The rosebush of nostalgia does tangle, cut and choke.
And every bloom just out of reach.
There are few things that can pull you as music does. Can pull you to a person, a place, a time, a version of yourself. Who you were and how. To fill you with the same gnarled up emotions and self doubt and wishes for amorous entanglements. A human history told in mixtape.
And this is a version of you with no armour. There is nothing to protect you. This mixtape is a cross section of your soul laid bare, for all it's rings to be read.
What do you do when someone hands you that very mix? This delicate reconstruction of themselves. Quiet and careful and pure and talented and beautiful and really proud of all of it, but nervous about showing it, because no one has ever seen it all before?
You fucking love it, is what you do.
Because you have no choice. You let yourself be pulled under by it because it is so perfect and so clear and so honest that you can't help yourself. And that person becomes a part of you. As much as them making that tape is about you, listening to it is about THEM. You are sewn into their nostalgia, their soundtrack, even as they are adding notes to yours. A quilt of heartbeats. The thing that bypasses word or touch or even the songs themselves and just send pure emotional content into you. Into your sun; into the star around which the rest of you orbits. Into your nucleus.
And that gives you something. It gives you a bond with that person deeper than friendship or love or respect. It is a shared history. Twin hearts. A slice of the soul in a jar, and gifted to you.
Friday, September 23, 2011
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
An Open Letter to Marvel Comics
Dear Marvel Comics:
Recently, it has come to my attention that Jack Kirby's heirs have been denied any share of copyright on all the Marvel characters and properties he co-created over the years. This is not only an affront to the legacy of a comics legend, long denied his due, despite an abundant wealth of respect in the industry, it is also a blatant slap in the face of the archetypes of heroism that are your bread and butter.
I understand this is legal stuff. I understand this is a money thing, and it is for the judges and the lawyers to decide what is law and what is not. Just because Marvel has the legal right to deny Kirby's heirs a share of the copyright of his works does not mean that you morally SHOULD. What would Steve Rogers do? Or Scott Summers? Or even Jack's Marvel alter-ego, the ever-lovin' blue-eyed Thing?
They would do what is morally right. Not legally, that has been settled in a court of law by those best equipped to decide it. The right thing to do is to allow the family to retain a share of Jack's creations. For the memory of the man. For the legacy. I understand that a boycott of your products from a few fervent fans is not even going to slow the cogs of what is now a multimedia empire. But I implore you, as a fan and a reader of Marvel comics since the age of six, show us some of the heroics that grace the pages of your books. Until you do, those books -those heroes- will not line my shelves.
And I will miss these books. I will miss seeing Captain America during it's theatrical run. I will miss my monthly Amazon order of all the sweet premiere editions I have been buying since I switched from issues to trades. I will miss the upgraded Ultimate edition of Marvel VS Capcom 3. But all of these things will be waiting for me to come back to as soon as you take a stand and do the right thing.
I honestly hope you do. I hope you see this as a chance to give back not only to Jack, but to all the creators who were taken advantage of under the copyright act of 1909 and the statutes of their "work-for-hire" contracts. I love all the Marvel characters I grew up with, the ones Jack had a hand in creating and the ones he did not. I love the writers and artists that have been taking them to new heights over the course of the last five to ten years. And I would call on all the writers and artists, the publishers and editors of Marvel to also take a stand. I know these are not your decisions. I know it's the financiers and the copyrighters and the investors that are ultimately those who decide these matters. But creators have all the power and the clout that Kirby and his peers once dreamed of. I hope that you will use it, and appeal to the money men to wield their "great power" responsibly.
Hopefully Yours,
Alec Burris
Recently, it has come to my attention that Jack Kirby's heirs have been denied any share of copyright on all the Marvel characters and properties he co-created over the years. This is not only an affront to the legacy of a comics legend, long denied his due, despite an abundant wealth of respect in the industry, it is also a blatant slap in the face of the archetypes of heroism that are your bread and butter.
I understand this is legal stuff. I understand this is a money thing, and it is for the judges and the lawyers to decide what is law and what is not. Just because Marvel has the legal right to deny Kirby's heirs a share of the copyright of his works does not mean that you morally SHOULD. What would Steve Rogers do? Or Scott Summers? Or even Jack's Marvel alter-ego, the ever-lovin' blue-eyed Thing?
They would do what is morally right. Not legally, that has been settled in a court of law by those best equipped to decide it. The right thing to do is to allow the family to retain a share of Jack's creations. For the memory of the man. For the legacy. I understand that a boycott of your products from a few fervent fans is not even going to slow the cogs of what is now a multimedia empire. But I implore you, as a fan and a reader of Marvel comics since the age of six, show us some of the heroics that grace the pages of your books. Until you do, those books -those heroes- will not line my shelves.
And I will miss these books. I will miss seeing Captain America during it's theatrical run. I will miss my monthly Amazon order of all the sweet premiere editions I have been buying since I switched from issues to trades. I will miss the upgraded Ultimate edition of Marvel VS Capcom 3. But all of these things will be waiting for me to come back to as soon as you take a stand and do the right thing.
I honestly hope you do. I hope you see this as a chance to give back not only to Jack, but to all the creators who were taken advantage of under the copyright act of 1909 and the statutes of their "work-for-hire" contracts. I love all the Marvel characters I grew up with, the ones Jack had a hand in creating and the ones he did not. I love the writers and artists that have been taking them to new heights over the course of the last five to ten years. And I would call on all the writers and artists, the publishers and editors of Marvel to also take a stand. I know these are not your decisions. I know it's the financiers and the copyrighters and the investors that are ultimately those who decide these matters. But creators have all the power and the clout that Kirby and his peers once dreamed of. I hope that you will use it, and appeal to the money men to wield their "great power" responsibly.
Hopefully Yours,
Alec Burris
Monday, June 27, 2011
my steve rogers
All words ring false and hollow in the face of tragedy. And yet they are all I have to give.
My great friend Joey lost his mother, today. To idiocy. To idiocy and rage and selfishness and self-loathing. And it disgusts me. It pains me. It sickens me. And I dread to think of how it tears at him.
And I am awed. I am awed by his courage and strength. I am awed by the support and the rallying cries and the creativity of the friends that surround him and rush to his side. A wave of good faith that barely begins to illustrate what a great guy he is. And I hope that this loss does not curdle or darken his oversized heart. He's a goddamn hero. He's the most courageous dude I have ever met, and it fills me with pride to know him, and near to bursting that I am able to count him among my friends.
And I did not know much of his mother, who died trying to save her own mother, today. (Her mother -Joey's grandmother- is now safe and well) But I knew her to be kind and caring. And funny. And the kind of woman who would give her own life to save someone else. The kind of woman who raised a son who would do the same. For his family, of course, but really for anyone. And I know it must seem I am idealizing, in the face of this too-close-to-home blowback of gun violence, but I'm not. Joey Breeding is, as anyone who has ever met him will tell you, simply the best dude living. Loyal to his friends and to music and to his beliefs, supportive to all artistry and brotherhood. I know I'm getting a little hallmark-y, but somehow HE does it with the blue-collar, business-as-usual nonchalance of a young Clint Eastwood.
"Yes, I will hold open these doors and help these old ladies with their groceries. Not to show off, or for some great reward, but because this is how we should all live."
And that is where I want to show him that his mom still is. Inside of him and all of his accidental kindnesses. In his hope and his strength. In his humor and his determination. She could only have been the greatest woman, to bestow on him all of these gifts.
I wish that I had more to give. More than my words and my support. Some sort of shelter against the storm he is now facing, rather than the paltry life vest meant simply to keep him afloat. But I am one of many life vests for him to cling to, and his own will and hope lash them together to form a raft, and he navigates it with his heart and with his honor. And if I can help him, even in part, to make it -whole- to safe harbor, it would be MY honor, and my greatest pride, to have done so.
The world is better for having Joey in it.
My great friend Joey lost his mother, today. To idiocy. To idiocy and rage and selfishness and self-loathing. And it disgusts me. It pains me. It sickens me. And I dread to think of how it tears at him.
And I am awed. I am awed by his courage and strength. I am awed by the support and the rallying cries and the creativity of the friends that surround him and rush to his side. A wave of good faith that barely begins to illustrate what a great guy he is. And I hope that this loss does not curdle or darken his oversized heart. He's a goddamn hero. He's the most courageous dude I have ever met, and it fills me with pride to know him, and near to bursting that I am able to count him among my friends.
And I did not know much of his mother, who died trying to save her own mother, today. (Her mother -Joey's grandmother- is now safe and well) But I knew her to be kind and caring. And funny. And the kind of woman who would give her own life to save someone else. The kind of woman who raised a son who would do the same. For his family, of course, but really for anyone. And I know it must seem I am idealizing, in the face of this too-close-to-home blowback of gun violence, but I'm not. Joey Breeding is, as anyone who has ever met him will tell you, simply the best dude living. Loyal to his friends and to music and to his beliefs, supportive to all artistry and brotherhood. I know I'm getting a little hallmark-y, but somehow HE does it with the blue-collar, business-as-usual nonchalance of a young Clint Eastwood.
"Yes, I will hold open these doors and help these old ladies with their groceries. Not to show off, or for some great reward, but because this is how we should all live."
And that is where I want to show him that his mom still is. Inside of him and all of his accidental kindnesses. In his hope and his strength. In his humor and his determination. She could only have been the greatest woman, to bestow on him all of these gifts.
I wish that I had more to give. More than my words and my support. Some sort of shelter against the storm he is now facing, rather than the paltry life vest meant simply to keep him afloat. But I am one of many life vests for him to cling to, and his own will and hope lash them together to form a raft, and he navigates it with his heart and with his honor. And if I can help him, even in part, to make it -whole- to safe harbor, it would be MY honor, and my greatest pride, to have done so.
The world is better for having Joey in it.
Friday, January 21, 2011
the decemberists: the king is dead - instantly judgmental record review
So based on only the first 2 tracks, I would say that the Decemberists have reached that saturation point, where the songs are thematically and lyrically redundant to prior albums and the instrumentalization just becomes increasingly "accessible." (Even a couple guitar hooks are ones I have heard them use before.) There is a difference between having a signature style and just recycling the parts of you that were great. There's only so much reprocessing that can be done before you go from recycled to biodegradable to atomically unstable.
Way to go, folk-rock Weezer. At least you made more than 2 albums before you started eating your own tail.
I remember being blown away by the Billy Liar single. Which I bought on a whim at a Media Play, based entirely on the sweet cover. I remember the anti-folk instruments with his reedy, overinvolved house-of-cards lyrical constructs, and voraciously hunting down everything of theirs I could get my hands on, and constantly being astounded by his storytelling prowess. Catchy and fascinating and nostalgic and moderately educational. Maybe I'm just being a snooty music nerd (only the first two albums are really good, y'know?) but I defy you to listen to "the King is Dead" stacked up against, say, "Picaresque" and tell me a) that the band is the same, and b) that (conversely) you can't hear lyrical and musical redundancies. I think that sentence may implode from it's own convoluted double-negativism, but my point remains.
(At this point in the review I'm 7 tracks in, so if my ire continues to escalate, bear with me.)
Sounds different -more "accessible" (read: sellout), but what they keep is just more of the same rather than part of the whole. It is pretty catchy and overall enjoyable, but it only sounds -to me- enough like the Decemberists of yore to make me want to listen to one of their real albums.
Way to go, folk-rock Weezer. At least you made more than 2 albums before you started eating your own tail.
I remember being blown away by the Billy Liar single. Which I bought on a whim at a Media Play, based entirely on the sweet cover. I remember the anti-folk instruments with his reedy, overinvolved house-of-cards lyrical constructs, and voraciously hunting down everything of theirs I could get my hands on, and constantly being astounded by his storytelling prowess. Catchy and fascinating and nostalgic and moderately educational. Maybe I'm just being a snooty music nerd (only the first two albums are really good, y'know?) but I defy you to listen to "the King is Dead" stacked up against, say, "Picaresque" and tell me a) that the band is the same, and b) that (conversely) you can't hear lyrical and musical redundancies. I think that sentence may implode from it's own convoluted double-negativism, but my point remains.
(At this point in the review I'm 7 tracks in, so if my ire continues to escalate, bear with me.)
Sounds different -more "accessible" (read: sellout), but what they keep is just more of the same rather than part of the whole. It is pretty catchy and overall enjoyable, but it only sounds -to me- enough like the Decemberists of yore to make me want to listen to one of their real albums.
Monday, January 17, 2011
some dreams
so i just slept for like 13 hours.
and i don't know if it was the length of sleep, or just that i knew i had the day off today so nothing else was in my head, or that the last thing i did before falling asleep was read patton oswalt's new book, but i had one of those infinite dreams? you know, the one's where your entire sleep is one continuous story?
and, apparently, we all dream every night we just can't remember sometimes, bla bla bla, but i NEVER remember my dreams. so not only was this an awesome dream, but i actually remember significant portions of it. here are a few gems:
I was traveling with a girl - i'm not going to say who, because by the end of it she had been like 5 different girls. but, you know. girl. dream. dreamgirl. and we check in to a hotel, and the room is a suite. and the room is a pirate-themed suite (i'm pretty sure the girl and i were not dating at this point, because there were two bedrooms, but that could have just been my mind illustrating how huge the suite was) and also INSIDE THE SUITE was a super funtimes gameroom which, by dream logic, was the inside of a toys r us. on their giant entertainment center/product display thing were: the complete transformers dvd set -inside an optimus prime head, and a new ninja turtles toy called pop-ups, which i played with for like 15 minutes, which had a turtle with hyper-elongated extremities, but the legs were spring-loaded so that you could put them in a wacky pose and then make them -you got it- pop-up. my extensive product testing revealed that the arms were posable at the elbow and wrist, but that they could also be collapsed into the shell, and that the legs were posable at the knee, because when the leg retracted the shin collapsed into the thigh, where the spring mechanism was. also, if you twisted the foot when collapsed, it would lock the leg. LATER IN THE DREAM i was thinking about the pop-ups REMEMBERING them from previously and knowing it was in a dream, but not knowing i was still in the same dream, and thinking how their heads should collapse into the shell, too, to make them easier to store and travel with.
so the next scene i remember, i think i was dating the girl, now? and we're in a class, together, apparently. and we're on some mission, or expedition, or something, and she has all of these plastic file cases on wheels and i have a cooler for some reason, and we're in this room and we're talking about the class and how i keep missing it and how does it work, coming back? how do i keep up and i say oh well i never really know what's going on, since i've missed so much at this point, so it's all pretty much the same to me. not understanding the 9th class is pretty much the same as not understanding the 3rd class, and how i'm probably just going to drop it, and then -in the dream- i start to panic and freak out because i CAN'T REMEMBER any of my other classes, so i assume i must be failing them, too. and i open the window to start stacking up her rolling wheel things on the train tracks we're going to be walking along, and i say wait, are we already checked in? we're here to stay, right, for the night? and she says um, no but yes. because i'm thinking rolling these plastic file things along the train tracks is going to be a pain in the ass and we should just empty the cooler into the mini fridge and bring THAT along the train tracks, because it will be easier over the railroad ties. then i start looking around the room and THAT's when i remember that we're not in a hotel this time, but in some friend's house, i don't know him, probably she does, but we're meeting the other members of our group here and it's for some school project or something, and i'm looking around at this guy's apartment (suddenly her no but yeah response makes retroactive sense) and he has a vintage ninja turtle (this one is mike) and it makes me remember the raph pop-up at toys r us earlier and how his head should collapse into his shell. and then the other 2 members of our group or team or geological survey or whatever it is arrive and they start to get settled in. girl is very concerned the one easygoing guy has forgotten the books and he's like "relax, they're right here" and pats his bag. and other guy is going down the hall to get drinks (apparently there is still a soda machine left over from when i imagined it was a hotel. also somehow i know that when he says going to get drinks he is referring to the soda machine and not anything else) and the easygoing guy says he doesn't know, whatever. and i say cherry coke, and if they don't have it dr. pepper and if they don't have that orange soda. and then i clarify that's easygoing guy's order, other guy. we (girl and i) already have drinks. presumably from the cooler i was lugging around. apparently easygoing guy and i are such good friends that i know his soda preferences inside and out. after other guy leaves to get sodas, easygoing guy is unloading his backpack and talking about how his printer wasn't working when he went to print out his stuff so check it out, he brought along a whole printer, which as he's pulling it out of the bag, is an ancient dot matrix printer, to go with his ms dos computer he is also pulling out of his bag and i ask why didn't you just store it on a flash drive and print it out at a staples or kinkos near here. you could have googled it before you left and stopped on the way here. and he says oh yeah.
the end
and i don't know if it was the length of sleep, or just that i knew i had the day off today so nothing else was in my head, or that the last thing i did before falling asleep was read patton oswalt's new book, but i had one of those infinite dreams? you know, the one's where your entire sleep is one continuous story?
and, apparently, we all dream every night we just can't remember sometimes, bla bla bla, but i NEVER remember my dreams. so not only was this an awesome dream, but i actually remember significant portions of it. here are a few gems:
I was traveling with a girl - i'm not going to say who, because by the end of it she had been like 5 different girls. but, you know. girl. dream. dreamgirl. and we check in to a hotel, and the room is a suite. and the room is a pirate-themed suite (i'm pretty sure the girl and i were not dating at this point, because there were two bedrooms, but that could have just been my mind illustrating how huge the suite was) and also INSIDE THE SUITE was a super funtimes gameroom which, by dream logic, was the inside of a toys r us. on their giant entertainment center/product display thing were: the complete transformers dvd set -inside an optimus prime head, and a new ninja turtles toy called pop-ups, which i played with for like 15 minutes, which had a turtle with hyper-elongated extremities, but the legs were spring-loaded so that you could put them in a wacky pose and then make them -you got it- pop-up. my extensive product testing revealed that the arms were posable at the elbow and wrist, but that they could also be collapsed into the shell, and that the legs were posable at the knee, because when the leg retracted the shin collapsed into the thigh, where the spring mechanism was. also, if you twisted the foot when collapsed, it would lock the leg. LATER IN THE DREAM i was thinking about the pop-ups REMEMBERING them from previously and knowing it was in a dream, but not knowing i was still in the same dream, and thinking how their heads should collapse into the shell, too, to make them easier to store and travel with.
so the next scene i remember, i think i was dating the girl, now? and we're in a class, together, apparently. and we're on some mission, or expedition, or something, and she has all of these plastic file cases on wheels and i have a cooler for some reason, and we're in this room and we're talking about the class and how i keep missing it and how does it work, coming back? how do i keep up and i say oh well i never really know what's going on, since i've missed so much at this point, so it's all pretty much the same to me. not understanding the 9th class is pretty much the same as not understanding the 3rd class, and how i'm probably just going to drop it, and then -in the dream- i start to panic and freak out because i CAN'T REMEMBER any of my other classes, so i assume i must be failing them, too. and i open the window to start stacking up her rolling wheel things on the train tracks we're going to be walking along, and i say wait, are we already checked in? we're here to stay, right, for the night? and she says um, no but yes. because i'm thinking rolling these plastic file things along the train tracks is going to be a pain in the ass and we should just empty the cooler into the mini fridge and bring THAT along the train tracks, because it will be easier over the railroad ties. then i start looking around the room and THAT's when i remember that we're not in a hotel this time, but in some friend's house, i don't know him, probably she does, but we're meeting the other members of our group here and it's for some school project or something, and i'm looking around at this guy's apartment (suddenly her no but yeah response makes retroactive sense) and he has a vintage ninja turtle (this one is mike) and it makes me remember the raph pop-up at toys r us earlier and how his head should collapse into his shell. and then the other 2 members of our group or team or geological survey or whatever it is arrive and they start to get settled in. girl is very concerned the one easygoing guy has forgotten the books and he's like "relax, they're right here" and pats his bag. and other guy is going down the hall to get drinks (apparently there is still a soda machine left over from when i imagined it was a hotel. also somehow i know that when he says going to get drinks he is referring to the soda machine and not anything else) and the easygoing guy says he doesn't know, whatever. and i say cherry coke, and if they don't have it dr. pepper and if they don't have that orange soda. and then i clarify that's easygoing guy's order, other guy. we (girl and i) already have drinks. presumably from the cooler i was lugging around. apparently easygoing guy and i are such good friends that i know his soda preferences inside and out. after other guy leaves to get sodas, easygoing guy is unloading his backpack and talking about how his printer wasn't working when he went to print out his stuff so check it out, he brought along a whole printer, which as he's pulling it out of the bag, is an ancient dot matrix printer, to go with his ms dos computer he is also pulling out of his bag and i ask why didn't you just store it on a flash drive and print it out at a staples or kinkos near here. you could have googled it before you left and stopped on the way here. and he says oh yeah.
the end
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