Tag Archives: Death

Change, Please

Nerdly shut down last month due to some Google Adsense bobbins that is far too dumb and arbitrary to go into here. Short version is…don’t feature pictures from gory horror movies on your horror/genre blog, I guess?

The first review I wrote for them was a review of Warren Ellis’ novel Gun MachineThe last was a piece on the Criterion edition of It Happened One Night. Technically I started writing for the site in 2009 when it was Blogomatic 3000, but I don’t have access to the archives so you’ll just have to use your imagination until I get my hands on those old (maybe terrible?) pieces.

I’m considering starting a side-blog exclusively for my writing on film. This place has been cluttered with stray notions and cobwebs for a while now, and I might even be able to maintain something with a single focus far better than this brain dump.

[Though, of course, now I’ve mentioned that it may be doomed never to happen.]

A panel from Plutona #5, written by Jeff Lemire & illustrated by Emi Lenox

In the meantime, like any good scavenger I went looking for other places to ply my wares and found Flickering Myth, where I’m doing comic and movie reviews for the foreseeable future.

So far I’ve covered new issues of East of West, Cry Havoc, the brutal finale of Plutona and the promising first installment of conspiracy thriller Throwaways. The pay is peanuts and I know that “hey, free comics and movies isn’t a bad deal” is a chump’s line, but deadlines keep me working and – for now – it’s far better than not writing.

In other news, my dad died two months ago today. I wrote something about that on Medium; grief and learning and realising he was probably not the man he presented to me for 25 years.

I turned 26 two weeks ago. I just connected those dots and realised I’m now in a post-dad era. Numerically speaking, anyway. Well, I had him for a quarter century. My guess is that people who get a hundred years tell you it’s still not enough time.

Speaking of time constraints, I and my friends Dave & Alice went on a [THOUGHT BUBBLES] hiatus almost a year ago. Yesterday our first new episode since September 2015 went live, and it’s a doozy. This one’s a departure in many ways that I’ll go into in a later post, but I’m pretty thrilled with how it turned out (but mostly just that we’re making these things again. I’d recommend short bursts of creation to absolutely everyone) so yeah, go and watch it.

Alice, the musical side of the project, creates beautiful, dreamy synth pop under the name Mayshe-Mayshe. You can listen to one of her tracks above. I’m biased but I think Alice is great; she’s putting out two EPs and going on tour in the next couple of months so you’ll have plenty of chances to judge for yourself.

I’m going to update this blog more frequently. I know I say that every time and then you don’t hear from me for three months but I’m trying out this whole “discipline” thing and I think it might stick.

The current state of British politics

Oh, and my country’s about to collapse under the weight of its own apathy and xenophobia, the economy’s in freefall and the British political arena is looking more and more like Thunderdome every day.

Plus I’m quitting my job and leaving my flat within the span of two days in August so I might have some spare time on my hands. Gulp.

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Dog Eggs

It was always going to happen: sooner or later I was going to start writing about death (and my thousandfold fears thereof), thus taking another step towards completing my transition into a less funny, more annoying Woody Allen.

It should come as no surprise to fellow film fans that death has been crossing my mind over the past couple of days seeing as the inimitable actor Ernest Borgnine (of RED and one of my favourite westerns The Wild Bunch) died a couple of days ago at the astonishingly well-preserved age of 95. Upon learning this I didn’t feel particularly sad, as I was certain that he’d led a longer, more rewarding life than most other humans in history; I remembered those movies of his that I’d seen and told myself to catch up with those I hadn’t, and I didn’t really think much more on the matter.

Cut to earlier this evening and I’m stroking the family dog (not a euphemism) and trying to get her to stay put on a towel so she wouldn’t track wet dog smelll over the place after running around the not-entirely-summery garden. She somehow gets away with smelling like she does and constantly attempting to lick every inch of my face at any opportunity she gets because, well, I’m rather fond of her.

(I like dogs because they’re honest. They’re dumb, but honest. And loyal. It’s never hard to figure out what a mutt’s thinking because they don’t really think, they just do and react to the fallout of whatever destruction they wreak. They can get away with it because they love you no matter what [see Doug from Up] and really don’t ask for much except for food, shelter, someone to pick up their hot poop and an eminently lickable face.)

(Conversely, cats are the most dishonest, manipulative creatures on the planet – besides us – and thus are met solely with contempt when I encounter them.)

Anyway: when I realised that I actually quite like this creature I became instantly depressed because I knew she’d die at some point in the future and on that day (and the days after) I would be incredibly upset. Our last family dog, one we’d had since I was but a wee bairn, died at a rather respectable age about three years ago, but the trauma of losing someone that he’d been a part of my family for as long as I could remember isn’t something I like to revisit, and I really don’t want to feel the same attachment to this relatively new dog because I’m really not a fan of feeling like shit whenever I think about some animal that only really liked me because I fed them bits of chicken under the dining table at Christmas.

Of course, what may also have been present in my subconscious was the fact that I was at an uncle’s funeral only a month or two ago and I’m getting to that age where close family members start to develop worrisome ongoing difficulties. But that probably wasn’t a big part of it.

To my mind, it would be easier to simply go through life, encountering other people’s pets and giving them the affection you’d lavish on your own, with the added bonus of not having to deal with the emotional fallout that comes with them dying.

I suppose the same could be said of relationships, which can hurt for a heck of a long time when they end, and thus the argument to both problems is that the good times you experience with a lover and a pet (not at the same time, mind, unless you’ve got consent from both parties) far outweigh the pain you feel (and clearly the level of pain shows how much you cared for them). Then again, I think I’m okay with going through with a bit more romantic pain because I think I need it. I’m not so sure how much I need a list of dead dogs on my conscience.

Of course, were it the other way round and I was a dying pet, I would want to have been so fucking beloved that my masters would want to jump in that little grave with me and cross over to the doggie netherworld.

Actually, that probably makes me kind of a cat, huh?

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