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Last night I devoured Frank Miller’s treatment of Batman, The Dark Night Returns, then I slowly read it again. I’d waited too long to read this one, it is such the anti-hero story in its highest form.

You were used against us, Bruce.
The one who played it rough.

When the noise started from the parent’s groups and the sub-committee called us in for questioning — 

 — you were the one who laughed…
…that scary laugh of yours…

“Sure we’re criminals,” you said. “We’ve always been criminals”.

“We have to be criminals.”

Thanks Frank Miller, you do good things.

Next on my list of publications to consume is Sharman Apt Russell’s Hunger: An Unnatural History. I’ve been to two of Russell’s reading, and through her writings and her personality I immediately recognized that she understood the mess. The way she can wax poetic on the initial breakdown of starches by saliva, for me, is exemplary. Her wordsmithing of obtuse science and the obviously loving way in the way she does it has me tearing through pages.

If we are not in charge, who is? The answer may be everything: the cerebral cortex, the circulatory system, the respiratory system, the pancreas, the intestinal walls, the nerves, the muscles, the hormones, the taste of an apple, the word for apple, the memory of an apple. We are a gestalt.

Thanks Sharman Apt Russell, you do good things. (She also personally introduced me to the term Pantheism, le sigh.)