Mindless Ones

NOW IS THE TIME AND THE TIME IS NOW FOR OUR CHILDREN TO ASK FOR THE WORLD, LIFE’S UNREASONABLE, DEMAND THE IMPOSSIBLE

DID YOU KNOW?  Sharks can smell London from space!

DID YOU KNOW?  If you remove the sax breaks from every 80s song, the 80s actually only last for 7 years!

DID YOU KNOW?  This is actually a blurb!

<ITEM> It’s another episode of SILENCE!.  You know the sort of thing to expect.  Lots of talk about Hanson.

<ITEM> The Beast Must Die unboxes a load of stuff in a very special The Beast Unboxes

<ITEM>  Gary Lactus has also picked up a Lorne Bomb.

<ITEM>  Come with us to Reviewniverse, with The Young Lawyers, LOEG Tempest, Monsters, Girl and Silverblade of course.

@frasergeesin
@thebeastmustdie

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SOMEONE’S IN MY FRUIT CELLAR!

 

Click to download SILENCE!#120

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This edition of SILENCE! is proudly sponsored by the greatest comics shop on the planet, DAVE’S COMICS of Brighton.

This is the first in what will probably -HAHAHAHAHAHAHA – be a series of regular, if shortish posts about good, scary moments in superhero books.

This week:

From Dante’s Inferno and Fungus the Bogeyman to the much maligned, because capriciously fatal, Chasms of Malice the megadungeon has, for me, an eternal appeal. But because I’ve always found it such a comforting fictional environment, films like 127 Hours and Touching The Void really fuck with my head. They take the safe, endlessly sheltered, endlessly contained and controlled space and aggressively insist it’s anything but. The endless shelter, the roofing, becomes nothing but a granite sky as uncaring, if not moreso, than the one in the stock quote. Because unlike the sky above us it can cave in, trap arms, pulverise shins. Can go on forever…. until it tapers into a little hole where the star of The Descent is still trapped, alone, left to rot and go mad in the dark. Dungeons jostle about like this in all our minds, I think. Humans seek refuge. We instantly anthropomorphise enclosed spaces. Potential homes. But they may resist us. Perhaps they *are* homes – but not ours. Filled with… things.

Or perhaps they’re not homes at all.