I put my heart and my soul into my work, and have lost my mind in the process. I dream of painting and then I paint my dream. What would life be if we had no courage to attempt anything? To be honest, the more I think about it, the more I realise there is nothing more artistic than to love others.
As someone who loves the MCU but is unfamiliar with comic books what makes Mad Bomber so special?
Ah, I got slightly confused there - the Mad Bomber is George
Metesky, a real-life supervillain who set off bombs across New York City for sixteen years before he was caught.
Madbomb is special for a lot of reasons. First and foremost, it’s Jack Kirby both writing and drawing one of his signature creations, which means you get amazing visuals like this:
But that’s not all - you also get cameos from Henry Kissinger, a secret 200-year-old Royalist conspiracy to overthrow the U.S government and restore the British Monarchy, Captain America and Sam Wilson having very frank discussions about the linkages between American democracy and slavery, Cap and the Falcon being thrown into the plot of Rollerball (aka “Kill-Derby”), and of course a bomb that can drive people insane.
In other words, it’s high-concept superhero action mixed with pop culture references and cultural anxieties of the 1970s mixed with Jack Kirby’s unique Olmec- and surrealist-inspired art.
paradise lost is another one of those fuckers with a bad impact (first that comes to mind is blaming women for well… everything) but at least it’s entertaining and has neat imagery and contributes to surrealist media that takes inspiration from christian mythology
I am 20 years old and I hate myself. My hair, my face, the curve of my stomach, the way my voice comes out wavering and my poems come out maudlin, the way my parents talk to me in a slightly higher register than they talk to my sister, as if I’m a government worker that snapped and if pushed hard enough, might blow up the hostages I’ve got tied up in my basement. I cover up this hatred with a kind of aggressive self-acceptance. I dye my hair a fluorescent shade of yellow, cutting it into a mullet more inspired by photos of 1980s teen mothers than by any current beauty trend. I dress in neon spandex that hugs in all the wrong places. My mother and I have a massive fight when I choose to wear a banana-printed belly shirt and pink leggings to the Vatican and religious tourists gawk and turn away. I’m living in a dormitory that was, not too long ago, an old-age home for low-income townspeople, and I don’t like thinking about where they might be now. My roommate has moved to New York to explore farm-to-fork cooking and lesbianism. So I’m alone, in a ground-floor, one-bedroom, a fact I relish until one night a female rugby player rips my screen door off the hinges and barges into the dorm to attack her philandering girlfriend. I’ve bought a VHS player and a pair of knitting needles and spend most nights on the sofa making half a scarf for a boy I like who had a manic break and dropped out. I’ve made two short films, both of which my father deemed interesting but beside the point. And I’m so paralyzed as a writer that I started translating poems from languages I don’t speak, some kind of surrealist exercise meant to inspire me, but also prevent me from thinking the perverse looping thoughts that come unbidden. I am hideous. I’m going to be living in a mental hospital by the time I’m 29. I will never amount to anything.
You can also experiment with different types of writing - poetry, songwriting, etc - to stretch your writing muscles a bit. Joining a writing group or taking part in writing exercises can help a lot too! You can find writing exercises at:
Other ideas: create a daily notebook, free write for fifteen minutes a day, try writing about your favorite characters, pick an object in your room and detail its history, etc. Pretty much anything can flex your writing muscles, as long as you try it!