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We live, perhaps improbably, in a golden age of science fiction comics, in which there are so many wonderful and strange ideas about the universe promulgated by so many different writers and artists that it becomes gloriously difficult to keep up. I don’t write about comics as much as I wish I did anymore; I
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I’m sitting next to a pile of hilariously impractical issues of Raw, the greatest comics anthology ever produced, as mad as a hornet and scanning tables of contents for creators whose names now attract movie deals and MacArthur “genius” grants and Pulitzer prizes and sundry other accolades. The magazines are mostly of a gigantic trim
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I can’t find my copy of Small Gods. Terry Pratchett, who died on Thursday, wrote fully 41 novels set on a flat, circular planet called the Discworld that is carried by four elephants standing equidistant from each other atop the shell of a giant turtle, named A’tuin, who just sort of lumbers through space and
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queendecuisine: blamethebarometerontheweather: khoriepanda: Everyone just keep in mind, this man did this. There was no green screen, there was no padding. and he didn’t even flinch when the wall from the first gif hit his arm as it came down. Buster Keaton appreciation post. Buster Keaton is that dude Just Get the Shot
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One of the weirdest, most angry-making discussions in comics fandom, an admittedly angry fraternity, is the outrageous flag-planting on the whiteness of beloved heroes when it comes to casting the movie versions of those characters. There are lots of reasons to be upset about this kind of absurd I’m-not-racist-but tantrum-pitching, so I think I’ll list
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kadrey: How to be a Sensitive Poet by Matt Groening.
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I told the huge tall blond guy at the bag check I wanted to opt out of the scanner and he said “it’s going to be a long wait.” I said, “okay” and he just stood there. After a minute or two he muttered “male opt-out” and a colleague across the room said “we only
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Seven Things That Are Happening While Scientology’s Super Bowl Ad Plays on a Grainy Monitor in the Background A black sphere the size of a softball flies into a darkened alleyway across the street from a store with televisions sitting in the window. It expands until it threatens to touch the walls; then, abruptly, it
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I wasn’t going to write a new one this year. But… Be kind to yourself in the year ahead. Remember to forgive yourself, and to forgive others. It’s too easy to be outraged these days, so much harder to change things, to reach out, to understand. Try to make your time matter: minutes and hours
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Big, expensive, explosive, heavily costumed, fakery-laden tri(at least)partite movie epics of the kind that have dominated box office receipts in the last decade remain reliably short on metaphor. Frequently this is true even when the source material has seen several tours of duty based solely on its poetic value: little in theaters is less interesting
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GRAPHOMANIA 