Hannah Diamond - Every Night

Yeah, so I knew I was going to have to post this the moment I set eyes on that cover...

American-Russian Relations

Bear Time Is My Favourite Time

The latest episode of Rachel and Miles X-Plain the X-Men dropped yesterday. This week they discussed in some detail Bill Sienkiewicz's work on New Mutants. They make the claim that Sienkiewicz's work marks a turning point in comics generally (although here I think what they really mean to say is 'superhero comics generally')--a ripping open of the envelope with respect to what the pages of sci-fi inflected, action adventure dramas could do.

I wish that they were right. I wish that the page to the left was indeed a turning point. But it really wasn't. Sienkiewicz has been influential, yes, but the body-stocking- punch-em-up-will-they-or-won't-they-kiss-this-week crowd will always look to Jim Lee and the like before they even consider challenging either themselves or their audience with something evocative and expressive rather than naturalistic and classical.

At any rate: this Sienkiewicz kid has it goin' on!

Do It Like You Mean It

How To Interview Ghosts

As usual with a story like this avoid the comments section on YouTube or even Vice News itself. Here I'll just say that it does seem likely that a lack of enforcement capability is a slightly larger part of the equation than the reporter allows for in her closing statements. And that the systematic issues extend to, and perhaps even cascade down from, the weakness of the overall bureaucratic apparatus.

An Apology

Out the window I see the leaves congealed on the shingles of our garage. A brown and green slop ready to clog the eaves. Snow has given way to the dark of wet. The pavement looks heavy yet fragile, like it could break with just one spell in the air.

Paint peels. Fabric sags. Trees stand perfectly still in their full, naked bronchial glory. The breathing of the earth halted once again. Everything turns inward to survive the coming slow grind of molecular structures. The static and seemingly endless sting of cyclical death. 

All that remains  to remind us of the season past and season to come are the evergreens. Bushy cylinders reaching skyward for what little light remains. Never ceasing in their quest. They stand as the ultimate promise from nature to deliver us from its necessary evils. They are a sweet kiss from a hidden mother, the sting of their needles an apology. We float now further than ever from the nuclear heart of all life. And she is sorry beyond words.

Sigourney Sundays