No. 25

Kinda speechless at the moment, but Alan Moore Knows The Score. And the synchronicities, as always this time of year, are legion. From the same comic book issue that made me care about proper spelling to an irrational degree:

Autumn is coming.

Autumn...and something else. Something dark...

In the corner of his eye, a sudden blur of gray, moving through the treetops, up to the right...

He turns, focusing...

It's gone.

He stands.

He wonders.

What comes with the autumn?

...And the shadows are growing longer.

Something is wrong.

Something's been wrong all day...

The birds are silent in the branches.

The gators stay close to the bank, stomachs full of rocks and broken turtle shells.

Troubled, he sits...

And sleeps.

And dreams...

It is a dream of someone else, someone who wore flesh and not foliage...

A frightened man.

A man in a furnace.

Alec Holland.

He can hear the roar of the explosion, hear the dreadful sizzling and bubbling and popping...

He is propelled, a blazing stringless puppet stumbling through the flames like some Catholic martyr...

...And he screams...

...And falls...

...And wakes.

And thinks: "What is it that comes with autumn?"

And knows:

It is fear.

Burning in my own crucible, I'll see what I can grow from it.

A Reminder

Look, one more thing here before I go to sleep:

Presume (you know why your life has gone this way)
Subsume (a new understanding replaces the old one)
Resume (continue onward, ready for new knowing)

As with Dave's code, which I post here for him usually as a reminder (and a preservation) of what he has realized and wants to protect (somewhere, somehow), the above simple "action-items" (to use the vernacular of the very cool company for whom I make sentences, and to whom I owe my hopefully continued financial stability) are a kick in the arse for me, a neon sign in the endless dark I can easily create for myself when I don't grok to whatever the universe is arranging at this particular point on the time object - and I would do well to heed it all, daily, ad infinitum.

Thanks again to the redoubtable Grant Morrison, my favorite living writer, who continues to make me quake in "presumption" (see above) of inferiority and inspire me to do something as lovely as he has done for me (and others) with his words and ideas. To paraphrase a certain movie: "I am not worthy. I am not worthy."

But I will try to be.

-Reese.

P.S. You'd be right to presume (haha) alcohol lubricates such a personal and confidential (trusting, really) post, but I've been closed/guarded for some months now (for obvious reasons) and often it takes a little judicious imbibing to exploit the chink in the armor and crack me open for sharing what I would like to every day, if not through personal interaction with each and every one of you whom I love, then at least through words, only words, which hopefully aren't taken from me as so many other things can be taken in this life. Et ceteri, et cetera and his brother Pete.

P.P.S. re: Grant, it's Animal Man I just finished reading, and it was just as wonderful as fellow fans told me it would be. I'm blown away and humbled. Again.

Assorted Horses?

This image gives me great pleasure:



Putting it in context will ruin it, but I'll feel guilty if I don't give credit where credit is due: some guy named Randy Johnson used it as his avatar on a message board, and I'm pretty sure it originates from Ryan North's Dinosaur Comics.

Word.