#Acrobatic Tenement

[clangandclatter]

At The Drive-In - Acrobatic Tenement (August 18, 1996)

[ogradyfilm]

Recently Viewed - Yokai Monsters: 100 Monsters

[The following review contains SPOILERS; YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!]

Daiei’s 100 Monsters (currently available on one of the discs in Arrow Video’s comprehensive Yokai Monsters collection) is the cinematic equivalent of a haunted house ride. From the stylized painted backdrops of blood-red skies and silvery crescent moons to the ghastly green tint of the moody lighting, the visuals positively ooze atmosphere. The music, too, is delightfully spooky, with a soundtrack composed primarily of thundering drums and an eerie theremin. And the creature designs are, of course, absolutely sublime. While the special effects are rather primitive by today’s standards (a lot of flimsy rubber puppets, unwieldy papier-mâché masks, and obvious wires manipulating inanimate objects), the performers behind the eponymous ghouls and goblins—which include such iconic mythological beasts as hirsute oni, long-necked rokurokubi, and the comical kasa-obake (hopping anthropomorphic umbrellas)—make up for these technical shortcomings with sheer enthusiasm, parading and cartwheeling and tumbling across the frame like circus acrobats; the audience can’t help but be enraptured by their infectious energy.

Like much of the studio’s output, the film is also a competently crafted (albeit somewhat formulaic) period drama. Set amidst the rampant political corruption of the Tokugawa shogunate, the story revolves around a group of ambitious government officials conspiring to demolish the ramshackle tenement houses neighboring a dilapidated shrine in order to construct a high-class brothel. Naturally, this would displace the already impoverished residents, but the suffering of a few measly peasants is beneath the concern of the greedy elite. Fortunately, a mysterious swordsman with a keen sense of justice soon emerges to stand up for the oppressed locals—and whenever his efforts fall short, the yokai are only too happy to intervene in his stead.

Yes, this is yet another work of horror fiction in which the “demons” are actually benevolent, with humans serving as the true villains. And, as usual, the theme is both compelling and relevant. The relatively mundane conflicts of the various subplots—tradition versus modernization, spirituality versus worldly desire, the insatiable avarice of the ruling class versus the contentment of those in comparatively humble circumstances—enrich the overarching narrative, grounding the paranormal shenanigans by juxtaposing them with more relatable, recognizable, universal experiences.

And that’s 100 Monsters in a nutshell: a “disposable” B-movie that boasts more genuine substance, insight, and personality than many “prestige” pictures. If that ain’t quintessential Daiei, I don’t know what is!

[dankalbumart]

Acrobatic Tenement by At the Drive-In Flipside 1996 Post-Hardcore / Emo / Punk / Indie Rock / Post-Grunge / Heavy Metal / Midwest Emo

[alanhunt]

From the The New Yorker, June 22, 1935:

A la Belle Étoile

WE went up to Central Park last Tuesday night, to see the dancing on the Mall. Just as we had expected, it turned out to be a fine, cheerful occasion, not in the least like that gloomy little number in the Theatre Guild's revue which shows tenement girls dancing with despair in their hearts. The orchestra was tuning up when we arrived: twenty-five work-relief musicians, stripped to their shirts and ready for action. The tentative squeaks and moans of their instruments had kept the starlings awake past their bedtime; you could hear restless chirps and flutterings in the trees. The benches surrounding the cement dance floor were filled with girls who hadn't any boys, boys who hadn't any girls, men who would probably sleep in the Park that night, and elderly folk who had, like us, come to see the fun. The dance floor was sprinkled with powdered wax, and was unoccupied except by Park employees and playground instructresses, who were to act as chaperons. The rules they had to enforce were simple and few: persons of the same sex were not to dance together; the boys had to wear coats, and couldn't wear hats; no cutting in; no smoking; no dancing in one place.

At eight-thirty the music started. First number was "It's An Old Southern Custom." The boys played it with lots of oompah—all during the evening, in fact, they seemed to lean to wholesome rhythm rather than seductiveness. It was evident from the start that the rule against dancing in one spot was superfluous. The first on the concrete, a tall youth in pimples and horn-rimmed glasses, and his chubby little doxy, covered about thirty feet in their first two seconds. In general, we found the dancing incredibly complicated; we'd watch a couple until they were out of sight in the crowd, and they wouldn't repeat a step. It implied hours and hours of rehearsal, and people no more thought of changing partners than acrobats would think of changing partners. There was tapping; there was stomping; there were twirls, dips, glides, and deep knee bends; there were interludes during which partners separated, strolled in opposite directions, then turned and fled again to one another's arms. It made us feel tired to watch the dancers couple—tired, and a little old.

Several whimsical couples in evening dress showed up, took a turn on the waxed concrete, and went back to their waiting cars. We can't be sure about it until we hear from Lucius Beebe, but we're afraid it's Being Done. We resented these intruders fiercely, and so did all the other people to whom the Mall belongs. But to the really simple and pure in heart (which takes in all our readers) we recommend at least one trip up to the Mall this summer. If you don't want to dance, you can close your eyes and listen to the sound —sweeter than anything, sadder than anything which is a blend of work—relief dance music, leather shuffling on concrete, and thousands of very young people singing as they waltz.

[casualswampdemon]

Deadman has a conversation

Boston Brand, barely a man but barely a ghost, was sitting on a gravestone one evening in a cemetery just outside of Central City. The moon was full, the crickets and frogs were chirping, and the breeze carried the faint sweetness of oncoming rain. Boston, on this particular evening, was deep in thought. He had just finished what he thought was his final task before moving on: the capture and incarceration of his killer. Too frustrated to find Nanda Parbat once again for answers, he has resigned himself to pouting until a solution presents itself. 

Suddenly, Boston heard the sound of mighty wings, unusual for the time of night. Almost hypnotically, he drifted toward the sound, coming upon a small apartment in the poorer district of the city. He saw, through the window, a petite girl with bleach white skin in black, torn jeans and a black tank top quietly speaking with the spirit of a man in a bathrobe who looked rather befuddled. Something about having slipped in the shower is said before a bright white light appeared and the man wandered in. Boston sped toward the light until he was stopped by a hand grabbing his ankle. 

“Excuse me, what are you doing, Boston Brand?” the girl asked. 

The light faded away as Boston turned toward her, his mouth agape. “I- uhh. How do you know my name? Who are you? How the hell were you able to grab my leg?” 

The girl smiled. “We’ve met before but you probably don’t remember.” 

“You- You’re Death? You’ve gotta be.” 

“I help people move onto whatever is next for them.” 

“Yeah? And what was next for him? The guy who slipped in the shower and broke his neck?” 

“That is not for you to know. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have more places to be.” 

She walked out of the apartment. Boston followed. 

“Wait, can I, like, tag along for a little bit?” Boston asked, floating slightly behind her as she sped down the tenement stairs. 

“Alright, if you promise not to be a bore,” the girl sighed. “The last person who tagged along was my brother and he’s so gloomy sometimes.” 

“I was a circus acrobat, being boring is not in my nature,” Boston assured her. 

The girl reached out her hand and Boston took it. He was overwhelmed by the sound of wings. 

Suddenly, Boston found himself in space, next to a large satellite station. The girl is talking to a woman who is looking at herself floating away into the darkness, air rushed out of her spacesuit, propelling it backwards. The light appeared. The woman drifted into it. The girl grabbed his hand. Boston once again heard the sound of wings.

A scene of disaster. Rubble everywhere. The person the girl spoke to was sobbing uncontrollably. More souls appeared out of the rubble. The sound of bombs around them was deafening to Boston who could not hear the cries of neither the living nor the dead. After what seemed an eternity of the girl speaking with those who had been lost, the light mercifully came and Boston grabbed her hand as fast as he could. Even the sound of the wings was faint this time. 

They arrived in a decadent palace. A duke of some sort is lifeless on his gigantic bed. The girl spoke quietly to him. The light. He went to it. The girl offered her hand. Boston took it. The wings sounded. 

Two gunshots. An acrobat fell for the last time and another followed. A child’s innocence lost forever. A rich man ran to him, but was unable to help prevent his pain. After the light left, Boston refused to take the girl’s hand. 

“Wait,” he demanded. “I knew them. They were good folk. Saved my ass a few times. Why did you have to take them now?”

The girl smiled softly. “It was their time, Boston Brand.” 

“Then why did they get to go and I am still stuck here?” Boston began to raise his voice. “I did what Rama Kushna asked of me! I got justice for myself. I should be able to move on now. This isn’t fair!” 

“Maybe it isn’t fair, but it is.” The girl sat down on the now cleared circus seating and looked at the swarm of police around the bodies of the acrobats. “What exactly did Rama Kushna tell you that you were here to do?” 

“She told me to seek justice. And I did that!” 

“Maybe she wasn’t telling you to solve your own murder. Perhaps she meant to seek justice wherever you can.” 

“But when will I be done? When can I rest?” 

The girl pointed toward the boy who was being led away by the rich man to begin a new life of justice and service to the helpless. “What about him? When does he get to rest? You’ve seen more injustice and tragedy today than most people can possibly imagine. You’ve been chosen to help change that in your small way. You lived a selfish life, are you going to live a selfish death, too?” 

Boston, at a loss for words, looked toward the boy who had clamored into a limo as a bat flew above the vehicle ominously. He knew the girl was right. As he turned back to tell her, he simply heard the sound of wings and felt a slight push of wind.

[cengler42]

Crabadonk's Back-Story

The details below are back-story elements for my Dungeons Dragon character "Crabadonk." Some friends and I are starting a campaign in Ravnica soon and Crabadonk is my Goblin Warlock in the Cult of Rakdos.

BACKSTORY

Crabadonk grew up with his family in the shabbiest unit of the same tenement house as the person who grew up to be Dr. Lilla Zlovol. While Crabadonk and his siblings were nominally friends and played with the children from the other units, Crabadonk always resented the more affluent families, especially when he was being bitten by mites trying to get to sleep on the pile of rotting hay that was his bed.

Lilla's mother Danika was Crabadonk's family's landlady and wasn't particularly nice to the "lower dwellers." When she could, Lilla would help out Crabadonk's family with a few surplus niceties from their household, which spares Lilla from being the target of Crabadonk's "working-class rage."

What sparked Crabadonk's spirit was seeing the Rakdos carnival parades going down the street. His mother would club him on the head and tell him not to look but Crabadonk would run to the alley and steal glances, fascinated by the writhing acrobats, ululating singers, and nightmarish harlequins that would cavort in the streets enticing people to "come see the show." Crabadonk knew that's where he wanted to be.

Like many children do, Crabadonk would sometimes draw a pair of eyes with soot on his hand and curl his thumb under to mimic a mouth. He would entertain other children by doing little skits in this manner and eventually gave his hand-face a name: Mr. Bananas.

His mother would cuff him on the head and tell him to stop goofing around but Mr. Bananas was ever-present. What started to become alarming was that the voice of Mr. Bananas soon started taking on a depth of tone and personality that didn't really sound like Crabadonk.

It was around this time that Crabadonk started feeling a pull to join the Cult of Rakdos. His parents are guildless and had no such aspirations so when Crabadonk literally ran away to join the circus when he was a young adult they pragmatically saw it as one less mouth to feed and got on with their dreary routine.

Crabadonk developed his ventriloquism and became quite good and upgraded Mr. Bananas to a fully-articulated dummy in the shape of a monkey made primarily out of coconut shells. What has started to become off-putting about Crabadonk is that he is never "off." He carries Mr. Bananas with him everywhere and conversations with Crabadonk inevitably involve Mr. Bananas. When nobody else is around, Crabadonk frequently has conversations with Mr. Bananas on his own. Whether this is undying devotion to practicing his craft or outright delusion, nobody knows.

Proximity to the Cult of Rakdos awakened arcane potential within Crabadonk and, in his dreams, Crabadonk made a pact with a nameless, shapeless entity which has given him the powers of a Warlock. This allows Crabadonk to manifest all manner of phenomena during his performances to the delight of his audiences. While his act is rooted in a comedically antagonistic conversation between himself and Mr. Bananas, his shows often cross over into the bizarre, frightening, and disturbing. This has become part of the mystique of going to one of his performances, and Crabadonk is often heard saying, "Who knows what kind of mood Mr. Bananas will be in tonight!' with a wink.

CONTACT (ALLY): There's a lesser demon in the cult who thinks he owes me a favour, and who am I to argue?

Crabadonk has a contact with a slow-witted but reliable Dretch named Loafus. Some of Loafus' superior demons pushed him out on to the Prime Material Plane as a joke and Loafus happened upon one of Crabadonk's street performances wherein Crabadonk and Mr. Bananas had a particularly entertaining set. This cheered up Loafus and he helps out Crabadonk with bits of helpful information when he can.

CONTACT (RIVAL): I had a romance with a pain artist in another troupe.

While Crabadonk is short, ugly, dumb, and makes bad decisions, there's just something about the little blighter that people find endearing although they often can't say why, exactly.

One summer, Crabadonk got a job on a flying pleasure dirigible cruise ship where he and Mr. Bananas performed on the comedy side stage. One of the headline acts for the more affluent and thrill-seeking clientele was a renowned Tiefling Pain Artist named "Zaxsonya the Agonizer" who, by appointment only, catered to the needs of those seeking gratification in the medium of pain.

The world-weary Zaxsonya took a shine to Crabadonk and the two had the unlikeliest of cruiseship romances. Zaxsonya's troupe-mates looked down at her for "slumming it" with the likes of Crabadonk but when asked why she was on his arm she, with an ironically stern face, would simply say, "He makes me laugh."

Zaxsonya's idea of a good time eventually got to be too much for Crabadonk to keep up with and when the cruise was over Crabadonk ham-fistedly broke up with her. This enraged Zaxsonya and Crabadonk was nearly killed trying to get away from her. Zaxsonya still has a fondness for Crabadonk but seeks to humiliate him, as well, and sometimes shows up at his performances and is disruptive.

CONTACT (NON-RAKDOS): I once convinced a Golgari Medusa to participate in a show. We've been on good terms ever since.

One night, Crabadonk was having a particularly rough set in front of a highly inebriated and unappreciative crowd who were not appreciating the antics of Mr. Bananas that evening. There were two particularly aggressive hecklers near the front that were making it impossible for Crabadonk to even try to win back the crowd. The only person who he saw smiling was a Medusa named Vambrelia sitting off to the side near the front. She was grinning sardonically watching this hack ventriloquist act bomb but Crabadonk's unbridled confidence interpreted it as her enjoying the act.

Crabadonk shouted out, "OK! Time for some audience participation!!! Can I have a volunteer, please? Hey, you with the writhing hair-do, get up here" Before Vambrelia knew what was happening, Crabadonk had hustled her up on stage. He hastily whispered to her, "Look, I'm dying up here. If you shut those two guys up the way I know you can (wink wink) I'll split my pay for the night with you."

Taken aback by his chutzpah, Vambrelia shrugged and said "Why not?" to herself and proceeded to petrify the two hecklers. Crabadonk proceeded to then play a bongo solo on their heads while Mr. Bananas excoriated him for beating up the audience. The crowd loved it and, when it was done, Crabadonk addressed the crowd and said, "Hey! Let's hear it for... (what's your name?) Let's hear it for Vinbrolio! Hey, she's all right!"

Not wanting to be petrified himself, Crabadonk gave Vambrelia half of his night's pay and the two of them struck up a conversation that turned into a friendship.

Zaxsonya has seen Crabadonk and Vambrelia together and, even though there is in fact no romance between Crabadonk and Vambrelia, is seethingly jealous of Vambrelia for the time she spends with Crabadonk.

[guerrilla-operator]

At The Drive-In // Starslight

And you know your insides true

Better than I do

[noiseneverends]

At The Drive-In Discography Genre: Post-Hardcore Origin:   El Paso, Texas   Years active: 1994–2001, 2016-present

[clangandclatter]

At The Drive-In - Acrobatic Tenement (August 18, 1996)

[merzbow]

i was tagged by @goddessofthedawn (thank you 💖!) to post my 9 favorite albums. i tried restricting myself to 1 album per artist cus if i didn’t this’d be the same 3 bands over and over again. my favorite albums change all the time so, this isn’t definitive or anything, but it works for now.

...And Justice for All (1988) –, Metallica

americ anfootball (1999) –, American Football

blond (2016) –, Frank Ocean

Discipline (1981) –, King Crimson

Frances the Mute (2005) –, The Mars Volta

Sunny Day Real Estate (1995) –, Sunny Day Real Estate

Dance Gavin Dance (2008) –, Dance Gavin DAnce

NØ LØV∑ D∑∑P W∏B (2012) –, Death Grips

in/CASINO/OUT (1998) –, At the Drive-In

[threeweekz]

apologise right now allmusic.com

[centrally-unplanned]

One of two recent essays I read that got the “god dammit *I* wanted to write that, ya know, someday...” reaction from me was this piece on Kafka’s The Trial. Firstly for noting that the book isn’t about bureaucracy much at all:

Although at first he feels “assaulted” by the two guards who place him under arrest, in fact, beyond asking for a bribe of his pajamas, they turn out to be reassuring. When the inspector arrives, he formally announces the arrest, but, lacking any further explanation, tells K. to go back to work. “How can I go to the bank,” K. asks, “if I’m under arrest?” Yes, he’s under arrest, the inspector explains, but that’s not to stop him from working or going about his life however he wants. “Then being under arrest isn’t so bad,” K. says. The inspector replies: “I never said it was.”

This isn’t some kind of threatening wink. True to the inspector’s word, the court system only grows less intimidating in the following chapters. K. is invited to one inquiry in a tenement attic, where no questions are asked, and after that, the court ceases all communication. Nor is K. exactly anxious. He mocks an examining magistrate and wiles away his legal consultations playing lap acrobatics with the lawyer’s maid. In general, the trial affects his life only to the extent that he thinks about it. “The court wants nothing from you,” the prison chaplain tells him. “It receives you when you come and dismisses you when you go.”

I won’t go so far as to say the phrase ‘Kafkaesque’ is misused; the meaning of words evolves, its fine for it change over time to come to mean a bureaucratic system overwhelming in its unintelligibility. But that meaning is not really found in The Trial, of much of any of Kafka’s works; its life that is unintelligible, and the systems of modernity are but failed attempts render it transparent that we nonetheless cling to and reach towards despite its failures. We’d rather be on trial than to have no verdict (to channel my inner Edward Teach).

Or something, its Kafka, didactic messages are not his approach. Which is the second point of the essay; The Trial is an *intensely* horny book. Josef K has multiple sexual encounters and ruminates on them constantly, and he is certainly not the only characters of Kafka’s to have such struggles. The phrase “a Kafkaesque sex life” *should* be a usable phrase, we need to evolve the word *more*. That is the world I am fighting for, and this essay is my sword, spread the word.

[theterrornoise]

Leave me alone

Leave me alone

I am not your brother

I see five holes

In your flag

[talesofillaros]

Tsuki-ko, The Artistic Heart

Physical Description: The weather in Tsuki-ko is some of the most variable in the Republic. It's scorching in the summer, freezing in the winter, and storms for half of both. The land itself is made up of rocky hills and scrubby lichen. Given how awful Tsuki-ko is for farming, most people live in the cities and towns. Their buildings typically have intricate, stained glass windows and peaked, wooden roofs. The columned, stone walls are often covered in colorful mosaics or carvings. Some of the art is stylistic choice, some is well received graffiti. Each building, be it business or tenement, has a courtyard. These usually include pavilions with dragonchess tables, sculpted fountains, and decorative plants, all within the painted, courtyard walls. Many also include a small playground. The streets of Tsuki-ko have one of the Republic's best public transportation systems, in the form of rickshaws, though many people still choose to walk. Tailors showing off their custom parasols, acrobats tossing tickets while hopping from streetlamp to streetlamp, proud wizards wearing foot tall shoes to avoid the omnipresent puddles; there's always a reason to take the streets in Tsuki-ko.

Cultural Description: The people of Tsuki-ko, mostly descendents of Hochiru immigrants, are known for their hospitality and laid-back attitudes. They are taught from a young age to strive to make the world more beautiful, be it by making art or simply making people happy. That said, humor is a cultivated Tsuki-koi virtue and the entire province always maintains a somewhat festive air. Tsuki-ko is the center of the arts in the Republic. Tsuki-koi paintings hang in every nobleman's hall, their dresses are the envy of every young debutante, and every good party has at least one good Tsuki-koi musician, jester, or illusionist. These talents are fostered by extensive education in the arts and the fact that patronage is the metric by which wealth is measured here. Tsuki-ko is also one of the most open minded and peaceful provinces. Anyone can choose any career here, regardless of sex. Southerners are treated marginally better here, as race doesn't matter too much if you have talent. Though there is still a fair amount of slavery, it is better regulated and easier to earn freedom then in other provinces. Adoption is common amongst all classes and children are cherished by all. A common Tsuki-koi saying is "A rose cannot grow in rocky soil." It means that you should treat people well, so that they can grow into their true potential and improve the world as a whole. This type of attitude has earned the people of Tsuki-ko a reputation as sweet-tempered pushovers.

Food: Their flavors tend towards sour, rather then sweet. They like cold soups, the fiercest argument they have with another province is the Juntsovian hot soup vs. Tsuki-koi cold soup debate. They are very good at cocktails and small, delicate, usually sour pastries. Food is an art too, and this becomes very apparent during fancy parties or religious feasts. On regular days though, most food is designed to be eaten while doing something else. So that means wraps of pickled vegetables and skewered dumplings.

Clothes: Loose robes and comfortable, wrap dresses for ease of movement are common across all classes. Bright colors are also quite fashionable. The nobility like jewelry, usually imported from Sulu'Oku. Umbrellas and wide brimmed hats are an important part of the local dress, due to the high amount of rain. One odd fashion among the young and well-to-do is dressing in clothes that identify the occupation of the wearer. For example, painters wear tight sleeves and ribboned hats, students wear blue pants and yellow overcoats, and cobblers wear bell sleeves and have embroidered pockets. Older folks think this is silly, but tolerate it.

Media: All entertainment here is top notch. But theatre, especially comedy and romance, is wildly popular at the moment. In addition to that, the nobility has had a longstanding preference for music and song, while painting and sculpture is seen as more of a working man's art. The written word is gaining traction among the lower classes and is slowly being picked up by the upper classes as well. Every street corner has some sort of performer, reciting poetry or playing a pipe. The arts are seen as a great way to move up in life.

Money and Industry: Again, entertainment is a huge export and moneymaker. That industry employs most Tsuki-koi citizens in one way or another. The second biggest industries are dye-making and printing. Most peasants are employed in those trades, while most of the middle class works in conjunction with the entertainment industry, making costumes, paint, or instruments. The nobility earns their keep by sponsoring artists.

[thecomicsnexus]

A Brother to Dragons

WATCHMEN #7 MARCH 1987 BY ALAN MOORE, DAVE GIBBONS AND JOHN HIGGINS

SYNOPSIS (FROM DC DATABASE)

Laurie explores Dan's basement and looking at the Nite Owl equipment. When entering the Owlship, Laurie accidentally turns on the vessel's flamethrower as she mistaken a button for a cigarette lighter. Dan quickly comes down and puts out the fire. After Laurie apologizes for the incident, Dan gives her a proper tour, showing her collection of crime fighting gadgets and mementos. Laurie is impressed but Dan often downplays his belongings.

Laurie and Dan then go back up and watch the television, where they watch news reports of Rorschach's arrest (in which Dan is worried about Rorschach's stay in prison) and dire situation in the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan. As they are watching, a passion sparks between them in which Laurie initiates making love. They fall asleep until Dan later wakes up from a nightmare in which he sees himself and Laurie burned in nuclear fire.

Dan sulks in the basement where he is eventually found by Laurie. He tells her how frustrated he is that he couldn't do anything when war could inevitably happen between the U.S. and Russia. Furthermore, he is also emotionally churned over Rorschach's mask killer theory that has become more believable with Manhattan's exile, Adrian Veidt's assassination attempt, and Rorschach's capture. But Dan is hesitant of whether he should don the Nite Owl costume to "set [himself] straight." Laurie approves his plan and they suit up in their old costumes and take the Owlship out.

While cruising over the city, they notice that a nearby tenement building is on fire. Dan and Laurie spring into action as they help the trapped residents board the Owlship and safely settling them on a nearby rooftop. This act of heroism revitalize Dan's passion and confidence in which he and Laurie consummate their relationship inside the airship. Afterwards, Dan then tells to an incredulous Laurie that they should break Rorschach out of prison.

REVIEW

The supplementary material in this issue... could be skipped. It’s informational (and true), but other than an insight about Dan’s writing, it doesn’t really add that much.

In the world of Watchmen, most people dress up to achieve their fantasies, and in this issue we can see this happening to Laurie and Dan.

Once again, the multi-layered narration is fun to read, as we see Dan and Laurie trying to have sex (after a period of inactivity) while we hear the narration for Ozymandias acrobatics.

The whole idea of the issue, according to Moore’s script, is Laurie feeling awe at the glamour of the super-hero life. We also feel that way.

The missing writer is the writer of “Tales of the Black Freighter”, apparently missing in Cuba (according to previous issues).

To be continued...

[myearspleasure]

JEUDI 12 SEPTEMBRE 2019

AT THE DRIVE-IN - ACROBATIC TENEMENT

AT THE DRIVE-IN - IN/CASINO/OUT