplicity. I love how there is just enough detail in the panels to make it seem like everything is fully detailed and planned out to have maximum effect. But when you throw it all together, the faces, the character design, the colors of Beatty... The overall impression gives me chills in a bad way. I don't want to say it seems sloppy or poorly done, because that's not it. That would be much more simple for me, refreshingly so. There is just something about what is technically good work that throws the whole kit and kaboodle off kilter for me.
I don't know. Maybe I'm just too stuck on MY Batman to be open to an Elseworlds re-write of him. At the end of the day, I wouldn't recommend Haunted Gotham to a friend, maybe an enemy though.
The darkness, the mystery, the pain and the rage! It hit me, slammed straight into my heart, into everything my nineteen-year-old little psyche romanticized. I sympathized with the boy, empathized with the man and fully supported the legend of the Batman. My husband thought it was funny how quickly I became obsessed, demanding that we watch the next movie, and yes, of COURSE he should raid his (rather impressive) comic collection for anything even referring to the Dark Knight.
My two and a half year old son has known who Batman was since he could barely walk. And he harbors his own, partially forced upon him, love for the alter ego of Bruce Wayne. I say alter ego, but really, Bruce is a farce, the cowl is an unmasking.
So, it came as a pretty big surprise when I discovered I really didn't care for the Elseworlds book, Batman: Haunted Gotham. And by "didn't care for" I mean I really, really, really wish I had never read it. I disliked the entire idea of the plot, though no offense meant to the writer Doug Moench, but despite none meant...
I understand that Haunted Gotham is an Elseworlds book. Truly, I get it. But sorcery? Werewolves? Talking freaking skeletons? No. Just, no. For my first delve into a supernatural realm with Batman, I felt like it was a bit much, but that's probably just me. I will admit, I walked into this one eager as a puppy. The first page didn't disappoint.
Beware
All Who Enter
Haunted Gotham
Where the gates
To Heaven are
Forever Barred
Where Evil
Has declared victory
Where Hell
Brushes the earth
Where dark
Demons steal
All light
Chills, right? This was my favorite page, and my favorite part. Ignoring the annoyingly invasive speech bubble located elsewhere on the page, the art was beautifully dark. The tombstones were simple and perfect, the distant city forbidding and uninviting, untouchable. Then WHAM! An amazingly drawn, and inked (thanks to artist Kelley Jones and inker John Beatty), marker, with a gargoyle and a kneeling angel. Daniel Vozzo did very few colors, and the effect is utterly stunning. All in all, I was all set for a remarkable read.
Yeah, about that....
I cannot quite put my finger on it, but maybe it was the way Bruce Wayne inherited the Batman-dom. Actually, it could be the fact that he INHERITED the Batman-dom! That isn't something you inherit! The whole point of Batman is that he is driven by rage, and pain, and guilt, and a very unhealthy need for revenge. He needs to punish his parent's killer, he needs to find a reason to exist. Being Batman is that reason! He trains hard and fast to become who he needs to be, to embrace the fear he has that is constantly eating away at him.
It. Isn't. Handed. To Him.
Batman isn't a family tradition! It isn't a legacy to be passed down from father to son, like Thomas Wayne did after his death, through the ever faithful Alfred.
Maybe I'm ridiculous, but I feel like the crime-fighting passion that burns within Bruce wouldn't be nearly as fierce as it was in the real world of Gotham. In Haunted Gotham it's just a convenient, "Oh hey, I know I'm dead. Here's an outlet for you. Carry on both the family businesses!"
Puh-lease.
I didn't really find myself liking the Batman design either. I love the blanked out eyes. I agree with Phil Hester, who feels that Batman is less believable with blanked out eyes, and therefore, should always have them. On that, I salute you Mr. Jones. However, detracting from the awesome eyes are the ears.
Hello, are we trying to pick up Sputnik?
I almost feel like the ridiculously tall ears are going out of the way to emphasize the bat-inspiration for the Caped Crusader. I guess that's understandable to most people, but not to me. Just why? What purpose do they serve? They'd get in the way, get caught in things and just look plain ole silly. On the other hand, they DO help make an impressive shadow I suppose.
I love the artwork. I love the simplicity. I love how there is just enough detail in the panels to make it seem like everything is fully detailed and planned out to have maximum effect. But when you throw it all together, the faces, the character design, the colors of Beatty... The overall impression gives me chills in a bad way. I don't want to say it seems sloppy or poorly done, because that's not it. That would be much more simple for me, refreshingly so. There is just something about what is technically good work that throws the whole kit and kaboodle off kilter for me.
I don't know. Maybe I'm just too stuck on MY Batman to be open to an Elseworlds re-write of him. At the end of the day, I wouldn't recommend Haunted Gotham to a friend, maybe an enemy though.
Monday, October 21, 2013
It's Fall Y'all!
It is a time of pumpkins, and candy, and light jackets, and... green trees.
Welcome to Florida, land of two weathers: Beach Weather, and Surfing-If-You-Don't-Mind-Cold-Water-Weather.
I like fall. I dislike calling it Autumn. Don't ask me why. I just dislike it a lot, and not hate, because my husband says that's a mean word and I shouldn't use it.
I love the bonfires, and the jeans, and the spirit of Halloween! I love the colors, warm and soothing. I like seeing kids dress up in costumes, and decorating the yard in those nasty fake spiderwebs I avoid at all costs because I can't stand even fake spiders.
I love going to the beach with a zip-up jacket, and picking up shells. And I adore the fact that hot chocolate is now the perfect drink.
Most of the time.
I think it got to nearly 86 degrees today.
So again, welcome to fall y'all. 'Tis the season for candy corn! <3
Welcome to Florida, land of two weathers: Beach Weather, and Surfing-If-You-Don't-Mind-Cold-Water-Weather.
I like fall. I dislike calling it Autumn. Don't ask me why. I just dislike it a lot, and not hate, because my husband says that's a mean word and I shouldn't use it.
I love the bonfires, and the jeans, and the spirit of Halloween! I love the colors, warm and soothing. I like seeing kids dress up in costumes, and decorating the yard in those nasty fake spiderwebs I avoid at all costs because I can't stand even fake spiders.
I love going to the beach with a zip-up jacket, and picking up shells. And I adore the fact that hot chocolate is now the perfect drink.
Most of the time.
I think it got to nearly 86 degrees today.
So again, welcome to fall y'all. 'Tis the season for candy corn! <3
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