I totes “like” this.
I haven’t read comics in a while. I was initially turned onto them by my ex: He chose Y: The Last Man as my starting point. An excellent choice. It is a limited series, with a definite (and absolutely beautiful) ending. I felt the same way as I approached the last pages. I didn’t want to leave this post-apocalyptic world in which every single male dies of a mysterious illness, save Yorick Brown and Ampersand. Because somehow it felt better, more exciting maybe? than my current reality. I’ve re-read it several times, although I’m never saved that twinge of regret upon its completion.
Mayhaps I will take up the hobby again, and check out some Chew…
Endings are weird. They’re incredibly common, but they freak me out. Whenever I finish a book, I always feel distressed and empty, despite my brain being a little bit fuller (apart from that time I read Russell Brand’s autobiography, lost a couple brain cells on that one). At some point, your game of Pac-Man is going to end, no matter how well you dodge the ghosts, because the kill screen on level 256 is always waiting in the wings. Not to be too deep, but get this: Life ends.
Comics are a respite from endings. Some heroes have been doing the same thing for over fifty years and they aren’t slowing down. Single issues end, but you always know that in two weeks Spiderman will swing back, Batman will punch another goon in the chest and Hulk will smash yet again. It’s an infinite, comforting cycle.
Which is why Chew…
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