It’s bloody and rainy here. I know most people think the rain is depressing — and it’s fact that sunlight makes people happy (Vitamin [something]) — but I like to think it brings out the truth in people. Somehow. Or maybe I’ve just watched one too many dark, rainy Noir films in my day. New mixtape here from BMBX.org(BoomBox). A good rainy day mixtape, in fact. Not like “it’s raining and I’m depressed omg Industrial/Dark/Goth”; more like, “it’s raining so I’m gonna jam in my house”. From a DJ called Stone-High, and titled “Let’s Go Deep”. A little umsa-umsa-y at times, but the speed-up/slow-down aspects of the mix make up for any over pulsating Techno-ish beats.
Speaking of Noir and rain, here’s a good Arthur Leipzig photograph capturing moodscapes and urban affection/alienation of 1940′s America. Reminds me a little bit of “Nighthawks”.
Annnnd what the fuck, here’s a quote too. When asked about his upcoming TV/Film projects on his message board (and whether or not that would end/diminish his comics career), Warren Ellis replied with this:
“Trust me, movie/tv option money, or even production-trigger money, is very nice but not life-changing. You’ll notice that Mark Millar still has a day job.”
I already heard the rain. Somehow. I remember a city – old town, historic, crackling – on the verge of all out lawlessness. Like a present day Constantinople, complete with abandoned federal projects and business districts, it was a gateway to another place. A foreign land which isn’t so far away: a sea, a river, even a bridge or a fence of separation. She wasn’t ready for modern warfare. IED’s obliterating the stone footings of buildings in seconds, not to mention people. Thousands of marching steel toed boots crumbling cobblestone and sidewalk. Bullet holes decorating places of worship from centuries ago. Shop keeps, fishermen, parents with children in arms flee maniacally out of the city’s fish market. The sound of the tide mixes with yelling, screaming, explosions, and gunfire. There were two factions without much difference, far as I could tell. It didn’t matter what they were fighting, slaughtering, warring over, just that they were. To the Northeast one pushed downward, clearing out building by building while shelling the town square. I saw it all with clarity from the sky: transparent rooftops and tracked five or six man squads. Rain became louder, more clear, though I didn’t see it. The city was dry as a bone. Across the way, flak jackets pushed straight through in lines of hundreds. They’d grenade ahead and move rhythmically. I heard a bang, a crack, that wasn’t an explosive. More rain, with wind this time. Pandemonium erupted below me in bursts of violence and fear. It all spun into a cataclysm as I rolled and opened my eyes to flashes of light through pulled black shades.
In the mirror I was worn, as if I’d aged five years since falling asleep and waking in the middle of the night. It didn’t help that I hadn’t shaved or showered in days. I stumbled through the dark to the sink for a glass of water. The cabin seemed to be swaying. I moved to a window, waited for a flash of lightning. With the sound of thunder the forest ignited hot; the trees were nearly horizontal, the cabin cast it’s shadow into the wilderness obtusely. I finally heard the wind howl while throwing on my coat and opening the back porch door directly into the eye. The screened and covered porch faced North, at the storm above the lake. Rain carried in almost sideways, but fell short of my feet by an arms reach. I sat and drank with images of the dream still fresh in my head. It scared me. Somehow the vivid imagined violence and the darkened thunderstorm in front of me seemed connected. I rubbed my hands, chest, head. The bolts shot down onto the lake, the islands, the pines. A rock pile a hundred yards out or so, where the eagles kill and feed (they call it “Alcatraz”), revealed sopping wet fish guts. With a squint I saw red and orange entrails slip into the rocky water. A tree branch tumbled down to the dock and rested heavy, wet pine cones blew off and scampered in the darkness. Each yellow flash revealed white capped waves, rolling over themselves at me with speed. The wind inflated my jacket, I put my hands in the pockets. The clouds swirled outward to the East, each dancing – or maybe fighting – with the last. Hand over fist. The in-cloud lightning turned pockets of the system to glowing mist. I wanted to reach up with a mason jar and capture some. The storm moved steadily towards me and to the East. Looming large. I sat and watched in awe until I couldn’t anymore.
On the other side of the world, on the Atlantic isle of South Georgia, an elephant seal sports a transmitter on its head. Scientists hope the device may help chart climate change under Antarctic sea ice.
South Ossetians peer at burned-out tanks in Tskhinvali, the region’s capital, as Russia declares an end to military operations against its neighbor Georgia.
Buddhist monks in Burma get their feet wet as they collect morning alms, thanks to monsoon rains.
A lake extends out on my right hand side. Behind it, rows and rows of pine trees haunting the water. I’m on my way home. It is very dark, almost no amount of moonlight. I have my brights on, under a fully tagged railroad bridge that looks like it will collapse in the next 5 years if they don’t do something about it. No critters seen; darkness so dark even the animals were afraid of it. Slowly pacing up the hill I reach the top, and it begins raining lightly. Lightly, yet loudly. Click-clack-clack-click. On my left, a small, fussy, crowded set of shops, businesses and whatnot. An Italian Restaurant, a tanning place, a liquor store, etc. and lastly a gas station. As I overtake this hill, the brightness of the red and blue and white flashing lights shatters my eyesight. Police car; parked at the gas station. It blinds me for a second. Blurry, the rain isn’t helping. Wipers now. I’m peering through the airborne water molecules in the darkness. Directly in front of the station are two very young people, a boy and a girl probably around 16 or 17. The girl has her hand over her mouth, and the boy’s arm is wrapped around her. Squinting, my rate’s increasing. Something is WRONG. Gazing further down the lot, past the numerous pumps, past the trashcans, past the garbage that’s blowing on the ground and soaking wet in the rain. I see a body stretched out on the pavement; a blanket covers the entire thing all the way up to the neck. It looks long as hell; like this person’s about 7 feet tall. I’m starting to feel distorted. Reality becomes warped. A police officer is kneeling at the head, cradling it, bent over the face. It’s a boy. A very young boy; once again about 16 or 17 years old. Hard to see from my vehicle, but eyes look to be closed. Down the street in the distance I hear more sirens, and glowing pulsating lights headed my way. I pull to the side of the road. They’re both cop cars. The first one whips into the lots and stops on a dime. Two people carrying small tool-box like items emerge from the back of the squad car; they don’t look like police. Paramedics without their vehicle possibly? They rush to the body and begin digging through the boxes. By this time, the other car has reached and parked as well. I didn’t want to gawk, so I slowly pulled back onto the road, the rain gradually hitting my hood, and continued my drive home. My heart felt soggy, then squeezed dry of ALL juices, and finally crushed inside an impossibly powerful fist. It hurts. Oddly enough, driving home I don’t think I saw another car on the road; as if I was the only one around that night. Me, and those police officers and parameds, and those two young people, and that boy on the pavement. I wanted to cry, but all I could do was think. Intently. Who knows what happened to him?? Fuck- it could be any number of things. That doesn’t matter. That’s not the point. I hope he makes it…