Yes. Well. We've been there haven't we?
And yes, you are correct. Comics are fun!
Here's what I wanna do. I want to continue what I started on that How To Get Hooked On Comics from a while ago.
Shortly after my friend emailed me and he wanted something far more simpler than a history of comics. He wanted no-brainers, pure, relaxing fun.
Obviously, this is a hard question...
But, I shall pool my resources together and see what I can come up with...
In terms of laugh out loud comics my first memorable incursions were Asterix and Tintin. These are still great classics today and I think I will always read them and treasure them. They're a great way of getting into the comics lingo and the huge amounts of slapstick, of catch lines and twists of language are just a pleasure to revisit time and time again.
The same can be said of Calvin and Hobbes, Iznogoud, Léonard, Lucky Luke, Spirou (at least the earliest stuff) and so many others. In fact, in Portugal we are quite lucky because we can just about go to any bookshop and you'll find these titles there. All you need to do is to browse Méribérica- Liber or Edições Asa's catalogues and you'll see lots and lots of stuff.
I love recommending stuff but I also feel that it is very important to engage with what we are looking for. And, in comics, this is particularly easy. You just go and open the page. See if the drawings do something for you. Read a bit of it. It's simple and quick. If it grabs you, it's the right thing. If it doesn't... well, you may be missing out but you can always give it a go at a later date.
This was the first phase, where all the comical stuff came from Europe. There was also some stuff from Disney but, as I found out through the years, most of it actually came from Brasil rather than the USA.
In Marvel and DC Comics humour was never a big part of the strips. In fact, it became less and less so, in all those attempts to make super-heroes real...
But one title comes instantly to my mind.
Lobo.
Lobo was the complete opposite of what was happening with comics at the time. Lobo was pure, raucous fun. Impossibility after impossibility with this mean streaked guy that just liked to get himself into trouble. And, for those of us that loved super-heroes, it was the perfect, never serious deconstruction of the genre.
I don't really remember much else going on. There were the occasional super-heroes that would have some humour to them (Spiderman for instance) but never a truly comical book through and through.
These big companies were always so much more about the drama.
Even a series like Preacher (Garth Ennis and Steve Dillon) in which humour is so important, still has a great deal of drama to it as it is, fundamentally, a story about love and friendship. You can forget about the vampire, the killing, the secret societies, the politics, the religion. It's about people seeing the best and the worst in us and dealing with it, one way or another.
But things have changed in recent years. I guess the industry has started taking itself less seriously (at least part of it...) and we're all the better for it.
One of the great titles (short lasted unfortunately) was Brit, by the almighty Robert Kirkman. Another one of great magnitude was The Pro by Garth Ennis (but if you're afraid of mature content don't even go there...). And the same with the more recent Chronicles of Wormwood also by Ennis. These are two very politically (and religiously and sexually) incorrect books... but they're great fun. For those of us that love north american comics, these kind of settle the score. Too much fun to miss out! Intelligent and unapologetic. And I'll say no more...
I don't have a lot of humorous stuff in my collection. As I said, there isn't that much around. Perhaps because humour tends to be equated with a child-like attitude and that tends to be disassociated with being mature and a responsible adult...
(and to those people I say - read Calvin and Hobbes godsdammit!!!...)
The big surprise in terms of humour (and much more) has come from the east. Japan more specifically.
A while ago I decided to read a couple of manga titles. Serious stuff and etc. But, amidst my "what do you recommend?" explorations there was a title that I kept not having time to read.
GTO - Great Teacher Onizuka.
People raved about it. I didn't have time for the twenty more volumes...
But I did have a chance to read the first three volumes of it for one of the Graphic Novels Reading Group meeting.
And I loved it.
I mean this series is great in many levels.
It's not only a great piece of contemporary comics but humour wise it's as audacious as it is funny!
The plot gyrates around this former bike gang leader that could only find a job as a replacement teacher... so you have a tough, unpolished guy that did all the wrong things at school now becoming the reference for lots of kids... things could only go wrong, right?
Wrong.
Shouldered with that responsibility and being more able to see the kids for who they are and the difficulties that they go through, Onizuka meets headfirst the challenges coming his way.
It's a beautiful series about true compassion, innocence and the ability to go as far as one possibly can to do the right thing.
Add to this the fact that Onizuka is an alien in the school system and you have a series that is at the same time socially relevant and filled with humour and unexpectedness.
It rarely gets better than this...
More recently I dabbled with some more manga.
Namely
Hayate the Combat Buttler, Ouran High School Host Club, Qwan, Blazin' Barrels and King Of Hell.
In all of these the humour element is crucial! In fact, in some of these series, like Hayate or Kind Of Hell it seems to be the major driving force.
I didn't have time to read much of them but they all hooked me pretty easily.
Especially Hayate and King Of Hell.
You can read a brief review of them here.
Other titles that quickly come to mind are Fruits Basket, Love Hina and Oh My Goddess. All of these with a strong romantic aspect to them but still delicious to either read or watch as an anime!
In fact this was one of the things we talked about yesterday in our reading group meeting. How humour seems to be such an integral part of japanese manga, to my mind related to the astounding diversity of genres and themes present, perhaps itself a reflection of their nuclear holocaust (that demanded any mechanisms whatsoever of coping with it).
Something worthwhile discussing though not now and certainly not here.
I know what some of you might be thinking:
"Manga.
It sounds good but for most series you have to read it right to left - opposite to what we are used to."
Sure.
It can be a bit confusing in the first book or so. But you'd be surprised at how quickly you catch the flow.
And trust me, it's well worth the small effort.
"Ok. But supposing that I manage to read it - there're just so many volumes of it!!"
Listen, the only reason you're telling me this is a disadvantage is because you still haven't started reading it.
When you do, you'll be GRATEFUL there's so much GOOD STUFF to read!!
Ok. I don't have much else to say (for now...)
(though I do have the feeling that I've forgotten a lot of great stuff... but it will come in due time...)
If you want you can browse at Tokyopop's catalogue or Viz's catalogue sections dedicated to humour...
I hope you all find the laughs you've been longing for...
Peace!
PS - I didn't talk about The Exterminators or The Goon because I still haven't read them (even though I have them in my shelves...). I could've talked about Chris Ware but his humour is much too bleak for this post and, besides, his comics are tough to read...
PSS - I forgot JACK OF FABLES!!! How could I?! This is my favourite series at the moment!!
Anyway, click here for some reviews...
PSSS - Vimanarama is another great title! Grant Morrison. Bollywood meets super-heroes... 'nough said!
Tuesday, 5 January 2010
Thursday, 31 December 2009
Legacy
This was the short story I had initially intended to send to the New Scientist competition. It just came to me in a big, widescreen shot of mountains and snow. I could see an older man and a youth, climbing, straining. But something seemed of somehow.
And I just needed to find out what...
Enjoy!
LEGACY
(349 word count)
“’tis said that only from the shoulder of Durak-Nur can the world be seen.” The man paused to catch his breath. Then tugged at his long furry coat.
“That from its head one can know the truth. Merge with the Originator. And the Death Giver.”
The boy looked at him. Then at the gigantic mountains in the distance.
“You have reached the age.” Said the man. “Your father will be proud when we return.”
“But why did we have to come here?” enquired the boy. “Couldn’t we have climbed some other mountain? One closer to home?”
“No!” Said the man sternly. “In the Durak range there are no mountains.”
“But-“
The man exhaled steam while indicating the region all around them. “This is why we have brought you to the Durak-Nur, the first of the seven. What you mistake for mountains were not made by the fires of the Earth alone but had the almighty yielding hand of our ancestors. They’re machines.”
The boy strained his eye, trying to reason out the shapes buried underneath the snow.
“This is why we come. To pay tribute and homage to that long gone golden age. When the old ones could rip open the belly of the Earth to carve mighty engines. Able of planting whole forests in a day. Walking across the mighty Lamtik Ocean. And war the demon god Klaymma Tchang, the destroyer. The hungry god Ozuor that rose the seas and killed our ancestors. That bent event the winds to his command.”
The man placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“We have brought you here so that you can see that the legends are true. That millennia ago our people ruled the whole of Earth. That the star metal shines still today, hidden in the snow. To show you the lost city of Nur. Where thousands upon thousands lived when the Durak still roamed free, saving the world from total destruction.”
The man’s eyes shone with ancient glory.
“We have brought you here for you to pay homage to long gone ancestors.” He said.
“And become their legacy.”
END
Of all the stories that I wrote for the competition this is really the only one I'd like to explore further. All others are pretty much self contained, but this one... this one just keeps sneaking under the radar. It kept coming to my attention over and over again and, at every step of the way, something new would come out of it.
So, I've taken notes for what I could still do with it and, maybe one day...
In any case, this was the story that was the hardest to write. I wrote four different versions. And I worked on all four of them.
I got the idea right on the first go but not the tone and the mood - which was the most important part of it. I wanted to insinuate, to stimulate the imagination, more than tell people's minds what to visualise.
It was also a mini-tribute to that writer extraordinaire, that writer of writers, Gene Wolfe. I just kept thinking about his style, the way he builds things for you in such a precise way and yet, when you go back and re-read it, it seems as if only vague glimpses were given. What we saw, we made it all up.
Anyway, I really like this story and that's why I saved it to be the last one posted here.
Hope you've enjoyed them!
Peace
And I just needed to find out what...
Enjoy!
LEGACY
(349 word count)
“’tis said that only from the shoulder of Durak-Nur can the world be seen.” The man paused to catch his breath. Then tugged at his long furry coat.
“That from its head one can know the truth. Merge with the Originator. And the Death Giver.”
The boy looked at him. Then at the gigantic mountains in the distance.
“You have reached the age.” Said the man. “Your father will be proud when we return.”
“But why did we have to come here?” enquired the boy. “Couldn’t we have climbed some other mountain? One closer to home?”
“No!” Said the man sternly. “In the Durak range there are no mountains.”
“But-“
The man exhaled steam while indicating the region all around them. “This is why we have brought you to the Durak-Nur, the first of the seven. What you mistake for mountains were not made by the fires of the Earth alone but had the almighty yielding hand of our ancestors. They’re machines.”
The boy strained his eye, trying to reason out the shapes buried underneath the snow.
“This is why we come. To pay tribute and homage to that long gone golden age. When the old ones could rip open the belly of the Earth to carve mighty engines. Able of planting whole forests in a day. Walking across the mighty Lamtik Ocean. And war the demon god Klaymma Tchang, the destroyer. The hungry god Ozuor that rose the seas and killed our ancestors. That bent event the winds to his command.”
The man placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“We have brought you here so that you can see that the legends are true. That millennia ago our people ruled the whole of Earth. That the star metal shines still today, hidden in the snow. To show you the lost city of Nur. Where thousands upon thousands lived when the Durak still roamed free, saving the world from total destruction.”
The man’s eyes shone with ancient glory.
“We have brought you here for you to pay homage to long gone ancestors.” He said.
“And become their legacy.”
END
Of all the stories that I wrote for the competition this is really the only one I'd like to explore further. All others are pretty much self contained, but this one... this one just keeps sneaking under the radar. It kept coming to my attention over and over again and, at every step of the way, something new would come out of it.
So, I've taken notes for what I could still do with it and, maybe one day...
In any case, this was the story that was the hardest to write. I wrote four different versions. And I worked on all four of them.
I got the idea right on the first go but not the tone and the mood - which was the most important part of it. I wanted to insinuate, to stimulate the imagination, more than tell people's minds what to visualise.
It was also a mini-tribute to that writer extraordinaire, that writer of writers, Gene Wolfe. I just kept thinking about his style, the way he builds things for you in such a precise way and yet, when you go back and re-read it, it seems as if only vague glimpses were given. What we saw, we made it all up.
Anyway, I really like this story and that's why I saved it to be the last one posted here.
Hope you've enjoyed them!
Peace
The Perfect Listener
Being here, writing here, is just like being in bed with the perfect listener. That absolute lover that takes more from you than just your body. Takes in your words, keeping them in the heart, echoing you.
It's what it feels sometimes. Especially like now, in the dead of night (actually, it's the very much alive of night...), where words seem clearer and more profound. Especially after Elegy.
I forgot to mention that the film is based on one of Philip Roth's books.
It is directed by a woman.
Perhaps that is why there is so much subtlety and sensitivity in it.
I hope we will more of this type of cinema in the future.
It is crucial that we recapture our true nature.
So, perfect listener, wherever you are, whoever you may be, I hope that you feel comfortable in this bed.
Even though virtual, it's warm and welcoming.
May our hearts be like this also, everyday of our lives.
Peace.
It's what it feels sometimes. Especially like now, in the dead of night (actually, it's the very much alive of night...), where words seem clearer and more profound. Especially after Elegy.
I forgot to mention that the film is based on one of Philip Roth's books.
It is directed by a woman.
Perhaps that is why there is so much subtlety and sensitivity in it.
I hope we will more of this type of cinema in the future.
It is crucial that we recapture our true nature.
So, perfect listener, wherever you are, whoever you may be, I hope that you feel comfortable in this bed.
Even though virtual, it's warm and welcoming.
May our hearts be like this also, everyday of our lives.
Peace.
Elegy
This is the title of the film I just saw.
It's two-thirty am and I should be going to bed, meditate a bit before I fall asleep and yet, here I am, thinking, not to worry, I'll manage with just four or five hours sleep.
It's a story I've been telling myself for many years now and yet, in situations like these, when I'm compelled to stay awake to write something, I often do not regret it afterwards.
It's feeling like that that I am here.
I'm listening to Clock DVA and thinking about what I wanted to say about this film as soon as it ended.
(I cried, of course I cried)
The main theme of the film struck home in a big way. No because I identify with the main character (even though I did so much in the past) but because I know of many people in that situation (most humans I would say) and one in particular. She's now twelve and struggling with a lot of things. Like you're supposed to when you're that young.
The film ended and I found myself thinking that I would've liked to have seen this film with her. To see her imbued with the feelings and everything that the film evokes in us. I think she would get. At least she would identify with that hunger for life but, at the same time, the fear of it.
That's Ben Kingsley's character. He is a man at the end of his life, too afraid to let go of all the repressions he has absorbed throughout his life to actually see what is in front of him. His dream. A beautiful young woman that truly loves him. She, so much younger than him, can see it. And she wants to help him to come out of his hardened mind that doesn't allow his heart to breathe. But he has a lifetime of fears, a lifetime of misconceptions and self protection.
I think he sees all this, but what makes him even more brilliant as a character is that he cannot let go of what he so desperately wants to get rid of about himself.
I think he is a powerful metaphor for humanity.
Actually, he is more than a metaphor. He is real. He is inside everyone of us. He is me and you whenever we surrender to our fear for no good reason but out of fear itself.
And how does all of this connect to a twelve year old girl?
The same way it would've connected to a twelve year old boy some 22 years ago.
It would've connected with that boy at that time because already there and then he was fascinated with the provinces of the mind. He was fascinated with art and science and people and everything he saw and welcomed inside him. Young people are like this, even when they don't fully know it.
He was fascinated with everything and he wanted to know everything. He knew it was a quimeric obsession, something that, in reality, somewhere inside of him, he knew it would be impossible to achieve but that, nonetheless, remained, increasingly powerful, increasingly magnetic and alluring.
He was fascinated with all these things but I don't think he really knew why he was fascinated. Things were just fascinating.
Yet, at the same time he began to realise that what he wanted was to know life, in its deepest, in it's fullest, so he could live it in precisely that way. In it's deepest. In it's fullest.
Can you blame him?
I do not.
I call him smart. Ambitious, perhaps even arrogant, but smart nonetheless.
I still think it's a good idea. To outwit life. To know early on the way you'll probably feel when you know you don't have much more time to live.
This was actually an exercise that I did (and sometimes still do) many times in the past.
"If I were to die tomorrow would it have been a good life? What would I regret? What have I missed?"
The answers to this were often surprising. Many times (not to say always) extremely important.
With the years I have found that my regret levels have diminished considerably and that I haven't missed much of the things I would've liked to have done.
That's simply because I am doing them now.
It does help.
Just today I was talking with a friend of mine and we ended up reaching this simple and yet so crucial conclusion that young people aren't stupid and that they actually know what they're doing.
(I guess myself and my friend both felt not listened to when we were younger so we can relate to this, even if a few decades have passed in the meantime)
(and by the way, I always dreamt about writing stuff like this when I was twelve. Go figure...)
I think it's quite brave and intelligent to try and find out what life means to us as quickly as possible. That way, hopefully, we will be able to enjoy it to the fullest as soon as possible.
When I was a teenager I used to dream about having the experience of an old man in a teenage body (and this has been the theme of many of my stories. Perhaps in disguise, but it's there).
There was a phrase that my father's uncle used every single time we went to visit him in Lisbon. It was something like
"Now that I' ready to die, I am ready to start living."
It's a bitter affirmation of disappointment towards one's life. This phrase became engraved in my mind. I could feel the taste of fear and pain that it held underneath the words. It weren't just the words you see. There were sights. And smells. And tones. Things that however many words we might use, we will never truly describe.
And, as soon as the meaning of this phrase became clear to me, I vowed to live a life that would NOT end up in this way. I wanted to end my life saying, I've lived my life and I am ready to die. I have done all I've wanted to.
There is a very powerful phrase in this film, it goes something like
"Man's biggest surprise in life is old age."
I understood this at the age of twelve but the understanding I have now is that of a twelve year old with twenty two more years of experience. An understanding of someone who already has some measure of knowledge of what it means your body growing old.
This is one of the big reasons why I believe this film is an important one. The sooner we become acquainted with life the better.
There are a couple of very important lines in this film about this.
In one scene Ben is saying that
"we've spent our whole life acting like teenagers."
He's not referring to clothes or going to parties, but rather in the sense of not knowing how to be fully responsible for one's own life.
I mean, let's face it, life is what we do everyday and yet, there is so little teaching about it imparted from other people. We have our parents. We have our grandparents. We have our friends. But, not always the wisdom they have to give us is enough to steady us in our path.and, to this I say, recognise them as fellow travellers in this mysterious road and chide them not for their blame. Life just happens.
On another scene Ben is talking to his oldest friend (played by Dennis Hopper) and he says something like
"It's time to grow up. Not just grow old."
Again he is alluding to that most precious of lessons that this film is trying to impart on us. A lesson in responsibility.
But a responsibility that has nothing to do with returning our assignments on time or know how to comment a work of art in an appropriate manner.
But rather a responsibility to the way we feel. A responsibility towards the heart. A responsibility that is unconditional and non-judgmental.
This is something very hard to achieve.
Our inner truth.
That's the only thing we've been striving for all our lives. That is certainly what Ben's character fails to accept, see, BECOME at every step of his path.
Yet, Penelope Cruz's character, some thirty odd years younger, she sees it so clearly.
More. SHE IS IT.
And this haunts him. This taunts him. This lures him as much as it frightens him. She is truly his Holy Grail. And in more ways that just this one. She is complete.
And she is complete because she is FULLY herself.
There's no holding back.
It's just take it or leave it. Like a child.
And it's through that innocence, that incredible, mature spontaneity that her beauty truly shines through.
This is the lesson they both learn in fact. But him, a lot more than her.
Still, the important thing is that they do learn it. And that they share this.
This is actually all plainly told in the film. They each go through their own masks and, what they find is simply what they always had known was there.
And why had they always know it?
Simple.
Because they had feared it.
Anyway, you know how sometimes you just wish people would change, realise this or that in order for them to become so much more fully what you feel and know in your bones that they are, but you don't know how to?
Well, this is one of those films that gives you this trust that, if they did watch it, they'd get it. Just the way you got. And that impression, that lasting impression that it left on you, would be theirs as well. And, the next time you saw them, they would be a few steps further in their own path. Perhaps a bit closer to you as well. For truly, this is the one thing you want to share.
Peace
It's two-thirty am and I should be going to bed, meditate a bit before I fall asleep and yet, here I am, thinking, not to worry, I'll manage with just four or five hours sleep.
It's a story I've been telling myself for many years now and yet, in situations like these, when I'm compelled to stay awake to write something, I often do not regret it afterwards.
It's feeling like that that I am here.
I'm listening to Clock DVA and thinking about what I wanted to say about this film as soon as it ended.
(I cried, of course I cried)
The main theme of the film struck home in a big way. No because I identify with the main character (even though I did so much in the past) but because I know of many people in that situation (most humans I would say) and one in particular. She's now twelve and struggling with a lot of things. Like you're supposed to when you're that young.
The film ended and I found myself thinking that I would've liked to have seen this film with her. To see her imbued with the feelings and everything that the film evokes in us. I think she would get. At least she would identify with that hunger for life but, at the same time, the fear of it.
That's Ben Kingsley's character. He is a man at the end of his life, too afraid to let go of all the repressions he has absorbed throughout his life to actually see what is in front of him. His dream. A beautiful young woman that truly loves him. She, so much younger than him, can see it. And she wants to help him to come out of his hardened mind that doesn't allow his heart to breathe. But he has a lifetime of fears, a lifetime of misconceptions and self protection.
I think he sees all this, but what makes him even more brilliant as a character is that he cannot let go of what he so desperately wants to get rid of about himself.
I think he is a powerful metaphor for humanity.
Actually, he is more than a metaphor. He is real. He is inside everyone of us. He is me and you whenever we surrender to our fear for no good reason but out of fear itself.
And how does all of this connect to a twelve year old girl?
The same way it would've connected to a twelve year old boy some 22 years ago.
It would've connected with that boy at that time because already there and then he was fascinated with the provinces of the mind. He was fascinated with art and science and people and everything he saw and welcomed inside him. Young people are like this, even when they don't fully know it.
He was fascinated with everything and he wanted to know everything. He knew it was a quimeric obsession, something that, in reality, somewhere inside of him, he knew it would be impossible to achieve but that, nonetheless, remained, increasingly powerful, increasingly magnetic and alluring.
He was fascinated with all these things but I don't think he really knew why he was fascinated. Things were just fascinating.
Yet, at the same time he began to realise that what he wanted was to know life, in its deepest, in it's fullest, so he could live it in precisely that way. In it's deepest. In it's fullest.
Can you blame him?
I do not.
I call him smart. Ambitious, perhaps even arrogant, but smart nonetheless.
I still think it's a good idea. To outwit life. To know early on the way you'll probably feel when you know you don't have much more time to live.
This was actually an exercise that I did (and sometimes still do) many times in the past.
"If I were to die tomorrow would it have been a good life? What would I regret? What have I missed?"
The answers to this were often surprising. Many times (not to say always) extremely important.
With the years I have found that my regret levels have diminished considerably and that I haven't missed much of the things I would've liked to have done.
That's simply because I am doing them now.
It does help.
Just today I was talking with a friend of mine and we ended up reaching this simple and yet so crucial conclusion that young people aren't stupid and that they actually know what they're doing.
(I guess myself and my friend both felt not listened to when we were younger so we can relate to this, even if a few decades have passed in the meantime)
(and by the way, I always dreamt about writing stuff like this when I was twelve. Go figure...)
I think it's quite brave and intelligent to try and find out what life means to us as quickly as possible. That way, hopefully, we will be able to enjoy it to the fullest as soon as possible.
When I was a teenager I used to dream about having the experience of an old man in a teenage body (and this has been the theme of many of my stories. Perhaps in disguise, but it's there).
There was a phrase that my father's uncle used every single time we went to visit him in Lisbon. It was something like
"Now that I' ready to die, I am ready to start living."
It's a bitter affirmation of disappointment towards one's life. This phrase became engraved in my mind. I could feel the taste of fear and pain that it held underneath the words. It weren't just the words you see. There were sights. And smells. And tones. Things that however many words we might use, we will never truly describe.
And, as soon as the meaning of this phrase became clear to me, I vowed to live a life that would NOT end up in this way. I wanted to end my life saying, I've lived my life and I am ready to die. I have done all I've wanted to.
There is a very powerful phrase in this film, it goes something like
"Man's biggest surprise in life is old age."
I understood this at the age of twelve but the understanding I have now is that of a twelve year old with twenty two more years of experience. An understanding of someone who already has some measure of knowledge of what it means your body growing old.
This is one of the big reasons why I believe this film is an important one. The sooner we become acquainted with life the better.
There are a couple of very important lines in this film about this.
In one scene Ben is saying that
"we've spent our whole life acting like teenagers."
He's not referring to clothes or going to parties, but rather in the sense of not knowing how to be fully responsible for one's own life.
I mean, let's face it, life is what we do everyday and yet, there is so little teaching about it imparted from other people. We have our parents. We have our grandparents. We have our friends. But, not always the wisdom they have to give us is enough to steady us in our path.and, to this I say, recognise them as fellow travellers in this mysterious road and chide them not for their blame. Life just happens.
On another scene Ben is talking to his oldest friend (played by Dennis Hopper) and he says something like
"It's time to grow up. Not just grow old."
Again he is alluding to that most precious of lessons that this film is trying to impart on us. A lesson in responsibility.
But a responsibility that has nothing to do with returning our assignments on time or know how to comment a work of art in an appropriate manner.
But rather a responsibility to the way we feel. A responsibility towards the heart. A responsibility that is unconditional and non-judgmental.
This is something very hard to achieve.
Our inner truth.
That's the only thing we've been striving for all our lives. That is certainly what Ben's character fails to accept, see, BECOME at every step of his path.
Yet, Penelope Cruz's character, some thirty odd years younger, she sees it so clearly.
More. SHE IS IT.
And this haunts him. This taunts him. This lures him as much as it frightens him. She is truly his Holy Grail. And in more ways that just this one. She is complete.
And she is complete because she is FULLY herself.
There's no holding back.
It's just take it or leave it. Like a child.
And it's through that innocence, that incredible, mature spontaneity that her beauty truly shines through.
This is the lesson they both learn in fact. But him, a lot more than her.
Still, the important thing is that they do learn it. And that they share this.
This is actually all plainly told in the film. They each go through their own masks and, what they find is simply what they always had known was there.
And why had they always know it?
Simple.
Because they had feared it.
Anyway, you know how sometimes you just wish people would change, realise this or that in order for them to become so much more fully what you feel and know in your bones that they are, but you don't know how to?
Well, this is one of those films that gives you this trust that, if they did watch it, they'd get it. Just the way you got. And that impression, that lasting impression that it left on you, would be theirs as well. And, the next time you saw them, they would be a few steps further in their own path. Perhaps a bit closer to you as well. For truly, this is the one thing you want to share.
Peace
Tuesday, 29 December 2009
How To Get Hooked On Comics
You think it's easy, don't you? You think you can just pick a book when you're six or seven or five or whatever it was and it just stays with you for life, huh? Well, let me tell, with me it was completely different.
As with most people (at least in portugal at the time i was growing up) my introduction to comics was a surreptitious one. I don't recall now precisely, but I believe it all started with those strange and wonderful fairy tale books. Words and images. What could go wrong? They sure looked innocent enough in those days.
Little did my family know what they'd created in those first innocent steps into language and form...
Flash forward a few years and I'm six or seven or five, i don't quite remember, all I do remember is that I'm walking down the road, back to my grandparents house, carrying two disney special editions (they came out once a month, brasilian translation, and had more than one hundred pages). I believe I even took the long way around, right next to the beach and the sea, in order to get home. But maybe this is a later memory, after I'd read them (which i did, many times, and for many years these would be my favourite books, to be reverently revisited whenever my heart thus deemed), for it felt I was carrying something momentuous, terribly important and secret. No one knew this but me. It was as if I was carrying the keys to an incredible universe only I knew about.
What could a kid want more than that?
The answer is obvious: MORE!
Up until I was sixteen or so, Disney comics were the big thing in my life, reading wise. Sure there had been other things: i developped an interest in all kinds of literature, classics, sci-fi, adventure, etc, i even read really weird stuff like Kafka and William S. Burroughs at the time but, still, I kept buying as dilligently as possible my weekly fixes of disney comics.
(and I have to thank my grandparents for it; that, despite my father's many prohibitions, martial laws and curfews, they defiantly supported this love of mine)
Like many other kids I read the Asterixes, Tintins, Lucky Lukes and many other european titles that graced all of our bookshops. I loved them but, in my mind, these were different books. For once, these european collections seemed always to be complete, whilst Disney was one huge and incredible mess. There was always new stuff, always a new adventure. And always with the characters you knew so well.
At the age of sixteen (or perhaps before, I don't remember) I started growing impatient with Disney comics. They felt too childish. I wanted something else.
I remember one day going to my usual comics shop and browsing through the rotating display. I'd seen the super-hero stuff many times before but I'd never dared to add any of those titles to the already heavily burdened grandparent financing.
There were several titles that day. Two attracted my attention. One was an Incredible Hulk issue and another was a Superman special with the Legion of Superheroes (John Byrne).
I picked them up. And I remember so clearly thinking: "if I take these with me I'm gonna get hooked on this for life".
I just knew it.
What do you think I did?
Right...
Well, I have to say that recently I browsed through those two books (they're always close) and I still think they're incredible stories. Those two stories left such a deep mark on me that still today I can recall many of the images and the ideas behind both of them.
The Hulk story talked about humans tinkering with nature for personal gain and the Superman story was one of the most powerful stories about love and sacrifice I've ever come across.
This holds true still today, especially the superman story. Whenever I read it I always takes the better out of my emotional side...
I was hooked from then on and I started buying the DC Comics and Marvel stuff instead of Disney's.
Actually this must've been before I was sixteen because I was fifteen when I went to Caldas to study and I was already looking for super-hero comics in english... well, nevermind...
the next big moment was sometime during the summer. I entered one of the local newsagents (there were two in são martinho do porto and, since the distribution was erratic more often than not, i quickly began to check all possibilities in order not to miss any important stuff...) and once again was faced with that comic that had some kind of vampire on the cover, whose artwork seemed really dodgy and that I'd seen there for the last two or three months.
But there was nothing new...
So, for the sake of pure experimentation I bought the damned thing and proceed to read it when I got home.
It was, of course, BLOOD: A TALE by JM DeMatteis and Kent Williams...
Suffice to say, this was one of the most incredible pieces of literature I'd read up until then and a comic that in subsequent years I bought many times to give to friends. My copy, then a brasilian translation, was lost in some lending or other to a friend.
(but i think I have an english one, my second english copy... I never learn...)
The narrative was just something entirely different from what I had seen so far - in any book. The drawings suddenly became these amazing pieces of artwork. That it had a vampire as the main character seemed of little importance. It wasn't a story about horror or fear. At least not blood and guts horror, but a fear of death and dying and, especially, of living. This was a story about the big themes, life, death, sex and JM DeMatteis was subtly punching me in the stomach of expectation.
I was happily bleeding away, along with the story.
JM DeMatteis and Kent Williams therefore became my first references in comics.
Soon after that I read another of JM DeMatteis stories, this time a Spiderman story called Kraven's Last Hunt. It also moved me incredibly for it was the first story that made me take an otherwise relatively uninteresting character as Spiderman seriously.
I read it about a year ago and what a disappointment it was... still a good story but all the magic and flow that I had felt that first time seemed to have evaporated...
Also when I re-read BLOOD: A TALE a few years ago, itdidn't feel as profound as that first time. But, by then, I had read many other things and the element of wonder had been taken out of it somewhat.
Time moved on and I suddenly found myself living in Lisbon, supposedly studying physics and eagerly searching for a comics shop in that city that would sell my lovely comics in their untranslated form.
It was through a good good friend of mine (studying psychology at the time - and I was so madly in love with her then... still am, just in a different way...) that she pointed me out to one of her colleagues, and he pointed me out to a street in Lisbon I'd never been in before, address in hand, rang a bell to an inconspicuous building, went to the third or fourth floor, had a guy with glasses called Pedro Silva opening the door for me and welcoming into my Aladin's Cave of comics.
I had entered BDMania and I knew I'd never get away.
If it wasn't that very first time, it was on the second time that I went there that I grabbed a copy of WATCHMEN. This was 92 or 93 mind you. I was 18. The book was already almost 10 years old. Already a legend. And Pedro said, read this. This is good.
I obeyed.
And, my god, I loved it. I loved it so much and yet I didn't really quite get it that first time.
It was something too big, too vast, too complex for me to fathom its repercussions in its entirety. Alan Moore was really the man...
From then on things rapidly escalated.
I read PREACHER as it was coming out. Same thing with THE INVISIBLES. Grabbed THE SANDMAN in all its compiled editions (now safely stashed at a friend's house that blatantly tells me that she will keep them for me for as long as I don't need them... obviously hoping that this will be for the remainder of my natural life... probably hoping that I'll buy the Absolute Edition, only then to swap my old, first and battered paperback editions, by these new, mint, wonderful, beautiful hardcovers... and I'm sucker enough to let her get away with it...). Grabbed TRANSMETROPOLITAN as it was coming out.
And the list goes on.
With the years I've learned a bit about comics. I've followed both artists and writers. The rise and fall of titles and companies and markets and games and films and whatnot. Not obsessively, but, as part of being a consumer and chatting to the experts at BD Mania.
(my usual question still is, what are you reading right now? what do you recommend?)
(and I've learned and enjoyed a lot from those answers!)
but a bit about WATCHMEN and all the other stuff I've talked about a few lines ago.
WATCHMEN is this incredibly complex narrative that tears the superhero dogmas apart by being more true to them than anything had ever been before. This is one of the things that Alan is great at doing. A bit like what Nietzsche did in philosophy he has done with comics.
In any case, WATCHMEN talks about a bunch of superheroes being preyed by a mysterious assailant. Even though their identities are secret somebody knows who they are and is taking them out one by one.
This is the shell. But the heart is really a story about the corruption of power, love and the two opposing forces of fate and freedom.
It's an incredible piece, one that I finally began to really understand on my second read. You can see the film of course, but the book has a lot more. The book tells that story in a much deeper and perhaps more devious way.
It's as scary as it is intelligent. And, let me tell you, in all it's fictional analysis of this would-be world, is frighteningly real and terrifying to contemplate upon.
This is a must for it heralded a new age in comics and redefined the boundaries of the medium by simultaneously destroying and rebuilding the foundations of american comics.
With THE INVISIBLES the story was completely different. I had read WATCHMEN you see. I knew some pretty strange stuff by then. I was used to the language. I was ready.
So THE INVISIBLES became to me exactly what it had been designed to be: a consciousness bomb.
(and thank you for that Grant Morrison)
In fact THE INVISIBLES did precisely that with me for 4 times so far. The first time I read the first volume. The first time I read Grant Morrison's final letter about the series. The first time I read an interview about his work on a book about Comics Writers on COmics Writing. And the first couple of times I watched his stint at a live conference about weird stuff (chaos magic, conspiracy theories, comics and the such)
THE INVISIBLES is this amazing destilation of revolutionary, mind boggling ideas in an adventure setting.
Again all the big themes were here but the level of connections, the depth of insight and newness content was unbelievable. it was this mindful rollercoaster destined to challenge every single aspect of my being and taking it into a different level. So rich it made you feel rich to the point of bursting.
which was what i did.
As soon as I finished reading that first volume (and I did not read it in one go, such was my pleasure at it) I ran out of the house, went into a phone booth and called two friends of mine. One didn't answer. The other did. I had to tell him all about it because I felt i was going to burst otherwise and that I needed to share this incredible gift I had received.
My second and third reads were almost as powerful. Or rather, powerful in a different way. That cathartic element was still there.
As with most people (at least in portugal at the time i was growing up) my introduction to comics was a surreptitious one. I don't recall now precisely, but I believe it all started with those strange and wonderful fairy tale books. Words and images. What could go wrong? They sure looked innocent enough in those days.
Little did my family know what they'd created in those first innocent steps into language and form...
Flash forward a few years and I'm six or seven or five, i don't quite remember, all I do remember is that I'm walking down the road, back to my grandparents house, carrying two disney special editions (they came out once a month, brasilian translation, and had more than one hundred pages). I believe I even took the long way around, right next to the beach and the sea, in order to get home. But maybe this is a later memory, after I'd read them (which i did, many times, and for many years these would be my favourite books, to be reverently revisited whenever my heart thus deemed), for it felt I was carrying something momentuous, terribly important and secret. No one knew this but me. It was as if I was carrying the keys to an incredible universe only I knew about.
What could a kid want more than that?
The answer is obvious: MORE!
Up until I was sixteen or so, Disney comics were the big thing in my life, reading wise. Sure there had been other things: i developped an interest in all kinds of literature, classics, sci-fi, adventure, etc, i even read really weird stuff like Kafka and William S. Burroughs at the time but, still, I kept buying as dilligently as possible my weekly fixes of disney comics.
(and I have to thank my grandparents for it; that, despite my father's many prohibitions, martial laws and curfews, they defiantly supported this love of mine)
Like many other kids I read the Asterixes, Tintins, Lucky Lukes and many other european titles that graced all of our bookshops. I loved them but, in my mind, these were different books. For once, these european collections seemed always to be complete, whilst Disney was one huge and incredible mess. There was always new stuff, always a new adventure. And always with the characters you knew so well.
At the age of sixteen (or perhaps before, I don't remember) I started growing impatient with Disney comics. They felt too childish. I wanted something else.
I remember one day going to my usual comics shop and browsing through the rotating display. I'd seen the super-hero stuff many times before but I'd never dared to add any of those titles to the already heavily burdened grandparent financing.
There were several titles that day. Two attracted my attention. One was an Incredible Hulk issue and another was a Superman special with the Legion of Superheroes (John Byrne).
I picked them up. And I remember so clearly thinking: "if I take these with me I'm gonna get hooked on this for life".
I just knew it.
What do you think I did?
Right...
Well, I have to say that recently I browsed through those two books (they're always close) and I still think they're incredible stories. Those two stories left such a deep mark on me that still today I can recall many of the images and the ideas behind both of them.
The Hulk story talked about humans tinkering with nature for personal gain and the Superman story was one of the most powerful stories about love and sacrifice I've ever come across.
This holds true still today, especially the superman story. Whenever I read it I always takes the better out of my emotional side...
I was hooked from then on and I started buying the DC Comics and Marvel stuff instead of Disney's.
Actually this must've been before I was sixteen because I was fifteen when I went to Caldas to study and I was already looking for super-hero comics in english... well, nevermind...
the next big moment was sometime during the summer. I entered one of the local newsagents (there were two in são martinho do porto and, since the distribution was erratic more often than not, i quickly began to check all possibilities in order not to miss any important stuff...) and once again was faced with that comic that had some kind of vampire on the cover, whose artwork seemed really dodgy and that I'd seen there for the last two or three months.
But there was nothing new...
So, for the sake of pure experimentation I bought the damned thing and proceed to read it when I got home.
It was, of course, BLOOD: A TALE by JM DeMatteis and Kent Williams...
Suffice to say, this was one of the most incredible pieces of literature I'd read up until then and a comic that in subsequent years I bought many times to give to friends. My copy, then a brasilian translation, was lost in some lending or other to a friend.
(but i think I have an english one, my second english copy... I never learn...)
The narrative was just something entirely different from what I had seen so far - in any book. The drawings suddenly became these amazing pieces of artwork. That it had a vampire as the main character seemed of little importance. It wasn't a story about horror or fear. At least not blood and guts horror, but a fear of death and dying and, especially, of living. This was a story about the big themes, life, death, sex and JM DeMatteis was subtly punching me in the stomach of expectation.
I was happily bleeding away, along with the story.
JM DeMatteis and Kent Williams therefore became my first references in comics.
Soon after that I read another of JM DeMatteis stories, this time a Spiderman story called Kraven's Last Hunt. It also moved me incredibly for it was the first story that made me take an otherwise relatively uninteresting character as Spiderman seriously.
I read it about a year ago and what a disappointment it was... still a good story but all the magic and flow that I had felt that first time seemed to have evaporated...
Also when I re-read BLOOD: A TALE a few years ago, itdidn't feel as profound as that first time. But, by then, I had read many other things and the element of wonder had been taken out of it somewhat.
Time moved on and I suddenly found myself living in Lisbon, supposedly studying physics and eagerly searching for a comics shop in that city that would sell my lovely comics in their untranslated form.
It was through a good good friend of mine (studying psychology at the time - and I was so madly in love with her then... still am, just in a different way...) that she pointed me out to one of her colleagues, and he pointed me out to a street in Lisbon I'd never been in before, address in hand, rang a bell to an inconspicuous building, went to the third or fourth floor, had a guy with glasses called Pedro Silva opening the door for me and welcoming into my Aladin's Cave of comics.
I had entered BDMania and I knew I'd never get away.
If it wasn't that very first time, it was on the second time that I went there that I grabbed a copy of WATCHMEN. This was 92 or 93 mind you. I was 18. The book was already almost 10 years old. Already a legend. And Pedro said, read this. This is good.
I obeyed.
And, my god, I loved it. I loved it so much and yet I didn't really quite get it that first time.
It was something too big, too vast, too complex for me to fathom its repercussions in its entirety. Alan Moore was really the man...
From then on things rapidly escalated.
I read PREACHER as it was coming out. Same thing with THE INVISIBLES. Grabbed THE SANDMAN in all its compiled editions (now safely stashed at a friend's house that blatantly tells me that she will keep them for me for as long as I don't need them... obviously hoping that this will be for the remainder of my natural life... probably hoping that I'll buy the Absolute Edition, only then to swap my old, first and battered paperback editions, by these new, mint, wonderful, beautiful hardcovers... and I'm sucker enough to let her get away with it...). Grabbed TRANSMETROPOLITAN as it was coming out.
And the list goes on.
With the years I've learned a bit about comics. I've followed both artists and writers. The rise and fall of titles and companies and markets and games and films and whatnot. Not obsessively, but, as part of being a consumer and chatting to the experts at BD Mania.
(my usual question still is, what are you reading right now? what do you recommend?)
(and I've learned and enjoyed a lot from those answers!)
but a bit about WATCHMEN and all the other stuff I've talked about a few lines ago.
WATCHMEN is this incredibly complex narrative that tears the superhero dogmas apart by being more true to them than anything had ever been before. This is one of the things that Alan is great at doing. A bit like what Nietzsche did in philosophy he has done with comics.
In any case, WATCHMEN talks about a bunch of superheroes being preyed by a mysterious assailant. Even though their identities are secret somebody knows who they are and is taking them out one by one.
This is the shell. But the heart is really a story about the corruption of power, love and the two opposing forces of fate and freedom.
It's an incredible piece, one that I finally began to really understand on my second read. You can see the film of course, but the book has a lot more. The book tells that story in a much deeper and perhaps more devious way.
It's as scary as it is intelligent. And, let me tell you, in all it's fictional analysis of this would-be world, is frighteningly real and terrifying to contemplate upon.
This is a must for it heralded a new age in comics and redefined the boundaries of the medium by simultaneously destroying and rebuilding the foundations of american comics.
With THE INVISIBLES the story was completely different. I had read WATCHMEN you see. I knew some pretty strange stuff by then. I was used to the language. I was ready.
So THE INVISIBLES became to me exactly what it had been designed to be: a consciousness bomb.
(and thank you for that Grant Morrison)
In fact THE INVISIBLES did precisely that with me for 4 times so far. The first time I read the first volume. The first time I read Grant Morrison's final letter about the series. The first time I read an interview about his work on a book about Comics Writers on COmics Writing. And the first couple of times I watched his stint at a live conference about weird stuff (chaos magic, conspiracy theories, comics and the such)
THE INVISIBLES is this amazing destilation of revolutionary, mind boggling ideas in an adventure setting.
Again all the big themes were here but the level of connections, the depth of insight and newness content was unbelievable. it was this mindful rollercoaster destined to challenge every single aspect of my being and taking it into a different level. So rich it made you feel rich to the point of bursting.
which was what i did.
As soon as I finished reading that first volume (and I did not read it in one go, such was my pleasure at it) I ran out of the house, went into a phone booth and called two friends of mine. One didn't answer. The other did. I had to tell him all about it because I felt i was going to burst otherwise and that I needed to share this incredible gift I had received.
My second and third reads were almost as powerful. Or rather, powerful in a different way. That cathartic element was still there.
Monday, 28 December 2009
These Days
I don't know why but during the last few days I've been thinking a lot about a story I began to write some 3 or 4 years ago. It's called The Time Dolls Of Stephen Tempus. It was one of those projects that was supposed to be finished in a jiffy and that, as soon as I started working on it, it just kept growing more and more, out of my control but also getting better and better.
So, yesterday, after working a while on Morto, I decided to appease my mind and heart and pulled out the dossier and started browsing through the sheets of paper.
Now it was clear why this was still a mess.
It started coming back to me...
When I dropped it I still hadn't worked out a structure that did it for me and there were still a few scenes left to be written.
But boy, does this story appeal to me. And I know why. It ticks some very old boxes of mine, it takes me to themes that I've grappled with or have grappled with for years now. Like every story is as much about me as it is about what I think is important to be said.
So I took the easy way out. I reached a compromise. I pulled out the folder containing a short essay I had written within the larger framework of the story and began revising it.
It was interesting to see that it wasn't as ridiculous as I expected. It still made sense. More, I could see the holes more clearly now.
And there were things I wanted to add. I loved the feel of being hinted something greater.
So that's what I did. That's what I spent most of last night doing. I even ended up not seeing the film that I had wanted to watch...
I didn't finish the revision up until an hour ago or so.
It's strange but I just want to finish this story. And, I'll be honest with you, I feel really tempted to just drop Morto and do it...
But I won't.
I'll strike another deal with myself.
I'll keep working on Morto. The Time Dolls will have to come into play in my "spare time".
Let's see where this takes me...
Peace!
So, yesterday, after working a while on Morto, I decided to appease my mind and heart and pulled out the dossier and started browsing through the sheets of paper.
Now it was clear why this was still a mess.
It started coming back to me...
When I dropped it I still hadn't worked out a structure that did it for me and there were still a few scenes left to be written.
But boy, does this story appeal to me. And I know why. It ticks some very old boxes of mine, it takes me to themes that I've grappled with or have grappled with for years now. Like every story is as much about me as it is about what I think is important to be said.
So I took the easy way out. I reached a compromise. I pulled out the folder containing a short essay I had written within the larger framework of the story and began revising it.
It was interesting to see that it wasn't as ridiculous as I expected. It still made sense. More, I could see the holes more clearly now.
And there were things I wanted to add. I loved the feel of being hinted something greater.
So that's what I did. That's what I spent most of last night doing. I even ended up not seeing the film that I had wanted to watch...
I didn't finish the revision up until an hour ago or so.
It's strange but I just want to finish this story. And, I'll be honest with you, I feel really tempted to just drop Morto and do it...
But I won't.
I'll strike another deal with myself.
I'll keep working on Morto. The Time Dolls will have to come into play in my "spare time".
Let's see where this takes me...
Peace!
Collapse
This was the short story I sent to the New Scientist competition a couple of months ago though it wasn't initially the story that I had planned to send.
(that one I'll post tomorrow or something)
I sent my short stories around to some friends and asked for feedback. Since everybody more or less mentioned this one was one of their favourites, I decided to send it instead.
To me Legacy had more promise to it but this one was perhaps more straight forward and an easier read.
So, just sit back and imagined two mates talking in a bar at the onset of the twenty second century...
COLLAPSE
(349 word count)
“Remember? Remember what? There’s nothing to remember...” The burly man called Pyke took another swig.
The scrawny man called Gadziel looked in disbelief, barely aware he was holding a beer too.
“Now who’s sounding crazy? The Great Collapse man… The Great Collapse! More than fifty years ago. World population decreasing to one third! And no one saw it coming!”
Pyke stared at his beer.
“So?”
“So?! What do you mean so?!” Gadziel spilled some beer. “It was unseen!”
Pyke shrugged.
“Not so. May I remind you that life on this planet started a good half a dozen times – that we know about - before it actually stayed for good.” He stared calmly at his mate. “So far…”
Gadziel slammed the mug on the wooden balcony. “But that’s different! You’re talking about primitive life forms barely able to reproduce! I’m talking about us!”
“I know that.” Said Pyke before taking another swig.
“So??”
“So what? I think we give ourselves too much credit.” He placed his mug down and darted his eyes around the bar. “That’s what got us into trouble last time.”
Gadziel gulped, then tried to catch his breath.
“But… but this was an event bigger than the rest of human history combined!!”
“Sure. But only in a couple of orders of magnitude.”
“What?!” Gadziel stared intensely into the other man’s expression.
“You’re just worried about the scale. About the numbers. Who cares how many billions died? They’re dead aren’t they? We should stop mopping about and just move on.” The beefy man signalled to the bartender. Then he turned conspiratorially. “You, my friend, need another beer. Help you get things into perspective…”
“But the Great Collapse was-“
“Precisely.” He said. “That’s the correct operative. The Great Collapse was. Period. Don’t be so fixated on the past. It’s not healthy. Besides, we’ve got better things to do.” He nodded in approval to the new round of beers. “We’re better than that. We should just move on. Get over it.” He leaned over one of the beers. “It’s not like it was the end of the world or anything.”
END
(that one I'll post tomorrow or something)
I sent my short stories around to some friends and asked for feedback. Since everybody more or less mentioned this one was one of their favourites, I decided to send it instead.
To me Legacy had more promise to it but this one was perhaps more straight forward and an easier read.
So, just sit back and imagined two mates talking in a bar at the onset of the twenty second century...
COLLAPSE
(349 word count)
“Remember? Remember what? There’s nothing to remember...” The burly man called Pyke took another swig.
The scrawny man called Gadziel looked in disbelief, barely aware he was holding a beer too.
“Now who’s sounding crazy? The Great Collapse man… The Great Collapse! More than fifty years ago. World population decreasing to one third! And no one saw it coming!”
Pyke stared at his beer.
“So?”
“So?! What do you mean so?!” Gadziel spilled some beer. “It was unseen!”
Pyke shrugged.
“Not so. May I remind you that life on this planet started a good half a dozen times – that we know about - before it actually stayed for good.” He stared calmly at his mate. “So far…”
Gadziel slammed the mug on the wooden balcony. “But that’s different! You’re talking about primitive life forms barely able to reproduce! I’m talking about us!”
“I know that.” Said Pyke before taking another swig.
“So??”
“So what? I think we give ourselves too much credit.” He placed his mug down and darted his eyes around the bar. “That’s what got us into trouble last time.”
Gadziel gulped, then tried to catch his breath.
“But… but this was an event bigger than the rest of human history combined!!”
“Sure. But only in a couple of orders of magnitude.”
“What?!” Gadziel stared intensely into the other man’s expression.
“You’re just worried about the scale. About the numbers. Who cares how many billions died? They’re dead aren’t they? We should stop mopping about and just move on.” The beefy man signalled to the bartender. Then he turned conspiratorially. “You, my friend, need another beer. Help you get things into perspective…”
“But the Great Collapse was-“
“Precisely.” He said. “That’s the correct operative. The Great Collapse was. Period. Don’t be so fixated on the past. It’s not healthy. Besides, we’ve got better things to do.” He nodded in approval to the new round of beers. “We’re better than that. We should just move on. Get over it.” He leaned over one of the beers. “It’s not like it was the end of the world or anything.”
END
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