still a few words from Warren Ellis. how's that, "Ju really love this guy ?". of course I do.
and since this time you don't see I don't blog that much nowadays.
(and thanks to Gino for this Planetary cover ...)
so, here's Warren :
Since I let you know I'm no longer exclusive to DC, I've received a zillion emails that all read pretty much the
same. So much so that I suspect collusion among the class.
The basic model reads: "Are you going to take over NEWXMEN after Grant, and what would you do with it?"
Well, I'm not. And putting in three or four years on any company-owned book is not exactly my gameplan. Although, you know, the gameplan is changing all the time. These are weird days for comics, and I may talk about that soonish. Plus, well, I've been in the X-Office before, and the idea of all that continuity and soap-opera and group coordination is just a nightmare, one I lived through. The time I spent on EXCALIBUR was one of my least favourite experiences in comics.
As to what I'd do... well. Imagine a big lecture hall full of mutant kids, tricked out with holographic projectors
creating CG imagery around the speaker -- I've only read a few of Grant's issues, but let's say it's Emma Frost and
assume he didn't kill her or turn her into a hat and a pipe or something. Imagine a lecture:
***
You're not different.
The world has spent forty years telling you you're different. Some of your own teachers have doubtless told you that you're different, with the best of intentions.
But you are not different.
You are new.
Yes, you are mutants. But so are the Basque people of Spain. Did you know that?
They have a gene that protects them against heart disease. It is a gene that no other people have.
That, by definition, makes them mutants.
Do people without that gene go to the Basque region with pitchforks and torches? Do people seek to outlaw them?
Have people, in fact, designed and constructed giant robots to hunt and kill the Basque populace?
No.
They are simply part of the human genestream.
The genestream is the human torpedo, fired out of Africa at the dawn of intelligent life.
Think of it as a contrail, shooting out of the past as roaring into the future.
It curls around the world, thickening as it gathers pace. The African human is part of the genestream. The Ainu, the Inuit, the Caucasian, the Sumerian. The Basque. All of these are part of the human genestream, powering forward into future time.
And at the front of the genestream is us.
The human warhead of the evolutionary missile.
Some people have called us Homo Superior, which is supposed to mean superior human, superhuman.
That's crap.
Our genus is in fact Homo Novus. We are, quite simply, New Humans.
You are not different. You are simply new.
The people who don't like you have a name, too. Neophobes.
Those who fear and hate the new. And I bring good news.
Neophobes die early.
It's true. A recent scientific study shows that neophobes experience such stress when in the presence of the new that
it signficantly shortens their lifespans.
By hating you, they're killing themselves.
By now, I'm sure most of you have spotted the fatal flaw in my Basque analogy. The Basques look like every other
standard-issue human on the face of the planet, and you don't.
Many of you, I'm glad to say, do not look like standard-issue Homo Sapiens. And that, you believe, is why the outside world does not accept you.
I have good news on that score, too. I'm just a little ray of sunshine today, aren't I?
All you have to do is look out the window.
Look at your human peers, the teens and twentysomethings.
They're twisting themselves into something other than
standard-issue human.
They're changing themselves, with piercings and brandings, and implantations and surgeries.
There's a surging body modification movement full of people sinking feathers into their backs with hooks to make wings,
and splitting their tongues in two, and connecting extra arms to their nervous systems.
Do you know why they're doing that?
Because they want to be you.
They want to be new humans.
They are testing the absolute boandaries of their own bodies because they want to become what you are naturally.
There's a word for them, too. Neophiles. People who embrace the new. And they live longer.
You think you're never going to be accepted? Look out the window. The current generation of the previous model of human is cutting itself to bits to try and be mutants.
They want to be you because you break all the rules they hate just by existing.
Every last one of you is a subversive icon. Every last one of you is a genetic superstar.
You are the genestream A-list, blasting the world into the future.
And everywhere you go, you make the world new again.
thanks, Warren. and now begins another day of frustration. 8)
:: Alors, ca dit quoi ?
...
:: 15 décembre 2003 ::
THIRTY FUCKING ONE.
gosh. this weekend was the climax of some serious event, and this ain't what i talk about.
running amok from their respectives homeplaces, a whole bunch of sick and perverses minds came in our quiet town of Besancon this weekend, for drinking, drinking, drinking, spending time all together, drinking, drinking, and having fun while celebrating Matthieu and I's birthdays. along many others were some of the infamous people i'ven't met "in the real life", some dirty prankers a la Ceransky, Oslonovitch, as for the soon-to-be-recognized Namrepus, a nice guy who do some kind of huge children fantasy comics stuff, or Gilles from the not-enough acclaimed website devoted to the french comics scene, BDNews.
If Matthieu and the others just broke my ears by singing real shit (alcoholic flavour included), the whole bunch of geeks offers me some stupid gifts, some nice comics, and, hhhmmmm, a great DVD player (mp3 and all...), which is nothing but huge. you know i'm glad ? because i'm glad. i'm glad-come on (glad glad really, really glad) you know i'm glad, i'm glad, you know it... hum. sorry.
for those of the bulledair people who spend some time around here, one word : thanks, really. 8)
so i'm 31 years old. and i'm sick, some kind of bad bad bad cold (yeah, once again). head ache, feeling tired, nose like an organic tap, and, holy fuck, i'm working, probably too much for the lazy sick old man i became... 8/
at least i got my flat, but spending all my time in the bookshop (xmas time = extra working time, coooool) (hurra xmas, hurra catholicism, hurra ultraliberalism) doesn't help too feel "home"... well, january, i think, will help. anyway.
i'm selling comics. that's something i wanted to do nearly all my life. and 1 month after the very start, im' feeling depressed as shit, seing how big the lack of curiosity of the people, of the consumers, is.
they're 25 years old and they come to buy some old nostalgic stuff, forgetting that contemporary shit could seduce em, refusing to check the nowadys stuff. in fact, people in comics land are probably, on a proportional level, the same non-curious that in music-land. they buy 80's shit ? we got the same here. holy fuck. did i talk about how middle-class Dijon smells ? give it up. 8)
next time i'll talk about the only music i'm able to listen nowadays, which is jazz, a la Dolphy or Kirk, maestros in their areas.
don't ask me about what's hot into today's hip hop, i'm fuckin totally lost. lack of time. serious. no doubt about the fact that some headz are doing some real big shit, but i'm too fuckin tired to be that aware of what's great... soon, SLSK. 8)
i'll talk also of our comics project that turns pretty good (slowly, for sure), thanks to the many artists involved at this very day. more soon.
does it sounds already heard ?
