RKYV ONLINE # 16

8/8/2019 RKYV ONLINE # 16

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TABLE OF CONTENTSRKYV # 16 {September 2008}RKYV ONLINE LOGO - David Marshall { current }

- Roy G. James { original }

- R.J. Pare { original online adaptation}Virtual Cover # 16- art by Bob Labute- layouts by David Marshall

Editorial Column - “At The Outset:”A Few Thoughts From the Editor- by RJ Pare’

Featured Artist Review- by Wade Ferris & R.J. Pare’

World View- “A Canadian Living in the USA”- by Tom Rossini

Writer’s Column- “Creation in our World”- by Larissa Gula

Poetry - by Larissa Gula, R. J. Pare’,Steph, Stephen Campbell, AnnaGehmacher

Interior Art - pieces by Josh Bowe, MiritBen Nun, Nadide Gurcuoglu, HollyJewell, Steve-O Mullock, Kurtis Jewell,Bob Labute, Mike Grattan, Yousif Al-Hamadi,

Short Fiction – “Somber Thoughts - One”- by Nathaniel Baker

“The Seventh Son”- by Scott Claringbold

Non-Fiction - “Futurism in the Funnies”- by Roy G. James

Pop Culture – “Comic Book Review”-by Brad Bellmore“Raised on Saturday Morning Cartoons”- by Pauline Harren Pare

Untitled- byMirit BenNun



A Few Thoughts From The Editor – by R. J. Pare’

The title of this monthly collection of opinions, reviews, art, poetry and prose isRKYV [as you should know if you are reading this]. Most of you are aware that themagazine’s title is a stylized method of spelling ‘ARCHIVE’. In previous editorials Ihave explored the definition of this word and this ‘Zine through comparison. I think itwould be interesting at this point to take a closer look at the word ‘ARCHIVE’.

ARC – HIVE

An ARC in literature is a series, or course, of events in the development of a characteror plot. It is a specific element within the construct of the greater whole that is thefinished piece of poetry or prose. A HIVE can be used to describe the functioning of anygroup of people that are organized into shared purpose. This can be a pejorative [ theemployees at work are a bunch of drones… the place is a hive of automatons] or it canserve as a compliment [ the disaster victims were industrious in rebuilding… a busy hiveof activity that saved many lives, in the long run] . Seen in a positive light, a hive can beviewed as an inter-dependent functioning community.

Dusk – by Bob Labute



Untitled – by Nadide Gurcuoglu

A Course of Events – A Community

In a very real sense an ‘ARCHIVE’ is just that, a repository for the recorded events,dreams and wishes of a given community. In our case, RKYV ONLINE is a vibrantrecord of the creative energies of our contributors. Our writers and artists, indeed, are acommunity. Their visual and literary inventions make up the content of this not – for –profit E-zine. Through constructive feedback this content continues to evolve along withthe growing and changing nature of the community.

In this month’s issue I would like to welcome Brad Bellmore onboard as he begins anew feature… the Comic Book Review. I look forward to his column, as the ‘funnybooks’ [what some folks use to call them] were my entry point, early in life, to the worldsof Art and Literature. These four-colour gems were fantastic portals to lands rich inmyth-making stories and breath-taking illustrations. I do not exaggerate when I suggestthat without comic books… my love of the creative arts and this mag in particular mightnever have been...

Until next month

Randy



Untitled – by Holly Jewell & Steve-O Mullock



By Wade Ferris & R. J. Pare’

Bob’s Artist Statement

Went to school to take Fine Arts at Fanshawe Collegein 1979. Went back to school to take Advertising Artin 1990 at St. Clair College. I have been showing ingalleries, bars ,coffee shops and street shows since1981.

I’ve worked in the commercial art business for 15years and been a fine artist 28 years.

My work has gone through many changes over theyears; at the moment my style is a mix of surrealism,contemporary and church art. I can’t really say whomy favourite artists are or who inspired me the mostbecause I love all art and have been influenced my somany...

My art to me is a way to tell stories, like the poet or the song writer. Things that happenin my life or to my friends and family around me become my subjects. Current events,

life and death, love and sorrow are all mixed in with the paint to become my art.

My art is my therapist my art is my child my art is my spouse and my art is the way I seethe world.

1. RJP: Did you study or major in art while in school?

Yes art was my major , when I was the one in high school how always went against thegrain, I had a few good fights with my art teacher I always had to do things my way anddraw the way I saw the world . After high school I went to Fanshawe College in LondonOntario. WOW, was that ever a good class they opened my eyes wide. I only stayed there

a year and moved back to Windsor I met a lady, Joyce who owned an art supply store anda little gallery she helped me start my career as an artist I had a couple shows in hergallery and she introduced me to a lot of the local artists that were here in the 1980s.Ten years later I went back to school to take advertising art at St. Clair College inWindsor . After my first year there I got a job as a designer in an embroidery shop. NowI’m working in an art gallery and I can truly say I learn something new about art and thepeople who create it every day.



Artist: Bob LabuteTitle: The RockMedia Used: Acrylic and StonesSize: 12 X 20Date Created: 2007

WF: Labute focuses on the object of man's desire with this piece, givinginsight into how he views and appreciateswoman in her entirety. She is at oncebeautiful, glorious, and fascinating. Herform draws man's eye and makes himyearn to explore her, to experience everyhill, slope, plateau, and stream. She'sfertile and bountiful. There is danger thereas well- if he doesn't watch his step, if

he's not deliberate, if he doesn't respectwho and what she is, he may well die onthe rocks. He could never dominate her,and he loves that. He never tires of gettingto know her, not simply her terrain, butalso the inner caves of her soul. She isexclusively her own, and he could lovenothing more than to be alone with her inthe sea of love.

2. RJP: Who was you biggest influence or source of encouragement, as a child, inpursuing art?

As a child I don't remember any one really encouraging me I just like to do Creativestuff. My mother always gave me the white cardboard that came with her nylons it waslike Bristol board I could paint on it draw on it even glue things to it. So I would say bydoing that she helped plant the seed to take a piece of useless paper and make somethingbeautiful and useful out of it. By the time I was in grade 9 she took me out and bought mea good set of oil paint and then that opened a hole new can of worms.

3. RJP: What is your favorite media to work with?

It changes, right now I'm painting most of the time .I like acrylic paints - they dry fast. Iwork on five or six paintings at a time and go back and forth working on them so I neverget bored of working on the same painting. Sometimes these creative runs I have only lastfor a month or two; sometimes only for a week or so. So I like to work fast and get asmuch done as I can while I'm inspired. Sometimes I work with pencil but because of aninjury to my shoulder a couple years back I find pencil to be uncomfortable to work with.I have done many colour pencil drawings over the years. In my younger days I was



very good at doing portraits in colour pencils . In the mid to late 80's I did most of mywork with ink I liked using black ink with very geometric shapes and added a splash of colour using colour pencils or just plain black and white ink drawings. So to pick afavourite is hard… they all served me well when I needed them. Who knows what mynext phase will bring?

Artist: Bob LabuteTitle: Letting Go (finding peace)Media Used: Acrylic and StonesSize: 12 X 12Date Created: 2007

WF: "If you love me, you'll let mego." The words are practicallyaudible, but the imagery rendersthem unnecessary. How could he

let go of his very heart? How couldone loved so much even want toleave? And yet loving someonemeans seeking their happiness,their peace, above your own. Andso he lets go.

4. RJP: How would you categorize your artistic style?

It may sound strange but I think I'm a realist all my artwork tells stories of real people,real events and real feelings. Through other peoples eyes they may not look real sopeople can call it anything they like. I just create the art you guys can give it a title.

5. RJP: Would you say that there is a "message" or "unifying theme" in your work?

My message is what ever is in my heart at the moment. You may notice I use a lot of hearts in my work, because that’s were it all starts.

6. RJP: Which famous artists or styles have influenced you? Why?

All of them I feel what artists are saying. I borrow from other styles I've been using a lotof panels cut like old church are triptychs like stain glass windows with an almost surreallooking painting inside. I guess my favourite style is the surrealist; I love Yves Tanguy’spaintings. A lot of people say I paint like Dali but I think that’s only because he is theonly well know surrealist so that’s why they compare me to him. I don't think I paint likehim at all he is more of a masterful painter like the Dutch master, I'm not even close tobeing that good. But it is a nice complement I think I paint more like Bob LaBute and Iwant to keep it that way.



Artist: Bob LabuteTitle: HealingMedia Used: AcrylicSize: 8 X 10Date Created: 2007

WF: How much abuse can one hearttake? The heart is mortal, it can bestopped, it can be killed. One littlestab and it could be over. It seemsthis heart has taken more than its fairshare of abuse, and yet somehow itstruggles on to keep beating. It'sdone what it can to mend itself, butthe holes persist, weakening the

lover's will. At this point perhaps thelove represented, once healthy andtrue, is now mostly co-dependent.Eventually abuse can cause anylover to become so concerned withsurviving, so bent on stopping thepain, they lose sight of the hate anddamage being done to it. It turnsblack, cold, and dead but for thedesire to keep trying.

7. RJP: If you could meet any living or dead artist, who would it be?

Van Gogh... somehow I feel connected to him, not sure how to explain this but I'vealways felt we share the same spirit. 'Freaks me out to think about it sometimes.

8. RJP: What is the one question that you would ask him/her?

.......Why the ear???

9. RJP: What do you think of the term "starving artist"?

Most artists I know (but not all artists) focus on making art, not selling art. We make artbecause it makes us feel complete; it’s what we have to do; it’s almost like an addictionwhen an artist gets into his creative cycles. So the selling of the art is an after thought formany of us, mainly because we are so right brain that we can't see that far ahead. That’swhy there are so many starving artists. If you don't believe me go to the local book storeand read up on your favourite artist. Most of the ones that sold a lot, did so because theyhad someone in there lives who sold it for them or helped them to sell their work (it goesback to that defective gene I was talking about earlier lol).





Artist: Bob LabuteTitle: ?Media Used: AcrylicSize: ?

Date Created: 2007

The theme of much of Bob Labute's work is loss, pain, and the journey toward healing. Itseems in this work love is in its autumn days, still alive but slowing toward its eventualslumber. Will it be a short period of rest, a long and painfully cold winter, or an end? Wecan't know, as it hasn't happened yet. This is a painting of experiencing the present stateof things, feeling the cooler breezes and watching the leaves cascade toward the ground.Apprehension and romanticism seems to be simultaneous at this point. And so naturetakes its course.

11. RJP: How do you market yourself?

I work in a gallery so I use that as one of the ways. I've had a lot of shows this past year,so that makes people pay attention. I use any free ads I can get on cable tv, flyers… and Ihave a big mouth and I'm not shy so I tell everyone I know. I find Facebook and e-mail tobe the most effective of all.



12. RJP: Do you find it difficult to stay motivated / inspired?

I've been doing this for a long time now. I understand my mind and how it works. I gothrough cycles, spurts of creativity. It takes over my world and I’ve learned to takeadvantage of it when they come I work hard sometimes I don't get much sleep. Last year

I took the whole year off just to paint and when these cycles came around I would shutout the world and just paint… when it came time to take a break I would chat with otherartists on line to keep me in that artsy mood 'I made a lot of friends over seas... otherartists that I could talk to when I was pulling an all-nighter. I lived the crazy life of anartist, wow… it was wonderful.

I’ve learned so much about myself doing this. I don't really need to inspire myself anymore, I just let it happen when it needs to happen.

Artist: Bob Labute

Title: Black SunMedia Used: AcrylicSize: 11 X 14Date Created: 2007

WF: Black Sun is at once peacefuland unsettling. The firstimpression is peace- a serenelandscape with a flowing sky andthe sun above. It could be midmorning or approaching evening,but I get the sense it’s the latter.

But the first impression gives wayto wonder at the colour of themajestic light. Instead of brightand warming, its dark, black asdeath itself. The question of whether the day is beginning orending becomes more important,as the sun seems to representtrouble and difficulty. Is the timeto endure just beginning, or is itnearly over? Night seems to becoming for the sun from above,and so yes, it is nearly finished.

Peace comes with the night, and I come away from Black Sun with the same peace.



13. RJP: Do you create your art full time or part time?

Last year I did it full time... maybe even overtime. This year I'm working in an art gallery(Paula's Gallery) and doing my art and I'm also promoting some other art shows here in

town.

I’m still doing art full time just not painting full time.

14. RJP: What other interests do you have, besides art?

I'm Canadian Eh! We drink beer and watch hockey all winter... go leafs!

15. RJP: What advice would you have for a young artist starting out today?

Paint from your heart, that’s where true art lives. It could be dance, theater, poetry,

music, whatever you do... you can do it to please people or you could do it to pleaseyourself.

When you do it to please yourself and you find yourself in the art you will gain respect, itust takes a long time to reach that point so don't give up.

16. RJP: Do you have any big plans or shows coming up in 2008?

The next show I'm in is called the freak show , it’s a pop surrealist and lowbrow art show.This is my first year in this show, they only put this show on once a year it’s a one nightevent that attracts a large number of people. So I'm proud to be in this show.

I will also be having a show soon at Paula's gallery and we are putting on a show inNovember it will be the first time for this show. It is open to all artists; it’s in an oldbuilding that use to be home to trolleys cars back in the old days. It was converted into aplay area and restaurant for kids and now we are trying to make it into a large art galleryand a functional building for artists to use. There is still lots of planning to do with thatproject.

I still would like to book a few more shows downtown Windsor. Next year, I want toshow more out of town and see if I can bring some out of town artists here to Windsor.

17. RJP: How would you like your art, and by extension yourself, to beremembered?

I don't want to be known as someone who painted pretty pictures but as someone whopainted what he knew and felt and cared about… someone who talked through hispaintings and shared those moments with the people who related to them. I would likepeople to say I know what he is trying to say because I have felt that way too.



Artist: Bob LabuteTitle: Different PathsMedia Used: PencilSize: 8 X 10

Date Created: 2007

WF: Escape! A man and woman, once held together by such a bountiful love, haveturned in opposite directions and are running away from each other. This piece speaks toanyone who has ever left a romance.

The heart between them, their love, is very large, very great. It seems to still cling toeach of them, though it’s ripping in half as they separate. The woman seems still drawnto it, her mind still longing for the relationship, though the rest of her is pulling heraway. The man seems determined in his escape, even pushing away his feelings as he

flees. Both seek the nearest mode of escape.Perhaps if the drawing were in colour we’d get more of a sense of what had happened -had they grown cold toward each other? Was there rage, despair, anguish, passion theyeach ran to? Instead of the emotional facts, we’re left with truth.

Love sometimes ends, no matter the means.



Sycli Tower – by Yousif Al-Hamadi



The Next President of the United States….Who should it be???? – by Tom RossiniUntitled – by Mike Grattan

As a Canadian Citizen / US Resident, Ido not have the ability to vote in thisyear’s up coming general election.There are so many firsts involved withthis election that they could be cloudingup what really matters. Will we have thefirst female Vice President? Will we

have the first African American aspresident? I decided to do some diggingand see what exactly each candidatestood for and historically believed in andcame to find a website that helped youpick your candidate based on yourprimary concerns.

What do I believe is most the most important issue – Cutting taxes, building a morallyresponsible society, privatizing social security, upholding the constitution, universal

health care for everyone, creating more jobs for women and minorities, taking tax cutsfrom the rich and give to the poor, ending poverty in America, Protecting theenvironment, ending the war in Iraq or limiting the government from being overlyinvolved in the citizens lives… then the next question is what is the second mostimportant issue – Eliminating terrorism by increasing national security, Being tough oncriminals, tax cuts, improving our civil rights, universal health care and protecting theenvironment. Then come the normal every day questions – from whose commercials doyou find appealing? What are your concerns about the greenhouse effect? What is youropinion about abortion? What kind of health care system do you want?

After being bombarded with over 150 questions, I got an answer that I really did not

expect and at first I believed the web site was trying to be funny, but as I looked deeperinto the questions and the results I realized that this was one of the most honest results. Itstated that I should vote for Obama but that I had a strong interest in Ron Paul. I alsogreatly supported the need for a 3 rd party ( green party) as well as ( and here is the kicker)should consider moving to Canada, due in part to my views on health care, a 3 partysystem, as well as the views about the war and handgun reform. I was very surprised bythis but then again considering where I grew up and my beliefs – Roman Catholic, itsshould not be a surprise. I clicked the next button only to get more shocking news. It



told me that I could not trust McCain and that I could not support Palin. I must agree withthese results as I personally cannot stand McCain as I feel he is another George Bush anddo not feel that Palin has the skill to be the VP and possible President. Being thatMcCain is 72 it is quite possible that Palin could end up being the President of the UnitedStates of America.

So here I am, a Canadian in USA and all I can think about is how screwed up the USA is– we spent the weekend bailing out the financial institutions with the CEO’s COO’sgetting huge financial pay outs, we bailed out the airlines post 9/11 and we are fighting asecond Vietnam war, a war that no one will win. Time to move back to Canada…

http://www.quizrocket.com/who-should-i-vote/

[Editor’s Note: This site has a ton of junk mail scams attached; try the one below for amore straightforward survey & result]

http://www.whoshouldyouvotefor.com/ [Editor’s Note: Just for fun I have included both Tom’s and my results]Randy’s Results:

John McCain 42Barack Obama 27You expected: Barack ObamaYour recommendation: John McCain

Party: Republican

Tom’s Results:

Barack Obama 90John McCain -66You expected: Barack ObamaYour recommendation: Barack Obama

Party: Democratic

Untitled- by Mike Grattan


http://www.whoshouldyouvotefor.com/

http://www.whoshouldyouvotefor.com/




Creation in Our World – by Larissa Gula

The definition of art is a long, complex page with multiple branches for each division of work covered by the simple three letter word. To even try to focus on one definitionwould be rude. It would be a claim that one single definition rules supreme over theothers, without question.

Therefore, for this column, it is best to state that art is a product of mankind, one that ismeant to bring pleasure or stimulate the mind in some sort.

It is now safe to say that this definition is incredibly broad. Then again, the amount of

artwork one can find around the planet is staggering. Some of it, at first, might not evenappear to be creative works. It is only upon another person’s exclamation that onerealizes exactly what they have on their hands.

This, of course, may explain why some people walk through a museum exhibit and findthat another human being designed the exact same creation they once did, and now it’sthe other person’s work that is being displayed. Perhaps creators themselves, in theirdesire to simply create and satisfy their raging muse, do not realize what they have ontheir hands. To them, the creation, the art, is nothing more than their baby.

Take my own experience. While wandering through our local art museum during this past

late August, I saw many things that looked as if anyone could have scribbled. Everyonehas seen this before. I think many have hurt themselves asking, “Why didn’t I think aboutmaking a living doing this? I could do it!”

This form of self-attack is not limited to hand paintings or painted clay mounds. Thesimplest of photos in a gallery are often the most powerful. Backgrounds captured at justthe right moment; animals in the perfect pose; people in candid photos; all of these areoften items in one’s own personal gallery.

Most art forms are still completely respected. Carvings, which take hours of dedicationand resources, are often sold in stores as little art replicas. I myself have a perfect wooden

fox figurine that cost me 50 Franks while in Switzerland last summer; it is in fact my ownmotivation to continue until I think the details are complete.

Other art forms are not quite revered as much as the woodcarver’s. In 2007, Pittsburgh’slocal greenhouse took in glass artwork that imitated plant life and built the glassstructures into their exhibit. This included seaweed-like tentacles in shades of purple andpink reaching for the roof, and an entire golden glass flower set up to appear to bedropping its withering petals into the water beneath it.



I went to see this and was stunned by the mastery the craftsman had over glass, to createsuch elegant and monstrously oversized structures.

Yet groups of people had the audacity to claim that this entire project, a series of masterpieces of color and observance in nature, was not art. The skill of glass blowing

and sculpting, one that none of them could ever have achieved, was almost blocked out of the greenhouse by one group’s intolerance.

And this intolerance goes on into everyday life. Rap, a “music” form I myself cannotconsider music by scientific definition, I will begrudgingly admit to being an art: it isbadly written poetry to background beats.

In fact, my high school Imaginative Writing teacher could recall poetry readings andcontests he would take his students to around Pittsburgh. The students from well-fundedschools usually placed higher because of their usage of all elements within a good poem,because they could develop poetry to itsmaximum potential. Despite that, there was nodenying that the minority competitors wouldindeed always have a good sense of rhyme andrhythm, two aspects of poetry they certainlylearned from mainstream rap music.

I still hesitate to call it music, because while Imay sound good to some, it certainly does not tome. Yet many people listen to this and considerit tasteful. I myself might be more tolerant if only the listeners would respect my displeasureand not blast this noise from cars and buildings.

Tolerance is the key to this issue.

Tolerance from all parties is as important as theartwork itself. Art, in all of its forms, isuniversal. It is universal in the fact that allcultures and all people have their own style of it.It is universal in the fact that people dislike itutterly or relish and bask in its glory, and in bothcases there is some thought process as to whatthey see in the artwork.

Always be sure to give all art forms the benefitof the doubt and a good analysis before youwrite it off as terrible art completely. It justmight not be terrible; it just isn’t made for yourtastes.

Best of luck,Larissa Untitled –

By Nadide Gurcuoglu



Untitled – by Mirit Ben Nun





Anna’s poems – by Anna Gehmacher

Here I am now,all lost and confused.Here I am now,

looking for the truth.Here I am now,don't know what to do.

And so I sit,alone in my dark room,and think to myself,am I the fool?

Here I am now,with no one to hold,

no one who listens,no one, no soul.

And so I am here,not even slightly amused,lonely and nervous,my soul has been used

Untitled – by Bob Labute

Reflections on a returning poet – by R. J. Pare’

Here I standon the precipicethe young Damso long absent

How I've readbreath batedthe path she treadbroken hearted

But sad rhymestremble meteredare outward signsof passion fevered

To have loved and lostis a noble journeyso fret not the coststay open and ready

Love returnsin its own timethe embers burnnew flames sublime

For now, our choiceas we gaze over each new stanzato smile, rejoice!at last... the return of Anna !!!



Steph’s poem

As I sit here,them scissors and knives looking more

friendlyI think...

Who would really care??Who would come to my funeral?Would anyone really miss me?

I waited for someone

Anyone

To text me, to see if I was ok,to check if I was alright.But no message came,

no-one cared

I wondered...What’s so wrong with me?

I picked up the knifeslid it across my wrist

blood appearedit cut like a knife through butter

my hand shakingit pierces the skin so easily

I look out the windowat the rain

Untitled – by Nadide Gurcuoglu wondering would it end quicklyor would it be painful?

At least all of the pain in my heart

Would be

Gone!!








Ok this is a short from an anthology set that I'm working on. The set is called Somber

Thoughts, and the stories are all based around people's fears. It's about ten pages long,and is posted on my website www.silentsoul.org in the short story section.

Somber Thoughts - One:

The moment when you begin to fall asleep a place pulls at you. It is a place where dreams and nightmares are a reality; a place where everything exists and still is nothing at all. This is a place where time means nothing, existence means nothing.This is where it can all begin, and all end. Is life not just this… a somber thought before you drift away once again.

Fear of a Stranger

Melissa set the small coffee cup down on the coffee table. “Finally…done,” she saidwith satisfaction.

She looked around at the now filled apartment. Only two days ago the room wascompletely vacant with the exception of the mountain of boxes that filtered through fromher parent’s place. She brushed back her long straight blonde hair.

“Now all that’s left is… finding someone to talk to other then myself.” She sighed as shelooked around depressed at the thought of being so far from all of her friends. “That’swhat I get,” she thought to herself “the price to pay for fame.” She smiled a little at thethought. She took a final sip of coffee before moving to the back of the apartment.

In the second bedroom she had set up everything to be her art room. Since she knewthere was no need to keep it open for a roommate. She had tried living with someone elsebefore, but it ended in a bad way. She shuddered at the thought of allowing thosenightmares back into her life. The fear of letting anyone close to her again was enough tomake her blood run cold. She shook her head snapping herself out of the thought as sheflicked the radio on.

“This is DJ Rex, giving you all the hits all the time. How are all of our lovely ladiestonight? Just remember to keep it safe out there. Police are still tracking our night timefriend that the media has dubbed Dr. Love. So if you’re feeling alone and scared tonightust be sure to give your good friend Rex a call at 555-7399, or 555- REXX with two X’s.

Hahaha, and now for a little something to bring some light into the night.”

With that, the radio clicked onto an upbeat tempo electronic dance mix. Melissamoved her head a little to the beat as she moved her paints and brushes around. She set

http://www.silentsoul.org/

http://www.silentsoul.org/



up a canvas and began to mix paints. Before she knew it the mix of sounds and the moodbrought out a dark vibrant image onto her canvas. The shadowed figure painted in frontof her sat on his knees looking down so his face was not visible. The room around himseemed to appear as an operating room, but the décor was in disarray and splattered withred blotches.

She shuddered as she stared at her new work. “Sometimes I scare me…. Maybe I shouldsee a shrink.”

She rolled her eyes on her own suggestion and sat back in the large cushioned chairshe had put in the room for the purpose of admiring her own work. She stared hard at theimage as the thought of sleep slowly paraded her mind. Her eyes grew heavy as shedrifted away without giving it any thought.

She looked up from across the room that was vaguely familiar yet completely different

from the one she was in before. She could hear moaning through the walls. Withouthesitation she stood up and in what seemed like a single motion moved from the roomand into the hallway. She peered around at the framed photos and paintings that filled thewalls. Each one stared back at her with a blackened face. She turned her head to the sideto listen for the sounds again, and sure enough the sound rang through the hall. With slowand steady steps she gradually walked down the hall, listening to each sound as shemoved closer to the end of the hallway. The noise was louder, clearer now. She couldalso make out what seemed to be the sound of crying from behind the last door in thehallway. Something struck her as familiar as she reached for the door knob. In her chestsat the heavy feeling of dread yet she couldn’t stop herself from turning the knob andpushing the door open. She stood there eyes open in fear and pain as she stared into the

bedroom. A man turned back to look at her. As he did, the face of the women lying on thebed was clear. Melissa stared at her own teary, bruised face.

The scream that left her lungs brought her almost out of her chair. She stopped to look around only to realize she was in her art room.

She sat there for a minute still sitting on the edge of the chair as her heart raced andher mind stuck with the images of her nightmare. The tears began to flow from her eyesas she put her face into her hands.

After what seemed like too long she stood out of the chair and walked out of the room.

She moved into the bathroom across the hall as she wiped her face clean and stared hardat herself in the mirror.

“Your safe now….your stronger, and your safe.” She said it a few more times whilebreathing in and out of her nose. The tears began to swell up again as she slammed herfist onto the marble sink countertop. “Fuck!” She sighed with a heavy breath and beganto make the motions for her normal morning routines.



She had no idea what time it was but she knew that sleep was no longer an option.

The morning flowed quick, and by the time she had finished breakfast and checkedher email it was time for her eight AM orientation for her college classes. The motionsshe went through for the rest of the day were vacant and almost instinctual. Before she

knew it she was back at her apartment with bags filled with both school supplies andgroceries to last her she hoped for the next week or so.

After watching an old movie that was onthe TV she wandered back to her art room.She stopped at the doorway, leaning againstits frame, staring hard into the room. Thepainting sat on the wooden easel lookingaway from her yet still held the ferocity of her nightmare the night before.

She began to take a step forward as thedoorbell buzzed through the apartment.“Who is it?” She shrugged at the thoughtand slowly made her way to the door.

As she peered through the peephole in thedoor the sight of a well-dressed good-looking man with short black hair greetedher. She stopped leaning on the door asanother ring filled the apartment.

She opened the door, “Hello?”

The Easel, Sketchy – by R. J. Pare’

The man slightly stumbled as he regained his composure. “Sorry I was starting to think no one was home.”

“Yeah, sorry about that…..can I help you with something?”

The man took a step back showing that his hands rested behind him. Almost as if theywere concealing something.

“Miss Melissa Holmes, right?”

Melissa stammered as her thoughts began to swirl around. How did he know myname, who is this guy, why me?



“How do you know my name?” She quickly fired back before her mind had the chance toprocess the whirlwind inside of it.

“I... uh… I’m Ross, Ross Mc…”

“How do you know myname

?” This time the demand in her voice even startled her.

Ross looked down as he pulled his hands around him to show the small bundle of mail heheld. Melissa looked down and immediately felt the pulse in her chest change. “I’m….”

He cut her off before she could finish the apology. “They’ve been putting it in my box bymistake. I would have brought it by sooner, but I was… well mustering the courage.” Ared shade moved across his face as he looked down. “Please forgive me for theintrusion.” He held his hand out holding the small bundle.

Melissa reached out for it slightly scolding herself as she looked down through the return

addresses. “Thank you… Ross, right?”Ross nodded eagerly as a smile spread across his face. “Umm before I go… would youlike to go out to eat with me one night this week?”

Melissa stopped fumbling and looked up at his face. His eyes were brown and theblack suite jacket he wore over the white shirt and jeans reminded her of a magazinemodel. She pushed back a blonde lock that hung in front of her face as she smiled,nodding. “I’d like that.”

Ross couldn’t help but smile, “How about Friday night, around seven?”

“Sounds good.” She said nodding one more time to make sure the words from her mouthwere committing to the thoughts in her mind.

He smiled wider this time showing off his almost perfect teeth. “Alright I’ll see youthen.”

“Mm… hmm,” Is all she could say to reply. As she slipped back into the apartment herknees began to shake. She pushed up against the door closing it as she slid down the frontbringing her face into her knees. “Shh, its ok… it’s ok, I’m safe.”

Friday night came with no interruptions, and before she knew it she was sitting infront of the mirror in her room. She spun around once to catch the full view of her outfitin the mirror. Black skirt, button up white shirt with long sleeves, and her knee highheeled boots. She smiled at the look of it. She took a hard breath realizing how hot shecould really be when she wanted to. She began to pull her hair back into a ponytail as thedoorbell rang. She continued through the steps of getting it pulled back and up before sheopened the door.



As the door swung open his eyes quickly took her in before he stammered a “hello. Youlook… wow.”

He smiled nervously causing her to giggle slightly before she returned with a “thank you.So, where to?”

He straitened his suit jacket right before he finally replied. “A little Italian place Iknow… it’s right off the pier. You’ll love it.”

Her eyes flashed with what seemed to be excitement as her mind began to flow into thefears and doubts she was so familiar with. “Sounds… nice.”

He nodded, “we should probably go before it gets too much later.”

She nodded and grabbed a brown jacket, throwing it on before following him out.

The restaurant was astonishing. Very high class, suit and tie kind of place. Shefrowned at the thought of how underdressed she probably was, but as soon as the doubtstarted to cross her mind he nudged her. “You look amazing by the way.”

She smiled, trying to hold back the blush, “I think you’ve already said that a few timestonight.”

He jerked back at the comment and looked her over again. “Yeah… I know, I’mdefinitely going to say it a few more dozen times before the nights over though.”

She smiled again shaking her head. A familiar voice rang in her head, “you’rebeautiful.” She closed her eyes, mostly to keep the tears from showing as she shut out thepast.

The dinner went on with light conversation. She faked a smile and a laugh from timeto time. To her surprise maybe too well, but in the end the night moved on like her week had. By the end of the night she faked a smile, again, as she walked into her apartment.

“Have a good night,” he whispered before walking away from the closing door.

She let out a breathe realizing she had made it through the night, and then realizinghow cold she really was to him. She slammed her head against the door, maybe a littletoo hard. “Ouch,” she exclaimed as she rubbed her forehead.

She moved back through the apartment and settled in the chair in the art room. Herhead fell back as she started examining the texture and patterns in the ceiling tiles. Beforeshe knew it, the dim light of the room had completely faded away. She looked around thepitch black room with a blank numbness. Slowly her eyes adjusted to the utter darknesswhich revealed two distinct shapes that were shambling towards her. Her first reactionwas to scream, but as the figures moved closer and closer she realized that she wasn’t



even making any noise. She tried to move her body but the pressure of some invisibleweight kept her pinned to the chair. The two figures stood in front of her now, staringdown at her. She looked up feeling the sting of her tears as her shirt began to unbuttonitself. Her screaming and crying now only reverberated in her skull as the long blackenedfaces stretched down to hers. Her last scream sent her flailing from the chair down on to

her knees. She coughed heavy into the floor as she gasped for air.

The next few weeks went by as vacant as any other day. There was school, her internob at the art gallery down the street, cleaning, shopping, homework, painting, TV, and

what sleep she could get. The nightmares plagued her less and less as she vented onto thecanvas; each work, of course, being just as or more disturbing then her last ones. In timeher days blurred together until the day she came home from a late night at the gallery, tofind her apartment door unlocked.

“Oh no,” she stepped back running through the thoughts in her mind. She knew without a

doubt she had locked the door before she left. She reached into her purse grabbing thecan of mace she’s kept on her unused for the past two years.

“Not this time,” she turned the knob as quietly as possible while pushing open the door.

The thought crossed her mind that her body was completely calm, almost as if it waswaiting for a day like this, waiting to go back into her past and face it head on. Shefluidly moved past the door and into the living room area. She panned around with themace held out in front of her face. She paused for a moment to adjust to the lack of light.Looking down the hall she could tell that the lamp to the art room was on. She swallowedhard as she began to force her feet forward into the hallway. As she moved closer to the

door the courage that had propelled her in here began to fade. The old memories werebeginning to flood back into her mind. The memorable feel of his body against hers madeher want to scream. Her hand quickly moved to her mouth and muffled the gasp before itcould become something more then just a thought. Her body began to shake as she fell toher knees. She tried to focus as her mind betrayed her.

The sound of movement and the flicker of the light brought her back into reality. Shelifted the can of mace as high as she could as her body trembled and as soon as thedarkened figure emerged from the doorway she slammed down on the trigger. The figurescreamed out in shocked pain before he dropped to the floor.

“Melissa, oh fuck! Oh shit!”Melissa stopped in her tracks and dropped the can. Her jaw dropped to the floor as shetoo well recognized the voice in front of her. “Dad? Oh my god!”

She watched her father rock around in agony, knowing there was really nothing she coulddo. The two of them sat in the dark, for what seemed like an eternity, quietly hoping itwould take some of the sting away.





“Yeah, definitely.” He answered back maybe a little too quickly.

She moved back into her room. “Good, now go so I can get dressed.”

She hiked her thumb towards the door as her dad moved out of her way and out into

the hallway. She threw on a white tank top, and a pair of blue jeans, “Quick and simple.”She smiled at herself in the mirror noticing how much of a difference it had in hercomplexion when she actually got a full night’s sleep. The thought of the night beforestarted to parade through her mind once again. The image of her father screaming in thedark, sent chills down her spine. The breath in her lungs stopped short as she lookedaway from the mirror and shook the thought from her mind. She took in a deep breathbefore walking out of her room.

“Ok dad, there’s plenty of food here, basic cable, enjoy. I’ll be back around four.”

Her father nodded, “have fun at work.”

She laughed sarcastically while opening the door. “Oh yeah… tons… oh, and try not toburn the place down while I’m gone.”

He glared at her as she moved around the door and out into the hallway.

The sound of a door echoing shut at the end of the hall grabbed her attention as shewas about to reach for her keys. She looked down noticing Ross turning towards her atthe exact same time. Her eyes tried to trail away, but the red tone to her skin was a deadgive away that she noticed him. The two moved towards each other as they made theirway simultaneously towards the elevator. “Hey,” they both echoed to each otherawkwardly.

“So how have you been?” Ross managed to choke out a good question before she could.

“Umm, good.” She nodded, wishing she could really convince herself that all was well.

“How about yourself?” He shrugged, “busy with work at the hospital lately. I… um, Iwanted to talk to you about dinner the other night. Well I guess the other week.” Hechuckled at his own joke.

She smiled realizing how hard he was trying to lessen the tension between them as theyentered the elevator. She nodded, “go ahead, ask .”

He looked back at her, staring hard into her blue eyes as he looked for the words. “I….Ihad a good time at dinner. I liked talking with you…..but well. That’s just it, I did all thetalking. Hell I don’t even think you were there for most of the night.”

She winced at the thought of how distant she normally was from people. As sheopened her mouth, to give some type of explanation, he stepped forward locking with her



eyes… and then with her lips. Her mind hadn’t even registered what had just happenedwhen he leaned back to look at her expression.

“I like you Melissa….hell I can’tstop thinking about you, but I

don’t want to be another prettyface. Give me a chance, let mein.”

Her voice cracked a little, “I….Idon’t know.” The elevator doorslid opened allowing the light of the lobby to really show off hisperfect skin, hair, teeth. Her eyeswere visibly scanning over himas he stepped out of the elevator.

“I won’t wait too long for achance, but I’m not going tostand by without giving it myall.” She nodded slowly steppingout of the elevator. “We’ll talk more about it later,” he said ashe looked down cursing silentlyat his watch.

Before she knew it she wasalone in the lobby. Her mind wasracing a hundred miles a minute.Where did she go wrong?


Is it ok for her to want more than the nightmares, the paranoia? Is it ok for her to wantto invite a complete stranger into her heart, her home? Was it ok for her to want what heust gave to her in that elevator? She blushed realizing that her heart beat was still

thudding all the way to the base of her fingertips. She smiled at the thought just beforethe realization that she had ten minutes left before she needed to be at work.

The rush of her jog to, and the strange yet almost needed drama before, work seemedto drain most of her newfound energy she had gained from her undisturbed sleep. Sadlythough, as she pushed herself through the few hours she had, she realized that by the timeshe gets home her social and motor skills would be close to that of a sloth. Though forsome reason, the imagery of a sloth lead her to giggle a little louder then she should hadin the complete silence of the gallery.



Her work day ended after what seemed to be the longest day of her life. She rushedout the door hoping that she would be able to save some energy to give her father the oneon one time he deserved after the ordeals of the night before. Her ascent up the buildingalso seemed to take much longer then she would expect. As if all the detail to the timethat she barely paid any attention to was deciding to get all of the attention it could on

this day. Once she reached the top of the building she stepped out of the elevator into thehallway and immediately felt a strange weight on her chest. For some reason, her mindhad decided at that moment it would recall memories that she had done so well up to nowto vent away on canvas paper.

She stopped short in the hallway as she fought back the swelling of tears in her eyes.The images of the man she once thought she was going to spend her life with holding herdown. These images, the feeling of the weight of his body, the helplessness… shecouldn’t stand it. She immediately shook her head as she ran for her door. She wipedaway what little tears had already accumulated.

“Ok, I just go straight to my room, and I can do this.”At this point she wasn’t sure if she was telling herself this inside her head or out loud.

She pushed through the door of her apartment and quickly moved through the hall andinto her room. She closed the door leaning her head against it heavily. She felt theparanoia creeping back in. The tears started forming again, and just as she was ready tofight it all down again a pair of dark arms reached around her pulling her back away fromthe door. Before she could let out the scream she was desperately reaching for, a handmoved over her face. The scent and taste of something awful filled her mouth. Theburning, gave way to dizziness as she felt herself fall back into nothing.

Silenced- by R. J.

Pare’



Her eyes with much effort fought back the heaviness that now hung over them. Thefeeling of no time, of no real vision past the utter blackness that sat in front of her causedher heart beat to quicken. Her breaths began to become shorter and more erratic as the

full weight of the situation sat on her chest. The tears formed up under her eyes as theybegan to flow down her face. She moved slightly realizing that her arms and legs burnedwhen she attempted to move them, but her eyes couldn’t see far enough through the pitchblack to see how bad off she really was. Time moved on… what was probably minutes,became hours in her mind; only allowing for more time to really concentrate on thehorror of the situation.

A small bit of light began to flood into the room as Melissa looked up to see a dark figure standing in a stream of light. She could now see the blood that was covering herarms and legs, but shut her eyes to not look further into her wounds.

“I see you’re awake.” The voice that spoke now was muffled behind the leather mask thatstared back at her now. She forced herself not to scream and sat back closing her eyestighter.

“Well that’s no fun.” The demented voice moved closer in the darkness till she could feelhis breath beating down on her bare chest. “I just want you to know that you were right. Iwant you to know that tonight you’re going to die, and you have no power to stop it. Youwere careful up to this last point and that’s all I needed to act.”

He slid the cold leather on his hand down the side of her face. The images of her dadfrom earlier that day played through her mind. Was he ok? How did this guy get into herapartment? Did I forget to lock my door? She began to play her day backwards in herhead. Was this guy, Ross? Was she right to keep her distance or did she really fuck up theonly chance she was ever going to get to be with a decent man?

She had so many questions… so little time. Slowly, yet surely, the pain began to set inand the door began to close... cutting off the only source of light into the room; shuttingaway the outside world for the last time. Her mind began to fall back to her countlessnightmares before. How was this any different? Soon she would wake up and find herself in her bed, or in the chair in her art room, right?

Somber Thoughts before the final darkness takes hold: Fear, Paranoia, Betrayal andAcceptance. Just another course through life, another thought before you fall asleep andfall into the endless void that we can all relate to.



7th Son – by Roger Formosa; Digital Cover Design – by David Marshall





He was an odd looking fellow and the patrons weren’t quite sure whether tobelieve his story that he was of Cherokee/Irish stock. Standing there with a bare torsoand muscular dark skinned frame he looked every part Cherokee but his red hair madepeople think he was embellishing the truth a little.

Patrick looked out over the crowd and his eyes settled on a man in a long black coat. The man was wearing a wide brimmed hat and walking like a gunslinger fromway back when. The man turned and another man ran up to him, dressed in a similarfashion. The first man was talking to his companion when he caught sight of Patrick looking at him. Patrick had a sudden sensation wash over his entire body, he took asharp breath and grabbed at his forehead.

Tommy looked over to his friend and began to usher the crowd away. “Show’s overfor now folks looks like Howling Wolf needs a rest.” The younger man caught hisfriend by the elbow. “You ok?”

Patrick said nothing as if struck dumb.

Tommy led Patrick to a nearby tent and sat him down. “Hey Pat, come on what’swrong?”

The older man seemed to snap to attention and shook all over. “Wha…? Tommy? Ohthank the spirits! I just had a vision….”

“You always have visions Pat, that’s your gift.”

“No, not like that. I saw the future but it was much farther than ever before.” Patrick exclaimed excitedly.

Tommy had known Patrick for several years now.

Their first meeting had been very eventful. Finn had been trampled and kicked in the head by a runaway horse. As he lay looking up at the sun and bleeding to death he had been aware of a tall figure standing over him. Patrick had picked up the fallen youth and carried him over to the side of the road. Using his abilities Pat laid his hands on the boys head and soon the bloody gash receded. Through their friendship Tommy would learn of Patrick’s special abilities; that he could heal the

sick and injured and on occasion would see visions of the future. Tommy clicked back in to the present as his friend told him about his latest vision.

Patrick finished his tale and sat back looking at his young friend. Tommy shook hishead. “That is impossible...”

“I’m telling you what I saw, the ending was hazy but I know I stopped what wasgoing to happen.”

Later that evening Butch Dylan and Jed Jefferson climbed out of the foliage. Thecarnival goers had all gone home for the night and the site was quiet as everyone had

finished up and retired to their tents or caravans.



Butch looked at his friend. “Are you ready to do this..?”

Jed nodded nervously, “I think so.” He mumbled quietly.

A light in a nearby trailer went out and two figures emerged from the door. One

was a tall muscular man carrying a large tin case and the other was a woman who waslocking the door.

Butch suddenly appeared out of the shadow and pointed his knife at Biffo, thestrong man. Biffo sneered and tensed ready to beat the interloper when Jed flew fromthe bushes and smashed his pistol down on top of Biffo’s skull. The strong man fellwith a grunt. It all happened so fast that Gertie hadn’t even had time to scream forhelp before a rugged hand clasped over her mouth.

Butch sniffed the woman’s fragrance as Jed reached for the money tin. “Come onButch I got it let’s get out of here!”

Butch however wasn’t ready to split just yet. He leered at Gertie showing his nastyyellow stained teeth. “I think I might just take me some fun while I’m here.”

Jed stood and looked around nervously. “Butch, come on man…”

The sentence remained unfinished as Patrick felled the man with one swoop of hisfist. Butch turned to see Patrick standing several feet away. Gertie let out a muffledcry as Butch dragged her closer and the blade took a slice of her neck. “Jeez, wouldya look at this. What are ya boy? Injun?”

Patrick demanded “Let the woman go!”

“Or what?” Butch replied

Patrick lunged at the man and reached him just before Butch could plunge theknife any deeper in to Gertie. The proud warrior struck out at Butch but the craftyrobber had been in a few fights in his day and knew when to duck and when to run.Jed started to come round and looking on at the two men tussle he raised his gun.Patrick spun round at that precise moment and executed a perfectly timed quick whichcaught Jed flush on the jaw and sent him hurtling back into oblivion.

Butch pushed Gertie to the ground and ran at Patrick with his knife raised. Themen collided and fell to the ground. Gertie picked up the money can and began toshout for help as the men traded punches. Patrick realized that this was where his‘vision’ had ended. From now on he didn’t know for sure what would happen.

People began to rise from their sleep and look out of their abodes at thecommotion. Suddenly the fight stopped, both men lay in a heap on the ground.Several of the carnival workers ran up to see what was happening. Gertie reacheddown to shake Patrick.

“Hey Wolf, are you ok?” she saw a pool of blood and she cried out for some help.



Patrick rolled over and his eyes flickered open. He coughed and tried to raise himself “I’m ok.” He answered.

Even as he said these words he looked down at Butch Dylan who lay prone with aknife embedded in his side. The sight knocked the man off his feet and he crumpled

under his weight, sitting back down hard. “No, that’s not right…”

Despite the witness statement of Gertie, Patrick was led away and charged withButch Dylan’s murder. He knew there would be no chance that a jury of his peerswould give him a fair trial and he expected the worst.

And so he sat in his prison cell and waited for the inevitable to happen andwondering…

Could he have saved Butch’s life? Dylan was a dangerous criminal; he might havekilled Patrick if things had gone different. Yet Patrick was haunted by the thought…

If he had acted quickly, would his ability to heal have been able to spare the man’slife? And, if so… does that mean he wanted Butch dead?

Does that not makehim… a murderer?

The Seventh Son’s storywill be continued in thegraphic novel, fromSpeakeasy Primates:

“When Heroes Were”

By:

R. J. Pare’David MarshallRoger Formosa

Victor CastroRoger Price

7th Son – pencils byVictor Castro; coloursby Jonathan Biermann



Untitled – by Josh Bowe







By Brad Bellmore

Tell Me a Story

Virgin Comics started telling tales fromIndia almost two years ago. Their monthlyDevi is now on issue 20. Along the way havebeen a variety of stories told in miniseries (4 –6 issues), the latest of which is Kshatriya(pronounced shut-REE-yuh).

The intent of Virgin is to put the richhistory and culture of India in an easilyaccessible and digestible format for thewestern world. They have done sowonderfully with most of the titles that I’veread. A few were a bit confusing in theirpsychedelic grandeur, making me wonder if Imight understand them if I were high. Most,though, present the tales clearly withbreathtaking visuals.

Kshatriya is a beautifully drawn magazinemixing Indian art with traditional American comic style. I prefer my comics to have alittle more action with more dynamic drawings. This mag tends to lean toward a morestatic and iconic style, but that fits these tales well; after all these are gods and legendswhose stories are being unfolded before us.

Issue #1 of Kshatriya is on the shelves now and presents the tale of one of the greatwarrior legends of ancient India. The story opens as Alexander the Great is riding intoIndus, astounded at the beauty of the next land he will conquer. He gets separated fromhis army and must wait out a storm in the ruins of an ancient temple. An old man stuck there with him begins to regale him with the tale of Kshatriya in order to help Alexanderunderstand that duty and honor have greater places of importance than glory in the life of a warrior.

Centuries before, India enjoyed a golden age when everyone prospered. The king,Amitabha, decided to crown his younger son as his successor since he had the purerheart. The older brother, Mayadeva immediately proves his father’s point by selling outto a demon god, promising to serve him by using a demon horde to steal the throne.



After slaying his father, Mayadeva uses his demon powers to burn the right handoff his brother then has him thrown into a river to drown. Kshatriya doesn’t die, beingrescued by Skanda, the god his father served. Kshatriya is merged with a tiger to repairhis body and restore his life. Given the option to flee or fight his brother, Kshatriyachooses to fight, taking a mission from Skanda to deliver his land and people from thedemons that rule them.

I found myself disagreeing with philosophy lightly peppered into the story. But Iam a westerner trying to get my mind around trains of thought that might be as commonas breathing to an easterner. I plan to read the rest of this miniseries as I enjoy both thestory and art enough. I strongly recommend picking up any Virgin comic just for theshear beauty of them and the opportunity step into a different culture, even if only for thespace of 24 pages of brightly colored panels.



Untitled – by Mike Grattan





In my last article I mentioned two new shows that had me excited about the return of television. Fringe was good enough for me to continue watching it. I am not sure it livedup to the hype but it is entertaining and fun.

The show that was my 2 nd pick moved up to 1 st. True Blood is a vampire show butwith a new twist and a new backdrop. I love how the show takes place in a smallLouisiana swamp town with a cast of characters who are as peculiar as theirsurroundings. The story takes place in a reality where everyone knows about vampiresand treats them as a minority race. The narrative revolves around a young waitress,Sookie Stackhouse, who is capable of hearing other people’s thoughts. Her love life thusfar has been bleak because she just could not handle hearing the secret thoughts of themen she was dating. She is smitten by a vampire she rescues when she cannot read hismind. The tone is darkly humorous, sexually charged and maybe a little warped. Whatmakes this show stand out is that it is actually unique in so many ways… a rare conceptin modern television viewing. If you do not have HBO or TMN you will have to waituntil this is released on DVD but from what I have seen of the show so far, it is worth thewait.

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