I kind of maybe perhaps sometime want to get my nipples pierced but I’m basically asexual so I’ll probably never have anyone that I’m going to be getting naked for in a private setting and as much as becoming a stripper sounds like a cool idea, I am a socially reserved and non-talkative and not…
What about modeling? Not the runway kind but the Kat Von D kind. Portraiture is getting popular, and the idea of different kinds of beauty is more prevalent.
Over The Hedge isn’t just an animated film. It was a comic first, by Michael Fry and T. Lewis. And it’s fantastic. I’ve tried to search it on here several times and never found anything for it, which is deeply disappointing.
While the film is enjoyable, the comic is a much more fulfilling read, a great mix of dark humor and sweetness, clever and silly, a la Calvin And Hobbes.
It follows a similar formula, of RJ, a raccoon who is openly seduced by, and affectionately condescending towards, humanity, though he often misinterprets them, often in a way that subtly comments at the true silliness of the object or action.
His friend and companion Verne is a turtle who is helplessly pathetic and awkward, but entirely earnest in his exploits, and who at least possesses some form of common sense. He often attempts to teach other animals to read, exercise, eat healthy, etc, and is generally a voice of reason that is repeatedly quashed by RJ and his ease-of-living, pleasantly cynical, hedonistic outlook which is much easier to subscribe to and follow.
There are fewer characters than in the film, but each comic character has much more personality and sympathy to it, as well as being surrounded by several characters that play an equally interesting role; The Tree That Knows Stuff, Clara, the host of suburban house-dwellers, the snake-lawyer (“I accept small burrowing mammals in lieu of cash”), and Wif the chow-chow.
The art is mostly simplistic, rough sketching, but swarming with movement, detail, and life. Often the twisting, winding hedge features prominently in the background.
If you’re a fan of C&H and are looking for another comic that offers decent artwork, indentifiable characters, and a theme that can run from touching, to contemplative, to worrying, to just outright goofy, this is something I’d definitely recommend. It has a lot to say, and not enough people are listening.
And then I debated whether or not to put it on Tumblr…but I decided it was important. Because in my own way, I can (unfortunately) point out exactly what is wrong with men when they don’t realize how hard it is to be a woman. How we do not have equal opportunities and freedoms in…
“No, fly me, fly me, far as pole from pole;
Rise Alps between us! and whole oceans roll!
Ah, come not, write not, think not once of me,
Nor share one pang of all I felt for thee.”—Eloisa to Abelard, Alexander Pope
So once upon a time, I had a sci-fi story I wanted to turn into a novel. I never wrote anything substantial for it, and what I did write, I wrote very early on, and it sucked ass. But the plot has never left me, and I draw the characters quite frequently. It branched out in my head into three separate plots that were all vaguely connected. I just saw a trailer for a new sci-fi film, and some of the imagery reignited an interest in writing these stories. I figured I’d roughly sketch out the plots (or at least ideas…they don’t really have set plots yet), so that I can refer to these.
These are just ROUGH SKETCHES. I don’t want them to become just another Pandora/Star Wars ripoff. I want to put ideas and suggestions in these to make people think a bit, andI won’t write a word until I’m happy that deeper meanings are there.
This was the first story idea I’d had, and it started when I was ten or so, and evolved from there. I wanted to write a story which didn’t involve humans first arriving on a planet, but one which looked at the long-term effects of humanity upon their new home.
At this point, it revolves around a planet colonized by humans in the past, where they have settled in and cohabitate, if not peaceably, then nonviolently, with the native races.
The main native race are the Telo, who are quite humanoid in appearance, and therefore more accepted, though they are somewhat hostile. There is a flourishing trade between the cultures. However, there is a strict policy that no native races may interact with humans except for political delegations, and both sides uphold this. Delegates who intermingle are in sterile suits, and interactions are only for very dire reasons. As well, in open-air colonies, everyone must wear air-filters when outside. The accepted reason for this is that a very ugly and communicable disease can be carried by (but not affect) Telo, which humans can die from, and for which there is no found cure.Any human who removes their filter (or leaves a closed colony), is not permitted to return to/stay in the colony, but will also be sterilized before they may live amongst the Telo. Someone who is found to have the disease is either killed or expelled.
Myra, and her twin siblings (the main characters) somehow (haven’t decided yet) remove their masks, and are duly kicked out. Since Myra is the daughter of one of the delegates, she is given a place to live with one of the head honchos, to work for them with her siblings as sort of housekeepers. Meanwhile, the siblings are aware that the disease is starting to break out in their colony. However, the Telo are having a bit of a problem of their own governmentally, with some of them wishing to kill the humans (shocker), some wishing to leave things as they are, and some actually wishing to intermingle with and blend the cultures. Ianji (the telo Myra is living with) is part of the losing faction, and they are all drawn into civil war, with Myra also struggling to find a cure for her colony.
Eventually the big reveal is that the Telo are so strangely humanoid because long in the past, when the humans first arrived, it turned out that the original race could interbreed with humans. Eventually, so many hybrids were created that the original race ceased to exist, and as more and more humanoids interbred, they lost more of their original traits and began to look like the humans. In desperation, they put in the santions that no human may interact with Telo unless they are sterilized and cannot breed, to save their culture from extinction. Hence, the faction that wishes to kill the humans hope that by only breeding with Telo, they can eventually return to their ancestral form.
This would be a prequel to Mirage and would revolve around the first outbreaks of the plague and its effect on the lives of the colonies it is desecrating. Eventually, it would parallel the events of Mirage but from the perspective of a different human colony, one that has found a way to halt the disease’s progress, but not reverse the effects. These characters are in Mirage as well, though I didn’t bother to mention them above. Carolyn Erseacel is the reluctant figurehead-ish leader of the colony as her mother slowly dies of the disease, which she herself is also suffering from. It follows her and her friends’ lives before the outbreak (when she is a girl), to after the desecration, to the discovery of the “cure”, and her attempts as an older woman to help Myra’s colony, and her role in the Telo civil war.
I should discuss the disease here. It attacks the nerve endings and lungs. The lungs rot, causing a cough, and this is eventually what kills the invalid. However, the indicators of the disease are large patches of skin that may feel itchy, icy, or as if they are burning. They will become discolored, either bruise-like, or white-ish. As well, twitching and blindness, as well as hair-loss with reveal someone to have the disease.
This is a veeeeerrrrrrrryyyy far back prequel to Mirage and Daymoon. It chronicles the demise of the United States and humanity’s discovery and colonization of Mirage. It starts with the collapse of the US gov’t., and its descent into semi-anarchy. Most of the remaining populace believe that the entire world has fallen this way, and simply attempt to survive, though there are rumors of some who have escaped “over the wall” into Canada. The unnamed narrator, who was nearing eighteen when the collapse happened, is now in her early forties, a hardened, embittered woman who barely recalls what life was like before, but is one of the few remaining who can at all (most of the current populace were born afterwards, and lifespans are far shorter). She has a better grasp on English than her contemporaries, because she keeps a journal in which she writes religiously, believing that if she can pour out her feelings there, she can keep herself sane when she must act cruelly or brutally in everyday life.
It transpires that the rest of the world has not collapsed (or recovered…not sure yet), and simply cut off ties and quarantine the US. Space travel has advanced, and a colonizable planet has been discovered ( ‘…how long had I wondered at the bright pinpricks of light above my head. Now I knew they were my own brothers, off on their way to becoming gods or angels, while I crawled through the dust and filth like an ant.’).
It is decided that people from the US should be used for the first flight there, on the idea that they are expendable should something go wrong. The narrator is one of the ones chosen due to her remaining vestiges of humanity, and her ability to understand and connect with the rest of the countries.
The rest of the novel follows the journey, colonization, interaction with the natives (the original Telo race, among others), and ends with the discovery that the Telos can interbreed with humans. The first few hybrid babies are born, and the narrator muses on what the future will hold for this new race. She secretly hopes that the colonists will all be absorbed into the Telo race, eventually leaving no trace of pureblood humanity on the planet.
Her boots make a squishing noise every time they sink into the grass. The last drizzles of chilly autumn rain hang in the air, slicking everything around, so that the grass and leaves reflect the lamplights glossily.
She is taking a shortcut.
She takes a lot of shortcuts, little detours through grass and trees, along service roads and through maintenance buildings and garages. Some of them are simply for the pleasure of exploring, of feeling as though she is passing through a place other students never imagine to visit. She’s found hidden smoking areas, gardens and fountain plazas, and grottos. Once, she was nearly flattened by a semi, having mistakenly found herself on the delivery road for the warehouse.
Occasionally these detours do shorten the journey. It’s as simple as this; taking a diagonal swath through the lawn rather than following the two perpendicular sidewalks that lead to the path. For a while, she’d believed the grass was off-limits, so rarely do any of the other students, trundling along in straight lines like army ants, deign to copy her. Then again, their choice of outfits—designer jeans, soft moccasins and smart white sneakers—would fight a losing battle against the clots of dead grass and leaves, against the mud and pine needles. The worst that happens to her old, cracking Timberland’s is that they are buffed shiny with water, looking for a few minutes like they are toed with stainless steel.
She feels less scornful of these other students, these lined-up insects, when she is in the midst of them, watching them bustle around the hivelike buildings with purpose and poise. There, she stands clumsily like a stone edifice, boots and jacket and scarf making her feel big and clumsy, aimless.
She clomps onto the path, the black asphalt gleaming dully in the light, like cracked glass. Lamps shine, waist-high, every ten feet or so, like goals. Like checkpoints.
She thinks that life sometimes seems like the path. So many of her friends groan and sigh about the complexities of it, call it a labyrinth and a forest, but she know that really, it’s so simple. Your life is laid out ahead of you so that you can see each checkpoint as it arrives, knowing you’re that much further along your own personal number line. Maybe you don’t know what the following goal is, but you work yourself along to each immediate next point, and suddenly you’re at the door, journey finished, kaput.
And you can look back, and see the blank possibilities in the blackness that rims the lamplight on either side, but the time is up, the class is starting soon, and you can’t go back.
And really, she thinks, swinging open the glass door into sterile, bright silence, her own life is like that too—highschool, college, a job, a career. Death. Her boots squeak loudly on the steps. Here, there are no shadows or alternate routes. Signs direct you every step of the way, and the corners and hallways are resolute in their solidity. No secret nooks or alleyways.
It doesn’t matter how many detours, scenic routes, or shortcuts she desperately takes, counting on youth and wildness to distract her. A skipped class here and there is no lifetime detour. Her mind, like the bodies of the students she scoffs at, trudges resolutely along her set path, slow and plodding. Watching for the next light to tell her she’s made it that far.
Small bits of silliness that repeat themselves in my head until I write them down. Particularly repetitive was the phrase “slow, languid lizard heat”. Come on. It’s like…ear porn. Also, I did warn you about content.