So that's it. Wham, bam, thank you ma'am and it's gone, done, over. Specifically, I am referring to the tenth volume of Pet Shop of Horrors, which I recently obtained thanks to my lovely neighborhood Suncoast. Yes folks, it's finally here. All your questions answered, all the loose ends tied up. Hip, hip, horray and it's done. So what's the big deal? It's only a graphic novel in a relatively short and unpopular series. A comic which lacks the horror genre flavor it advertises, focusing instead on - how did the Count put it? Love, hope and dreams. A comic which lost some of its meaning and fluency in the blurry process of translaton.
But it still ended. And it took a chunk of me with it, like so many other great series. Damn my sensitivity. Even an amatur author has that kind of power, drawing the readers in, cradling them in some fragile, bittersweet world. And no matter how elegant, smooth, and captivating the story, the end always comes like a train wreck. You HAVE to know. You can't look away, or you might miss something that could change the way you think. But that means it's over. Here, sinner, I'll point the way to the door so you can leave this Eden that I, the author (and God), have created. But you are just a visiter, and are too spoiled, too different, or just too real to stay with me. And it's gone.
Don't think it's just books, either, although I find that they're the worst. Anything can be the cause of this painful catharsis. Even a song, even the life of a single human being. A Rock God died today, you hear. A legend. A man I know. That woman I saw on the bus, it was in the news. The Wendy's guy, what was his name? The towers fell. And it hits you. Everything in the future is changed, because whoever died cannot see it or influence it.
But is their death really an ending? Entire novels have been spurred by one death. But, the other way around, the only way to really end a story is with death. The death of everyone in it, down to the neighbor's pet fish. Hell, maybe only the end of the world could really finalize things, but that's not right either. Douglas Adams, god rest his sould, gave us proof enough of that. But the end of the known universe also wouldn't work. What kind of message is that, anyway? Oh, no, sorry but the great force of Entropy won after all and everyone's individual journey really WAS pointless in the first place.
I think that's why I like webcomics. They don't have a clear end, or even a clear beginning at times. But even they break down, end, go on hiatus, and become rotton through and through. And I think that's why I have such trouble writing. I can start a story, but knowing I'll have to end it breaks my heart, so I just stop. And that's worse.
So what's the point? I could read Finnagen's Wake, but I'd never understand it, so the fact that it doesn't really end doesn't matter. Maybe, underneath all this angst and circular thinking, you see a confused, scared little girl who gets through life by pretending she's things she's not. By defining herself based on the factors surrounding her. And you'd be right. In fact, if you thought that this whole spew of philisophical bullshit was spawned because said girl can't get a date, you probably wouldn't be far off. But think for a bit, if you've actually read this rant to this point. In a moment, I will be done, and what then? You won't remember the beginning, just the end. And nothing's ever the same the second time you read it. The first time you read something, you are open, as vulnerable to love, betrayal, and confusion. The second time you're omniscient, and that ruins everything. Remember, the characters don't change, you do.
May Today
