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Hello all of you out there. I just came back from a chiropractor, and man does my leg feel jibbly. But this jibbliness shall not distract us from the festivity that is New Years. I like New Years. It is the only holiday I can think of where everyone celebrates something about time. Whether your thoughts about time are cute or nasty, most people like to see it pass. We even hook mystical qualifications to it, like the 2012 Mayan dooms-day (notably, the world is succumb to a superior race of Quetzacoatl) or the Y2K bug. But, this year, nothing bad is predicted to happen. So, that’s mildly warming. Right?
Yeah, I was disappointed too. Not only do I find destructive New Year’s predictions amusing, I expect them. After all, what better way to motivate you towards completing your New Year resolutions than a healthy dose of over-whelming fear? So, without further ado:
The 2011 Prophecy
In the heart of the Silicon Valley, there is the Computer History Museum, and in the heart of that, lies a great mound of machinery. For the past seven years, a museum curator has worked diligently on a single idea. Why can’t the internet be everywhere, always, and infinite? The idea was mad.
But every crux of history starts with a mad idea.
A machine was built. The inventor’s hypothesis was less than scientific. If we could project the internet on the surface of land, we would have no need for personal computers. Consequently, if we could do this all over the world, nothing would stop people from contacting, learning, and being recorded. In this process, everything in the world would become real time with the internet and vice versa. A worldwide symbiosis of technology, man, and his planet. The machine would need a great computer of it’s own to work it, and the curator had sacrificed himself as the first human computer symbiont.
The champagne was iced, and all was ready for the year 2011 to rush in more lady gaga and an television channel owned by freaking Oprah. The curator stepped back into his machine, letting the rib plates close around him, the arterial retro-speedometer slip into his neck, and the googleplexel magnets insert into his central nervous system. The curator spoke his first command. “On.” At that moment, six billion people were adjusted to his brain. He saw everything, everyone, and knew everything. He felt what it was to be god. And it was an angry feeling.
The scream of the world was terrifying. An entire race unready to interact with a divine power, yet it had rushed in and grabbed everything. A half of the world died, from the fear. A quarter gave themselves up in a religious fervor. Seemed as if there was a god after all. No one knew his name was Ned, and he worked as a museum curator. No one knew his favorite color was tangerine, or that he had a crush on Nancy Shelzinger senior year and had asked her to prom, only to be turned down. No one knew this god had been beat up, pushed around, and lived the unforgiving life of an introvert. But the last quarter of the human race survived. And they all thought the same thing, what are you?
But Ned only thrashed in his machine. It was too much for him, and all he could do was scream no. And the Earth simply took it. As people struggled to understand, all that was projected around the planet was of a lonely man sitting at his desk, surrounded by dusty modems. Ned was losing control. His survival processes were kicking in. His body was being forced to determine whether the machine was causing a problem for Ned or in reality Ned was in the way of the machine. Urine ran down a pants leg as the machine became actively aware of Ned’s body. However, by this time, the panic had taken effect. The last humans on Earth, inquisitive in nature, had wondered into the light of the projected man. Only to find the light soon became intensely white. So much, that it burned them alive. And then these fires began to consume the forests and cities of the Earth.
Ned struggled on, the last bit of his life, slowly being taken by a thing larger than him. By a force he could not have predicted. As the great lights razed Earth into a desert world, Ned felt the basement flood with heat. His last moment as the last human, and the only god, he reached out with his mind, asking the machine whether there was anything he could have ever done. Blood leaked from Ned’s ear. Sweat pooled. The silence had fallen. The machine spoke, using no words but a primal utterance.
“Maybe.”
A grandfather clock gonged twelve times in a corner. It was 2011. Ned was dead.
That’s^ the development to a story I’ve been working on. Lot’s of plot there. And some character stuff. All for a big comic project. (ooh mysterious and awe alluring) I’m afraid I’ve been too busy with the college essay and other stuff today. I’ll make it up to you one day. I will. Look how sorry I am:
And this is me in sunglasses. Looking fine.
Just kind of an ego trip post today, isn’t it?
I‘ll counteract the ego inflation with some acne inflammation.
That should do it.
PS -12 days left of 2010. Spend them using twelve of things. Or 2010 of something.
One of my aspirations is being able to work a day job and do comics, I’m interested in others’ methods of doing this. My attention was drawn to a well known comic writer Harvey Pekar. His autobiographical comics are known to be so synthetic with his life, I thought I could spurn some ideology from it. But, alas, Harvey’s style seems more a way of nature than any kind of method. He died this year at seventy. I read a large amount about him today and learned a little about how he managed his life between comics and everything else.
What I did learn:
1. He made less money than he liked.
2. He was a middle class Jew (like me).
3. His fame is undeniable. Having read many articles reviewing his career, the most provocative is this>The Premature Immortalization of Harvey Pekar by Alan Kurtz . The article itself doubts the means by which Harvey became famous at all. After which, (in the comment section) the author of said article and a book shop owner argue about the validity of everything Kurtz tried to argue.
Some favorite quotes of mine:
“Two Words: Cowardly Weasel.”
“This is an intense example of why people don’t respect reviewers. This last line is where I could call you any name I like and readers would cheer. But unlike some, I have a bit of restraint. Get some.”
Their argument is more entertaining than crap I can write at present time. So, check it out.
4. He had a web comic. Who knew?
5. He also had written music and art reviews. These writings were unpopular. But what gained his friendship with the all mighty R. Crumb (who later helped produce Pekar’s earliest works).
6. He worked with a number of great artists, writers and creators. Including the current graphic novel all-things-great-god-of-beard-king-of-the-nerd-forces-and-all-Juju Alan Moore. This wiki-page gives a pretty good list.
7. His writing was essentially meaningless without himself. His character and his actual involvement in the media and life created something almost political. From one end, Harvey meant nothing more than to express his views and the value of ordinary life (in his series American Splendor, probably should have mentioned that earlier. Still new at this.). On the other, when given the chance to speak to the greater nation, he actively broke away from the orthodox ideas expected.(Click the link if you expect to understand this.) This was almost a revolutionary or political action because of its national platform and obvious agenda. Boosting his fame, it also catalyzed the opportunity for a following. However, I don’t doubt that all media sources, no matter how lowly, local, or poorly made (not that Harvey was any of these) are capable of being political. To quote a better writer: “The pen is mightier than the sword.”
-D
Approx. Published: 10:00 PM EST 12/15/10
I chose to write on paper today. I think it helps new writers produce at a more comfortable speed in a more comfortable way. It was also a free writing, so it was anything I want. A cleaning of the mental septic tank, so to speak.I won’t post anything literal, but I’ll show you proof. That’s about 4 and a half pages on how must of us stop changing around 27 and thoughts on how to change it. If there is ever a big demand, I’ll post it.
* He laughs too himself, holding his severely beaten shreds of confidence from slipping through his knobbly fingers.*
Also, upon arrival to home, there was a present on my bed. It’s quite useful. It is written by some reliable sources. Steve Lieber; a Joe Kubert graduate and a veteran creator. Nat Gertler; a big graphic novel teacher and creator. I don’t know a hell a lot about these guys, but for those of you who don’t know, the Joe Kubert School is the only school in the nation that teaches just comics.**
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**However, a new competitor, the Center for Cartoon Studies has opened in Vermont. They have some promising minds teaching their like the great Jason Lutes and Stephen R. Bissette. (One of these days, I’ll write a blog on the presence of comic education and its place in academia, but for now, this will suffice.)
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Sure, there are a few cartooning schools, and some pro-art colleges that offer it as a path, but Kubert is the only place only for comics. Most of their graduates are hired by the big two (DC and Marvel). So, it’s a pretty reliable credential, which is why I trust this book. Not to mention, there are only a few books on sequential art, until recently. That, too, is for another post.
GOODNIGHT EVERYBODY! (SNL outro music)
-D
P.S. Damn this post has a lot of name dropping. Let me just say, I don’t know any of these people. I just admire their work.
Approx. Post: 11:36PM EST 12/14/10
The Creative Process: a study
I suck, this sucks, this isn’t good, this isn’t writing, no one wants to read this and not even you find this interesting. When are you actually going to think about these writings? When are you going to give a shit? Give a shit! This is shit! You’re shit! Shit! Do you even spell check these? How are any of these creative, interesting, original, entertaining, informing, revealing, shocking, or anything at all? Your actual shit tells more of a story than these things! Start writing with your gut. Sick of this pussy stuff.
This has been:
The Creative Process: a study….
]Approx. Time Stamp: 2:22AM 12/11/10 EST
