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RKYV # 45 {Mar. 2011} - “At the Outset: A Few Thoughts from - “Crossing Over”
the Editor” - by James Gibson
RKYV ONLINE LOGO – - By r. j. paré
David Marshall {current} - “Grimoire – Act Three”
r. j. paré {modified}Roy G. James Crafts Corner - by Scott Claringbold
{original} - by Mia Tokatlian
Poetry
Virtual Cover # 45 Syndicated Comic Strip Review - By Frances Nichols Vargas, Wanda
- Photo by Ryan Ruffatti - “Bob and Doug McKenzie - the VanHoy Smith, Stephen Campbell &
- Design/Layout by David Marshall Comic Strip” r. j. paré
- By Nik Poliwko & Tom Nesbitt
Interior Art Pop Culture
- By r. j. paré, Mike Grattan, James Featured Artist Review - “Digital Scribbles,” “O.E.L.ove” &
‘Jig-One’ Titman, Roger Price, Roy G. - “Ryan Ruffatti” “Manga Maximus”
James, Russell Ashley, De Tourist, - By r. j. paré - By Darke Raven
Amber Blair, Marc Olivent, Larissa
Gula, Tindersen Blacktree Hoopdriver Short Fiction - “Raised on Saturday Morning
- “On a bicycle built for three – Part 2” Cartoons”
- by R. Patrick James - By Pauline Paré
by De Tourist
At the Outset:
A few thoughts
from, The Editor…
by r. j. paré
Welcome everybody to issue # 45 of RKYV Online. As many of you know, I’m an old school comic geek. I
also write & publish my own comics under the Speakeasy Primates banner. In the last few years, with an
economy that has been spiralling down the drain - I have noticed this art-form struggling to stay alive.
Arguments have been put forward about the advent of new technologies and the changing tastes of new
generations. Some of these are valid… but really, only up to a point.
Let’s be frank, comics, especially comics aimed at a younger audience are supposed to be an inexpensive form
of entertainment. They cultural and educational benefits of comics are quite tangible: they foster an appreciation
for art in children and encourage them towards literacy. So, why has the industry been going bankrupt?
In my, humble, opinion it all comes down to cost. The publishers have tried to convince us that inflation, or
increased production costs are to blame… but I just don’t buy it!
Inflation doesn't begin to cover the gouging the big publishers have done to readers. I am 41 and starting
reading comics in grade school. Early on, they were usually on the newsstand for .25 to .35. In the last few
years, 3.99 has been the norm. That is an almost 1500% increase. Yes paper and print quality have improved,
yes creators are paid more... but please - in no industry would consumers accept such an increase.
And so the industry stopped marketing to children. It made the disastrous decision to put all of their eggs in one
basket: keep marketing to an older age group, essentially give up on ever gaining new readers and just hope the
ones you have - a) continue to buy & b) don't die on ya. That is an insane way to run a business.
Absolutely it was right to take advantage of older fans and market some books with more adult themes and
content towards them. However the industry's massive print runs in the old days were built on marketing to kids
and without each generation of kids growing up loving the medium, there are no older fans to buy the more
expensive books. It was a bankruptcy spiral just waiting to happen.
What can be done to save this medium?
Well, let's compare: when I was a child and went to the store with my .50 allowance, my brothers would spend
their entire allowance on chocolate bars, whereas I would buy a comic and still have some money left over for
some penny candy or liquorice. Now think about that...chocolate bars have gone up in price as well... from .50
to an average 1.00 - 1.50 in most places. They were once more expensive than comics and are now less than 1/2
the price of a comic book. This is a HUGE factor when trying to develop a younger audience. In fact with the
push on to stop kids from having sugary sweets you'd think comic companies would use this as a marketing
strategy for an entire line of DC/Marvel 1 dollar comics. These could be situated right next to checkout stands
again, specifically to give parents an alternative "treat" when out shopping. If they want to have another
generation fall in love with this medium - they'd better start getting creative.
In fact we could dub this campaign "Comics Instead of Candy" and the books could be printed on a cheaper
type of paper... heck if you went back to a more pulp paper style 4-colour edition of Superman @ 1.00 a pop
you could sell a million copies and make your profit via volume.
But I digress…
This issue of RKYV is chock full of art – lit goodness. From Ryan Ruffatti’s eye catching work, which he has
graciously shared with us, in the Featured Artist of the Month column; to our Columnists Darke Raven and
Pauline Paré, who once again share their often thoughtful, witty and revealing opinions.
As well, returning poets Frances Nichols Vargas, Wanda VanHoy Smith, Stephen Campbell & yours truly –
r. j. paré – provide some new poetic verse for you to [hopefully] enjoy.
I would be sorely remiss if I did not take a moment to thank the talented artists [credited throughout this edition]
who have shared their amazing work with us. Their contributions to RKYV truly make this e-Zine a joy to
produce.
Darke Raven’s RKYV Blog & Pod Casts – vote for your favourite segments!
http://rkyvrevue.blogspot.com/
RKYV Editorial Video Blog – watch me act the fool and hype the Zine!
http://www.youtube.com/user/RKYVONLINE
RKYV ONLINE Facebook Group – post submissions and interact with other contributors!
http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=2399067108
Well folks, that’s about all outta me this time around. It’s time to shut my yap and let you enjoy the Zine.
Publisher’s Note: Really, any time is a good time for Mr. Paré to shut his, aforementioned, yap and let
you, the readers, enjoy your monthly fix of RKYV ONLINE.
by Roger Price
Mia Tokatlian
BIO: I have been creating wire wrap, beaded and sculptural
jewelry for over 20 years and I enjoy adding small spiritual or
magical elements to what I create.
Copper Circlet
If you would like to see more or different images please let me know.
Water Goddess
Earth Air 2
Links:
http://www.etsy.com/shop/elementaljewels
mia_tokatlian@yahoo.com
Introduction
It's not often, but sometimes you can pit mainstream comics versus OELManga (and occasionally Japanese
Manga) by the titles they keep. For instance you can pit, say, Manga Styles of MARVEL Comics versus
mainstream... if you have an eternity, happen to be immortal, and a total MARVELite... which I'm not so I'll
never do it. Hmm... how about something simple? After all, it's only 1 year to go after June 2011 before we get
Star Trek 12.
Star Trek 12, aka Star Trek 2 (Version 2), the sequel to the most recent reboot of Star Trek opening an alternate
reality (or to be more precise what I consider continuing where Star Trek Enterprise left off with the 23rd
Century of that reality) that... well... hasn't been touched at all and won't be touched here. To count down we'll
have two Trek on Trek bash fests, Mainstream versus OELManga.
But first... a brief history.
The first Star Trek comics began with Gold Key, and while the comics were drawn by a person who never
actually saw Star Trek (for years and years and issues on end the glaring visual errors done by a person who
hadn't watched a stitch of Trek could fill a book with content) it was also one of the most fan favorite series for
being most ground breaking, engaging and rather innovative for it's time.. even if it suffered the slings and
arrows of writing problems that took forever to flesh out the characters to fit the ones from the core TV Series,
and those glaring errors (fire flying out of the warp nacelles and sometimes the shuttle bay, interior shots that
didn't match the series, glaring errors with races like Klingons and so forth).
By Star Trek the Motion Picture the next company to have hold of Star Trek,
MARVEL Comics, hit the ground running... and fell flat shortly after launch. It won't
be until post Star Trek II The Wrath of Khan, and DC Comics first go, that a Trek run
will be as fruitful and iconic as Gold Key's run (especially the ground breaking run
between Star Trek III and IV in which Kirk was Captain of the Excelsior after
stopping an invasion from the Mirror Mirror universe, Spock had his own command
as Captain of the USS Surak (sadly only a few stories exist of Captain Spock and his
crew of the Surak before Star Trek IV turned everything upside down and demanded
a redo of the comic killing off the entire crew of the Surak in the process).
Star Trek then shifted back and forth between MARVEL and DC for a time, with only one other company
(Malibu Comics, which was swallowed up by MARVEL Comics eventually) holding reign over Trek up to the
most recent past. Over this time a few special events happened, most notable the Star Trek/X-Men crossover
books (I read the first one, which was rather good).
Today of course Star Trek is in the hands of IDW Publishing, though to date they have only touched on the
original Universe Trek, and have not gone father which is sad since next year I'm focusing on Star Trek the
Next Generation in next year's Trek battle Mainstream vs. Manga... but I have words on that, believe you me, I
have words on that.
But this is OELManga versus Mainstream, so let's get to it' Starting off... oh, wait, one more thing of importance
concerning the entire review batch of Star Trek the Manga.
One of the most prevalent and constant complaints I have heard from people concerning Star Trek the Manga is
that it's artwork doesn't do the series justice. It doesn't look like the cast, it doesn't look like Kirk and Spock and
McCoy and all that, and to be truthful it won't instill that impression on you (the three volumes)... but that's the
nature of the beast that is manga, and to be honest a lot of you are rather spoiled (myself too) when it comes to
Star Trek art.
We too often compare mainstream comics (DC or MARVEL or IDW) and their solid down pat artwork that
reminds us fully of the cast quite well, which manga isn't... at least... not this batch of Artists that I've seen. I
know a small handful of artists of manga who could probably do as solid a job as DC or MARVEL or IDW's
finest... but then this wouldn't be OELManga, this would be Manga Maximus... because those artists? They're in
Japan, and they're not doing this manga. It's manga style, not the die hard realism of mainstream comic art, it's
playful and artistic and beautiful... and yes, takes way too many liberties at times with the looks of well
established characters like Kirk, Spock, McCoy and so forth... but it's manga. We can forgive it for not being
photo perfect because it's manga, and that is the nature of the beast... OK, now the versus review challenge.
Digital Scribbles
This Month's Experiment
Star Trek Vs Part 1 of 3
Star Trek Assignment Earth
By John Byrne (Writer/Artist)
IDW Publishing
Before we review this you need to go back, back, back to the end of
the second season of the original Star Trek. The season finale
episode, Assignment Earth, was originally meant to be a spin off
series starring the pairing of Gary Seven (a Doctor Who meets James
Bond style human trained by aliens from a distant part of the galaxy
as part of a secret policing force that watches over the events of their
assigned worlds and keep the peace), and Roberta Lincoln (aka a
young Teri Garr). Obviously Assignment Earth never happened, and
it wouldn't be until years later that spin offs became all the rage (after
Star Trek The Next Generation synched with it's audience) with
shows like Deep Space Nine, Voyager, and finally Enterprise (not to
mention the legion of spin offs that only saw creation in print in both
books and comics, video games, and other forms of media both
physical and internet virtual).
So bring in IDW, as they launch a five part mini set as the TV Series
that never was, starring Gary Seven, Roberta and Isis keeping an eye
on the late 60's and early 70's one mission at a time.
Issue One takes place three months after the end of Assignment
Earth as Gary Seven and Roberta are hanging off the end of a tall
skyscraper in Alberquerque New Mexico on the trail of transporter
blocking future technology... which seems to have been cobbled
together by the Soviet Russians for some strange reason. But that,
for now, has to be shelved as they are in pursuit of a Russian spy out
to sabotage a new weapons project codenamed Hercules, which may
be more dangerous than anyone realize as it is America's first
attempt at Fusion Bombs (capable of laying waste half the country in
one shot).
Issue Two suddenly puts Seven and Roberta in a pointless tie in with
the Season 1 time traveling episode of Star Trek (Original Series)
when they end up back in time by accident, accidentally pick up an
Air Force Pilot and a military guy, and almost end up disrupting the
space-time continuum by accident... the story is pointless, their being
in the story is pointless, and the ending "hand" they have in the story
is just too pointless... bad story, bad.
Issue Three has Seven and Roberta investigating unrest on a college campus
where students protesting the war in Vietnam clash with the National Guard,
amidst a strange plot by the military to clone soldier Star Wars Episode 2
Attack of the Clones style... oh, and Roberta hooks up with a student leader
and gets herself some... you go girl.
Oh, but on the bright side it's mostly a nice adventure for Seven and
Roberta (one page has Roberta using the Beta 5 to help her dress for a
weekend date, a short Isis story where Isis puts on her best Catwoman
persona to stop a purse snatcher, and Roberta and Seven trying to go
undercover as a married couple with disastrously fun results).
Bad side? The story tries to explain the death of the two supervisors
before Gary Seven, and you at last meet... well, you'll see.
Star Trek as a manga? Yeah, I'm sure it must exist... too bad this isn't it. While there must be some form of
manga Star Trek in Japan somewhere (and by that I don't just mean porn or quirky one shot porn stories like
that weird William Shatner slash Leonard Nimoy hooking up with some hot ladies behind the scenes on the set
of Star Trek in this one story I remember... from "Milk" I think"... ) I mean mainstream manga tales of Star
Trek. It must exist. This, however, isn't it. TOKYOPOP, one of its quirks is getting mainstream talents together
to crank out OELManga style series... and fresh original content for companies like Disney... and stuff... but
that's for future talk. This is the first of three volumes of Star Trek the Manga (OELManga technically).
Split into three factions, Shinsei Shinsei (New Lives/New Stars), Kakan ni Shinkou (To Boldy Go) and Uchu
(Space), the series is a trilogy anthology featuring a batch of different Artists and Writers (May we have a Will
Wheaton slash Ensign Crusher written tale about the Klingons BTW) and while it seems IDW has big gun
talents that isn't to mean that you can sneeze at the talents doing Star Trek's manga... even if this volume comes
off as rather... pedestrian.
First off if you’re buying it off the Playstation Network like I did? DO NOT BUY THE FIRST ONE! That is a
half sized color version of the first story, Side Effects, and it looks nice but you have to buy the second one
anyway to get the full story so you might as well skip buying the first one. Save yourself a dollar.
First off is Side Effects, which is in short the
non-canon "origin" of the Borg... but mostly
an excuse to set Kirk and company versus the
Borg, explain their origins (which seems to
tie them into the Delta Quadrant body wasting
disease known as the Phage.
Though they don't come out and call the disease they're dying
from the Phage but it does have similarities... for instance the
cannibalization of multiple body parts from many alien species
in order to survive) and the origin of the Borg Queen... yeah,
right.
Third story is just sad but for all the wrong reasons. Til Death
has the crew running into a dysfunctional male and female who
turns the entire crew's male and female populace upon each
other... until the two die a rather pointless "War of the Roses:"
(as in the Michael Douglas movie about how bitter divorce can
be) death... geesh!
Fourth story has the Enterprise at wits end... probably because this is the work artistry work of all five stories...
as they are running diplomatic duties bringing gifts of rare animals and funny interactive alien art between
formerly warring planets looking to make with the peace... oh, expect one of the species to not want peace as
their gift is a booby trap... guess which gift! Go on! Guess!
Finally it's your one and only chance to see what Star Trek versus Gundam would look like as the Enterprise is
set upon by mobile suit like mechas, being drawn into a situation with child warriors now out of work since the
war they fought is no longer happening or something like that (forced to steal and terrorize to survive).
Story 1
I liked Assignment Earth's issue better than the Borg story from the Manga. It just had more punch, and wasn't a
throwaway story easily forgotten by Trek continuity... damn you Paramount!
Story 2
Star Trek the Manga. It was more touching, poignant, sad... and wasn't entirely pointless unlike the Assignment
Earth issue.
Story 3
Star Trek Assignment Earth. Anything but Til Death... that and Roberta... well... you know.
Story 5
Star Trek the Manga. Heck, it's Star Trek versus Gundam
(sorta)... and it's pretty solid even if they draw Kirk to look
like a kid sometimes in this story... what the hell!
That leaves the tie breaker, Story 4... and the winner is...
Star Trek Assignment Earth. Both stories had their good
points, and both stories were a bit rough. And while each had
it's reasons to fail (whale) (Assignment Earth's pointless
nemesis and ending versus the obvious story roll and end to
Oban in the Manga) I have to say the quirks of Assignment
Earth were just more satisfying than with the Manga... and
really, that story was the worst drawn of the lot as they really,
really did NOT look at all like the main crew at all the way
they were drawn here! Come on!
Next time it's Spartacus the Motion Comic, a "fearsome" (cough, cough) tale of blood, violence, rape and naked
women giving birth (with their nipples covered throughout)... versus a truly fearsome and terrifying tale of a
girl... 8 years old... ginger haired... full of destructive intent and a brilliantly askew intellect... fear, for over the
hills, and far away, Amy has come... to slay! (Raising Amy the Bundle set!) See you next month!
The Weeping Willow – by Amber Blair
Featured Artist
Review
Ryan Ruffatti
by r. j. paré
I really didn’t think about becoming a photographer until I was in high school, where it was something that
came very quickly to me.
I originally was a Computer Science Major, and continued to take art classes and work as a photographer for
local newspapers on the side. After a couple of years, and never given the opportunity to learn a proper
programming language I decided it wasn’t what I wanted and switched to Mass Communications with a focus
on web and graphic design.
3. Who was your primary source of encouragement, as a child, in pursuing your craft?
My parents were great with encouraging me growing up. My mom is very craft-y and would give us art projects
to do. My dad was a computer engineer and would do larger more physical projects with him, as well as he got
me going with an interest in science. It was a great balance. I personally think having a good knowledge of art
and science really does complement each other.
4. What is your favourite media to work with?
Artist:
Ryan Ruffatti
Title: Alice Drink Me
Medium: Photography
Date Created:
Aug 2007
I spent a lot of time working at a costume shop where I got to learn to be a make up artist. It’s a great skill that I
really enjoy bringing to my photos. It really helps me make more unique characters, monsters and zombies then
I could without it. Also I apparently have a special technique with my lighting. Other photographers have
wondered what I’m doing with the lights to get the shadows in my work. Personally I love the shadows. I think
it really gives the images more of a comic book and pulp look to them.
I like looking at comic books, drawings and paintings. Something that is depicting the world in a unique way. I
find it’s a great challenge to look at what comes out of limitless possibilities and see if there is a way I could
translate some of that idea into a image captured in a fraction of a second and bound by the laws of physics.
Beyond that movies are a great sense of inspiration. Finding a film with great camera work where they are
willing to push the limits of lighting and how they tell the story visually is always a great place to look for ideas
and things to challenge myself with.
7. How would you categorize your style?
Artist:
Ryan Ruffatti
Title: Curse
Medium: Photography & Makeup
Date Created:
Jul 2010
Alex Ross and Frank Frazetta were probably the first whose work kinda pushed me to doing this style of
photography. They tended to be very realistic styles and it made sense to me strive and try to attempt some of
the things they were doing in painting in a photographic setting. I think Sam Raimi’s Evil Dead and Joss
Whedon’s Serenity really showcase an outstanding level of pushing things with the camera work and I visually
get a lot out of that. Then I’d have to give some props to Salvador Dali for shooting weird ass photos even back
in the day.
10. What do you think of the term "starving artist"? Specifically, does the struggle to pay the bills; to be
compensated for one's work; influence what an artist will or won't pursue based on perceived commercial
value?
I’ve joked before with friends when I’m working on a commission that I don’t care much about that, “Their
money is just as green as anyone else’s.” I think if you are struggling to pay the bills that there is absolutely a
desire to make art that is going to bring in a little cash. When you are creating work in an environment where
money doesn’t matter it definitely changes the playing field for the outcome. But I don’t think that making art
for money instantly corrupts the work itself. I think a great artist will put themselves, and find the creativity, in
their work regardless and will make what they really want to see. That shared vision will be what earns them
money.
Artist:
Ryan Ruffatti
Title: Join Us
Medium: Photography & Makeup
Date Created:
Oct 2008
I think the illusion is that people tend to think there weren’t post production enhancements before. Many of the
core features in Photoshop tend to be based off things photographers had been doing in the darkroom for
decades. The main difference was it was only available to people with skill and [access to] a darkroom before.
“Hands on” will never go away, because you still need a great photograph to start with. I know people who will
do a half-assed job while shooting and say the classic, “We’ll fix that in Photoshop later.” No matter how good
they are at Photoshop, it will not look as good as it would if it was shot properly in the first place. Photoshop is
a tool when used properly is a great asset, but can’t be used as a magic wand to take the place to skill.
12. If you could meet any famous creator, living
or dead, what would you ask them?
Artist:
Ryan Ruffatti
Title: Noir
Medium: Photography
Date Created:
Dec 2007
I never really feel a sense of competition. Everyone is kind of doing their own thing, and I think that’s
awesome. I’ll admit I do get a twinge of jealousy when I see someone do something I’ve done or want to do and
they do it better.
I’m pretty lazy about marketing myself. I have a full time job as a graphic designer. Actually my title is
Marketing Coordinator. I put so much work into marketing their that I have a tendency to sit back and let
whatever happen, happen art wise. But my marketing philosophy has always been to try to be a part of the
community and provide something where people will want to consistently come back to you.
Most of the time, I have a pretty steady stream of ideas. I keep a couple sketch books that I keep around that I
write stuff down so I have a good place to draw stuff from. Not every idea is epic, but I have fun chasing after
any idea big or small.
16. While traditional publishing and distribution has become
a difficult goal to achieve for the modern Indie comic creator,
what do you think of the impact that social networks and
POD services have had as an alternate means of connecting
you, your work and your audience?
Artist:
Ryan Ruffatti
Title: Not of this World
Medium: Photography & Makeup
Date Created:
Jul 2010
rjp: For me, the most intriguing pieces of art are the ones
that leave me wanting more. Who is this alien nymph, where
is she from and why is she here? And, more importantly,
what is that she is looking at, stage left?
Artist:
Ryan Ruffatti
Title: Comix
Medium: Photography
Date Created:
Jun 2007
Thanks to Nik & Tom for this continuing look back into the world of those iconic Canadian hosers...
Cheers, Russ
Short Fiction
ON A BICYCLE BUILT FOR THREE
by R. Patrick James
- Part 2 –
The next day, about twenty-six hours later, two inquiries were filed with the Missing Persons section of the
police department. The wife of the general manager of a local credit union financial reported that her husband
had not come home that night as per usual; service employees at the credit union reported that that same general
manager had failed to report to work. His name was Tim Connolly; he was no longer the general manager of
Delta 1 Credit Union nor would he be playing golf again. The financial institution has a staff of thirteen
including section mangers, a Board of Directors of ten, and 1420 members. All suspects.
***
The Jones Gang sat with puzzled looks on their unshaven faces still dressed in their golf duds in an old sixties-
styled diner slash pub slash watering hole sipping lukewarm coffee, munching limp, soggy toast. Their ever
present, trademark bicycle chained to the ’No Parking’ sign by the curb outside where they could see it.
“If we could find that club head, we could get forensics to match it with the spear shaft.” Rex, Jr. postulated.
“And it would help to find the damn wallet.” stating the obvious.
“True, but wouldn’t the club head float? Metal heads are hollow, no? and wooden ones would naturally float,”
Dad wondered just like his favourite ‘investigator’, Jeremy House of that Fox hit series on Tuesday nights.
A stranger entered the pub. He was a presence - a big raw-boned ox of a man, steel wool for hair, with
hamhocks for fists, who’d just as soon batter your face raw as tip his hat to your presence in a crowded room.
His bearing not regal, but haunting, overbearing, sort of filled the room. Needless to say, he was noticed. The
place suddenly became quiet, deathly quiet. The question was, “Why? What did he want?” The hope on each
imbiber’s mind was, “Not me!”
Eyes darted from the ox to the glasses of golden barley soup in front of each as their shoulders slowly rounded,
then to one another with a weird quizzical look in their bloodshot eyes, hoping to blend into the tattered vinyl
and chrome sixties-furniture of the diner.
He never said a word, just held up two thick vertical fingers in a ‘V’ and then the same two gnarled digits
horizontally. The bartender, transfixed, quickly brought two draughts and a double chaser of Southern Comfort
- fuel for whatever troubled him, temporarily soothing his calamitous soul.
The anxious occupants fidgeted inside their skins not wanting to show any signs of overt concern, nor make any
sudden movements. Yet one by one they slid quietly off their stools, glided as if part of the dirty linoleum
across the floor and slipped out the worn vinyl-covered door with brass studs into what they thought was the
safety of the sun-drenched exterior. Deluded fools they were. He had already infected them with his look and
silence. They couldn’t forget, merely escape.
All, of course, save for the Jones Gang. They couldn’t be intimidated that easily. They had to deal with
Bulldog Mulveney constantly. They sat in a bit of a dumbfounded hush. Still the hair on the back of Danny’s
neck did stand up. He leaned over and whispered, “Suspect number 1447.”
***
The two sons and their dad peddled up to the front door of Delta 1 Credit Union. They felt out of sheer instinct
that the horrific tragic death of one Mr. Tim Connolly was
directly connected here and they came to become members, aware from the promo brochures that “members
were owners”, and their queries had to be answered. There was a definite pall as expected over the premises as
they entered. Not exactly business as usual, but business does roll on.
Rex. Jr. was immediately seduced by the shelves of used books off to the side as a
fundraiser for a worthy cause. Danny estimated his brother would be distracted from their primary purpose for
at least the next half hour.
Opening an account, processing the paperwork and depositing into a shares account took about twenty minutes,
enough time to ask about the institution’s operating procedures, its by-laws and affiliations and the
responsibilities and obligations of their, now ’our’, Board of Directors. They each had spoken to a section
manager, a Loans Officer, a Public Relations Officer and a Mutual Funds Officer, none of whom really cared
for the deceased. It seems he was always attempting to tamper with their salary/ commissions ratios. Rex. Jr.
had learned that there were strained relations between Mr. Connolly and one of the Directors, a Mr. Thomas
Johnsville, whom Connolly threatened with physical harm. Most of the other employees were quite satisfied
with their jobs, always looking for promotion opportunities and seemed fairly respectful of the deceased.
As they peddled in unison away from the CU, Danny reinforced their theory that that was a place for concern,
which Bud said was a nexus of trouble, playing his one-upmanship card. Rex, Sr. agreed, but pointed out that
he was still bothered by the odd appearance of the Ox back at the diner. “There has to be a connection. He’s
new around these parts.”
Dad was the only one clever enough to note the license plate number of the ‘97 candy apple red Mustang driven
by the Ox. He checked with a longtime lady friend of his down at the Ministry of Transportation bureau and
learned that it belonged to a Gerald Semande, known address London, Ontario. Records revealed that the Ox
had a history of violence. The information took the form of satisfaction as Dad was convinced that Bulldog
Mulveney would have no knowledge of this. In fact, Max would likely still be questioning the deceased’s wife
based solely on the fact that he learned the two of them were estranged for over two months and in a hostile
debate over possessions. For him, she was prime suspect. Reasonable but unlikely and too obvious, according
to Dad. Max was simply barking up the wrong tree.
When Dad had revealed his information to his boys, Bud’s memory banks went into high gear. He remembered
a large plaque over the bookcase back at the CU commemorating those who had achieved 50 years of
membership. One of them was an Olivia Semande.
It didn’t take long for the Jones Gang to arrive at the doorstep of the elder stateswoman’s residence. Their odd
mode of transportation and the utter intimidation of size and numbers made widow Semande quite nervous. Not
wanting to appear defensive, she readily invited the trio in. She offered them tea, but they all declined.
After introducing themselves and stating their purpose for being there, Rex, Jr. began by confirming that she
was a member of the Delta 1 Credit Union. It was apparent that that opening question struck a high note in Mrs.
Semande as her eyes widened and quickly narrowed.
“Why, yes. He’s my nephew, son to my late sister, Agnes. Why do you ask?”
“He’s been spotted here in town. Have you seen him lately?”
“You must be very pleased with the services at Delta. You’ve been a member for quite a long time.”
“Oh, nothing really. It’s just that the General Manager was found dead yesterday. Were you not aware?”
Widow Semande showed no marked reaction, no surprise. “This is the first I hear of it. This is shocking! How
did it happen?”
“Heart attack on the golf course, I suppose? He was always on that confounded golf course.”
“Well, he was always bragging about his accomplishments in golf, joking about it at the AGM, annual general
meeting of the membership. Should have spent more time looking after my money, instead of eliminating
privileges for seniors and reducing interest rates. Called it “The business of doing business, the cost of doing
business. Gotta keep the business above water.” So we paid for it with our hard earned money and my late
husband’s inheritance, while his salary kept increasing annually. Probably paid for his club membership, too.”
The anger in her voice was shrill and grating by this time.
Danny said it was time to leave. Agreeing that she posed no flight risk at her age, and that the octogenarian
quite clearly had motive and means through her nephew as accomplice, they paid a visit to Max Mulveney’s
office.
Within the next half hour, the proud trio sat on the bicycle seats outside the Semande home watching as Olivia
was lead away in cuffs screaming in that same shrill voice, “Someone had to put a stop to him!” Bulldog
Mulveney took one glance in the trio’s direction and mumbled something unintelligible under his breath.
Gerald Semande was bound in another patrol car. The missing club head and wallet were found in the trunk of
his candy apple red ‘97 Mustang. Money is a great motivator.
Grimoire
*************************************
by Scott Claringbold
For Lisa
My better half
Chapter 4
Chapter 4
Grimoire hung in the night sky searching for the fleeing Deadwood. Several blocks down the black-clad figure
moved with purpose, jumping from rooftop to rooftop. With a beat of his mighty wings the creature thrust
forward and was soon circling the man from above.
“Forget it!” Deadwood shouted. “The sample is ours. There’s no going back for you my friend.”
“Friend? That’s one thing you and I will never be.” retorted Grimoire.
“I’m crushed.” Deadwood mocked and continued his run across the roof.
Grimoire alighted and landed the on corner of the roof. He took several quick strides and was soon only a few
steps away from Deadwood.Deadwood pulled a gun, this one was much bigger than the pistol he had held to
Marks’ head.
The creature froze where he was. Grimoire knew he had a thick hide but he wasn’t sure it could stop bullets or
whatever this contraption fired.
This caused the man to bellow with laughter. The sound reverberated through the night.
“That’s a good one. I really don’t think there’s a place for you in Heaven.”
“I have done terrible things but it was not by my hand.” Grimoire replied.
The man snorted. “Yeah well when I first entered that
room and saw all those body parts they were ripped
apart by your hands.” Deadwood shot back.
“Just hand over the sample and you can live to fight
another day.”
Deadwood made use of the situation by grabbing the horns on the beasts head and pulling him off his feet.
Despite his lean build the man was surprisingly strong and Grimoire felt himself sailing through the air with
some speed. Deadwood reached for the case that he dropped and pulled himself up into a fighting stance all in
one move.
“Ryan Winters is dead.” Grimoire shot back. “You and your Organisation made sure of that.”
“We gave you the chance to extend your life.” Deadwood replied.
The man soared over the edge of the building and clattered onto the fire
escape below. Deadwood winced as he tried to stand. The fall had broken a
bone a bone in his leg he was sure. He grimaced at the effort but he steadily
began to descend the fire escape. He glanced upwards looking for the next
attack from Grimoire. The creature peered over the edge and the light caught
the fury in his eyes. Deadwood realised that he needed to put some distance
between him and Grimoire before the demon lost control and it decided that
the man was lunch. Deadwood reached the end of the fire escape, he heard
the wings of his aggressor fluttering in the light breeze and he dropped the
last ten feet. He squealed with pain as his feet hit the ground but he was into
a run within seconds.
Grimoire tried to keep to the shadows so as not to give away his position. Deadwood fished around in a pocket
in his suit. He pulled out a cell phone but as he looked down to punch in the number the device disappeared;
snatched away by the creature pursuing him.
“Damn it!” Deadwood screamed. “Even if you take the serum there’s no way your ‘condition’ can be reversed.
You are what you are. Accept it.”
“I don’t have to accept anything.” The winged monster dropped from the sky and grabbed the man roughly by
his shoulders. It lifted him off his shoulders and hurled him into a wall. The impact caused the man to howl as
the brick bit into his skin.
Grimoire noticed that the case was attached to his belt by a clip. The beast reached for it but the man brought up
his knee and caught Grimoire squarely in the chest. It seemed to catch the beast off guard and he staggered
backwards.
Deadwood swung his pistol and it struck Grimoire on the side of his
head, cutting the thick hide. Dark red blood trickled down his face.
“You should just work with us Grim. You can’t lead a normal life
anymore. Let us find you a place you belong.”
“I have somewhere I belong. Here in this city. Keeping the people safe from the likes of you.”
“You ate these people or did you forget that!” Deadwood sniggered.
“I can only do the decent thing and try and make amends.” Grimoire replied.
“Well that’s ok then. You probably ate someone’s mother, sister, daughter, father, brother or son but they will
sleep better at night knowing there is a freak like you looking out for them.”
Deadwood glanced down the alley looking for a way out but Grimoire wasn’t about to let him out of here that
easily. Overhead he saw lights in the distance and Deadwood grinned.
“That will be the cavalry.” He said. Sure enough Grimoire made out the high-tech helicopter as it approached.
The blades whispered silently so as not to draw attention to itself. A searchlight hit the alley and settled on
Deadwood. A ladder dropped from the side and two men trained their large taser weapons on Grimoire.
“I’ll pass.”
Deadwood grabbed the ladder as it came nearer and he heaved himself upwards. For a second the men with the
weapons were distracted and Grimoire vanished into the dark.
“I dunno.”
As the helicopter started to lift Deadwood could see another ‘copter in the sky. “Come on get out of here it’s the
cops.”
“It looks like you failed again hero. I’m going to be another ghost to add to the faces that haunt your dreams.”
The monster grabbed the glass shard and yanked it from the man’s chest.
“Arrggghhhhh!”
“No you don’t pal. I’m not letting you off that easy.” Grimoire replied. The creature grabbed the satchel still
clipped to Deadwood’s belt. It clicked the locks and removed the syringe.
“I can’t let your bosses get their hands on this. If Doctor Marks has any sense he will be long gone. He will
destroy his research and disappear.
Deadwood shouted angrily. “They will kill me and you know it.”
“That’s the beauty of it. You would give your life for The Organisation. I wonder how your priorities will
change when they come for you.”
The demon bent towards Deadwood and the man spat at Grimoire’s face. The action caused him to bleed
heavily from his wound and Deadwood’s eyes rolled up into his head as he gagged on the blood spilling into his
lungs. Grimoire looked at the needle in his hand; he could use it on himself and leave the man to die.
The creature knew it wouldn’t do that though. It already had the blood of many on its hands and wanted no
more. Grimoire jabbed the syringe into Deadwood’s neck and pressed down.
The man shook viciously on the floor as the serum began to run through his veins. Grimoire stood and watched
Deadwood as the blood began to quickly congeal on his chest. Within moments the man was propping himself
up with his elbows and staring at the winged figure standing to the side of him.
“I will hunt you down and clip your wings. How would you survive if you couldn’t fly?” Deadwood snarled.
“I think you will have enough to worry about.” Grimoire whispered. “That was the last sample. If The
Organisation find that out then I think they will have no problem in cutting you apart to decipher its secrets.”
Deadwood winced. He knew that was the truth. Some of the patrons that had been hiding behind tables began to
poke their noses out to see what was happening. This was the last place that Grimoire needed to be. It stood and
spread its wings blocking the light; just in case anyone tried to take a photograph on their cell phone.
“You will rue this day for the rest of your life Grimoire.” Deadwood snapped pulling himself to his feet. He still
felt a little shaky but that was to be expected, a moment earlier he had been at death’s door.
Grimoire grabbed a bottle of beer that had been left on the bar and took a swig.
The creature exited the bar. He could hear the copters looking for Deadwood and it would only be a matter of
moments before they zeroed in on where he had landed. Grimoire decided to use his legs for once and he
sprinted for cover. The powerful legs pumped like pistons and he covered some distance in no time at all. The
shadows proved his ally in times of need and this was certainly one of those times.
To be continued…
by James Gibson
gibsonjs@mnsi.net
I ponder it. Life’s lessons lost. But logic is lost as thoughts tumble in my mind. It’s metamorphosed into
an out-of-body experience, like an image from a satellite, like an unemotional mirage rather than the reality of
warm blood, skin, and bones. It’s chimerical. And while it generates angry dreams with color turning to grey,
energy to a cold, lifeless shell, it’s spiritual.
People prayed. Hands touched. Networks formed as chains of faith were forged. Tears flowed. Hearts
opened. But the damage was irreparable; and some said irredeemable. A sunspot, born years ago on sun-
drenched beaches with waves crashing, burst from cellular depths: bloody, cancerous squamous-cell tentacles
and seeping mucous, creeping out and over her forehead, her eye, her ear, disrupting hearing and sight; it’s
appearance like an old grey, well-used baseball glove closing in on her head as though it was a baseball.
Family was called and a vigil begun. Then fights: Recriminations; Tests of faith. All while she refused
food and her voice faded. All while she lived in darkness like a bat in a cave. All while her sisters sang to her;
and when her legs cramped massaged them. All while her organs shut down: Highs and lows ebbed and flowed;
Revival; failure. Then death: quiet; no gasping; no rattles; just the black abyss and a crossing over. Death: My
sister had departed.
Relationships were important. Occasionally, our grandmother would do my sister’s hair in rags and use
a curling iron so she would have curls for Sunday.
But she received her true immersion in rural life from her grade five teacher, who married a farmer that
year. One day she and a friend picked up on the teacher’s comment that anyone could come to visit on the farm,
so they asked if they could. She said, Yes you can. They asked, How long can we stay? She replied, Well, a
week or two. From then on they made regular summer visits to the farm. They worked hard, had lots of fun and
helped with their teacher’s five babies. The teacher taught in England prior to teaching my sister and obtained
pen pals from England for those that wanted one. My sister, I discovered while sifting through mementos, wrote
to a Carol in England through all these years and last December received a Christmas card.
I stare at the large, well-kept Mennonite barns with their homes and attached grossdoddy houses for
retiring parents and grandparents sitting atop the rolling moraine hills. This can’t be happening, I grumble
morosely while descending to the blue-painted iron bridge that crosses over the steep canyon walls of the dark,
narrowing river far below.
The entrance to the Pentecostal church suddenly looms ahead. A scan of the parking lot identifies a
sister’s rental amongst the few arrivals. I park, heft a bundle of several baskets of cookies intended for later, and
head inside.
I spot my wife and sisters conversing with the pianist. Let’s use the key of B instead of C, suggests
someone. They have talked me into singing. I’ve always been hesitant but today it’s all right. It’s for my sister.
While my persnickety younger sister solos the first verse and I wait for the harmony on the chorus, my
heart pumping in my ears and my hands sweaty, I peer down, like a camera, focusing and absorbing the image
of a framed portrait of my sister atop the mahogany casket draped in the yellow long-stem roses. In that beloved
moment I have the epiphany that the memories one makes and captures through words and photographs are our
landmarks for lives that are otherwise but a vapor. They celebrate our existence and uniqueness. I silently weep.
Eulogies follow. I stand and stare through moisture-laden eyes. The faces
of the black mass before me are blurred, as though I’m peering out from a
bubble. I explain that these are my sister’s words, memories she sent for a family
memoir. I was her big brother. I recall to the audience a conversation before the
service with a friend of my sister who said she remembered her needing to finish
something for her brother and could she please wait. In her own words I let my
sister describe the hikes to the Cheese Factory Road: We each had one of my
brother’s knives- I add ‘concealed weapons’. There’s laughter. People are
listening. We cut branches to cross a small creek. We did an all-day bike ride to
Branchton and back with a picnic lunch, starting out on the Cheese Factory Road.
And there was the time we used the carrier of my sister’s 28" wheel bike to go to
the Humane Society to bring our Tuxedo cat, Trix home in. The cat was not
allowed in the house, but played in the apartment being built onto the back of our
house. Then, she slowly moved into the house. Many a time she climbed onto the
roof and tried to get into the window screens. She would lose her footing and fall
to the ground.
I don’t want to ramble on. There are other speakers. I abruptly finish with, Those were my sister’s
words, her memories, and I’ll miss her.
Later I sit with family and friends, eat sandwiches and sweets and receive condolences. A woman
timidly approaches and says she knew my sister. Her name, she says, is Carol and when she heard, she had to
come. Somebody’s camera flashes.
by De Tourist
Manga Maximus
by Darke Raven
Mai used to just be happy hanging out with her pals, telling ghost
stories, but a chance encounter with one Kazuya Shibuya may change
everything... well, not until she realizes he's connected to the school's
old school building, and ends up maiming his assistant with him forcing
her to become his assistant or pay for the ultra expensive equipment she
broke along with said assistant.
Next month is April, so we'll review the silly nonsense of BoBo-Bo BoBo-BoBo...BoBoBo-Bo BoBo
Bo...whatever! That over the top parody title about fighting for the rights of hair.
May we're deep into spring so how about something cute? We'll review the next great series from Kiyohiko
Azuma post Azumanga Daioh, his book Yotsuba&! (aka Yotsuba and Everything), starring the girl who looks
like Chiyo-chan (Yotsuba) and her own strange adventures with... everything! That's in May.
So take care, and keep expanding your reading experiences (you'll never know when you'll find a great treasure
if you don't try new things).
Poetry
Selected Poems There are days when the world seems to spin so fast
by Frances Nichols Vargas And days when it seems too slow
The best days fly by faster than the wind blows
The worst days drag on slower than a snail crawls
There are those special days where everything clicks into place
And helps to bring a smile to a very special face
Then there are the days that nothing goes right from the start of the rat race
Still there are those days that you wish time would stand still
While the memories become etched in the mind
TIME To feel each and every millisecond with superhuman power
A lasting snapshot in time
A short but unforgettable lasting event
That is replayed over and over till the end of time
Of course there are those days where the clock clicks by so fast
Events happen quicker than the blink of the eye
Leaving a heart broken and filled with regret that more was missed in that blink than in a lifetime
Selected Poetry
by Stephen Campbell
Collision
Taking the handbrake firmly and securely,
I push it down with all my might.
The car takes flight, me and my friend veer
Down the street and career
Into a newly mangled vehicle,
The car shatters at the impact of steel.
While we within are rolled against the dashboard;
Forever that dark leather reminds me of a head sore
And naive to a metal monster, that bored
Into another, bringing such calamity as was never seen
By a young boy on the verge of his teens.
Ray decides to become a male prostitute to bring in extra cash and hilarity ensues. I love how this is set in areas
of Michigan that I know well. It is a great backdrop to this edgy dark comedy. “Hung” is entering its 3rd season
this year.