Knightfall 16: Black Sunday

My boyhood comics collection really didn't contain many issues of JLA or similar magazines. (Neither does my adult collection, for that matter.) I've just never been that interested in large-group superhero sagas, with the possible exception of The Authority--and I would happily dispense with most of the characters in that one, too. It's the same reason I have no use for Batman's or Superman's extended families of fellow heroes: I'd rather see them work alone. (Those two are orphans, after all.) I know that in the post-modern era we're supposed to find it amusing to watch the individual members of the Justice League or Teen Titans or X-Men or the Avengers all bickering among themselves, but that thought strikes me as about as exciting as observing the day-to-day workings of a law firm or corporation. If I want office politics, I'll go to my office, dammit.

Even so, I do enjoy tales where a big bunch of good guys is brought to their knees--literally, if possible--by one or more supervillains. No surprise there, I guess: since I find the humiliation of one hero to be so hot, the idea of a whole truckload of them brought down is even hotter.

That's why the latest developments in my personal "Ratman" adventures hold such special appeal (if that's the right word) at the moment. In the early days of my encounters with the Monk, it was just me against him--and, later, me under him. But as more and more readers of this blog have joined in the storyline (and more are always welcome--M is hungry for fresh meat), the cast of characters has gotten far larger, and I find myself with a veritable Justice League of my own, with a suitably international ensemble: a British Batman, a Texan Superman, a Canadian Robin, and so on. From time to time I introduce these men to each other, forge alliances, etc. For a while, this gave me hope that I might somehow escape M's clutches.

But just as membership has its priviliges, it also has its down side. As Ratman, I am under orders to turn each of these characters over to my master, and he picks and chooses which of them he will work on. Thus, the Monk has a stable of his own, thanks in part to me. Last week, one of my closest comrades in this complex counter-world took me completely by surprise and administered a drug to me, designed by the Monk to make me both more subservient and more evil. Then the two of us were assigned to take down a third hero, one whose relationship to M actually predates my own by several years.

We did so a couple of days ago, during an event I've already come to think of as "Black Sunday." The unique torment of my present condition is that I'm fully aware of my past as Batman and thus how wrong it is for me to now be working for my former archenemy, and yet I'm powerless to resist. As a result of Black Sunday, I have now dragged another good man down, an act which looms heavy on my conscience (or would, if the drug would allow me to feel remorse). The same goes for Superman, my partner in crime. A further effect of the drug compels me to report any backsliding on his part--and I now risk our victim turning me in should I ever come to my senses. Thus, M has established a brilliant system of checks and balances, a self-policing triangle of helpless slaves.

In other words, I'm now living through yet another of those scenarios that brought me such dizzying pleasure in the comics: I am not just a minion, I am part of a cadre of minions, all former legends, now kneeling at the feet of the man who brought them down. Like everything else about my dreamworld saga under the control of the Monk, it's both repellent and irresistible.

Daredevil: Man Without Clothes

I'm sure you know I am a DC man through and through, but its age-old rival does have its share of hot heroes. And I swear to you, if something like the cover of Daredevil #70 had appeared when I was an adolescent, I might well have changed teams. (To Marvel, I mean; no amount of Batgirl exposure would have turned me straight, I assure you.)

Ladies and gentlemen, I present a 100% butt-naked Matt Murdock standing and staring at his empty costume. It truly doesn't get any better than this. The issue itself doesn't hold much interest to me, but who cares?

Thank you, Marvel Knights. You've made my night, that's for sure.

Ransom Note UPDATE: Hold your calls, the demands have been met

I got the 5 responses I asked for--within 24 hours, no less (damn, I should have put THAT in the original challenge!)--so it's back to BEGINNINGS again. I had a very difficult week in the daylight world, and it was great to come home and read such nice comments about the story.

While it would have been nice enough to just get some basic "yeah, keep doing it" messages, the best thing of all was discovering exactly how thoughtful and articulate the writers were. I may only be writing for 100 or so people, but if even half of them are this cool, I'm happy. Just to be clear, I didn't really post the challenge because I was feeling unappreciated or anything. Obviously I write this stuff first and foremost for myself, and I already knew there were some like-minded readers out there who share my weird mix of raunch and intellectualizing-about-raunch. A few of these folks have become good (if virtual) friends, which brings me great joy.I also didn't do it because I had run out of ideas. (If anything, I have way too many, at this point in the story.) I only wanted to experiment with the unique possibiities of a blog as a vehicle for storytelling. Maybe I'll try other experiments in the future.

One of the people who wrote had this to say:

"...Using your own personal experience as an example, I would think this is not the conclusion, but rather the beginning. If I recall correctly one of your blog posts (about an early encounter with the Monk), this is where it gets interesting.

"I have strong reservations about killing either character off--or even leaving them in a vanquished state. For me, Batman and Robin are heroes; and despite the enjoyment I get out of seeing them in situations of distress, it's important (for me at least) to see them triumph in the end. (It's why I keep expecting you to write a follow-up to the Sadist story someday.)

"I would think this might be a real creative challenge for you; now that you've broken them, how do you imagine these men rebuilding themselves? How does this affect their future partnership? How does it change Batman to know that he's been broken?"

There is so much in this response that I want to comment on. First, there's the reminder that when it comes to broken heroes, I know what I'm talking about. (I hate to say it, but it really turns me on to have a complete stranger remind me that I am, in fact, a broken man. From the moment I started posting here about my adventures with the Monk I've been feeling an immense charge from making my defeat public. Like the original unmasking I endured, it's something that can't be undone, and that thrills me in a powerful way. When people other than the Monk refer to me as "Ratman"--a name I hate--it feels both awful and exciting at the same time. No matter what I may tell myself, there will always be certain inescapable facts I have to live with.) I'll have more to say about all this some other time, but suffice it to say I will certainly be drawing on firsthand experience of bottoming out in telling Bruce's story from this point on, just as I have already leaned heavily on my ordeal at the hands of my own (semi-)real life Dr. Strange thus far.

As for needing to see the heroes triumph in the end (two other writers expressed a similar wish): wow, yes, of course. I sometimes forget how loaded my main character is for other people, not just me. As every slash disclaimer notes, I don't "own" Batman any more than someone could own Santa Claus. My connection to him is obviously intense and highly personal, spanning most of my life, and when I read that someone else finds it "important" for him to survive and thrive, I realize how true that is, on a cultural as well as a personal level. (Not trying to get too big for my batboots here, but it's late and I am prone to big-picture pontification at such an hour.) As I've written many times here, the biggest thrill for me is to see Batman go right to the brink of annhiliation and then pull himself back at the last possible minute. (Needless to say, I blame the ritualized cliffhangers of the '66 TV show for this.) I've read a little superhero snuff fiction (ie, stories in which the hero does not escape at the last minute) and it always feels a little weird and wrong, albeit in a creepily enticing way.

On the other hand, the beauty of Bob Kane's creation is that at this point, no one can kill him off for long--he always springs back to life in another story told by somebody new. Doyle couldn't kill off Sherlock Holmes, DC couldn't keep Superman dead for long... Then again, there's the death of Jason Todd's Robin, which was final, and which (even if it started off as a cheap publicity gimmick) has brought great emotional weight to later depictions of Batman's saga. Now he has to deal not only with the death of his parents but the loss of his symbolic son.

Okay, back to my own story. I confess I rather enjoyed the brief break from posting chapters, and there's no way I can keep up that pace of adding new ones in the days ahead, but I'm also looking forward to starting up again.

And, yes, what has happened so far is ... only the beginning.

Ransom Note

After drawing it out as long as I possibly could (with apologies to those of you who open presents on Christmas Eve because you hate waiting), I just posted the climactic scene in my serial-blog Hugo Strange story. The money shot, as I've called it in other entries here.

And now comes a moment I've been contemplating for months: I've also posted a challenge to readers on the site. I'm perfectly content continuing the saga (which would pose new challenges since so many things have changed so radically according to the storyline), but first I want to hear from people who've been following it. As for everyone who writes fanfic or slash, this is a labor of love, or more likely lust, for me, and I'm curious about whether there's enough interest to make it worth my time. (Who am I kidding? If I don't write "Beginnings" anymore, I'll just start a new story sooner or later. But it might be nice to take a break.)

Naturally I have that whole "Death-of-Robin" publicity stunt from the comics in mind. But I also like the idea of the fate of these characters resting in the hands of the people who give them life by imagining them/reading about them/fantasizing about them. So all I ask is for five readers to e-mail or IM me in order to save the lives of Batman and Robin (or perhaps end them in a particularly delicious manner). Think of it as a hostage crisis--or the next step in reader-interactive literature. (On second thought, just think of it as a hostage crisis.)

I'll actually be perfectly happy if I don't hear from anyone at all--after all, you know how much I happen to get off on the concept of a truly broken Bat (they don't call me Ratman for nothin'), and there's something exciting to me about this particular version of the bat myth ending on so bleak a note. But really, now: do you want to see Batman meet his fate this way? Don't delay--cast your vote today!

Knightfall 15: Beyond Good and Evil

My online world has become well populated these days; a while ago, to help sort things out, I divided my "friends" list on Yahoo Messenger into--but of course!"--"Heroes" and "Villains." But it's hard sometimes to figure out who fits in which category. There are players who assume both roles as the mood strikes them, for instance. Then there are self-styled heroes who gloat about my downfall, which hardly strikes me as heroic behavior. And now that I've fallen under the control of a master villain, is everything suddenly turned upside down--should I consider the Monk my hero and Superman a villain? (That one's easy: the distinction is between heroes and villains, not friends and enemies. Superman, no matter how my master regards him, is still a hero... Or is he, now that he too has fallen under the control of the Monk? See how complicated it gets?) Then there's the issue of self-identification: if I am no longer allowed to call myself Batman, and if I now serve a supervillain, what camp do I fall in? I don't, for the most part, do villainous things myself, I simply serve a villain as a broken hero...

And so on. All of this reminds me of a certain aspect of my real-life family history. My late mother had a series of very close friends with whom she eventually had a falling out--you could say they went from Good Guys to Bad Guys. And both of my sisters, and two of her sisters (my aunts) also made a shift in category. Usually the move was from Good to Bad, but on a few rare occasions a Bad person became Good again in her eyes. Every member of my family was aware of this categorizing, and one of my sisters used to refer to it explicitly: "I was the Good Daughter and C was the Bad One; then something happened and she became the Good One and I was the Bad One," she said--in a direct but surely unintentional paraphrase of the Prodigal Son parable (which, as I read it, is all about the irrelevance of such distinctions).

As a result of all this, I've never had much use for such simple categorizations in my own adult life. I get bored and annoyed when Hollywood movies employ the good guy/bad guy dichotomy (a simplification which tends to flourish during Republican administrations, I've noticed), and I was outraged when our current president started trotting out the "You're either with us or you're with the terrorists" rhetoric. Never had much use for Reagan's "Evil Empire" mantra, either.

Granted, the Batman of the 60s TV show was a true-blue Good Guy who confronted a series of easily identifiable Bad Guys (except when the Green Hornet paid a visit to Gotham), but my own version of the character has long been far murkier. He may have devoted his life to fighting criminals, but he's a vigilante, working outside the law--and if he were a real person, he'd actually be breaking the law in several municipalities by virtue of his signature mask, to say nothing of his violent behavior. I prefer to think of him as unclassifiable--heart in the right place, but so obsessed with his mission that he's become a virtual sociopath.

Meanwhile, I continue to play with all this good/bad stuff in my online existence, almost every night. Part of the challenge is figuring out what I am deep down, and what to make of my partners in crime/crimefighting. And the line I've crossed--and crossed again and again and again--in my dealings with the Monk only makes the dichotomy fuzzier, and thus more fascinating, than ever.

I surrender

No, for a change I'm not referring to my struggle against the Monk (face it, I lost that one months ago), but to another vexing problem. When I started "Beginnings," my ongoing batslash story in blog form, I planned to write each entry in the voice of one of the characters. But over a hundred chapters in, I'm realizing that sometimes it's just too hard to convey certain things in that way--particularly actions that are only experienced by one or two characters, and followed immediately by other actions too quickly for one of them to race home and write about what's just happened. So beginning with chapter 115, I'm loosening up my self-imposed rules a little and allowing myself to introduce an omniscient narrator from time to time. Fear not; I'm not abandoning the first-person approach for good, just resorting to third-person when it makes things easier on me. Which means there can be a lot more of those deathtraps and unmaskings and other things I know you crave.

So everybody wins!

Hey Bulldog

I'd heard the sordid tale of "Jeff Gannon," the Republican shill who doubled as a gay escort, on the radio, but when I saw the Daily Show footage of him earlier tonight, I realized I had to hightail it to the internet to see some of his naked pictures. (They're here by the way, along with a detailed chronology of his saga. And given the lightning speed at which news travels these days, should anyone really be surprised that there's already a parody of the whole thing?)

Believe me, I'm no big fan of Log Cabin types,so I truly hate to admit it, but I still find this deluded soul to be pretty hot. Deep down, my biggest beef is not that he was allowed to waltz into a press conference and kiss Bush's ass, but that he's clearly shaved his chest.

Now, that's self-hating!

Knightfall 14: When the Rat's Away...

I was out of town for a few days recently. Before I left, I figured the trip might give me a little break from this whole Ratman-and-Monk saga. To my surprise, though, I found I had trouble thinking about anything else. (I've noticed that the Monk's hold on me is greatest when I'm not actually in his presence. The real thing--or the pretend-real-thing--can be too hard to take sometimes; it's easier to have a relationship with my projected version of him. Sort of like most people's relationship to a higher power, when you think about it.) In an aiport bookstore I came across a slightly sleazy looking paperback called Cannibal: The True Story Behind the Maneater of Rotenburg by Lois Jones, about a German man who literally and willingly offered his body to another man he'd found through the internet. The two men evidently got together, and ... well, here's part of the back-cover blurb:

"Bernd Juergen Brandes ... arrived at Meiwes's isolated country home literally to be eaten alive. Escorted to the 'slaughtering room'--equipped with meat hooks, a cage, and a butcher's table--Meiwes assisted Bern in a gourmet candlelight dinner of his own cooked flesh..." (Hey, I toldja it was a sleazy book.)

Now, I should say RIGHT HERE AND NOW that I am NOT into cannibalism, so please do NOT invite me to your home if you intend to serve me to myself. No, the one thing that intrigued me about the scenario (as you can guess, I ended up buying the book, but I haven't picked it up since) was this notion of one man knowingly submitting himself to another with such thoroughness--heading off somewhere to let the other man have his way with him. And that planted in my head a fantasy: the Monk summoning me to his home for some extended period of time. Early on, and again a few months ago, he asked if I was interested in getting together offline, and I said no. Well, sure, I'm interested, to put it mildly, but that would clearly be crossing a line in my real life relationship that I"m not willing to cross. (As hot as this complicated, multi-character online saga may be, I refuse to sacrifice my real-life happiness, or to hurt the Hub. I do worry sometimes that I've already compromised that pledge, but my instincts tell me that's not the case.)

I couldn't get the idea of a face-to-face encounter out of my mind for the entire trip (which was sort of boring, which probably explains why I kept obsessing on this far more interesting scenario). So I came home and proposed to M that I write the fantasy in story form and post it on the "Perils of Batman" Yahoo group, where I used to post bat-stories several years ago. It works like this: I told him the initial premise ("show up at this address in your street clothes; pack your ratsuit and nothing else"), then he gave me the outline for what would happen when I arrived at the compound. As each of seven days proceeds, he will dictate the action and I will write the text, adding in my reactions to whatever torments and treats he throws my way. (The process will surely take far longer than a week to unfold, so I hope nobody's impatient. Given the response so far, I don't think I have anything to worry about.)

There is, as usual, more to be said about all of this, but--as usual--I have too many other things to do at the moment (damn that daylight world!), so they'll just have to wait. Meanwhile, please check out the story and let me know what you think about it.

And, remember, NO flesh-eating, boys and girls. It's only a movie... it's only a movie...

Play ball

Never been a Superbowl fan (much as I enjoy the sight of muscular men in tight-fitting synthetic fibers grappling with each other), but I did happen to catch the new ad for Batman Begins, which provides the biggest glimpse yet of what awaits us in the spring. That tantalizing glimpse inspired me to revisit the official website, which has been beefed up significantly. The Superbowl spot is there, along with more video, pictures, interviews, and the promise of still more goodies in the future.

I really don't want to sound like a comic book and/or movie geek (let alone a comic-book-movie geek), but I'm a little nervous about the thought of the Scarecrow being the villain here. As with Bane (who made a way-premature appearance in the miserable new WB animated series), this is a character who forces the hero to re-examine his very existence, and you really can't do too much of that if you've only had your existence for a short time.

I'm pretty much convinced that movies aren't the best vehicle for comic book stories, unless Hollywood suddenly starts making Saturday afternoon serials again. I've said it a thousand times: comic book myths are ongoing, they rely on an audience's sustained awareness of a group of characters over a long period of time. Movies are all about compressed storytelling: they have to fit everything from the introduction of the protagonist and antagonist to their first confrontation to their climactic showdown to the resolution of that encounter into two hours. (Notable exceptions being multi-part sagas like The Lord of the Rings and Star Wars, and long-running franchises like the James Bond series, though that one has seldom made much creative use of its longevity/hyperfamiliarity.) Somebody like the Scarecrow or Ra's Al Ghul (who I think is also in the new film) is intended to shake up the familiar routine of the narrative and shake the hero to his core, but that can't really happen very effectively if the audience and the hero are still learning the lay of the land. (To use an example from my own myth: If I'd met the Monk ten years ago, my encounters with him wouldn't hold anywhere near the force for me that they do at this point. If you're going to lose everything, then "everything" has to mean something first.)

End of sermon for now. On a related note, since we're talking geek now, am I right that the post-Superbowl Simpsons episode was the first time we've ever learned the real name of Comic Book Store Guy? (As you can imagine, I sometimes think he is my totem character on the show, unfortunately.)

Knightfall 13: Take It to the Limit, One More Time

One major thrill of my ever-evolving online relationship with the Monk comes from discovering just how far I'm willing to go in my interactions with him and still observe my real-life boundaries. There were two moments in my last few conversations with him that showed me I still have my limits.

Did I just refer to these roleplaying scenarios as "conversations"? Bad choice of words, since it implies we are equals, and that is completely not the case any longer. No, he's the Master and I'm his humble(d) servant. Anyway, one recent e-mail exchange happened shortly after I'd come home from a miserable day at work, and M's treatment of me resembled my boss's conversational/confrontational style a bit too closely to be in any way erotic. I think I've written here before that I'm intrigued by the parallel, but in this case it just felt like a joke that wasn't funny anymore.

A few days later, during a phone call, he ordered me to "paint" for him--ie, to produce a certain milky white fluid on demand--and to collect it in a container. (I selected one taken from the utility belt I'm no longer allowed to wear, as a reminder of his power over me.) Once I was done, he told me to drink it. Every last drop. On camera.

Something about this instruction backfired; it pushed me out of the fantasy and I just couldn't follow through. (I've never been a swallower.) I took two fingerfulls, which were unpleasant enough, but the thought of pouring the whole mass down my throat disgusted me, and--uncharacteristically--I refused. In both of these cases, something just snapped me right out of the whole Ratman saga and back to another level of reality a few yards to the right of where I'd just been playing.

I should point out that there was another part of the same call that took me by surprise and that I found quite hot: the Monk demanded that I sing while I was painting. I don't know how or if he knew how primally humiliating this particular request would be for me. Much as I love music, I can't sing, I hate the sound of my attempts to do so, and it's a major, major fear of mine to have to sing in public. (In church as a kid, I'd mouth the words to the hymns, or mumble my way through them, and ever since then I've hated those mandatory singalongs so prevalent at certain kinds of concerts.) Even so, I followed orders, and was deeply embarrassed and ashamed by the feelings evoked (in a good way, if there is such a thing). Turns out it's impossible for me to pretend to be a superhero when I'm groaning out the words to a pop song--and thus I was knocked down yet another rung.

So I continue to learn more and more about myself, the self under all the masks: the things I'll do, the things I won't. And that knowledge is what this is all about, isn't it?

The money shot

If you share my taste for images of Batman being unmasked and/or de-belted (and something tells me you do), then be sure to check out Batman #635, which opens with a terrific battle sequence featuring a new villain billing himself as The Red Hood (homage to one of the oldies but goodies, which seems to be some kind of trend at DC right now). From the get-go, one of Bats' gloves has been cut off, exposing a bare fist (a first in my memory), and in short order he loses his belt (hooray!) and suffers a rather nasty gash to the cowl (ouch!). This latter move enables Mr. Hood to simply tear the mask off B's face, which will surely inspire every other villain in Gotham to lament, "Damn, why didn't I think of that?"

Having so easily accomplished what everybody else has been trying to do for decades, this Hood guy says, "I guess we should keep it even" and removes his own ... hood, revealing a face which shocks our hero. Naturally (since this first installment of a four-parter) we don't get to see who's under there just yet.

I'm not sure I'll stick around to find out. I really don't keep up with current comics unless the imagery is really hot (and old-school bondage scenarios are few and far between these days) or the storyline seems really, really compelling. But frankly, I'm one of those old farts who got lost when all the storylines starting getting incredibly complicated and brought in all these young characters I've never heard of and don't care about. There are some allusions in #635 to the aftermath of one of those huge crossover "events" and I have no idea what they're talking about. Then again, I don't watch The Sopranos or The West Wing, either--I just don't have the energy to follow along. But more power to those of you who do.

If I were a true comics afficianado, I'd say something about the actual content of the issue in question, and make some reference to the story by Judd "Real World" Winick (whose graphic novel about his RW costar Pedro is quite nice, by the way), but you know I"m pretty damn shallow--I honestly just picked this thing up because of the sexy (to me) pix.

Earlier tonight I managed to find some downloadable images from the issue at the DC site, but now I can't figure out where they are online anymore. Besides, if you don't head there ASAP, they'll probably be taken down.

But trust me, my fellow perverts: just go buy the magazine. Best $2.25 I've spent in quite a while.

Batman Goes to the Mayor

I've become a fan of the Adult Swim cartoon Tom Goes to the Mayor. (It's not really related to the concerns of this blog, but here's the A.S. show site in case you're interested). Inspired me to seek out the website of its creators, where I found this collection of their short films.

I'm bringing this up here, in case you were wondering, because one of the films posted there is called Batman 2000, and I have a hunch some of you may enjoy it, if you've got a sense of humor about the masked guy. It would be interesting to see the response if it were posted at BatmanFanFilms.com (which has its share of parodies, none as funny as this one). Probably wouldn't go over too well with the purists...

...but then, it's the perversions of a myth, the ones that allow us to see it with fresh eyes, that interest me most (which is why I much prefer The Last Temptation to The Passion when it comes to Jesus Movies). Oops, I'm talking out my ass here. Actually, seeing Batman with a bong tucked in his utility belt really doesn't add much to my understanding of the saga. It's just kinda funny.

Incredible, indeed

I'm indebted to the bearblog "Bear in the City" (latest gay comics blog I've discovered) for this image of Mr. Incredible sans costume, which blogmeister Bill in turn found at this Japanese site.

While I think the movie, enjoyable though it was, is getting just a wee bit more praise than it may actually deserve, I think I woulda liked it much more if there were a bit more of this kind of Incredible flesh in it.

Thoughts on "adult"-hood

I've been rethinking the way that I've labeled this and my story blog as "adult" sites. To most people who see that word, it means one thing and one thing only: porn. And as you know if you've spent any time here, that's not really what this is about.

Don't get me wrong: there is a lot of sex talk here. As much as I can manage, in fact. I want to talk about the things that turn me on in part because I see so few other people talking about the same particular interests, and when I do speak openly about such matters, I hear back from other people who share those tastes, thanking me for doing so. But for me sex cannot be separated from the other concerns explored in these entries: politics, spirituality, comic book talk, and on and on. And the "talk" part is as at least as important as the sex part. I imagine that people who stumble upon these words wanting to get off probably just get really bored, really fast. And that doesn't bother me at all.

It's always struck me as funny that the word "adult" would be used in conjunction with fetishes so rooted in childhood. When I put on a batman outfit and roleplay with fellow costumed crusaders and crooks, we're all engaging in a kind of make-believe we first explored when we were 6 years old. What could be less "adult" than that? (I sort of prefer the word "mature" to "adult," but it pretty much raises the same problem.)

Nonetheless, I feel like it's important to take whatever steps I can to make sure that some actual child doesn't stumble upon this site while conducting google searches for "Batman" or any other G-rated term that happens to stimulate NC-17 feelings within me. I've made the site a public one via Blogger in order to help interested strangers find it, but I'm not that comfortable with somebody arriving here at random via the "NEXT BLOG" button at the top of the screen.

All this is on my mind while I get word that the company that used to list site referrers for free is now charging money to provide service for "adult" sites. (And if you claim you're no longer "adult" in order to keep getting the service for free, they say they'll fine you $100.) While I'm a cheapskate who hates having to pay for internet gewgaws, I'm seriously considering shelling out $15-25 to continue the listings, because it's just such interesting information to have: lets me know that I'm not just typing into a vacuum, for starters, and the list of referring sites also tells me (and you) about other relevant places to look.

But I don't know... Paying money for what once was free--it seems so ... adult.

Knightfall 12: Falling, yes, I am falling...

...and he keeps calling / me back again.

Last week I got another phone call from the Monk. It was the first time I'd heard his voice in at least a month, probably two. (Mostly been text-only during that time, and as our relationship has evolved, and as a result of work-plus-holiday-plus-illness, there's been less daily contact.) We'd been in text contact that morning awaiting a long-scheduled battle with a hero, who turned out to be a no-show, so M's focus turned to me instead. I made a slip, broke one of his rules, and the moment I was alone he called to reprimand me.

My heart raced when the phone rang, and the minute he spoke, I knew I was done for. When I answered him, the voice I used was completely different from the one I had employed back in my old bat-days. No longer brash, confident, and self-assured, I was now a snivelling, subservient, insignificant little (rat)man.

It was further evidence, as if I needed any, that I have indeed been broken. He used to swear he'd own the Batman mind, body, and soul, and I'll be damned if he didn't do it. Okay, I'm damned, period: nothing remotely resembling a "hero" any longer.

I find that unbelievably, almost unspeakably exciting, in part because it's just such a fucking obscene proposition: Batman, broken! There's no happy ending to the story, after all, just a hero who stared into the abyss and ended up falling in.

Does that make me a villain? Not exactly. As I've reported here, M has recruited me to help him break other heroes--more specifically, to taunt and prep them for him--and the simple fact is, playing the role of aggressor isn't really that exciting to me. I've often written that I don't accept the simple top/bottom dichotomy, and that when pressed I fall somewhere in between the two extremes depending on my mood, but in this particular subsection of the dreamworld, I--Ratman--am a total, unabashed mega-bottom. (My fantasy Batman is a bottom, too, but at least he puts up a stern public front.) Debased, humiliated, my dreams all shattered--and incredibly turned on by that prospect. Sure, I'll take down a hero, violate him, punish him... but only because M orders me to. It's not really something I'd do on my own. There's a degree of sadism in some of my fantasies involving heroes, but mostly in the service of a greater masochism.

By coincidence (if there is such a thing), as I write these words, I'm listening to an episode of the NPR show To the Best of Our Knowledge devoted to the theme of "Failure", which I recommend to anyone else who knows the erotic appeal of falling from grace.

What this particular period of my ongoing bat/rat lucid dream provides me with is a chance to explore some complex feelings stirred up in my daylight life these days, as I find myself employed in various jobs suited for people 20 years younger than me. Invariably, these trigger my desire (rooted in my youth in the South, I'm convinced) to be liked, to please other people. Power has always made me nervous; when I'm in positions that provide me with some degree of it (teacher, director, etc) I tend to do whatever I can to subvert it. And when I'm in positions where I don't have much power, or where I have to answer to someone else who does, I tend to bristle.

More to be said on all this later, I'm sure. For now, though, just noting another landmark in my dream devolution.

Spirit of The Spirit

I am delinquent in mourning the death of Will Eisner. Johnny Bacardi has been running a multi-part tribute (with illustrations and links to other eulogies), which starts here.

From one of the links at Eisner's official site, I found this great treasure trove of online Spirit lore, and from there I learned the (potentially) good news that plans are in the works for a Spirit movie. Actually, the apparent decision to set the film in the present day, as revealed in this interview in Comic Book Resources News, does not bode well. But hey, maybe the powers that be will come to their senses and make it a period piece, even if they're convinced Will woulda make it contemporary.

I may well be one of the few people who actually saw the 1987 TV movie when it aired, and I know I'm one of even fewer who spent the next 15 years trying to see it again. Eventually I found a bootleg copy for sale at some site whose name I can't remember for the life of me. If anyone reading this wants to know, e-mail me or post something here and I'll actually track it down for ya.

Anyway, that movie is set in the late 80s, and it just doesn't quite work. But I'm not complaining. Hunky Sam "Flash Gordon" Jones plays the title character, and holy shit is he ever hot, particularly when he's bound, shirtless, to some sort of torture device and flogged. I'm not making this up--fans of, well, Sam Jones being tied up have got to seek this thing out.

Not sure I'd recommend it to Eisner fans, though. All the major characters are there, but somehow little of the magic of the original. And the comic was magical: a perfect blend (for me, at least) of great writing, wonderful self-reflexive humor, and one of the sexiest heroes around. (A mask, a suit, and a pair of gloves: it's all you really need, isn't it? Oh, and a seemingly unending succession of deathtraps.) I know, I know: we're supposed to be mourning the passing of a great storyteller. And I do. But my interest in his most famous work transcends the purely cerebral.

Once I noticed I was on fire, I decided to relax and enjoy the fall.

Avoiding actual work again, I came across an amusing illustrated paraphrase of the first appearance of the original comic book villain called The Monk (Detective Comics #31/32, reprinted in The Greatest Batman Stories Ever Told). It's from a blog called "Once I noticed I was on fire, I decided to relax and enjoy the fall". That name sounds familiar; I'm pretty sure I've seen it in other comics-bloggers' links lists.

This "Ezrael" guy has been keeping it for quite a while, and any time I find a blog that dates back 4 years or more, I immediately check to read entries from around September 11, 2001. Just sort of a reflex, I guess, but I've long been fascinated by people's responses to that super-charged time (which already feels so long ago, doesn't it?). There was so much bullshit being spewed at the time, between the kneejerk flag-waving and the talk about how everything would suddenly be different and we'd never again enjoy mindless escapist movies and Halloween was suddenly an inappropriate holiday and so on and so on. There are plenty of post-9/11 entries here, and although I confess I've just kind of skimmed them so far (as is my wont), I really like the basic sentiments expressed: initial shock/grief, followed by some beautifully sane stuff about the madness of national ID cards, war fever, etc., as well as the way they're expressed. Well worth reading--for different reasons than the Monk recap, of course, but I appreciate both the humor and the sober insight.

Skin tight

I see I've been getting a lot of new visitors from this page of "Lycra sites around the world." Naturally, as a devotee of the medium, I had to check it out and explore a few links. There must be at least 200 here, devoted to cycling suits, ballet tights, superhero fan films, etc, all in a giant alphabetical list. Lots o' dead ones, alas, and plenty of old classics I already know and love.

I guess the nicest revelation was The Masked Henchman's site, consisting primarily of shots of the M.H. in action, both in and out of spandex. I admit, I share his attraction to those ubiquitous thugs/goons in ski masks who are forever robbing banks and clubbing the good guy in movies. And, shucks, I guess at this point in my "devolution" I'm pretty much a masked henchman myself, so it must be purely professional reasons that draw me to his web page.

FYI, not to toot my own horn or anything, but if you found me through that Lycra links page and want more of the same, I should humbly point out that I have a somewhat similar page of my own on my SECRET ROOM website (which has been sadly neglected for months, alas, but I promise I'll update it sooner or later). Enjoy.

Calling Dr. Kinsey

Saw the movie Kinsey this past weekend. Certain aspects of it (the occasionally awkward/stilted dialogue, for instance) bugged me a teensy bit, but for the most part I liked it, particularly for the way it normalizes the whole subject of human sexuality. Dr. Kinsey is presented as this totally non-judgmental researcher, admittedly a little obsessive in his devotion to his chosen subject (but then what scholar isn't?), fascinated by the wide range of activities that turn people on and open-minded about all of them. There's this charming matter-of-factness to his relationships with his wife and kids, and pretty much everyone else he meets. Excellent cast, starting with Liam Neeson as the title character, as well as John Lithgow as his fundamentalist, body-phobic dad, and especially Laura Linney as his startlingly game wife. (Oh, and you get to see Peter Sarsgard's ding-dong, which had not previously been a priority of mine, but which I found quite enjoyable.)

I kept thinking of Boogie Nights and The People vs. Larry Flynt, with which Kinsey forms a mini-genre: films in which the characters' shared preoccupation with sex creates some interesting alternative family units. Rather than sensationalizing the subject, they're warm-and-fuzzy movies; in fact, I'd even go so far as to call Kinsey the first sex-based tearjerker I've seen, particularly in a fantastic cameo by Lynn Redgrave right near the end of the movie, playing a woman who sees her personal options as infinitely broader as a result of Kinsey's contributions to the field.

The site I linked to above is worth checking out, not so much for the usual movie-promo stuff as for such interesting features as a chance to place yourself on Kinsey's 0-6 scale (I went with a 5) and a list of myths about the good doctor's research. It strikes me that there's a common thread between what he was doing 50 years ago and what various bloggers are up to nowadays: making public what was once secret, with the intention of letting people know they're not alone in their desires. I know there will always be folks who think that's a bad idea, but I'm not one of them.

BATMAN BEGINS... to cross-promote

I was intrigued to discover that the home page of the official website for the BATMAN BEGINS film currently includes links to several organizations providing financial relief to the tsunami victims.

I've been thinking lately--okay, for many years--about how best to carry over this whole "hero" business into the daylight world. For me, that has meant activism (which, as we know, often resembles villainy in the eyes of some onlookers--the same way that, say, the Green Hornet/Batman/Spider-Man appears to be a bad guy in certain circles). But I guess this donation option could apply, too.

It's just sort of weird that there's no explicit conection between the site--otherwise designed solely to promote a new big-budget Hollywood movie--and the action of aiding disaster victims. I see an obvious one, as I've suggested here, but something tells me there may be a similar link on every Warner Bros site.

Even if there was a line on the BB site about how "you, too, can be a hero ... by donating money to a good cause" (which, BTW, strikes me as the B. Wayne approach, not the Bat one), I think I'd be a little creeped out by a major corporation promoting its latest product by exploiting a global tragedy. (Need I remind anyone of the post-9/11 consumer bonanza?)

I'm not suggesting that you NOT give money--and I still haven't figured out exactly how best I can do something, however small, in that regard--but I do worry about:
1. the notion that typing your credit card number and expiration date into a website can provide the illusion of quick and convenient personal closure to a giant, incomprehensible act of natural destruction, and
2. the concept of making an upcoming movie blockbuster seem virtuous by connecting it to said disaster.

A thorny situation, as so many are. And, again, the bigger question is: what can we, the handful of folks who dress up in comic book costumes and fight our pretend adversaries, really do to make the larger world a better place?

Any thoughts?