Shlock Value - THE DAVE

2007-12-06T00:50:00.000-08:00

I BAD DAY ON LEGERDEMAIN

II THE SLEEPING LANDS

III PLANET FALL: REIGN HAMMER

IV PLANET FALL: ANTIQUITIES

D.C.U.

2006-09-07T01:19:00.000-07:00

ADAPT OR DIE

"Man with all his noble qualities, with sympathy which feels for the most debased, with benevolence which extends not only to other men but to the humblest living creature, with his god-like intellect which has penetrated into the movements and constitution of the solar system- with all these exalted powers- Man still bears in his bodily frame the indelible stamp of his lowly origin.”

-Charles Darwin

My name is Clark Kent and perhaps you are old enough to recognize me as a notable reporter for the Daily Planet. I was an investigative journalist for my entire adult life, and I have kept the largest secret the world has ever known.
There are many things about me which you will not understand. That I have been in love and married to the woman of my dreams for 50 years. That I was surrounded by caring supportive parents. That my childhood was spent on a farm. An upbringing that must seem alien to most of you today, with our sprawling highways and developments. That I genuinely care about every individual I encounter, and that I am able to walk on air, capable of enduring more than a normal human could, incinerate an object with a precision glance, and lift a car without breaking a sweat.
My real name is Superman.

You may feel deceived. Though they are long gone, you may recall a time when I was adamant about truth, justice, and the American way.
After all, even a superman is still a man at heart and I was naïve. However, the true measure of a man is that he does not let the fact he was naïve, or has lost face, harden him, or weaken his resolve. They are after all Ideals I still aspire to, even if they’ve been soiled by another’s misdeeds.

Reflecting on naivety and youth, I remember the feeling of my first time falling out of a window. Of working out the system to change into my costume while mid air. It took several variations, a few wool jackets, but soon I had a formula. So to, am I reminded of the sounds of the city when I first arrived. A cacophony compared to the calm of small town living. It took a lot of adjusting, but some things remain true.

I’ve often thought hard about what drives me to do what I do. My basic and bare answer is, because I can. I could philosophize all day, but there are some men who are pushed to do good, then there are those who will because the opportunity is open.

Bruce, The Batman, and I shared much in common. We were two sides of the same coin and we reflected the feelings of the American Populace to the point that we formed a brotherhood out of that sheer necessity. We participated but we were not active with the JSA, which left us to forge a path for ourselves. We were the perfect devils advocate for one another. Our bond was something we needed in those early days.

He was a troubled soul, who operated more out of discipline and habit than out of sheer volition. He had become a machine, and more often than not, he was acting on training and instincts than in the moment. He was always restrained, always in check, he had to be or else impulse would of shattered the line between him and the monsters he faced. They say The Batman was not afraid of anything. He was afraid. Afraid of becoming what he feared the most, the things he hunted in the night. When he saw a child succumb to the same fate as him, it changed his perception of his world. He took the young boy in and realized that his path was darkening.

He was careful not to subject the child to any real harm, but he knew that if he did not intervene, that if he did not open this avenue to him, that the boy would be consumed by his anger.
Bruce did as much philanthropy as he did crime fighting. His ultimate goal was to be proactive, instead of reactive. He was a meticulous planner, and he knew that if he changed the rules of the game that he would change the game. He was adamant from the day I met him, that we not try to change a malfunctioning society from within.

Though we were not able to completely understand each others perspectives, we were able to communicate, and I look back on all we have accomplished and endured, and my dear friend will be missed.

When we first encountered the JSA it reminded me more of a boys club than of an organization intended to reflect the whole of America. While Bruce and I wanted to have as much exposure and use as many outlets as possible to champion our causes, it was the day that Wonder Woman was denied membership that we began to limit our interaction with the JSA.

I’ve always felt a kinship with Wonder Woman. Both of us coming to a culture completely alien to us. We used to get together monthly for lunch and I’d listen to her speak of the differences and troubles she faced being a woman, not that she didn’t have her hands full with the hoods and kooks running around in get-ups making our work that much harder.

She is a dear friend, but I realize now, the main difference between us, is she still has a home to return to. This is my world, and I’ve given myself and more for it. To ensure it evolves into the kind of place where a superman is obsolete.

to be continued....

GOLDEN GOAT

2006-06-06T04:20:00.000-07:00

I can hear the guy open his mouth and inhale before the words even leave his lips. I see him wobble a bit out of the corner of my left eye. The patron is almost upon me now, and sitting beside me on my right, prattling on, is my manager Martin Friedman; he‘s concerned about image issues, namely mine. He whispers and I hear him clear as a bell in a valley.

"Ok G.G. here comes another one. Can you be a little nicer this time?"

"Martin…." but just as clearly as I can hear him, my pleas fall on dead ears. it’s a metaphor for our professional relationship, really.

Every single time I go out.

"Hey, aren’t you…?" The patrons speech is slow and halted and his breath is inundated with the smell of vodka, I’m surprised it hasn’t condensed into a vapor cloud before him.

I’m quick to interject and make this as painless as possible on both of us, chiefly me.

"YES its me, and NO I’m not going to say it." The guys a bit put off, but he wont remember why for long. Liquor, the magic nectar of the gods.

Martin starts up again before I finish my sip, "G.G. Look, if you want to be in pictures, you’ve gotta play your cards better, babe."

"What do you people want from me? I used to BE something. Did you even know that? Yeah, I used to be a Demi-god, Marty! People came from…."

"from around the world to see you"

I’m repeating myself, the perils of liquor.

"…Into the ALPS! That’s no walk in the park, my friend. I managed to survive 2 thousand years of Romans. Two hundred and thirty seven of those punks, thirty eight if you count that guy who fell off the precipice before he got to me, two hundred and thirty seven of them tried to skin my hide. What finally gets me? Communism."

Martin sticks his big balding head closer, the dim light glistening off my face gives him a strange golden rod hue. "How many drinks is that? And its not even Granite Ale. Come on" he squeals, causing a display as he throws his arms up in frustration.

"I’m not drunk."

"G.G. I’m your manager, it’s the P.R. thing we need to be doing here."

"yeah… YEAH you ARE my manager, so who gave the go ahead for those ridiculous T-shirts. That’s not even a good shot of me."

"Its publicity, try and have some vision."

"Its bad enough my head was photo-shopped on one of those adult celebrity websites…."

"We got our people working on it, don’t you worry."

"Marty, I’m not a steam engine, stop blowing smoke up there."

"Hey, hey….. Your wish is my command. You tell me what you want." I hate when he plays the condescending gentile genie bit.

"Find a way to get me out of those godforsaken beer commercials."

"You wouldn’t be anywhere without those commercials, G.G, try to remember that."

"How can I forget?"

That’s when I hear some drunk from three tables away. First he and his enclave of dingbats start chattering, then I hear him scuttle a few chairs and bump a few tables. I think I can feel my ears bleed as he chuckles and shouts:

"HEY!! GOLDEN GOAT!! Guys look who it is. GOLDEN GOAT! GOLDEN GOAT!"

Martins striving to make his paycheck worthwhile, "Come on, G.G. can't you just do the slogan once for them, It’ll get you in the lifestyle section, the press will eat it up."

"Come on, Golden Goat!" Chirps the peanut gallery.

I try to contain myself, focusing on the amber liquid in my glass.

Try as I might, even gods have their limits, and my neck tenses as I hear the guy slur, "LIFE AIN’T B-A-A-A-D WHEN ITS GRANITE ALE!" That’s when I stand up, knocking my stool over, as the creeping numbness of intoxication courses through me.

Crap, I'm more in the bag than I thought.

I stop, I find myself at a crossroads, with two possible paths, but, even Zeus diddled around some.

Martin and I are already to the door as the bouncer rushes in, and through the barrage of pointing fingers, frantically searches for us. I feel Martins arm on my shoulder, grazing my neck scruff. With a melancholy tone he whimpers,

"Did you HAVE to head butt him?"

"GOLDEN GOAT! GOLDEN GOAT!" I retort in gleeful condescension.
_____________________________________________________________________________________

This piece was done for a contest for an art studio called GOLDEN GOAT STUDIOS. You had only a page in which to write a story using the studios mascot, which I can only assume, is a Golden Goat, I searched and searched, and found no art reference, no image of a golden goat anywhere. Luckily, it could be a loose interpretation using the name. I LOVE stuff like this, page minimums, and writing exercises where you have a minute, and must use a random word from the dictionary in the first sentence. It reallys lets creativity shine.

My main goal in this story, was to have Golden Goat reminicsent of the "Golden Fleece" or any number of the myth tales where a hero must kill an animal. This is the animal, but hes survived into present day. To become a beer spokeman/icon.

Its a one page commentary on our society in itself. Where as a lot of the entries, I knew, would be most narrative, my goal was to make it mostly dialogue. To reveal character through the dialogue, always better to show rather than tell. When you go to a bar, you over hear the strangest tid bits of stories, and so the point of this story was for the reader to overhear mid sentence, it evolved, as all writing does. Im relatively proud of the results.