Sunday, October 12, 2008


THANOS came to Jeremiah today. Said he needed a drink. Time was, THANOS was awesome. Some wise bartender put on this clip for the Madripoor faithful. Unlike when that Gray Hulking Dude came to town, no one thought of running for their lives. This is Madripoor movie night THANOS special:

Even a god need a job in an economic downturn. Last time Marvel went bust, Thanos was project manager for a house clearing re-development. Give that titan a broom and he sweeps almost everyone out. Time later, when marvel/dc got tired, Thanos was the interior re-designer...of a cosmick kind. He re-arranged all the furniture and anyone sitting on them sofas were re-decorated. House of M? You got to be kidding, Thanos bawled. "Been there, done all that and I got several sequels too!" And the merry titan reminded all who would listen that he got to kick the asses of Thor, Herc, Thing and that Hulk. Bad-ass. Madripoor can only look in wonder. Someone with a bahasa slang dared to ask, "Scarlet Witch? Apa binatang tu?" Everyone wanted to buy Thanos a drink.

Time now, in one of those bad sequels of an economic downturn, Thanos is forced to reprise his brawl with Thor for bread. If you think Mike Tyson was dealt a bad hand in life, the following makes the grown men in Madripoor weep:

Time was, Thanos was slamming the shit out of all challengers in Ipoh. I remembered he had this move where his hands became like this big whammo and anyone/anything below get splatt. Old boxers should never seek a return to the ring. No matter how bad the times. No matter how big the purse. Rocky Balboa you've been warned. (enough of the lousy sequels!!!) Now, leave the titan alone. Let that divine, who hail from a time where comics were the bridge to the infinite cosmic imagination, rest. Let the titan contemplate his death. By the end of the day, that's all a god have. His death.

THANOS: Last heard exiting the pub and heading to the arcades. (no man, no gods should be treated this way! screamed a madripoor REBEL to all who would bother to listen...) (to hell with camus...)

IN MEMORIAM: The one who posted as Screwtape. (Typical exit, not unexpected.) (One last time: Hang tak bersetuju!)

Friday, October 10, 2008


Ever wondered why Warren with wings of steel never made it big? Big as in a Wolvie-BIG kinda way? Big in the commercial returns of multipe titles, minis, one shots and the never ending origins? BIG as in even 6 year old kids today can tell you Wolvie first appearance is in Origins (!?) You get my point.
'Ol Angel with wings of death was once upon a time selling X-Factor by the covers when comics was still found in mamak stores. Time was, one have no choice but to buy a comic because of the cover. That was/is still the thrill of comic buying. You'll never know what to expect inside. You have to be analytical, intepretative, highly imaginative and a bit religious to know a comic by the cover. I mean, all you have is a kneeling potrait of Archangel, shielding his eyes with wings shortened. What gives? What was the fear? What did he saw? Who was the nightmare? What was the fear? Was he hurt? Again? There must be more than one assailant, right? Must be another bad mutant, right? That explains the kept wings? Was he hurt? What was the fear? Where were the rest? Time was, one needs a little faith to buy a comic.
Archangel hovering over New York City. I'm sure Puny and Murdock were down there somewhere kicking the shit out of bad muthas doing bad things. Chuck Dixon and Frank Miller were probably down there walking the alleys, soaking in the disease, taking samples of grime, getting a lungful of life in the shadows. Time was, New York City were gloriously inked. Klaus Janson inked. But tonight, Archangel above Al Milgrom's inks, you know somebody is gonna lose their faith. This is superior comic craft, only for the choosen. And those who don't mind getting re-educated in used-bookstore...
I pulled up X-Factor #47 from this box of forgotten things in a used-bookstore. That was a few days ago. Today I open the pages from a time where Archangel was a death sentence from the skies, to the bad guys and divine rescue, to those cornered. The pages cracked. There was a noticeable water mark on the upper pages. Coffee? The center staples were rusty and almost not there. So the pages cracked. In the cracked pages I saw a familiar sight of a man of religion, holding the attention of a group of children who don't know better. Most of the kids have no where else to go. There were offered salvation in the name of a place to stay, a group to belong and a voice that will lead. Time was kids have faith. Faith in their innocence for a life that can be useful to others. Time was, one can be a god if they can harness such a lie. Faith is the hook that many lives have succumb to. In the name of a lie, many a religion got made.
"Look upon her children...and learn! This is the fate of all who betray our union! We all must forfeit our selves for the higher perpose of the group! Betray one and you betray all!"
-Father Philip
No. Not tonight. Tonight in ink city some kids are gonna escape from their faith. And Archangel is gonna unleashed his wings...
Ever wondered why Archangel never got his own series? Kids will lose their faith.

Thursday, October 9, 2008


PROLOGUE: I was with Saint Claremont last week. Yes, THE Saint Claremont. I bumped into him while hunting for the Punisher. (!)

EPISODE 1: I heard Puny was getting ass-wiped by this medicated undead dude. It’s not often you see Puny ass-wiped. Blame the MAX series for the glorified macho bull shit. Time was, Frank Castle got ass-wiped. Time now, I still get wiped. It was a bruising week. Imagine a rugby game where you are up against Juggernaut, Deathlok, Savage Hulk and other such bruisers. My kinda week. So I recovered to a comic shop where I was told superheroes gathered. No spandex guys seen when I entered but this sour she-receptionist who looked like a science experiment gone wrong. My futile attempt to convince undead comics shop staffs that there exist trade paperbacks of ass-wiped Puny by Jim Starlin was rewarded with – “There is no such title.”

Exit comics store.

a refuge from morons

EPISODE 2: Claremont & Puny. In a used-bookstore. Now, why is that a damn fine idea? Every kid born today should be infected, when still in primal state, to have an addiction for used-bookstore. Used bookstore. Heaven for those who have lost hope. Junk shop for those who have no idea. I was in several such bookstores last week. That there is where superior comic craft and other such stuff are found. Many hopeless grunts have become educated because they once stood inside one such store. And got educated. Education. They don’t come like they used to. Now yews is expected to pass dem exams for the sake of passing dem exams. Time was, yews fall in love with the adventure of finding out education for yourself. That there is true education. That there is also Claremont and the sainthood of comicdom. Saint Claremont had a simple goal in mind when he writes comics: "To enjoy the book and the characters." TO ENJOY. Now why is that so rare these days? Why do comics readers of the Kino type mutate so badly that even an Ellis X-title pale like Kitty Pryde’s shadow compared to their exercised-moronic-quotient. (EMQ – the new assessment tool for today’s moron. Also usable to test yesterday’s moron’s. Can be kept for testing tomorrow’s morons also. Discard after a moronic encounter.) (EMQ - Be suspicious of anyone with a B. Sc [honk!] who can’t help but remind everyone he likes, dislikes or slept with that he is has a B. Sc [honk!]) (EMQ – “There is no such title”) (EMQ = MORONS!!!) But enough. TO ENJOY. Comics, as Saint Claremont espoused are superior-crafted stories that readers will ENJOY much. Especially rare finds inside a used-bookstore. Beyond the intellectual musings of storylines and stylized art, Saint Claremont preached the simplicity "To enjoy the book and the characters."

To savour the discovery of a comic just because its hidden inside the boxes. (Batman, a Joker story with poster inside.)**

To relish the yellowed pages of a single issue Punisher (War Zone #1!!!) that is no longer in print. Did I say Embossed cover? Embossed cover!!!**
To pull out a long lost X-Men Archangel singles and be teleported to apocalyptic heavens because the story links to the latest Angel mini. (!!!)

To laugh silly at Wolvie #7 & #8 because Buscema thought Madripoor was Chow Kit and Fixit was from Ipoh. (Comic of the year!)

They don't draw covers like they used to!

EPILOGUE: "Every issue is a delight, in no small measure because it looks to me like the penciler himself is having a helluva lot of fun. Better yet, impossible as it sounds, each issue is better than the one before." – Saint Claremont

* Parents, send your kids to used-bookstore if you don't want them to grow up morons.

**Hey Fats, your copies on the way.

Friday, October 3, 2008


Meditatio Divina

Sanctorio Communio


One day, in the year of the fox
Came a time remembered well,
When the strong young man of the rising sun
Heard the tolling of the great black bell.
One day in the year of the fox,
When the bell began to ring,
It meant the time had come for one to go
To the temple of the king.

There in the middle of the circle he stands,
Searching, seeking.
With just one touch of his trembling hand,
The answer will be found.
Daylight waits while the old man sings,
Heaven help me!
And then like the rush of a thousand wings,
It shines upon the one.
And the day has just begun.

One day in the year of the fox
Came a time remembered well,
When the strong young man of the rising sun
Heard the tolling of the great black bell.
One day in the year of the fox,
When the bell began to sing
It meant the time had come for the one to go
To the temple of the king.

There in the middle of the people he stands,
Seeing, feeling.
With just a wave of the strong right hand, he's gone
To the temple of the king.

Far from the circle, at the edge of the world,
Hes hoping, wondering.
Thinking back on the stories he's heard of
What he's going to see.
There, in the middle of a circle it lies.
Heaven help me!
Then all could see by the shine in his eyes
The answer had been found.

Back with the people in the circle he stands,
Giving, feeling.
With just one touch of a strong right hand, they know
Of the temple and the king.

*No hillsongs in this temple. Thank gawd!

**Only goosebumps inducing live magick. Blackmore. Nuff said.


Saturday. Could be any other day. It doesn't matter.
It's noon. Cloudy day. I am expecting rainbows.
In the garden. With the lady.
In the shadows, with a hymn.
For those who live.

I have often told you stories
About the way
I lived the life of a drifter
Waiting for the day
When I'd take your hand
And sing you songs
Then maybe you would say
Come lay with me love me
And I would surely stay

But I feel I'm growing older
And the songs that I have sung
Echo in the distance
Like the sound
Of a windmill goin' 'round
I guess I'll always be
A soldier of fortune

Many times I've been a traveller
I looked for something new
In days of old
When nights were cold
I wandered without you
But those days I thought my eyes
Had seen you standing near
Though blindness is confusing
It shows that you're not here

Now I feel I'm growing older
And the songs that I have sung
Echo in the distance
Like the sound
Of a windmill goin' 'round
I guess I'll always be
A soldier of fortune
I can hear the sound
Of a windmill goin' 'round
I guess I'll always be
A soldier of fortune