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I think I’m going to give up the blog. I can’t handle a schedule and I’ve nothing interesting to blog about.

So, this is an indefinite hiatus.


I really fell behind…

Okay, I promise that I’ll have a new post up with content up soon.
I don’t have a lot to talk about, bar Prometheus (which will be savaged soon) and comics, but something new is coming this Saturday.
Next Saturday I am working so I’ll try and have a post up early. The Saturday after I am in Rome, so no blog that week. I’ll make it up by doing two the week after.
I know I’ve fallen behind, especially after an exceptionally productive May, but I’ll be back on schedule ASAP!

Oh, It’s Saturday.

When you have nothing to do, bar waste away in front of a computer screen at violent images and funny cats, the days blend together. No markers to seperate days, except sleep, but that’s nothing. I don’t dream. Or maybe I don’t remember the dreams. It’s hard to keep a schedule, I’m only updating today because I accidentally clicked my WordPress bookmark.

Here’s the thing, I’m not depressed. I’m happy, but bored. I lead a boring life, it’s why I don’t blog often. I have nothing to write about.

This is just a quick five minute update. Just so you know how I’m doing.

On Before Watchmen…

No, I’m not going to read it or review it. It’s a cynical cash grab that I will not fund. However, I would like to comment on Silk Spectre’s new costume.

What the fuck, DC!

The costumes in the original graphic novel were intentionally designed to be a bit on the silly side, and Silk Spectre comments on this and how she hated her costume. So what do you do for the prequels? Sex it up!

I don’t know how, but this new costume shows even more flesh than the old one. Really, this is out of character and confirms that this is a shallow exploitation of a masterpiece. Even Power Girl’s costume covers flesh these days. It’s really disgusting, especially since it goes against character (her hatred of revealing costumes) and continuity (she had the same costume since she was sixteen).

Because I hate you.

If I have to suffer, so does everyone else.

Batwoman #9

You may recall that I said that the current arc (To Drown The World) in Batwoman marks a decline from the first arc (Hydrology). I criticised the artwork from Reeder for being too cartoony and exaggerated for the story, and I criticised Williams for writing for the trade. However, issue 9 fixes my concerns.

DC have replaced Reeder with the more talented McCarthy until the end of To Drown The World. McCarthy has a great eye for detail, adding small things that enhance the world-building. For example, each member of Maro’s team has two black tattoos under their eyes. It’s a small addition that shows their devotion to, and pride to be part of, his cause. McCarthy echoes Williams’ more experimental panel structure in the fight sequences, and although he is not as good as Williams, his art fits the sombre tone of the series far better than Reeder’s.

Williams seems to be addressing the concerns about him writing for the trade. This issue, while part of a larger arc, has a clear beginning and end. It’s not a good place for new readers to start, but it at least offers enough plot and characterisation to be worth the price. The issue benefits by allowing Sune to have a character at last, and Maggie and Kate’s small scene shows that their relationship is clearly growing stronger. The non-chronological, episodic structure isn’t too much of a distraction this issue, and it is clearer what is going on. While this structure damaged previous issues, it is intriguing in this. It’s finally doing its job.


Schedule filler

I forgot what day it was. I have nothing prepared and nothing to improvise. So this is just filler until I have something to write about.

Possible Story

Prologue:  Moore City, Ix.

Black leather shoes pounded along the cracked concrete, blinding red suns bearing down on the morning market street. The human men chased the small fish-like man down the bright corridor, blue-and-yellow bird’s cages crashing to the ground and smashing open, bright sun-like birds fleeing into the open sky, as the small fish-man stumbled into the stalls. Vendors screaming various languages, “Bastard!”; “Yxwadh!”; “Ed’sjk!”; words incomprehensible to human minds. The human men grabbed the blue fish-man and threw him to the floor of a dark, red-bricked alley.

The bigger man pressed the fish-man up against the wall.

“Where?” said the smaller man.

“Wdi’sk! Wdi’sk!” screamed the fish-man, desperately.

“Colonial. Or my partner will break you” said the smaller man.

“I do not knew!”

The bigger man snapped the fish-man’s finger. “Do not lie” said the smaller man.

“Is gone! Not on Ix!”

The small man took out his bronze pocket watch and wound it. “Do not lie. We stopped all outgoing ships. It is impossible for it to be off-planet.” He looked at the watch face. “We have plenty of time, Christopher. Call me when you’re done.” The small man straightened his tie and walked out of the alley, into the white-hot light.

“Fuckin’ Ixians. Youse fucks don’t know shit ‘bout lying.” Christopher held the Ixian up by his neck and drew his blade out from under his shabby cheap coat. Christopher pushed the knife into his arm and pried off dirty scales. “Tell me where it is.”

The blue Ixian screeched “Bar! On street-near-blue-river!”

Christopher grinned widely, “What blue river?” He stabbed the fish-man in his shoulder, blood coursing down and onto the dusty ground. “Nic wants this thing tonight, so which fucking river?”

Shapes on top of the crumbling, broken buildings moved, shadowy figures starkly outlined against the two red suns. An eroded block of stone that may have once been a grotesque fell down to the alley, smashing. Christopher looked around, dropping his bloody blade. The sound of leather boots against rusting metal fire escapes, twelve men in patchwork-leather armour climbed down to the alley.

Christopher panicked. He drew his grandfather’s pistol from the faded silver-lined holster his father gave to him when he became an enforcer.  He stole the pistol from his grandfather’s room at the nursing home after he forgot who Christopher was. He began firing wildly, hitting one of the men in the chest. He tumbled from the fire escape onto the hard ground, dead on impact. One of the men threw something. Christopher felt a searing pain in his chest; he looked down to see a red-hot stain in his shirt, billowing out from a filed, rusted iron knife. He slumped down, sliding against the wall. The leathered men surrounded him.

“Please, I don’t want to die yet,” he pleaded, “I’m only 34… Please! I’m only doing my job.” He broke into tears. He, a large, granite-faced man in a cheap cloth suit, was sobbing uncontrollably.

The 11 men walked past him and picked up the bleeding Ixian.

“Stand up, brother” said the largest of the men, a red ogre-man, almost certainly an alien. “What is your name?” he asked.

“192342”, replied the Ixian.

The ogre-man shook his head, “No, your broodname, brother!”

The Ixian looked up, “I is Aleostus.”

“I am Ushitora.” He gave his hand to Aleostus and helped him up to his feet. He turned to the other men, “Guthrie, bring Aleostus to our home.” A red-haired human helped Aleostus stand, “Let’s get you rested, bud!” he exclaimed cheerily.

Ushitora said “You’re one of us now, Brother Aleostus. Welcome to the War of Independence. The rest of you, head to this bar Brother Aleostus speaks of and wait for this ‘Nic’. He will most probably be along once he finds ‘Christopher’.”

As Guthrie helped Aleosus down the crowded market street, a sharp knock echoed through the alley and he knew then what he had been drafted into.

End Prologue.


I know this isn’t very good, but it’s a start. Lot of influences in this; Irish History, McCarthy, Orwell…