scribbling around the edge

Dear Yuletide Author

2013-10-14T09:54:50Z

Hello. I'm damos. Nice to meet you.

This is my first year to actually do the yuletide portion of yuletide, although I've done New Year's Resolutions in the past.
Consequently, my Dear Yuletide Author letter may be a little rough around the edges...

Frankly, I'm just happy to add to the prompts and would be happy with just about anything in any of the fandoms below.

Prompt #1: Blue Beetle (Comics), Jaime Reyes, Christopher Smith (Peacemaker), Guy Gardner (Green Lantern), Milagro Reyes.
Basically, I want a story revolving around that moment when Guy Gardner says to Milagro that he is the crazy one. I think that the seriousness of Peacemaker makes a great foil for Guy (as does Milagro). It can be at the picnic/party afterward or, really at any time. Have fun.

Prompt #2: Galaxy Quest (1999), Any characters.
This one is pretty basic. How does the follow up series go? Do the cast get along better? Do Alexander and Jason resume their fighting? How does (new character) fit in?

Prompt #3 Greatest American Hero, Any characters.
It has been years since Ralph donned the suit. What happened to him and Bill? What happened to him and Pam? What happened to the suit? Did he ever get (and keep) an instruction book? Did he ever find a sense of purpose in (or out of) the suit?

Prompt #4 Portal (Video Game), Chell, GLaDOS
I guess this prompt is also pretty obvious. Chell returns to the Enrichment Center. How do she and GLaDOS interact? Does GLaDOS still retain the memory of Caroline? Any reference to PotatOS or the Portal 2 closing serenade is a plus.

Thanks again and have a great yuletide!
damos

So I went to uniqlo again...

2012-05-06T08:07:36Z

And this is what I bought.

Posted via LiveJournal app for iPhone.

Happy Birthday icons for Mithen

2011-06-04T15:44:48Z

In honor of her birthday, here are a few icons from B&B of Bats and Supes.

01 02 03 04

as always, crediting is super
hotlinking drives us all batty.

Fic: What Would You Do?

2011-05-16T12:51:52Z

Title: What Would You Do?
Characters: Chell, GLaDOS, Batman, Superman
Rating: G.
Disclaimer: DC owns half of them, Valve owns the other half.
Warning:Some spoilers for the end of Portal 2. This is not exactly a crossover between Portal and DC. It also is not a love song. Nor is it my beautiful house.
Word Count: 398
A/N: Happy Birthday, Mina

She remembers very little of her past.

Her own name is a mystery. They call her Chell. It feels right, but she isn't quite sure.

It is, perhaps a side-effect of the long sleep. She doesn't have the time to worry about it now. Someday she will sit and remember. After she is finished.

She remembers almost nothing of her father. Shadows on a wall. Names spoken in harsh, bitter tones.

Her mother was tall, beautiful. That is how she remembers her, at any rate. To a child, all parents must seem tall, strong, and yet somehow out of reach...

Most of her childhood is gone. Only flashes and bits of words remain. She hangs on to what she can.

She remembers stories of other people, two men in particular, who had lost their parents. One was strong beyond reckoning. He could fly and could carry the weight of the world.

She remembers the first time she stepped through a portal. It was like flying. She too would carry the weight of the world.

The second man studied everything until he understood both the good and the evil. He was decisive and could turn every situation to his advantage.

She has studied the facilities and the computers all her life. She understands them. She will turn this situation to her advantage.

Now she has only the companion cube and a name. Caroline.

Someday she will become a reporter. She will tell people what happened here.

Today she is a detective. She will find her way back inside. She will free Caroline from the machine. She will endure.

Miles below her, GLaDOS accesses a file under the directory "Caroline." The memory is of a small girl (1.02 meters tall [clutching a sheaf of unscientific {even fictional!} data] [complaining about a Halloween costume]). She doesn't want to be a princess, she wants to dress as a bat. The file resonates with feeling. The child will not give up.

The next file confirms that the child won the argument.

There is another unusual sensation attached to the file that GLaDOS equates to pride.

She makes a note to destroy all files pertaining to this "Superman" and "Batman."

Nothing good can come of that.

The cameras scan the surface. GLaDOS can find no sign of Chell. She has evaded detection.

Well, maybe one thing...

Fic: For Her

2010-11-04T11:38:10Z

Title: For Her
Characters: Batman, Jim Gordon
Rating: G.
Disclaimer: DC owns almost all of them.
Warning: Character death (Inspired by the last panel of Bruce Wayne: The Road Home: Commissioner Gordon)
Word Count: 649
A/N: Every year, I try to do a little something for the Day of the Dead.

Jim Gordon felt cold. Of course, Jim felt cold almost all the time, these days. The damn hospital blankets did nothing to keep what little heat his body was generating inside. There seemed to be more heat coming out of the monitors above his head than from the vents. He had sent his daughter home for the night. He had smiled at her and thanked her for coming. A last, good, brave image of him. He could almost imagine how he must have looked to her. But in his imagination, he was always a clueless new detective in his 30s just getting to know the city of Gotham.

He closed his eyes, listened through the hum of the machines around him straining to hear the rhythm of his city, and he waited. He was not sure exactly what he was waiting for, but he knew for certain that he was waiting for something. Maybe it was a soft farewell from Gotham. Maybe it was death. It was not until the soft click of the window lock being undone that he remembered.

He was waiting for Batman.

"The city seems quiet tonight." He tried his best to sound hale and hearty.

The figure in the corner of the room smiled. "You finally caught me coming into a room."

A cough. "I don't have much else to keep me busy now."

Batman stepped forward and nodded. "There won't be trouble tonight. The old rogues... in a way, they respect you for the fight. No one steps on your night tonight."

He laughed and tried to suppress the cough that followed. "Maybe I should die every night."

"The city couldn't handle that, Jim. Neither could I."

"She's tougher than you think."

Batman leaned forward and put a hand on Jim Gordon's shoulder. "And you have been... are more important to Gotham than you know."

"She'll be the same Gotham as always. Even after you're gone."

Batman nodded, looking out the window at the city below. Finally he turned and started to remove his cowl.

"You don't need to do that."

The man behind the cowl smiled. "Yes, I do. Not for you, maybe. But for me."

"Doesn't make a damn bit of difference, I can't see a thing anyway."

"I know. But she can. I want to let Gotham remember us here, together. No masks. No badges. Just us."

*****

They spent the night talking--sharing memories, stories too private to share with anyone else or at any other time. They talked about old Gotham and about times the city herself seemed to have saved or doomed them. They talked about feeling of walking on brick streets covered over by tar and asphalt. They talked about the night that Barbara was shot. They sat in silence together as well--letting the sounds of the city flow through them.

*****

At around 4 or 5 o'clock in the morning, Jim took a deep breath and opened his eyes again. "I think it's time you got back home."

"Jim."

"No. I'm going soon. And I don't expect to be coming back. I need a moment to collect myself. I can't let her see me unprepared."

Batman nodded. He pulled the cowl back over his head and looked silently at the older man.

"Go. Keep her safe on what remains of your watch. She deserves a quiet night every now and again."

"Thank you for all you did, Jim."

"Yes, yes. Thank you too. Now go."

Batman was, of course, already gone. Jim Gordon smiled. That was the way things should be.

From outside the window, Bruce Wayne heard Jim Gordon whisper a final "thank you" and then heard the alarm of the heart monitor.

Jim Gordon's face relaxed into a smile. It was a good, last, brave image. For her.

Two Cat Rackham icons

2010-09-23T02:24:49Z

From "Cat Rackham is sometimes too sad to sleep."

First the non-moving one. Not figuratively, of course. Figuratively, it is quite moving.

Just not as moving as the literally moving one. Which is also moving figuratively. So a kind of double moving... all the way!

3 Return of Bruce Wayne (2) icons

2010-05-27T12:31:22Z

Just three this time. A line, a bat, and a Peck on the shoulder

01 02 03

As always, hotlinking brings a temporal Cthulhu-esque creature to your doorstep. Crediting brings a time-lost Batman.

12 Batman: Return of Bruce Wayne icons

2010-05-14T12:01:50Z

Should be finishing other things, but the mind goes where it will. And so I give you Batman: The Return of Damos Icons.

01 02 03 04

05 06 07 08
09 10 11 12

As always, crediting gets you the Bat shield of approval and hotlinking gets you a black hole sun.

Quick updates

2010-03-07T00:25:02Z

Ebook is coming along. Sorry I've been so (a) busy and (b) out of touch.

Here is good news on the comic book front, however!
http://edition.cnn.com/2010/TECH/02/25/whitesides.chip/index.html?hpt=C1

Comic ink makes possible cheap testing for various illnesses/diseases!

HNY

2010-01-01T05:01:36Z

Happy New Year, everyone.

At sea

2009-12-22T12:51:54Z

Literally. So, I have no real access for now.

I prefer defriend

2009-11-17T03:15:56Z

In the news today, I saw that "unfriend" was named the word of 2009.
Frankly, I prefer "defriend". "Unfriend" sounds like something you do to someone you aren't (and never were) friends with. Plus the English language already has "unfriendly" as an adjective.

"Defriend" seems more like removing someone from your friend feed/list to me, anyway.

Perhaps something like "disenfriendchise" was just too long.

FIC: A Cookie, a Cup of Coffee, and a Dream

2009-11-02T16:40:10Z

Title: A Cookie, a Cup of Coffee, and a Dream
Characters: Batman, Martian Manhunter, Superman, and various JLAers and New Gods
Rating: G.
Disclaimer: DC owns almost all of them.
Warning: References events (including canonical character death) from World War III, the Martian Manhunter series, and Final Crisis.
Word Count: 713
A/N: Every year, I try to do a little something for the Day of the Dead.

The Man of Steel was the last one to speak.

But before he said a word, he moved to the small table in the center of the room. There, he placed a hydrox cookie and a metal thermos. He twisted the cap on the thermos and the scent of coffee filled the room.

He turned to the others.

"Today, I have come to remember two friends, who are both sorely missed." He pulled a piece of paper from his cape and smoothed out the creases with his hand.

"I don't really need to tell you about J'onn and Batman. There is no need to recount how J'onn died alone at the hands of Libra or how Batman fell while stopping Darkseid from enslaving the universe. So, instead I want to talk about what might have been. What could have been."

He looked down at the paper and started to read:

J'onn had a stubborn streak. He could be the most gentle and yielding soul one minute and, in the next, just as firm and immovable as anyone could be. Even Batman. After the fight with Black Adam, he seemed a changed man. More sullen. More alone. Discovering a group of White Martians brainwashed to believe they were Green Martians only made the matter worse. J'onn needed someone to talk to. Someone to be there. What if someone had?

What if, when he found out about the remaining White Martians, J'onn went to League for help?

J'onn rejoining the League would have been a comfort. Things wouldn't have been perfect, of course. There would still have been moments when he would withdraw, still moments when the bickering seemed like it could break the League apart. But it wouldn't have. J'onn's presence always helped to stabilize the League. It felt right.

When Libra and the Human Flame sought to attack him, they were attacking not just one man, they were attacking every Leaguer. Wonder Woman and the two Green Lanterns on Earth at the time, Hal Jordan and John Stewart, went through the boom tube with J'onn. Together they fought long enough for Superman and Batman to arrive. While the heavy fighting distracted Libra, Batman convinced Lex Luthor of the threat the new Secret Society posed to Earth.

Luthor's fury over the prospect of being controlled by Darkseid, combined with the fighting strength of the League, eventually turned the tide in the battle. J'onn was able to telepathically link with the criminals assembled there and explain to them the mindless slavery that awaited them at the hands of Libra and the Anti-Life Equation. Human nature being what it is, especially among the villains, self-interest won the day, and the other members of the Secret Society turned against Libra as well.

It was a good victory.

The celebration was short-lived. John Stewart was brutally attacked and, while tracking down clues as to who had done it, Batman vanished. J'onn sensed his absence almost immediately. Batman, being Batman, left mental clues as to his abductor. It didn't take the League long to track down Darkseid.

Darkseid threatened to destroy the universe, but without the support of his minions his words seemed hollow. With the combined might of the League aimed at Darkseid, Batman was able to escape the bunker where he was being held and reveal to the rest of the League through J'onn the secret of the Radion bullet designed to kill Orion, but deadly to any New God.

Faced with his own mortality, Darkseid relented.

The battle was long, but in the end, hope and justice prevailed.

Back safely in the League Headquarters, everyone took a moment to celebrate and enjoy the victory. J'onn even gave in to temptation and had a choco. Flash had something like fifteen hamburgers. Batman sipped a cup of coffee, as he often did, looking out at the Earth.

It was a good day.

Rather, it should have been a good day. But it never happened. J'onn never ate that last choco. Batman didn't sip his cup of coffee in quiet contemplation. They died alone. They died as they would have wanted, I hope. They died as heroes. But they are missed.

All I have to offer in their place is this cookie, this cup of coffee, and this dream.

Random amusing note

2009-10-07T00:43:42Z

Hi everyone.
Sorry, I haven't had time to be around lately (and technically shouldn't have the time now--but my morning meeting just got canceled!)

Thought I would share this brief moment from one of my news sites. Here was the top headline:

Obama Says He Won't Slash Troops in Afghanistan

New York Times - all 3039 related »

So, there you have it: Obama is officially anti-RPS. At least for the troops.

Hope everyone is doing well.

We now return you to your typically damos-free flist!

Icons: Star Trek (TOS, TAS), Dinosaur Comics

2009-06-06T12:24:08Z

First some teasers:

The rest are under the cut

06	07	08	09	10
11	12	13	14	15
16	17	18	19	20
21	22	23	24	25
26	27

Fic: The Reason I've Been Waiting So Long

2009-06-04T15:09:59Z

Title: The Reason I've Been Waiting So Long
Characters: Spock, Christopher Pike
Rating: G.
Disclaimer: Paramount owns the characters, the universe and the paradox.
Warning: Follows on from the movie Star Trek.
Word Count: 675
A/N: A birthday fic for mithen and also written for the songfic meme started ibis_thoth. The song, by the way, is Blind Faith's Can't Find My Way Home. It also sort of fits the BeeGee's I Started a Joke.

Spock pauses at the door. What he is about to do, what he has decided to do... it is the only logical action. But the man behind the door has a... had a weight that could not be avoided. It is a clumsy metaphor, he thinks to himself--the mass, the gravity that pulls him here to this man... this room... at this time.

His hand reaches for the buzzer. He hears the ring, and the words that follow.

"Enter."

He finds it surprisingly hard to do so. "Captain."

The other man turns, smiles. "Mister Spock. There is no need for you to address me by rank."

"Indeed. And, of course, I have made an error. It is Admiral now."

Christopher Pike smiles. "Yes. It seems Starfleet ran out of patience with me and bumped me up into a desk job."

"I've good reason to believe in your skill, Chris."

"Well, I'm rolling around pretty well. I should be walking again in a few weeks. They tell me I'll need a cane for a bit. Which doesn't really answer the question of why you're here."

Spock nods. "I have... there are things I should tell you."

Pike frowns. "About my future?"

"About your past. My past."

"Why?"

Spock looks at the ground. "There are things I must do, should have already done... But..."

Christopher Pike looks at the face of the old man standing in front of him. "But I should be dead, right?"

"Would that it were that simple. There are many changes in this new world, not all for the worse. But I find that... Your Spock never had the chance to get to know you, Captain. Not as I had the chance to know my Chris Pike. The future does not go well for you. There is an accident..."

Pike nods. "I understand."

"No. I find that exceptionally unlikely. However, I had to come to let you know. I... in this case, perhaps a mindmeld would be more efficient."

"Alright."

The Vulcan moves his hands carefully, as if he is afraid of damaging the Admiral. He shows his old friend... this man he has only just met... the past erased. The years at the helm of the Enterprise. The promotion. The accident. The years trapped inside his own ruined body--incapable of movement or communication beyond "yes" and "no." The return to Talos. And something else. A stone gate with a glowing center.

"God."

Spock looks down at the man in the wheelchair.

"Captain, I could not go without saying goodbye. But I found that the words were insufficient. I felt the compulsion to explain to you what would happen to you. What I would do to you."

Pike nods again. "I see. But, and you listen carefully... I was your Captain. That version of me was not so different from the one I became. He did what he had to do. He knew. He had to know that saving those cadets would kill him... or worse. But it was the right thing to do."

"So you agree that this is the right thing to do?"

"Planets lost, the Klingons are suddenly unstable. Lord knows what will happen to the Romulans. And, most importantly, you changed the timeline. You know what you must do."

Spock finds himself nodding. "The needs of the many--"

"To hell with that, man. How would I survive knowing... How would you? We are what we are, Spock. Regardless of what timeline we belong in."

*****

Spock stands before the machine, the Guardian of Forever. It is an indulgence, he knows. But he speaks to the stone and records what he can on the tricorder. The rocks don't understand him, of course. They understand the request but not his feeble explanation.

"You see, I shall be losing two Captains when I walk through. In an instant, they will both be lost to me. Again. Who will guide me home?"

But that is what they would do--what heroes do. They make things right. No matter the personal cost.

It is only logical.

Uniqlo t-shirt follow up.

2009-06-01T13:23:07Z

Well, we went back. This time to pick up another Gatchaman shirt and also a wonderfully amphibolous "Watch out trolls."

Star Trek finally arrived in Japan

2009-05-30T11:35:00Z

The one real drawback to living in Japan is that English Language movies are very, very slow to release here (except Sony pictures, obviously).

My capsule response was: Fun. Silly fun. Crazy plot holes you could drive a Romulan mining platform through (and, believe me, Romulan Mining Platforms are HUGE), but fun.

Uniqlo... I think I love you.

2009-05-19T13:17:24Z

But I wanna know for sure.

So, Jen and I were out shopping today, mostly because we seem to have forgotten to get garlic when shopping yesterday. So we hopped out to the grocery store and bought some today. Anyway, that's not the important thing. The important thing if for you to ask me what kind of things we bought at Uniqlo.

(waits for it)

What did you buy at Uniqlo?

We bought some bitchin' t-shirts!

Jen's haul:

Oh yeah, that action comics one has a back side. Which is here.

And then there is the small matter of my haul...

Oh yeah, that strange red logo... it seems so familiar... So ninja-like and yet science-ish.

Of course! Science ninja team Gatchaman!

Intro ramble done with apologies to the Dead Milkmen.

Fic: Red-handed (Happy Belated Birthday, Mina)

2009-05-18T07:30:49Z

Title: Red-handed
Characters: Jason Blood
Rating: G.
Disclaimer: DC owns the characters, hands down.
Warning: A dream is dreamed.
Word Count: 450
A/N: A birthday fic for arch_schatten

He wakes in a sweat.

It was the dream. The dream that haunts him. The dream is always the same.

No, that isn't true.

Some days, the dream is set in days long gone. Surrounded by rolling hills and rough-hewn stone, he is in the company of friends. Mal, Erec, Percy, the others. Each has pledged his life and loyalty.

Some days, the dream is set in days to come. Days of steel and glass. He is, again, in the company of friends. Kal, Bruce, Diana, the others. Each has pledged life and loyalty.

And into this company, these companies, the old man comes. He always comes, without fail He is merciless.

And thus the dream becomes a nightmare.

And the companies are split asunder.

For the old man brings Truth. The hard kind of truth. The unforgiving kind.

The old man has discovered a new spell. And with it he claims he can see into the very soul of a person. See their innermost secrets. See the truth.

He has abandoned the old words, the old ways, and carries with him instead a sheaf of paper bound in leather. He opens the book and begins to speak. "These seven things are an abomination."

Now he has a pouch filled with sand. He reaches into the pouch. Unstopping. Unrelenting. Merciless.

"A proud look." He tosses some of the sand into the air. Swiftly, the sand flies to the hands of some of the company. The old man does not stop.

"A lying tongue." More sand.

"Hands that shed innocent blood."

"A heart that devises wicked plans."

"Feet that are swift in running to evil."

One by one, he sees his companions faces turn red with shame. Turn red and also turn toward him. He has no sand on his hands.

"A false witness who speaks lies."

He knows his lies, his wicked plans, his pride. He knows all these things and yet the sand does not come to him.

"And one who sows discord among brethren."

The sand has changed colors. Some red, some purple, some yellow... Each color reflecting the nature of the transgression. But still his hands are unmarked.

And then, slowly at first, it happens. As it always happens. The old man turns to face him. He speaks slowly. "And you, Jason... what color shall your hands be?" He can see the sand, all of it, slowly inching toward him. He cannot, dare not run away. Slowly it engulfs him. Not just his hands, but his whole body.

And there, for the world to see is the soul of Jason Blood. Gone, gone the form of man.

He wakes in a sweat.

It was the dream.

Happy Birthday, Mina

2009-05-16T23:20:47Z

Happy Borthday as well.

Something may happen in this space.

Even if nothing does, know that I wish you a great day!

Fic: Enough

2009-05-10T12:12:45Z

Title: Enough
Characters: Riddler
Rating: G.
Disclaimer: DC owns the characters, Mr. Carr owns the art, I wrote the words.
Warning: A suicide is investigated (not of anyone you know).
Word Count: 907
A/N: Inspired by a picture I saw of an installation piece by Matt Carr. A story of the cypHeR investigation agency, though I don't think you need to know any of that to understand it.

You see a lot of things on the beat. A lot.

Either you get used to it or you crack. That's the way it works.

Still, the case we worked over on Towson St. in the village was the damnedest thing I can recall.

Not the body. Nah. The body was the normal part. Hit a parked car twenty-three stories down. Splatsville. But it wasn't like it was decayed or nothing. Guy who owned the car was kinda freaked out. It was a green Honda. One of them hybrids. Must have cost a pretty penny. Either that or the way the body landed was bad for his feng-shui.

The crazy thing was the note.

Not a lot of jumpers leave notes. Not sure why. That kind of thinking goes way above my pay grade.

Actually, I didn't think this one had left one either. I mean, we didn't know if it was a suicide or not at first anyway, but you gotta look, you know. The recently deceased didn't leave anything like a normal note, anyway. Almost missed it even though it was as big as life right there in plain sight. Not that I didn't see it, exactly. I just didn't get it.

The rest of the room was clean. Empty, to be honest. Some people do that. Clean up. Leave nothing behind. I guess that's the thinking, anyway. Nothing but a body on top of a car with a blaring alarm. But, like I said, the room was clean. Funny thing was that there were these lights on. Middle of the day, right? But not the room lights. Nah. These were like Christmas lights or something. I was digging through the desk looking for a note or a phone book or anything that we could use for the investigation when I noticed them flickering. The lights, I mean. Kinda annoying.

Anyway, I was going to just unplug them when he comes strolling in, like he's Gordon or old man Kane or something.

He stops me and does this tsk tsking sound.

Then he points to the signs and smirks.

When I ask him what he thinks he's doing, he dusts off his shoulder, hands me a business card and says, "Solving this little mystery for you. Nigma's the name. Make sure the papers get it right."

Now, everybody knows the Riddler, right? So I figure he's up to something. But he just says that the deceased was female. Which was right. But that's a better than 50-50 shot with jumpers in the village. Guys seem to like guns. Whatever. Then he tells me she was pregnant. Which was a little freaky as my partner'd just found the test in the bathroom a couple of minutes ago and we hadn't radioed anyone. Then he tells me she had a rough spat with her boyfriend, who he makes a point of telling me is probably into cryptography like she was, and that is why she jumped. The spat that is, not the cryptography.

That gets me scratching my head. I dunno how he could get all that. So I asked him if he was the boyfriend.

He just laughs again and points at the lights. "No, Sergeant. I just know how to read. So did she. Pity she killed herself. Judging from her note, she might have been an interesting person to chat with. Might not, though, given that she killed herself. But certainly more interesting that chatting with you."

So I look at the lights. Really look at them, you know. They say "can't get enough." Which is a crazy thing to leave as a note and don't make any sense to me. So I say that to the Riddler.

He looks right at me like I was the dumbest kid in second grade. I wasn't, by the way.

"Sarge, Sarge, Sarge," he says, tapping me on the shoulder. "It most certainly does not say that." He walks over to the wall. "This sign says 'cant get.' Now I know this kind of thing might be lost on you, so I'll go slowly. If there were an apostrophe, it would mean cannot get. But there isn't. 'Cant' has a different meaning. The most obvious would be the thieves' cant. In the thieves' cant, 'get' means a child. Thus, I assume that 'cant get' means that she was with child."

Which struck me as the dumbest thing I'd ever heard. Or would have, if we hadn't just found out that she was pregnant.

So I ask him how he knows it's a suicide?

And he points to the other wall.

"There is your note, sarge. Sad story, that."

Now that's totally bonkers. I tell him so and he just laughs again.

"Sarge, can you read? What does it say."

Well, any idiot could read that. I tell him he can read it just fine by himself. It said "enough." Just "enough."

"Righto, Sarge. We'll make a detective out of you yet."

I still don't get it, so I push him on it.

He just smiles and says, "No more tears."

Which makes, like, the third straight sentence out of his mouth that don't seem to have anything to do with anything.

"Sarge, the meaning of 'cant get' is child, but that other wall just has 'enough.' And, well, enough is enough."

And I'll be damned if Donna Summer wasn't playing on the radio in the next room.

Ganked from stranj100

2009-05-10T07:29:16Z

See! I'm sensitive!

I took the "handwriting personality" quiz on gURL.com
		my handwriting personality is... sensitive scripter Your handwriting reveals you as a thoughtful, intellectual type who avoids fake people and places where there's lots of noise and crowds. You're probably the one people go to when they're feeling super sad. Read more... What does your handwriting reveal about you?

50 icons from Dinosaur Comics for every occasion!

2009-03-15T02:29:50Z

So here are a bunch* of icons from Dinosaur Comics. They really provide icons for every, every occasion. Like when your friend keeps insisting that they are an astronaut...
or when you have firmly decided to face the zombie menace in a straighforward way...
or, you know... on those occasions where the English language seems to be unable to really phrase things exactly the way you would like your ideas to be phrased...
*Where bunch equals 50.


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Things about words and words about people

2009-03-11T07:49:09Z

This is a post about things. Things that people say. Things that people write. It is a post, in part, about the appropriation of culture. It is, in a larger sense, a post about the loss of words, and with those words, the loss of worlds.

I want to say a lot of things derived from my experiences as a half-Asian guy growing up in the mid-west of the USA in hurting and being hurt on the issue of ethnicity/skin color/culture/race. But I'm not going to. Not out of fear. Not out of malice. But rather out of exhaustion. Perhaps, just perhaps, out of a loss of hope.

I will, however, say this: I have seen people I admired for their writing ability retch out words designed (and, here, I must credit their ability to craft words) to hurt, belittle, and erase. And I remind myself that these people use their words to create and animate worlds. And... and I find that I no longer wish to inhabit those worlds. They're just not that interesting to me anymore.

Now, in my workaday life I usually deal in what we call "instrumental" communication--communication designed to influence someone's beliefs, values, and/or actions. This post is not really designed to be something like that. This post is for me. This is a post about expressing. About letting out some small bit of what is inside. And about letting go.

I was going to close this post--when I first started it some days ago --with a lyric to a song from They Might Be Giants I have been listening to a lot over the last few weeks :

It was the loveliest party that I've ever attended
If anything was broken, I'm sure it could be mended
My head can't tolerate this bobbing and pretending
Listen to some bullet-head and the madness that he's saying

This is where the party ends
I'll just sit here wondering how you
Can stand by your racist friend
I know politics bore you
But I feel like a hypocrite talking to you
You and your racist friend

But I just don't know, as I typed, the songs running in my head changed tracks. Maybe it is better to close with the Flaming Lips:

Asked you a question
I didn't need you to reply
Is it gettin' heavy?
But they'll realize
Is it gettin' heavy?
Well I thought it was already as heavy
As can be

Is it overwhelming
To use a crane to crush a fly?
It's a good time for Superman
To lift the sun into the sky

'Cause it's gettin' heavy
Well I thought it was already as heavy
As can be

Tell everybody
Waitin' for Superman
That they should try to hold on
Best they can
He hasn't dropped them
Forgot them
Or anything
It's just too heavy for Superman to lift

Yeah. So. I guess I'm holding on as best I can.