The Dark Knight Strikes Back
Long ago, in the shadows of undergrad, a child of BONC told me that my then-blog INRI, in all its cryptic glory, was a frustrating read for a friend. The quality of my blogging since then is a matter of some debate among, well, me, but I'm afraid we're dipping back into that well again tonight.
Or, more accurately, we're acknowledging that we here at Worshipper have been trying to avoid doing that for a while. Because all these year-end memes are about, and I've been looking over my new-year posts from last year, and decided a meme isn't really what I need to post, but an actual, back-in-the-day kinda entry.
So, without further ado: summer, 1998.
I am sixteen years old, and consider myself a writer. I am also, it should be noted for full disclosure, very, very stupid. I have recently begun getting into comics, and at a little store up in Palm Beach Gardens, I stumble across a book called Angry Christ Comix, by Joseph Michael Linsner, of whom I haven't heard. The title is provocative; the art is beautiful. And though I'll follow Linsner's more mediocre efforts for years out of a sense of loyalty--as a trailblazer of the perenially popular angels-and-tits genre of comic storytelling, Linsner has by now left few mysteries about where his artistic talents lie--AGC remains one of my favorites. It's a bunch of short stories, linked together by nothing in particular except that when you finish any of them and close the book to ponder it, you feel like you've just gone on a journey. Someplace scary.
This year, for me, felt a long like Angry Christ. And perhaps it's appropriate that I finally did some decent writing this year: Dark Knight Returns, Standard Time, Writer's Block, the first leg of Paint it Black, and a pretty detailed outline of The Last Gate that's just waiting to have some breath pushed rudely into it. I have even done quite a bit of blogging, most of hit heavily locked.
Because, for me, 2008 fucking sucked. It was probably, on balance, the worst year of my spoiled-rotten white boy existence. It did not suck in a way that poets and bards will share with future generations, nor did it suck with quiet boredom. It sucked in that unique writerly masochistic way that attracts and repulses me in equal measure. To wit, I learned some new things about myself this year.
That sounds pretty sunny, doesn't it? Learning new things about oneself is a blast when you're a kid. You learn that you're good at soccer. You learn that you can overcome your fears. You learn that you enjoy killing bats with sporting equipment. But when you're twenty-fucking-seven, if you learn something new about yourself, I suspect it's all but guaranteed to be something deeply unflattering.
In 2008, I learned that I am a coward, and a liar, and a child; that I am not as in control of my will as I had believed; and that when those I love have treated me as such, I can no longer conclusively say that they were wrong to do so. I reconnected with some old friends, and apologized to a few of them. I dabbled in Freud. I fell in love, over and over again, falling into covetousness and resentment each time.
And eventually, I'd like to sit down and write up this year in a manner-of-fact, dear-diary sort of way, but that's not in the cards right now, for a number of reasons, for the protection of the innocent and the guilty.
So, for now...
I have learned.
I am learning.
And so, I am growing.
And I think, for 2009, the first thing to do is to answer the following question: what is the difference between willpower and fortitude?
Answer me that, dear readers, and I'll tell you how to make love stay.
Answer me that, and I'll show you the purpose of the moon.
(Oh, and electing Obama was pretty cool too. Cambridge represent! Port 44!)
Or, more accurately, we're acknowledging that we here at Worshipper have been trying to avoid doing that for a while. Because all these year-end memes are about, and I've been looking over my new-year posts from last year, and decided a meme isn't really what I need to post, but an actual, back-in-the-day kinda entry.
So, without further ado: summer, 1998.
I am sixteen years old, and consider myself a writer. I am also, it should be noted for full disclosure, very, very stupid. I have recently begun getting into comics, and at a little store up in Palm Beach Gardens, I stumble across a book called Angry Christ Comix, by Joseph Michael Linsner, of whom I haven't heard. The title is provocative; the art is beautiful. And though I'll follow Linsner's more mediocre efforts for years out of a sense of loyalty--as a trailblazer of the perenially popular angels-and-tits genre of comic storytelling, Linsner has by now left few mysteries about where his artistic talents lie--AGC remains one of my favorites. It's a bunch of short stories, linked together by nothing in particular except that when you finish any of them and close the book to ponder it, you feel like you've just gone on a journey. Someplace scary.
This year, for me, felt a long like Angry Christ. And perhaps it's appropriate that I finally did some decent writing this year: Dark Knight Returns, Standard Time, Writer's Block, the first leg of Paint it Black, and a pretty detailed outline of The Last Gate that's just waiting to have some breath pushed rudely into it. I have even done quite a bit of blogging, most of hit heavily locked.
Because, for me, 2008 fucking sucked. It was probably, on balance, the worst year of my spoiled-rotten white boy existence. It did not suck in a way that poets and bards will share with future generations, nor did it suck with quiet boredom. It sucked in that unique writerly masochistic way that attracts and repulses me in equal measure. To wit, I learned some new things about myself this year.
That sounds pretty sunny, doesn't it? Learning new things about oneself is a blast when you're a kid. You learn that you're good at soccer. You learn that you can overcome your fears. You learn that you enjoy killing bats with sporting equipment. But when you're twenty-fucking-seven, if you learn something new about yourself, I suspect it's all but guaranteed to be something deeply unflattering.
In 2008, I learned that I am a coward, and a liar, and a child; that I am not as in control of my will as I had believed; and that when those I love have treated me as such, I can no longer conclusively say that they were wrong to do so. I reconnected with some old friends, and apologized to a few of them. I dabbled in Freud. I fell in love, over and over again, falling into covetousness and resentment each time.
And eventually, I'd like to sit down and write up this year in a manner-of-fact, dear-diary sort of way, but that's not in the cards right now, for a number of reasons, for the protection of the innocent and the guilty.
So, for now...
I have learned.
I am learning.
And so, I am growing.
And I think, for 2009, the first thing to do is to answer the following question: what is the difference between willpower and fortitude?
Answer me that, dear readers, and I'll tell you how to make love stay.
Answer me that, and I'll show you the purpose of the moon.
(Oh, and electing Obama was pretty cool too. Cambridge represent! Port 44!)