Posts Tagged ‘solar child’

News From The Flood – # 3.3 The Destination

Friday, March 18th, 2011

All Paths Lead to Home

All Paths Lead to Home

More Comics as we get ready for the final stretch.

Doc Brown just filled up Mr Fusion with some spare bananas, and there’s plenty of room in the back.

We’re going on safari to 1983, so if you’re comin’ get ready to go!

Yesterday we saw our man complete his fall, landing hard on unforgiving soil at the Liberty Island Junkyard.

As we rejoin our broken hero, the cracks are clearly evident. Synapses firing incorrectly for quite some time now, a lethal combination of alcohol, depression and ego-driven desire has turned Superman’s bright, balanced ocean of mindful existence into a singular, narrow corridor of pain.

A brief series of shots shows us various Junkyard Workers looking up from their stations, dirty, grease-streaked faces blinking in disbelief.

Is it a bird? Is it a plane?

Is it…drunk?

Twin Suns

Twin Suns

Disbelief turns to fear as peons scatter, abandoning their positions on the metal-breaking factory lines. Wreckage is all around, fittingly, as we return to our hero who sinks to his knees in the dirt.

A primitive, ancient howl swells from within, roaring out like a thunderclap through the empty echo chamber of the yard.

Screaming in pain, our Solar Saviour begins to change. We see three visible orbs of light push forward, forming a glowing triangle of light over his forehead.

Cracks in the Sun appear and the light fades. Our Superstar splits in two.

SuperEgo now the majority stakeholder, mild-mannered, careful CK is ejected with force.

Hostile Takeover, totally in tune with the times.

We witness on the one side Pure Hatred, on the other, Abject Fear.

The Super Dichotomy. Our eternal reality of dualism.

The two most binary, restrictive and controlling emotions to ever rule a life are fully in play, and we now understand this fragmented Superman / CK is nothing more than you, we, me – reflected.

And so, the final battle has arrived.

The two terrible sides of that ancient usurper of an equation – and the bastard result that has shackled us under the guise of an overriding existential truth.

Two faces circle each other in the rubble, unsure. In this now impromptu coliseum, two gladiators prepare for combat in the shadows cast by the towering heaps of junked cars that surround them. Red and blue are the prevalent colours as the theme of duality is supported.

The stronger presence of the pair, SuperEgo fills our screen with raging eyes and violence. Taking control, he attacks his weaker half, taunting CK in between punches. Kent is knocked about the place, sent hither and yon, rocking on weak legs as his opponent with the dark eyes uses him like a toy.

" Ha ha. Ha!"
[SuperEgo, Sneering]

" I…can g-give as good as I get!"
[Clark Kent, Stuttering]

" Oh, oh yeah? Alright. Come on. COME ON! COME HERE! COME ON! COME ON!"
[SuperEgo, Raging]

CK fights back for the first time.

Finding strength through anger, he shoves his evil twin into a vat of junk-dissolving acid. The SuperEgo splashes down and sinks immediately in a hissing, bubbling mass of smoke.

Leaving Trash Behind

Leaving Trash Behind

Straightening his tie, our suited conformist turns away, hoping for the best. Wrong move, considering he finds himself in a time of momentous challenge.

Instead of charging forward and refusing to go gently into that good night, our shackled man backs away from adversity.

For this is 1983, where SuperEgo is king – and so it rises again. Cupping hands and using Super Lungs, this hidden id-entity fires a jet of hot acid vapour that covers CK, instantly burning a thousand holes in his nifty single-breasted jacket. Startled, he sets about removing the now corrosive garment.

Seizing the moment once more, the SuperEgo beats our man down relentlessly, before sending him flying head first and jacketless into the Trash Compactor.

The bell tolls for Clark Kent as his tormentor times it just so, and at 1:29:11, Pushes Buttons.

And some minutes later, Glasses Crushed, the SuperEgo has finally dispatched that nagging little voice in his head. We cut to a brief zoom of the dirty demon who closes his eyes, inhaling deeply, re-centering. A confident gleam appears when those eyes re-open.

The ground shakes.

The gigantic crushing machine, used by this evil twin to destroy his brother, jerkily comes to life in noisy thuds and cracks as it jumps, rocks and shudders. The SuperEgo takes one step back, two.

Two Become One

Two Become One

Too late.

Smashing through the steel wall of this mammoth mausoleum of a machine, Clark Kent appears, filling the screen with a couple of wild eyes of his own. This is him, we can see it, we can feel it and by golly we know it in our hearts!


CK grabs the tyrant by the neck and sque-e-e-ezes. Power transfers, transmogrifies, transmutes.

Hate and Fear are re-directed, re-channeled, consumed and re-cycled.

The demon disappears.

A moment to re-collect, re-center. Super Clark reaches for his tie, but he doesn’t need to, anymore.

He is I and I am him.


Superman is back, and at 1:33:33, he leaves his personal junk behind.

One final montage, then, as we fly around the planet rectifying all wrongs perpetrated by SuperEgo.

Resurrection + Reunification = Renaissance!

Resurrection + Reunification = Renaissance!

The stray tanker, out in the middle of the ocean and spilling its guts for days, now appears in the distance as we speed out across the Atlantic.

Using Super Lungs, our favourite superhero reroutes the oil flow, turning the black tide back on itself, forcing it to gush backwards into the breached hull of the ship. Moving ever closer, the spill is reversed as the Man of Steel wrenches the twisted metal back into place.

Sealing it with Super Vision, the stout captain and his shipmates on the British Reliance are more than grateful.

Waving our hero off as he performs a final fly-by, we now know there is just one last thing to take care of: the Webster Siblings and their nefarious Super Computer.

Construction of Gus Gorman’s design is complete and we join the gang of greed on the last stage of their desert journey.

Hey guys – an urgent requirement has arrived (in the form of a rent payment request), hence the delay in concluding this article.

I hope to get work out of the way by the 26th – so stay tuned for the final chapter of this particular synchronicity saga!

<3 James

News From The Flood – # 1 Pisces (Almost Home)

Thursday, March 10th, 2011

Firstly, may we please invite you to enjoy Good Riddance, performing their final show in Santa Cruz on May 27, 2007.

Is it even necessary to start typing

"this punk band hits us like no other, words cannot begin to express how"

or can we skip straight to the good stuff?

Hell Yes! Play Now!

Surf's Up, Precious Beings!

Well, that was inspiring.

Makes you want to rise, Phoenix-like, from the flames of the last few thousand years, doesn’t it? Well, be careful what you wish for, cause listen up Dorothy – you ain’t in Kansas anymore.

The past couple of days have been spent skipping happily down a sun-dappled, radiant childhood path of musical reverie. An activity that not only comes highly recommended, but also bestows incredibly therapeutic, fuzzy effects upon any given day. You’ll be surprised how many times you laugh out loud, just by hearing a song you last loved when you were a kid.

There we were, chatting away.

Remembering the heady, adventurous mix tapes we used to piece together. Mix Tapes that would combine the metal mastery of Anthrax with the irreverent, shocking truth of NWA. Remembering the sing-a-long as we dropped science, drum solos and ’nuff Twelve-year-old ‘Tude on that class trip to France, eons ago.

Remembering that it was free and happy and fun and we had no fear and it was pure bliss.

Pure Bliss.

Elvis, JFK, Time Travel, Punk Bands.  Just Be.

Elvis, JFK, Time Travel, Punk Bands. Just Be.

So anyway, the reverie is ongoing and will support a larger, deeper article covering Punk Bands that will appear when it appears. Alice In Chains are included in the research, and we saw the beautiful Mike C Starr finally move on to better pastures this week. Remarkably, following a typographical error on Twitter, we noted that our Dead Bassist entrained with recent Stephen King chatter, via the album Jar of Flies, and the reincarnated Jake Chambers.

Then we had Starman Ziggy showing up, again in New York City, on a pretty resonant day, media-wise.

This morning we see they are fleshing out articles on Grunge, Punk Rock, anything alternative. With revolution in mind, it’s clear what the kids are going to be asking for. Makes sense the NEWS is gearing up to sell.

How wonderful then, that this life is so layered; indeed, Many a secret Message has been found within other, seemingly superfluous Messages.

So, what, Dear Reader, are we to make of today’s hectic action? Pay special attention to times and dates in all links. If you want our heartfelt reaction, the swells are certainly battering the reef out there; simply a matter of time before She moves in toward the Beach.

We’re making a list:

  • board shorts
  • radio
  • mj
  • inner tube


Thaar be a storm blowin’ me <3-ties!

With so much love,


[note – click images / for twitpic plus synchronicity commentaries]