Comedian, writer, prophetically strange tame manlike ape.
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Man, I just love Captain Harlock. I’m a sucker for retro anime in general and space pirates in particular. Leiji Mastumoto’s characters have been icons for many generations, and I still wanna be like Harlock when I grow up.
Another piece I finished for Emerald City Comic-Con, you can get one there or online, here.
宇宙海賊キャプテン・ハーロック. #Harlock #Esmeraldas
Of course, I did not notice that I was making anyone wait. Shame on us!
You’ll have to let me buy you a drink sometime… Make it a good one.
I would liken left-right oscillation to a pendulum—as so many have before. But that just doesn’t reflect reality anymore. The see-saw has been broken, and we will never again allow those bloodthirsty and monied vultures to pick at our still-living flesh, while they claim that they’re trimming the fat. There is nothing that they could ever do to hide the magnitude of their hubris. As entertaining as it is to watch them try their Sisyphean feats of nihilistic self-destruction, there is not only a unimaginable economic cost, but an endemic level of human suffering being callously committed by those that are in a privileged position, with a humanitarian duty to help pick up and dust off those that they have not only pushed to the ground, but continue to kick whilst they are down. Right is wrong, and Left is right.
"N’Jawe, N’Jawe!" absentmindedly sputtered the decrepit old shaman.
"What is it, grandfather—do you need something?" answered a young man, knowing full well that he was speaking but self-serving commentary whilst in the ardent service of his elder.
"You—kids, no longer know the language of your ancestors…" Ungazi retorted—having returned from a haze, but with the familiar and unmistakable hint of the self-righteousness afforded by his conventionally-aged wisdom. "You spend all day and night bemused by those strange lights."
"Tch!" N’Jawe almost spit. "It’s not cool to talk like that anymore. Besides, your grammar has always been poor—even if it’s just a creole of the old tongue."
"What? You have no respect for your forefathers!" Ugazi bellowed, having grown offended.
"Whoa, whoa! Take it easy, grandpa. I know that you can recite our paternal lineage a hundred generations through the epic tradition, but how many grandmothers can you name?" He paused. "I’ve just been looking them up—in the ‘strange lights’. Would you like to see?"
It felt like I could do no right today—but that was perhaps because everyone was going left.
David Bowie in a classy double-breasted chalk stripe with peak lapels.
by Shigehiro Okada
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