I sit, rather uncomfortably at times, in between two worlds.
One is a rather silly, self-deprecating, piss taking, humorously cynical dwelling. It is where the world amuses in an odd and compelling way and all is seen through a filter of hilarity and incredulity.
The other place is one of seriousness, of sometimes overly austere dwellings on the inequity of life and the self; it strives for understanding, to be taken seriously in the hope that words might affect either change or recognition. It is a place of little entertainment but sincere in its feeling of futility; in its attempt to at least try to add a voice to something meaningful.
I find the latter place a hard one to revisit. The former is far funnier. I think readers find the latter a harder place to read missives from also. Like I said, it is a place of little entertainment. People don’t want to read broadsides that offer little hope and end in futility. Neither do they want to read mawkish, overly sentimental musings from a nobody they’ve never met.
(Sure, referring to one’s self as a ‘nobody’ might seem a little harsh, but let’s face it, that’s what I am. I’m comfortable with it. It’s okay. You’re a nobody too. Revel in it. I like nobodies. We all do.)
Yet it’s hard sometimes to throw on your satirical coat and make funny about what’s happening when we are all aware of how much of a prick 2016 has been. It’s been the unwelcome party guest who didn’t want to leave. At the end of the party, just when you thought it was leaving (as everyone else had), it invited Donald Trump over. Bastard.
It’s hard to find much humour in a world like that, hard to take the piss when the reality of our circumstances seem so inherently to take the piss anyway. This world is becoming one based entirely on the surreal and the ridiculous, it seems. Where does a slanted view of it fit now? How do we mock that which mocks us by its existence?
Perhaps the answer is in not looking at the world at all. It has always been an odd and askew place. Maybe we should only concern ourselves with our place in the world; how we see this odd and unruly place through our own eyes and experiences.
Yet does that give us a fair and even representation of all that is? After all, we are so limited in our experiences. Our dichotomies, though far and varied, perhaps only represent our limitations.
I love the arts in all their glory. I love their highest aspirations. From Picasso to Nabokov; from Basquiat to Mozart; Fellini to Rachmaninoff. Waldorf to Statler. My favourite piece of music of all time is Act I: IX. Finale (Andante) by Tchaikovsky. I have never been as moved by the corralling of words as I have by Milan Kundera in The Book Of Laughter And Forgetting. I have never known myself better than through the words of Steinbeck. I have never seen life more clearly than through the filter of Anders Petersen.
Yet the greatest film I have ever seen, still; the one that resounds with me the most on an emotional and artistic level is Transformers: The Movie. Not the Shia LaBeouf piece of shit, but the animated one.
It’s the dog’s balls.
One of the single most thrilling moments of my life, personal or other wise is when the Undertaker threw Mankind off the roof in 1998’s HELL IN A CELL match. I think that certain episodes of Adventure Time are easily the match, emotionally, structurally and thematically of anything Shakespeare had ever written and that comic books in general make us better human beings on every single level of our being. Season Three of Buffy The Vampire Slayer was da shizz.
Like I said… somewhat torn between two worlds.
Part of me wants to write articles about comics for the rest of my days. The other half wants to chuck everything in and move to the middle east and become a war correspondent, writing articles on the tip of an unexploded warhead which has landed in my hotel room whilst I’m performing a tracheotomy on a war orphan.
Which would you rather read about?
I’m assuming the funny, self deprecatingly ironic take. That’s the one I’d choose too. Doesn’t matter where I am, what i’m doing, even what i’m writing about, just as long as there’s a chuckle in it and it doesn’t take itself too seriously.
I am a writer, writing from the front lines of myself.
I will endeavour to present a fair and even representation of all that is ‘me’, in the hope that all that is ‘us’ is fairly represented as a result.