Living with the Truth Stranger than Fiction This Is Not About What You Think Milligan and Murphy Making Sense

Wednesday, 4 November 2015



Both nudity and honesty
can be almost frightening
when you're not prepared
for them.

12 July 1985

There are two words in this short poem that jumped out at me, ‘almost’ and ‘prepared’. How can you be almost frightened and how do you prepare for either honesty or nudity? I was reminded of a couple of panels from The Thessaliad #2. Thessaly is a character who first appeared in Sandman: A Game of You. The last surviving Thessalian witch she has hidden herself on Earth in the guise of a meek college student. I won’t bore you with more of her story but the following panels are interesting:




Kass said...

Both the poem and the panels made me smile. Equal smiles go to a friend who is producing a short film called Silent Cricket. It's a dark comedy about a blocked writer who faces the daunting task of writing her suicide note.

Jim Murdoch said...

Suicide notes and writer’s block actually get a brief mention in the new book, Kass:

Have you ever noticed that so many of the characters who are writers, those who crop up occasionally in films and novels, are stalled? Don Birnam, in the film adaptation of The Lost Weekend, is probably the archetype: one short story (published), one suicide note (unpublished). They go hand in hand with priests who’ve lost their faith and tarts with hearts.

I’ve never seriously contemplated suicide. As a writer I’ve thought about it but then we writers think about a lot of weird and often unhealthy stuff (anyone looking at my search history must be scratching their head right now) but I think by the time I got the wording of my suicide note right the mood would’ve passed.

Kass said...

This is exactly what I thought when I read the premise for my friend's film. If I ever get the perfect combination of words down on paper, that would be reason enough to go on living....but then, there is always my fear when I am near to perfection in a project that it must mean I am going to die. Sometimes I purposely leave a flaw in a work of art (like the Navajo Indian weavers do) - so as not to offend 'the creator'. My thinking is like the Indians: I'm not perfect, only 'the great spirit' is - so I can’t make a perfect rug. That would offend 'the almighty' and I would have to be eliminated.

Ah, the struggles of a quasi-believer.

Jim Murdoch said...

We are all imperfect, Kass, handicapped from birth and therefore virtually incapable of attaining perfection let alone maintaining it for any length of time. Why though would any ‘creator’ be offended or upset if we did, by accident, stumble upon a moment of perfection? (It must happen.) I would’ve thought they’d be pleased for us.

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