I guess if Steve Rogers is tessellated on my chest, it's time to get back in the game.
Um.
Hi.
I guess I'm back enough to post on LJ if by "back enough to post on LJ" I mean "have a dream wherein, in a grand mal seizure of grief underscored by showwomanship, I find myself tearing off my white t-shirt in order to bare my naked 36C/D chest (Simone Perele: 36C, Lise Charmel: 36D) to a cast of somewhat Roegian grand inquisitors and skeptics in order to prove to them that my love for Steve Rogers is so genuine and true, so all-encompassing and passionate, that I'd elected to get Captain America tattooed on my chest.
TWELVE TIMES."
And they all fit together, these bright tattoos of Steve Rogers (red! White! Blue! Blonde!), in a distinctly Escherian fashion as a series of whimsical and symmetrical tessellations.
In fact, it was not unlike the cover to X-Force #56, but obviously quite a bit more organized, because if Steve Rogers is going to be stuck in a mirrorverse where he becomes tessellated and meets 2D mirror versions of himself and then gets stuck on some passing woman's chest as living art -- e.g., in a tessellation with twelve tessellated effigies of himself -- by the Federalist Papers, he's going to be polite and organized and make sure that things don't get out of hand and that no other 2D Steve Rogers gets a boot in the nethers or that he doesn't inconveniently place an elbow in an aesthetically displeasing fashion on my skin.
Then there was the part in the dream where Steve was transformed into a large and early-sixties-greeting-card fashioned psychedelic and quite sprightly fish, very C-shaped and full of fighting spirit even if the colors of Old Glory had been stripped from him in favor of a yellowish green color scheme more pertinent to being a fish, although he definitely wore a patriotic smile with undernotes of impending tragedy via asphyxiation because NO FISH TANK COULD CONTAIN HIM! (Has Steve ever had a fish analog? Like Thor has Frog Thor?)
At this point in the dream, I had to keep racing back and forth to procure ewers of purified water from some unnamed source and then pouring ewers of purified water all over fish!Steve to keep him alive and then, at some point, I grabbed him, sprinted efficiently through a company of the villains of the piece -- this consisted of a cast of Decepticons (dressed as humans - somehow, one feels, it is important to mention this) attending a 12-Step meeting being held in a darkened ballroom (all black velvet curtains, chairs, mirror balls) and featuring a therapeutic exercise where Decepticons paired off and took a slow, silent turn around the room while the mirror balls revolved.
At the end I evaded the Decepticons and handed fish!Steve (still wet, still alive) over to a cast of Autobots (or forgot about him entirely, I can't quite remember) and became very enamored of Optimus Prime's eyes. In fact, I distinctly remember calling them "crushingly soulful." Like cow's eyes they were, but informed with perception beyond all knowing. Also, sexy.
So, if I have a dream like that, it's time to become visible again on LJ. Oh, sure, it's no oakenguy-class dream, but I think it counts, no?
I've felt strangely muted these past two months since mom passed - in all uses and interpretations of the word. I've felt strangled, unable to write, and thus made myself invisible on LJ. I've poked my head out on LJ here and there, but I find that it's intolerable to me. It's not that any of you have done anything wrong - it's that it's too painful to be reminded that other people have normal lives and that the world proceeds apace for you all whereas for me things are different, there's a hole where my mother was, and I still need the conceit that the world knows and understands this and will part accordingly to give me room. Since this doesn't happen, I've just elected to not engage.
Oh, I dipped into the real world a little - I ranted a bit about the Roman Polanski debacle (and was thoroughly creeped out by how many of the anti-Polanski camp were using Michael Jackson icons with no irony present, and I'm in that anti-Polanski camp), I kind of followed Van Lente's fail over the rapey rape McRaperson thing in the Spider-Man books, but mostly I've been doing things like watching Arrested Development marathons and deciding that yes, indulging that crush on Timothy Olyphant just a little bit more is still okay.
Of Random Interest:
Don't book luxury travel on Russian trains unless you have Navy SEAL training. Us people in Russian Area Studies have known about that glaring security breach on the Russian train system since roundabout...oh...1912. Anyone who was surprised by the bombing needs to be beaten about the head with a compendium of Solzhenitsyn's correspondence.
So I stuck my head back out into fandom today. I've got a lot to catch up on, don't I?
Psylocke has a miniseries? Deathlok has a miniseries? DC is still publishing Final Crisis: Aftermaths? Frank Castle is still killing people?! Eric Trautmann is writing ten percent of the DC catalog? Hawkman and Hawkgirl continuity is still clusterviolated? Twihards still battier than Doctor Destiny melded with Jigsaw's singularity of purpose? James Cameron's Avatar still causing me to laugh hysterically as Sam Worthington tries so hard to morph both his real face and his Avatar face into a semblance of emotion other than Defecation Imminent and/or Blank Incomprehension? James Cameron's interview with Playboy about Avatar where he says that despite the fact that the Navi aren't placental mammals he gave the females breasts anyway because he wanted to build the perfect CGI rack?
I see that I'm going to have to take things very, very slowly, and have a fainting couch ready just in case. Maybe I can find a suitable chaise on wheels.
Well, this wouldn't be a kali921 entry without some artgasms. I won't squee over these, since I'm not up to squeeing yet and I really don't care about fandom squee in general right now.*
I feel I should end this entry by pointing out that some guy outside just let loose the best villain snarl I've heard in ages. It was Venture Brothers worthy.
I'm SO behind on all Wildstorm stuff, but I am digging the Ryan Sook covers for Wildcats, particularly this one #15. Sook's doing a series of colors that highlight one or two characters, and look at the background:
Zealot!!!! Stabbity stab stab stabnation!! And also some Backlash:
Pointy sharp things! Yes, Backlash is technically resident on the cover, but this is so obviously a Zealot piece.
The theme of "background elicits subtextual meditations on character's identity" continues on the cover the #16 with Savant and Majestic. I love the background.
Then there's Jelena Kevic-Djurdjevic's Susan Storm-Richards cover for Fantastic Four #575:
Despite the unnecessary Restylane, I love so much about that cover.
So I guess the Agents of Atlas got cancelled, huh? What's the backstory behind that? Which means that they're now relegated to the back pages of Incredible Hercules?
Well, it ain't all bad, because...
...ATHENA!!!1111!!!!@2!
And a dollop of Ray Harryhausen, too.
(I don't know who did that art - all I know is that it's the backup story to Incredible Hercules #139.)
Anyway.
So.
Yeah.
Hi. *waves shyly*
I'm back. Sort of. You know what I need? Reading and watching recs. Give them to me, flist.
And yes, if you haven't bothered to talk to me these last two months after I announced that my mother was terminal and then suddenly show up and chatter at me, I might think you're weird. Or rude. Or just blink at you in a puzzled fashion. (Edited for clarity.)
* This may change tomorrow.
Hi.
I guess I'm back enough to post on LJ if by "back enough to post on LJ" I mean "have a dream wherein, in a grand mal seizure of grief underscored by showwomanship, I find myself tearing off my white t-shirt in order to bare my naked 36C/D chest (Simone Perele: 36C, Lise Charmel: 36D) to a cast of somewhat Roegian grand inquisitors and skeptics in order to prove to them that my love for Steve Rogers is so genuine and true, so all-encompassing and passionate, that I'd elected to get Captain America tattooed on my chest.
TWELVE TIMES."
And they all fit together, these bright tattoos of Steve Rogers (red! White! Blue! Blonde!), in a distinctly Escherian fashion as a series of whimsical and symmetrical tessellations.
In fact, it was not unlike the cover to X-Force #56, but obviously quite a bit more organized, because if Steve Rogers is going to be stuck in a mirrorverse where he becomes tessellated and meets 2D mirror versions of himself and then gets stuck on some passing woman's chest as living art -- e.g., in a tessellation with twelve tessellated effigies of himself -- by the Federalist Papers, he's going to be polite and organized and make sure that things don't get out of hand and that no other 2D Steve Rogers gets a boot in the nethers or that he doesn't inconveniently place an elbow in an aesthetically displeasing fashion on my skin.
Then there was the part in the dream where Steve was transformed into a large and early-sixties-greeting-card fashioned psychedelic and quite sprightly fish, very C-shaped and full of fighting spirit even if the colors of Old Glory had been stripped from him in favor of a yellowish green color scheme more pertinent to being a fish, although he definitely wore a patriotic smile with undernotes of impending tragedy via asphyxiation because NO FISH TANK COULD CONTAIN HIM! (Has Steve ever had a fish analog? Like Thor has Frog Thor?)
At this point in the dream, I had to keep racing back and forth to procure ewers of purified water from some unnamed source and then pouring ewers of purified water all over fish!Steve to keep him alive and then, at some point, I grabbed him, sprinted efficiently through a company of the villains of the piece -- this consisted of a cast of Decepticons (dressed as humans - somehow, one feels, it is important to mention this) attending a 12-Step meeting being held in a darkened ballroom (all black velvet curtains, chairs, mirror balls) and featuring a therapeutic exercise where Decepticons paired off and took a slow, silent turn around the room while the mirror balls revolved.
At the end I evaded the Decepticons and handed fish!Steve (still wet, still alive) over to a cast of Autobots (or forgot about him entirely, I can't quite remember) and became very enamored of Optimus Prime's eyes. In fact, I distinctly remember calling them "crushingly soulful." Like cow's eyes they were, but informed with perception beyond all knowing. Also, sexy.
So, if I have a dream like that, it's time to become visible again on LJ. Oh, sure, it's no oakenguy-class dream, but I think it counts, no?
I've felt strangely muted these past two months since mom passed - in all uses and interpretations of the word. I've felt strangled, unable to write, and thus made myself invisible on LJ. I've poked my head out on LJ here and there, but I find that it's intolerable to me. It's not that any of you have done anything wrong - it's that it's too painful to be reminded that other people have normal lives and that the world proceeds apace for you all whereas for me things are different, there's a hole where my mother was, and I still need the conceit that the world knows and understands this and will part accordingly to give me room. Since this doesn't happen, I've just elected to not engage.
Oh, I dipped into the real world a little - I ranted a bit about the Roman Polanski debacle (and was thoroughly creeped out by how many of the anti-Polanski camp were using Michael Jackson icons with no irony present, and I'm in that anti-Polanski camp), I kind of followed Van Lente's fail over the rapey rape McRaperson thing in the Spider-Man books, but mostly I've been doing things like watching Arrested Development marathons and deciding that yes, indulging that crush on Timothy Olyphant just a little bit more is still okay.
Of Random Interest:
Don't book luxury travel on Russian trains unless you have Navy SEAL training. Us people in Russian Area Studies have known about that glaring security breach on the Russian train system since roundabout...oh...1912. Anyone who was surprised by the bombing needs to be beaten about the head with a compendium of Solzhenitsyn's correspondence.
So I stuck my head back out into fandom today. I've got a lot to catch up on, don't I?
Psylocke has a miniseries? Deathlok has a miniseries? DC is still publishing Final Crisis: Aftermaths? Frank Castle is still killing people?! Eric Trautmann is writing ten percent of the DC catalog? Hawkman and Hawkgirl continuity is still clusterviolated? Twihards still battier than Doctor Destiny melded with Jigsaw's singularity of purpose? James Cameron's Avatar still causing me to laugh hysterically as Sam Worthington tries so hard to morph both his real face and his Avatar face into a semblance of emotion other than Defecation Imminent and/or Blank Incomprehension? James Cameron's interview with Playboy about Avatar where he says that despite the fact that the Navi aren't placental mammals he gave the females breasts anyway because he wanted to build the perfect CGI rack?
I see that I'm going to have to take things very, very slowly, and have a fainting couch ready just in case. Maybe I can find a suitable chaise on wheels.
Well, this wouldn't be a kali921 entry without some artgasms. I won't squee over these, since I'm not up to squeeing yet and I really don't care about fandom squee in general right now.*
I feel I should end this entry by pointing out that some guy outside just let loose the best villain snarl I've heard in ages. It was Venture Brothers worthy.
I'm SO behind on all Wildstorm stuff, but I am digging the Ryan Sook covers for Wildcats, particularly this one #15. Sook's doing a series of colors that highlight one or two characters, and look at the background:
Zealot!!!! Stabbity stab stab stabnation!! And also some Backlash:
Pointy sharp things! Yes, Backlash is technically resident on the cover, but this is so obviously a Zealot piece.
The theme of "background elicits subtextual meditations on character's identity" continues on the cover the #16 with Savant and Majestic. I love the background.
Then there's Jelena Kevic-Djurdjevic's Susan Storm-Richards cover for Fantastic Four #575:
Despite the unnecessary Restylane, I love so much about that cover.
So I guess the Agents of Atlas got cancelled, huh? What's the backstory behind that? Which means that they're now relegated to the back pages of Incredible Hercules?
Well, it ain't all bad, because...
...ATHENA!!!1111!!!!@2!
And a dollop of Ray Harryhausen, too.
(I don't know who did that art - all I know is that it's the backup story to Incredible Hercules #139.)
Anyway.
So.
Yeah.
Hi. *waves shyly*
I'm back. Sort of. You know what I need? Reading and watching recs. Give them to me, flist.
And yes, if you haven't bothered to talk to me these last two months after I announced that my mother was terminal and then suddenly show up and chatter at me, I might think you're weird. Or rude. Or just blink at you in a puzzled fashion. (Edited for clarity.)
* This may change tomorrow.