listen to those jolly fuckers laugh like they're drunk on grog. throw punches, i beg of thee, you shit-fuckers. or well- i almost hope it doesn't turn violent. she's asleep, the jenny is, gone away on little-n, little-y, BIG FUCKING-Q, so i wouldn't want to rouse her. mordicai has...other plans! seizing control of the capsule, he lurches into time with aploomb! panache! white feather! a stagger through the fourth dimension! where neither kung fu nor science can save you! welcome to the halls of dread. the corridors of terror! welcome to...oubliette. turn around & there are yet more walls to baffle you. it is always down-hill from here! but i know secrets, i do indeed. i know my petro from the rada. my right from my left. but what do i care? hand me that butcher's cleaver. hand me that 12 gauge. i will tell you: i like revolvers & shotguns the best. automatics have their place, machine guns their charm. but there is something basic about a splatter of pellets, something that trumps all teflon coated or hollow point shells. i mean, even when it comes to handguns i've got a hard-on for glassers. what can i say! mayhem at the expense of accuracy? don't mind if i do. these are some serious fellows, owen. show them to the parlor downstairs! "downstairs, sir?" of course owen, faithful majordomo! for folks of this caliber, everything suiting them is in the basement! "of course, sir." exellent owen. vampire mythology results in: owen, hester, cao. the winners of that litter. everyone else is so much meat, meat mown like grass. but then, dealing with you whores is like trying to tickle a hemmroid. what the fuck is with the loneliness? where is plurality? even stupid fucking grimm brothers romanced the honey comb! i want to be home again, i want to be not-me again. today i read issues 6 & 7 of powers. i liked issue 6 a whole lot, by & large, with the flash back being the pay off. issue 7...i am still not sure about. but for reasons other than what bendis et al talked about in their afterword.