REVIEW: Dark Knight III: The Master Race book one

So here I am friendly friends, back and better than ever with my belly of meat and potatoes and ready to vomit my thoughts on Frank Miller’s newest creation all over the screens of your PCs, laptops and cellular telephones.  Of course I could only be talking about none other than the slightly clumsily named DKIII The Master Race Book One, the first issue in an 8-issue miniseries (though I think there’s some spin off stuff that’s coming out too but I’m not sure).  For those not keeping track this is the third part in what began in Frank Miller’s groundbreaking 1986 4-issue miniseries The Dark Knight Returns and continuing in Miller’s controversial and not very fondly remembered 2001 3-issue miniseries The Dark Knight Strikes Again.  

Quick upfront confession: I have always felt The Dark Knight Returns to be highly overrated as a BATMAN story.  I’ve been savagely raped and sodomized in the past for voicing this opinion in comic shops so let me be clear: as a comics story it is deservedly looked at as a milestone and is every bit as vital and necessary as ever.  I can remember reading those issues (and issues of Alan Moore’s and Dave Gibbons’ incredible Watchmen) on the subway during that summer of 86’, sitting there in slack jawed awe and knowing the industry would never be the same.  But as a Batman story, as a DC universe story, it leaves me rather cold and the thuggish Dark Knight and milquetoast Superman which are featured are not the most compelling visions of these heroes for me.  In an effort to invalidate my opinion even further I will say that I prefer by a large margin The Dark Knight Strikes Again for all its bombastic energy and sheer bizarre antics.  It’s a brave book and I have similarly great memories of defending its bold gargantuan vision to irate fans (I also prefer Miller and Jim Lee’s All Star Batman & Robin though I’m not quite as quick to defend it).  

I’ve provided this preponderance of exposition to make the largely unimportant point that I may not fall into the target audience for this project.  Actually, I’m a Batman junkie and buy pretty much everything in which he appears so I’m exactly the target audience but what I mean to say is that I was not hotly anticipating this release.  I think the saturation of unimpressive “events” in superhero comics initially quashed my enthusiasm.  However slowly but surely the prerelease hype began to seep into the moist crevices of my brain and infect it with insatiable curiosity.  I’m far from the only one as issue #1 is looking to be DC’s bestselling comic book in a decade (more on that in a bit).  So this past Wed I hitchhiked on down to Ye Olde Comics Shoppe and purchased on a copy with American legal tender and upon returning to my posh flat I poured myself a glass of Macallan 12 on the rocks, kicked back on my bourgeois sofa and let Miller’s latest romp wash over me like a refreshing deluge.

5 thrilling minutes later I was done! 

No, I kid haha.  But I’m going to say it right now: this issue was pretty low on content and by that I mean pretty low on story.  Basically Batman has returned again (or has he?!), beats some people up, Wonder Woman is reintroduced and we learn she’s had another child and Lara visits the fortress of solitude to find that Superman is literally frozen (seemingly self-induced) though we don’t learn why and the people who live in the bottle city of Kandor need help with something. 

That’s it.  At this point there is no actual story, just a couple barely teased threads that could turn into a story.  I should say right now that Miller’s actual involvement here seems akin to George Lucas in the new Star Wars movie: ideas man, plotter, final say guy but the one really writing this is Brian Azzarello of 100 Bullets fame among many other notable works.  Because of this I’m not sure who to hold more accountable for such a thin narrative but I can say that Azzarello’s other superhero work that I’ve read such as Superman: For Tomorrow, the Joker graphic novel and that Lex Luthor miniseries suffered from a similar vacuous streak where I frequently felt the need to question when any of this plot was going to amount to something.  Worse, Azzarello has a tendency to indulge word play and needlessly convoluted narrative tricks.  It popped up here with Kira’s dialogue about whether she’s part of the part or part of the whole and it immediately set my head on fire.  That may sound like a nitpick but over the course of 8 issues he could really run rampant with it.  At the same time the aforementioned All Star Batman & Robin is not exactly well revered for showcasing great writing on the part of Miller so really either or both of these men could be to blame. I’m happier than a rat bastard that they’re including things from DKSA again rather than ignoring it but this comic positively reeks of weak-event-first-issueitis. 

In this modern day and age one can say maybe they’re writing for the trade paperback and it will read better once complete but a great story can be written that satisfies both in installments and in a trade format as Scott Snyder’s New 52 Batman run has continually proven.  Even closer to home, just dig out the back issues or the trade and re-read that first issue of The Dark Knight Returns.  It is incredible how much story Miller fit into that without anything feeling rushed or crammed and while somehow subtly setting up a dozen others things which would have huge payoffs.  There is no excuse or need to kick off a story in such a thin way. 

A quick positive about the story: I won’t spoil the ending but it is a neat little twist and were I not already committed to the long haul out a sense of righteous duty I can say it would be enough to get me to come back for the second issue to see how that turns out.  

I have far fewer complaints on the penciling side of things!  I’ve always been a fan of Andy Kubert and he does not disappoint.  Kubert’s dynamic larger than life figures remain intact and the way he is clearly paying homage to Miller’s style with some of the layout and blocking of certain scenes is brilliant and Klaus Janson’s inks compliment this as well as they did on Miller’s own work (Janson is a super pro inker).  I loved the slight redesign of Wonder Woman from DKSA and am pleased as punch to find she looks the same here and it was exciting to see Kubert draw Superman again – albeit briefly and in the form of popsicle – as his Superman is one of my all-time faves!  Sadly, I found Brad Anderson’s coloring to be a bit drab and uninspired, especially following Lynn Varley who provided such rich ambience on the original and psychotic Dario Argento-esque Technicolor madness on the sequel.  Anderson appears to be trying to ape the former work which is understandable but the results often feel like a pale imitation

Something swell about this miniseries is that each issue is going to feature a backup story about an ancillary character in this universe which ties into the main plot.  These are co-written by Mr. Miller and Mr. Azzarello and drawn by Mlller (still featuring inks by the indelible Janson).  I was not prepared for how cute the formatting would be though as they come in the form of a mini comic inserted in the center of the main issue.  It was so cute it immediately made me want to blow my brains out with a shotgun.  I will say I enjoyed this backup more than the main issue and it told the same amount of story (actually slightly more) in a fraction of the pages. Miller’s art is a scruffy delight and though Ms. Varley is still missed Alex Sinclair’s coloring here works well. 

 As I alluded to earlier, the words on the streets is this premiere is set to be DC’s bestselling comic in a decade which shows that despite (or perhaps because of?!) how divisive Miller has become he still holds a mighty cache in the comics world – as does Batman and the legacy of this particular iteration.  In that jolly celebration of legacy and commerce DC has seen fit to give fans a plethora of collecting choices as this issue ships with an absolutely fucking staggering 71 different covers!  71 fucking covers!  Seventy-one!  That means 1 standard cover and 70 variants!  Incredible!  Thankfully, I left the halcyon days of obsessive collecting back in the past with other remnants of my misspent youth and I was quite pleased with the standard Kubert cover (which is pictured at the top).  It’s a simple striking image in keeping with the history of this series and though I have reservations on Miller’s characterization of Batman I have always loved the beefy hulking appearance (and I’m very much looking forward to seeing that  look in Batman v Superman: Dawn of Cheez-Its next year!).  With the sheer number of covers and the fact that many are retailer exclusive variants – meaning places may have to order 50 or 100 or more copies just to receive a specific variant and which guarantees obscene prices for some of these – I do not envy that collector minded fan who wishes to hunt down their favorites and I especially don’t envy the psychotic and deranged lost soul that attempts to collect em’ all!  Though I would love to get my hands on the Kelley Jones cover, and Darwyn Cooke too, oh and Gary Frank, fuck, Brian Bolland too, and most definitely Bruce Timm, and Frank Miller’s own 1:100 variant is super gritty wonky badassery!

Hmmm, so with all that above information what do I ultimately score this?!  It was entertaining if nothing else but I wasn’t expecting something so…light?!  Not light in tone but light as in a lacking substance.  I hope to be proven wrong, especially because the art really is quite good but I have to give this a 6 out 10.  If I ignored the backup feature and Kubert’s art it would be lower.  

And yet I’m still excited for the second issue to come out!  What the hell is wrong with me?!

thunder ocean

I always remember that loyalty and dignity is valuable.  But is my life valuable too?  I think I used to think so but now I am not so sure.  I’m learning to live with this but I do not want to live with this.  But I’m learning.  There is something grey waiting for me in every room.  

There’s an old black-and-white photograph that always makes me cry.  I set out it in a spot where I can always see it.  But that’s still no reason.  Sometimes I just like to pack my bags.  

I never want to leave this place.  I don’t think I understand you anymore.  

It’s overdone, the misunderstood child.  This is not optional.  Everyone tells everyone else how they should feel.  

This is all a big illusion.  It will softly come apart around us.  Why do you always burst into tears and scream at your child; twisting their brains inside your gnarled angry hands?

 You are so beautiful sometimes and I wish we could see each other at a ball where everyone is wearing masks except the two of us.  All we have is our dreams and there is never a moment where we are not desperately clinging to one in order to survive.  But that ugly monster always comes out to greet us and I see it in you when I’m just starting to turn the other way and I see it in me all the time now.  And I think I am probably farther away than I have ever been before.  A little girl lost.  I don’t know what to do.  I can always feign.  My mind is full of scorpions.  

I’m never sure which of your names to capitalize but I am mostly certainly the farthest I have ever been even though I beg to please not let it be so.  These white statues don’t always seem real.  No, that’s not quite right.  That is not really what I want to say.  I think what I want is permission.  But I could ask everyone and they could all say the same thing – they could all respond in the resoundingly positive and it still would not be enough.  There are shards of glass in everything now.  Things are orange and then they are black.  I think I know what that means.  I must have learned it from someone much smarter than I.  

Whose permission do I need?  Would it really make everything feel all right?  This has all turned to erosion and everything is so old.  I’ve burned down an entire nation.  For some reason I feel compelled to record everything.  Recordings always feel more real than the actual moments.  I’m afraid I may be waking up quite bloody very soon.  I am found in a field somewhere and my attempt to turn everything into water was a complete failure.  It was always going to be a failure.  I am awful.  

I will say it in a secret way.  I will whisper it into no one’s ear but I know you will hear it anyway.  Are all those visions false?  Are we just lying to ourselves every time?  That is a very realistic possibility.  You’re lying to yourself right now, aren’t you?  I’m afraid right now, isn’t that true?  Are these manifestations born out of desire?  Is there any truth to selflessness and devotion?  I want to understand you.  I feel this love and then I ingest (in jest) poison but I don’t even have to do that anymore because I have learned so well how to destroy all the lovely things without anyone’s help.  I don’t even have to say I’m sorry anymore or ask forgiveness because I write it all down.  You were quite wrong: thoughts and desires eat you up.  

We are stuck without any surprises coming our way.  We are receiving exactly what we deserve.  You have been deserted and rightfully so.  I don’t know how to lead anymore.  Free choice is a disguise and what is underneath is so cunning.  

I am terrified to ask to see you.  That would not be right at all.  Why do you come out when all the lights are turned off?  What have I done recently?  It’s a moody verse and he is questioning far too much these days.  Two women are making love.  At some point they realize the triviality of their own bodies.  Is anger really a gift?  

He cannot speak to the leader(s) anymore.  All he can do now is take orders.  And smile. 

Would it be entirely wrong?  It must be, yes?  But is it possible?  Is it possible a mistake was made with the pronoun?  Is it possible a mistake was made a million times over?  Or is it possible that information was simply withheld?  Can he even dare to think something like that?  

She is sleeping alone and the fire inside her skull has been temporarily put out.  Anguish should not have been her gift.  The night always plays its dirty little tricks.  

I’m rich in nothing and safe in solitude.  I have laughed too often in moments that were fragile and now never to return.  I cannot ask permission.  I am learning to live with this.  

She doesn’t know who she is anymore.  She tells him that and laughs and the room is spinning and he remembers looking out at a river that only reminded him of another river and he knows he is just as lost and split down the center.  

“I Love you.”  

There is a future out there very much like this one and it is just waiting.  There is only sadness meant for you but I suspect you will savor this until it is much too late.  I don’t know what to hold onto anymore.  There are too many carvings.  Please forgive me.  I feel that request is sincere.  

She looks down on him and he feels so much comfort.  May he light a candle?  

I’m just a little girl who never leaves her room.  My eyes are always grey now.  

Written in minutes, it means nothing.  

It took me years to find La Ciudad del Crimen

I sense I’m gesturing out of place here.  There’s a purple book on my knee.  Holy moley I am tired.  I’m always tired nowadays.  And.  I’m not sure why.  My blu ray copy of Cannibal Holocaust arrived today though I’m still waiting on my blu ray copy of Salo (or The 120 Days of Sodom).  When both are in my possession I think I’ll fix myself a delicious rib eye steak prepared medium rare (with a warn pink center) with a sides of green beans and mashed potatoes and a couple glasses of old red wine.  Then I’ll watch em’ back to back and then I’ll probably burst into tears which I’ve already done several times today.

I was pleased to see Mr. McFeely also deliver my Bronson soundtrack and I promptly listened to the second song roughly 159 times in a row while exercising naked.  Then I covered myself in butter and then I drew a little but I ended up crumpling and throwing away every pathetic drawing I made.  

I am not sure what to make of there being two cuts of Cannibal Holocaust included on the blu ray – the original theatrical version and an “animal cruelty free” version.  Anyone who knows anything about this flick knows one of the reasons for its infamy are several scenes depicting the killing of animals – animals which would not have died were it not for their involuntary participation in this movie’s making.  I – like most humble folks – am against animal cruelty.  Yikes, I’ve already lost interest in my own train of thought here.  People are unbelievable hypocrites.  Has anyone eaten meat?  Double checked all their clothing?  Ever killed a spider who just trying to stay warm and taking up a few meager inches of space in their home?  That’s right, I’m no better!  I just don’t know what to think.  Forget this paragraph.  To discuss the complex social issues of the animal cruelty presented in Cannibal Holocaust we would need to converse in person where we could banter back and forth and show our innate superiority.  We could go for coffee!  Or alcoholic beverages.  It’s bad I know.  I guess I just don’t know what I’m saying anymore. 

I was pleased as punch to see that the deluxe blu ray also came with a copy of the soundtrack.  I’ll listen to it while I take part in an upcoming expedition exploring primitive Amazonian cultures.  Is there anything more frightening than people?  I already feel horrible about my decision because animals really are wonderful.  I think I prefer animals more than people because people are by and large ugly and disgusting things.  I am polluting myself.  These confessions mean nothing.  But am I not a participant simply by watching?  That much is fact.  All the disclaimers in the world don’t change anything.  And why did I not have this reaction with Apocalypse Now?  Or Oldboy?  Is it because octopi aren’t very cute?  I am nothing if not a complete reprehensible hypocrite.  I’m ugly too!

The color scheme in Krzysztof Kieslowski’s 1991 flick The Double Life of Veronique reminds me more than a little but perhaps less than a lot (or perhaps not) of the color scheme in Wim Wender’s 1977 movie The American Friend.  They are both gorgeous movies through and through and they both make me cry uncontrollably.  In my greatest moments my ever fracturing mind loses its perennially tenuous grip on reality and I truly believe I am a character in one of those movies.  It is always a brutal shock to the system when I am thrust back into this harsh reality and I typically shake and weep for several hours afterward, sometimes I even soil myself during those moments, staining my crisp white jockies a rich chocolate brown.  

I must acquire a copy of Peter Gabriel’s 1989 album Passion at once.  The music on that release is truly lovely.  I understand there is a companion album full of songs from the world artists that inspired the music on the former release and I must obtain that as well.  The tunes were sumptuously used in Martin Scorsese’s The Last Temptation of Christ and I am eager to see how they feel without the imagery.  

I think there are subliminal messages in the music I listen to which is slowly affecting changes within me.  Things are inside my mind and doing things in there and I don’t know how to stop them.  All I know is that I am very frightened.  I think there was a voice coming from the sink last night.  Someone was speaking to me from the sink.  If you come over, please don’t look at the carpet because I drew something awful on it.  

That little purple book has put a spell on me.  Mavi Gioia has also put a spell on me but for entirely different reasons.  Oh Mavi, can a vision such as you truly be real?!  

I brought up James Bond in my last seminal blog post and I’m going to bring ol’ 007 up again here for a moment and just lay all my cards on the table: my favorite James Bond bar none is Barry Nelson from the original 1954 television adaptation of Casino Royale followed very closely by Peter Sellers from the 1967 adaptation.  I should add that both versions are far superior to Martin Campbell’s gauche hollywoodized 2006 Casino Royale.  I still stand by Monica Bellucci being the best Bond Girl.  I suspect I will be standing by that proclamation until the day of my grisly demise.  

I recently heard the rumored casting choices for Guillermo Del Toro’s Justice League Dark movie which may or may not ever happen.  Ron Perlman as Swamp Thing?  Perfect!  Colin Farrell and Ewan McGregor as John Constantine?  Whatever!  Whoever doesn’t play Constantine playing Jason Blood AKA Etrigan (one of my favorite of Jack “King” Kirby’s creations)?  Sure!  A comedic actor for Deadman?  Great!  Monia Bellucci as Madame Xanadu?  Holy shit yes!!!  A Hispanic or black actress for Zatanna?  Fucking brilliant!  A few happy suggestions: Salma Hayek, Patricia Navidad, Catherine Siachoque, Shakira (she’s made guest appearance on shows like Ugly Betty and Wizards of Waverly Place so she’s an actress!), Chiquis Rivera, Kate Del Castillo, Yamila Herrera, Estrellita, Ana de la Reguera, Lina Santos, Galilea Montijo, Sofia Vergara, Yadhira Carrillo, Eva Garbo, Salma Hayek, the list goes on!  I’ve got a million of them!  Though this project does excite me I think that if someone pointed a standard police issue Glock 9 millimeter handgun to my temple and asked me to choose I would ultimately rather Del Toro make Hellboy 3 or his long gestating adaptation of H.P. Lovecraft’s At the Mountains of Madness.  Hell, just give me all three!

The other day I attempted my first recipe culled from the book Nigella Express.  It was a smashing success and I now consider myself to be an unparalleled mastery in the culinary arts.  I shall be plying my gastronomic trade again tonight!  Oh Nigella!  Oh Mavi!  You are both too much!  I’m not worthy!

If you jerk the handle, I’ll die in my dreams.  

FIGHTORFLIGHT(H!@#$%YDELIGHTS)SG3

I was pleased to sea Facinelli back as Maxwell Lord but was surprised they did not offer any real clues to his villainous nature.  Perhaps they are not going that direction with this character but a recent interview with Facinelli would indicate they are (might not know it now baby but I are, this should be a line uttered on the show).  

The Grim Reaper is closer now.  He’s not smiling yet but he’s beginning to take notice of the things around him and maybe likes what he sees.  

It’s dark.  Come here.  Don’t be afraid.  The speakers’ lines are reversed when it happens to me.  Outside my circular window I am not sure if that disquieting orange light is coming from the sun or the moon.   Must we emerge covered in blood?  It’s not what you think.  Sex is utterly terrifying.  Fleshy writhing monsters.  This design is perfect.  Audio betrays us all.  
I really love Funkadelic’s most recent album.  I discover new and great things about it all the time.  

I read on the news today that a remake of Christopher Nolans YEAR feature film Memento is in the works. I cannot think of a better idea in the world than that.  

I need to do more practice with voodoo.  Anyone with me.  

Macbeth quote here.  

I watched blue tinted video imagery of this doctor recounting his final moments.  It seems this great and mystical world was somehow able to see directly into my soul and give me exactly what I always dreamed of.  This woman entered my room and she was beautiful, everything I imagined.  There was also something frightening about her and her emotionless gaze.  I wondered what thoughts lurked behind her eyes; the same eyes whose color I could never quite articulate.  Oh no, this is quite wrong.  She is something terrifying.  But the sensation, the feeling of skin against, is something I’ve longed for and I do not want to resist right now.  

I saw the new 007 flick the other day.  I went by myself.  No, that isn’t entirely true.  I will have to re-watch all twenty-some-odd Bond movies to be one thousand percent certain but I think I would call Monica Bellucci my all time favorite Bond Girl.  This despite the fact that her role essentially amounts to nothing more than a glorified cameo.  I’m ready for a different director for the next one!  

I nearly expired of perspiring pleasure when I read that Prince is embarking on a tour which feature only he and his piano.  Then my spirits sunk faster than something really heavy thrown into a large body of water when I read this tour will only be for the great European countries of this fair planet.  I implored the heavens, screaming for answers, asking why Prince can’t see fit to give back to the very country in which he was born and raised!  We need you!  Please extend this tour to the United States and I will believe in you forever.  All things shining.  

I weep that I have no more of The Secret History left.  One of the best books I’ve ever read.  I have made a sacred vow to read every book every written by Donna Tartt which should be relatively easy as she only has three.  I miss that world and those characters.  She filled my head with wonderful things.  

Insular, that is my world now.  There is fire inside of things.  Can anyone follow this? How about when we are rolling on the ground.  Oh Scott, thank you so very much.  

I still dream about you even though it is oh so wrong.  I was so close and you never saw.  What would everyone do if they knew the truth?  I hope there is an evil twin out there somewhere.  Maybe that one can be for me.  

On a related note I must admit that in my old and increasingly ignorant age I am finding myself enjoying Moore a lot more than I ever did before.  

Oh my goodness!!!! So delightful.  I can’t get you out of my head.  How depressingly literal, the reason he stayed.  

He warned be about this. He tried to explain everything to me.  My pulse keeps going faster.  Words are difficult for me now.  It has been a very long time since my last confession.  I don’t understand why sound comes in and out and why my memory plays tricks on me.  I lied about so much and it is all catching up to me.  I feel truly scared.  Did you see her standing there?  Was I the only one?  What does that writing on my bedroom wall mean?  What language is that?  I have lived a strange double life and I fear my end may be at hand.  I am terrified to look at anyone; their faces somehow keep distorting, strange deformed figures keep walking in my line of sight.  I am down on my knees and there is a sense of penetration.  History has showed us there are very real and malevolent forces out there.  This person speaks ignorance to me who wants to write it all off as a matter of perspective.  That weakness will result in a very grisly demise.  

My shield was up as you advised and I must admit I loved it.  is that wrong?  Is there something wrong with me?  Strange patterns keep popping up.  Golden headphones.  We all have reason to be in love with him.  What do you look like?  Physical beauty has robbed me of all common sense.  There is not rationale here. 

 
He is a bad man deep down but he is doing his best to hide this.  One day he won’t be strong enough and everything will come out.  It will be true horror.  

I wonder when the Part Two of my life is set to begin?  When it happens I hope the title card announces it is a foreign language with English subtitles. 

 
Overall very strong episode, possibly my favorite yet.  I’ll give it a good score full of positivity (have you had your plus sign today?)

Something tells me I’ll be drilling through the spiritus sanctus tonight.  

SG EP2 Review

I’ve been having these dreams lately.  I’m in a red tunnel and somehow the tunnel splits in two.  And then something terrible happens.  To me.  I don’t want to remember everything. I think there is a bug inside of me.  At some point today I was lying down in the park reading a book with an orange cover while children played around me.  I think in that moment I did not hate anyone.  

I don’t remember much of what I did last Monday but I do know that I watched the second episode of Supergirl titled Stronger Together.  And thus here I am with another review, honoring my solemn vow of devotion to this chronicling of the adventures of Kara Zor-El.  

I heard the song I Need You by LeAnn Rimes today for the first time in decades.  I’d forgotten how much I love that song, very pretty melody.  That reminded in some weird way to order a Criterion blu ray with Willem Dafoe.  When it gets here I think I will watch it with the director’s commentary first despite having never seen the movie.  I am a little scared. 

The almost opening scene involving the oil spill was great, great humor.  I felt it struck exactly the right tone.  I was pleased with the soft-boiled egg of Maxwell Lord being featured (this time played by Peter Facinelli, perhaps best known from the excellent television series Fastlane).  Lord is a groovy character with a rich history in DC Comics lore.  I look forward to seeing if he shall be friend or foe to our girl of steel.  I recall that Gil Bellows played Lord on Smallville.  Bellows also co-starred with Calista Flockhart on Ally McBeal and Flockhart now plays Cat Grant on Supergirl.  It’s all connected!  It’s all some grand conspiracy.  My life is a shambles.  Flockhart was better in this episode and her character was used well.  I still don’t like the approach they have taken with her but I at least now see hope.  

Some of the Krypton scenes were a bit on the nose as it pertained to the episodic story but I was pleased as kick in how true they is being to the current Kryptonian mythology.  All kinds of name dropping on this program.  This pleases me.  I grew up addicted to comic books and eventually I became a hollow shell of a man void of talent and unable to foster any real relationships.  But I still read funny books.  

Laura Benanti is doing a fantastic job with what is essentially 3 different parts, the evil and sexy Astra, Alura Zor-El and the holographic AI version of Alura Zor-El.  

I have friends who slavishly worship the Star Wars mythology but that has never been me.  Still, I must say the original poster for A New Hope is a great poster, just fucking great.  If I didn’t have such indifference to Wars I might purchase it and hang it on my wall for all to see and envy.  Maybe instead I’ll hang up a nice still life or some nature photographs, maybe some old black-and-white family photos.  Perhaps I’ll finally just do what needs to be done and end it all.  

Do I even need to say it?  Melissa Benoist is still far and away the best aspect of this show.  They totally hammer and nailed it with this casting, a perfect mixture of earnestness, humor, vulnerability, strength and beauty.  I am deeply in love with her and in many ways I realize now I’ve loved her my entire life.  Yet I also am in love with Maria Celeste.  Whom do I love more?  That is a question I’ve been asking myself the better part of all afternoon.

There was just ever so slightly something off about this episode, tonally speaking. I find that I’m unable to explain exactly how it was off which just proves once again what a great writer I am.  The dialogue is still too heavy on the exposition but that’s to be expected.  But that’s still no excuse!  Still, I do love how fast it is moving; wasting no time in Supergirl having her first fight with which I assume is the season long main villain.  It’s not yet quite as smooth as The Flash but it is doing its unique thing and doing it well so far.  I normally find second episodes to be the shakiest of all and this one had some missteps that I can’t quite explain it was still surprisingly strong and consistently enjoyable.  

I think I’ll go listen to Scott Walker and write some crap.  Then I’ll probably go gas up my rig and by a gallon of milk and a box of cereal which I will consume will watching episode three tonight.  I’m not sure what I will do afterward.  Perhaps I will read some Shakespeare.  Or maybe I’ll watch The Spy Who Loved Me or Krzysztof Kieślowski’s 1993 flick Trois couleurs: Bleu.

My posh flat smells like strawberries.  There’s nothing quite as good as strawberry.  I spent hours today on the website iamablackstar.com.  Who knows how many countless hours I will spend there tomorrow?  These are precisely the types of questions that will haunt me throughout the night.  I don’t consider myself insane.  I am something a recluse and misanthrope and very very self absorbed.  I was born in the sixties and felt completely out of character for such a long period of my life.  

You are such an inspiration.  This is the truth, the harsh reality at the center of everything.  I am feeling so much love these days.  I think I’ll record an entire album in ¾ and give the people something they can waltz to all night.  Maybe I’ll see you there in a white dress.  I’ll feel exhausted on the inside but look well rested on the outside.  Everyone around us will be wearing masks but we will see each other for real.  

Jacques will likely be the next.  It just makes sense.  I can no longer ignore all the signs.  Funky dollar bill is real ya’ll.  I give B plus. 

The Grim Reaper remains hopeful.  I will follow his lead for now.  

He punched me in the face while I was drinking whiskey

Girl super is on tonight.  I thee watch.   I think I’ll eat a piping hot bowl of Cream of Meat while I watch.  I have high hopes that the resultant combination of steaming meaty treat and pulpy television will help alleviate this buzzing inside my head that has been plaguing me for the better part of my entire life.  Sometimes when I’m alone and no one is daring to watch me I sing like Todd Rundgren because I have a great set of pipes and a true rock voice.  Then I run around the house in my jockies and break mirrors by slamming my face into them.   I never chew the glass though.  

So the recent meeting between OH and YEAH was apparently something incredibly important in the history of the world, something vital, something milquetoast necessary that should restore faith in all humanity.  I’m not sure what to think.  Are their I’M designed for universal appeal or are they designed to appeal to UP?  Do ON THE ELEVENTH want to look like this and FLOOR their AND like this?  There would be nothing wrong with that.  If I clutch my bottle of pills firmly while watching their I’M and have no interest at all in what I find to be colloquially bad WATCHING is that a bad thing?  Would they care at all?  Do they need to THE like this to appeal to all demographics?  Are they a fantasy for both CRUISERS and BELOW.  Are they role models?  Are they HE’S themselves?  Would DOWN approve?  Does it matter?  Is it possible to look at ON THE with STREET massive AND HE’S and take TRYING seriously as an HARD?  Would Picasso do likewise?  Does it matter?  Would Aretha Franklin or Annie Lennox do likewise and does that matter?  Am I a simple misanthrope for my feelings on this matter?  Can’t people be sexual and talented?  Must talent and dexterity be something mutually exclusive?   

Does anyone else have an opinon?  Does any of this actually matter?  Is this pillage empowering or pathetic?  Is it possible for a TO  to have an informed opinion of this?  Do I stand for something other than commerce?

And what part do I play in this?  What strange days where we worship the almighty dumper; that which shits and sits with equal aplomb, this quivering creator of excrement and perpetrator of glorious gyration?  

?  Sexuality is an empowering thing.  

I cry myself to sleep after I realize there is no more money left..  The double period is making a big comeback in this year, I’m calling it right here and now and soon everyone will hail me as the ultimate genius.  Actually, truth be bold I burst into tears no less than 9 times today.  Sometimes intense and painful laughter followed these tears but sometimes it was just screaming and fear and a few moments where I did not even realize it was I who was screaming.  There is something living in my wall writing little messages and frankly this scares me.  

I make myself a turkey on wheat sandwich with a hint of mayonnaise.  I drink water with this because I’m watching my weight these days after my doctor told me I have high cholesterol).  Is it taboo to talk about masturbation?  Is that a bad thing?  

Am I just someone deeply and reprehensibly confused by electricity in all it’s forms?  

It is trending though so we all love it.  I love it too.  It’s ultimately harmless I suppose.  We all have our wild nights of booze and debauchery.  I wish I had someone around that could always hold a mirror up to my face.  Everything in the world is harmless because nothing really means anything.  They genuinely like each other.  I guess that’s a good thing.

  
In the end the hypocrisy falls on me, as always.  I revel in this.  Am I just so precious and in love?  I am clearly the one at fault here and I want to apologize to everyone in the world.  
I should be unthawing everything by now.  There’s far too much ice in this world. I once met a man so afraid he was actually afraid of the ice caps melting and washing us all away for our crimes and grimes against nature.  I remember talking to him about this at a comedy club while he was unshaven and wearing a plaid shirt and I just thought to myself, wow, I was as afraid as that guy I don’t know what I’d do.  I’d probably have no choice but to look in the personal ads for some used furniture because I’m getting so damn ripped off by the deposit and rent in my new apartment hahahahahahaha.  

Gosh and in the end I’m just being a worthless prune, right?  It’s just Cap N’ Crunch, after all.  In so many other places and other polyrhythmic equations this is not a big deal in the slightest.  I am simply ignorant.  It is only checkers, nothing else.  There is nothing deeper here, no message being imparted.  What anyone takes away from this tomato based clam chowder and silt, how any person young or old allows themselves to be gentrified is their own personal thing and this responsibility should not be thrust upon any beatnik or vagabond.  I am mixing things up here because I am a supremely stupid and confused individual.  We all like getting our clocks off after all, right?  I love that quick bird.  Might it be one of if not the finest thing in life?  Might not our thick aromatic juices be the center of everything?  While we are fishing and chipping and dipping and dangling, is that not what it’s all about.  I’m being an asshole again and moving away from the point.  I guess I have no point.  Please comment below to tell me what I jerk I am.  But I do need someone to explain it to me, maybe someone can help sort out what I’m missing here because there is clearly a failure in my understanding.  I am wrong though.  Let this be known.  I am wrong.  Most likely about everything.

PULL SISTER FLO

Bad bitches like them is hard to come by. 

 
Great Caesar’s ghost, we are all seriously ducked.