The first comic book I ever bought was Spawn number one. I don’t recall the exact reasons behind buying it save for the “Oooooh wow!” factor of the cover: preposterous swaths of crimson, gouts of inky black framed by sharp bands of bone white, swirling green mysts… my god, all that green… conveying a sinister magic that drew me in immediately. I stayed hooked on the Spawn franchise up until the creator, Todd McFarlane, bailed to go do other things like make figurines and what-not. The artist changed, the storyline changed, and I kind of gave up. Alongside Spawn, I followed other Image comics like WildC.A.T.S, Cyberforce and Gen 13. But when I stopped caring about Spawn, I kind of dropped comic books altogether. I guess I moved on. Continue reading →
(I originally wrote this a few weeks after Amber and Bobby died but I didn’t publish it for some reason)
Amongst the mourners and tears, while words like “special,” “energetic” and “beautiful” were being applied in spades to a friend who was more than the definitions of those words, I noticed a lack of an element, a keystone in the drama surrounding Amber’s death. Beyond an allusion in the opening of the funeral, Bobby Isley simply did not exist. Granted, it was – and still is – on many peoples’ minds. Yet his ghost found no purchase with anyone that day and it was roundly and silently rejected by all in attendance. It wasn’t right for him to be there and this was made concrete by the fact that the woman he had loved was now in a casket, placed there by his hand. Continue reading →
(This is a repost from a Facebook note I wrote on 01/07/2010)
There’s no accurate way to express my feelings about this tragedy; I’ve had about a day to think things over which is, frankly, too short a time to even begin to comprehend what has happened. There’s a strange numbness, I think, like holding a coin with frozen hands: you know that coin is there, precious and solid in your hand but all you get are dim and fuzzy outlines. The memory of that coin is solid but the physicality of it is fleeing and elusive.
Last night that coin slipped from my fingers and was lost forever beneath my feet and no amount of scrambling or searching can bring it back. My hands are still numb but despite that, the memory is there, perhaps dulled with time but still tied to what I once knew I had. I didn’t search or scramble – it would be fruitless to do such a thing. Searching for that coin now would be like thrashing about in cold surf: my hands would be more numb, wet and slippery, and the coin is simply gone in the tidal crash. Continue reading →
It’s the same one I’ve been having on and off again for the last ten years: I’m in a crowd, in the city, somewhere, and I see him off in the distance, moving away fast. I start to run, chasing after him, yelling and trying to get his attention but he disappears around a corner. When I finally catch up, he’s gone. There’s nothing there, no one, and I’m left floundering and flat-footed, hoarse and shaking that he’s gone again. Continue reading →