GROUP-MINDED Pt. 6
In Arthurian legend, Arthur was the king, but he was nothing without his mentor, Merlin. And, despite how we view the events, it was the loss of Merlin that signal the fall of the kingdom. Without Merlin, Excalibur would have stayed with the Lady. There would be no knights, no table round, and perhaps Arthur and Gwenivere would have passed each other by. Maybe that would have been for the best.
I met my Merlin at a comic shop, Comic’s Ink. I’d gone in the store a few times, never speaking, but always aware. I’d listen to Merlin talk to his customers about comics, movies, music, and quantum physics. Always wanting to join in the fun, but too afraid. Trying to remember in my old age how we met exactly, I think I owe it all to one stranger who approached Merlin for advice on a script. When I saw that, I saw an opportunity, and I was always anxious to have someone praise my work. This was back in the day when my only feedback came from friends and girlfriend.
I remember only one thing from our first conversation. Merlin asked me, “What books are you reading.” I don’t think he realized just whom he was dealing with or he would have simply said, “Looks good.” Leave it at that. But right there our relationship was formed. I was squire, and he was wise man. It’s for that reason I asked him to join Gothic Studios. I knew nothing of the comic industry, and I’d heard Merlin speak enough on the subject to know how aware he was of the ins and outs. Besides, when forming a comic studio, it doesn’t hurt to have a retailer in on the ground floor.
At Merlin’s first meeting, he hipped us to the facts and killed all enthusiasm when he gave us his only condition for joining us. We had to realize that breaking in would take five years minimum. He couldn’t have picked the wrong bunch of kids to tell. Alex and I dealt with it, but used it as a tool to procrastinate. Neil saw it as a hurdle to jump, and when he couldn’t, he blamed the industry and us. But, that didn’t change the fact that Merlin was right. It takes five years, minimum. We accepted, Merlin joined, and without his guidance many thing DMS accomplished would have never happened. We probably wouldn’t have known or gone to the San Diego convention, put proposals together, had business cards, met professionals, and made ashcans. Qabbal would still be Dead Souls and I’d still write anything but full comic strip format. But, probably the biggest thing we owe to him is keeping DMS alive much longer than it would have been had he not been around.
DMS needed a leader, and I was so afraid I often ran away when the group needed me most. At those times, Merlin was there to grab the reigns. He was the leader I should have been, and there were times I saw it, knew it, and envied him for it. But, it was the quiet moments, when it was just the two of us, when I’d let my ego take a rest and we’d talk about everything, every problem I was having in and out of the studio. There were times he was an understanding friend, and others where he was the crabby old kung fu master. Because of him I started reading books I’d never pick up. I discovered Phillip K. Dick is the driest writer on the planet. His stories are the only ones better on screen than paper. I read about nanotechs in Blood Music. African magic in Blood Brothers. I read about junk from Burroughs and more junk from HST. He took away my reliance on inspiration and gave me control of my imagination. But, while I became a better writer, I was becoming a worse person.
It’s all about timing. Meet the right person at the right time and you could create an independent nation. Meet them at the wrong time, and you’ll find yourself in San Diego, dead in a bunk bed. I met Merlin shortly after I was married and we became friends real fast. Alex, Neil, and I hung out, but Merlin and I practically lived together. We’d see each other every single day almost. We’d go to movies and dinners with our wives. We traveled together. Smoked weed together. Sometimes we just hung out. But I was going through changes, and there were thing in Merlin’s life that was too dangerous for me at the time. The shiny loaded gun in the shoebox a child can’t imagine would blow his or her head off. It doesn’t take crack to make a junky. Anything is narcotic for someone with an addictive personality. It started at the con with porn stars, went so far as strip bars, and became obsessive with nudie magazines. Funny, unjust though it may be, I seem to remember myself in the same way I watched Johnny Cash destroy himself in Walk the Line. It all started with a “pick me up.” Merlin was going through his own tribulations, but I won’t assume to know what they were. I’ll simple say things were out of balance.
While I drowned, I forced myself on Merlin all the more. I went from Arthur to Uther, always relying on Merlin’s magic for everything. Then Merlin began to pull back. Perhaps he felt taken advantage of, and that wouldn’t be an exaggeration. Or, per chance he knew I relied on him too much. Hell, he could have just gotten bored and tired of seeing me every day. I knew things were different when I went into his store one night with the usual “I suck” look on my face. I opened, looking for the usual pat on my back. Instead, I was given a verbal slap across the face. A “get off your ass” speech that sent me back. It was a wake up call on several levels.
It’s very hard to change anything once it’s become a habit, and both of us fell into that trap. The days between meetings were full of decisive decisions, but every Saturday just saw more of the same procrastinations. It got to a point when Merlin would not come to every meeting because there was nothing to do. I knew there was something wrong, bnut I did nothing. I was enjoying my newfound body and ego too much to care. Merlin started drifting. And then, he was gone. There were only two of us left. And we started strong, in the beginning. But, Merlin was the driving force. The meme of DMS that kept us focused. Without him, we became lost, uncertain, and fear would eat us alive.
JPG.
I met my Merlin at a comic shop, Comic’s Ink. I’d gone in the store a few times, never speaking, but always aware. I’d listen to Merlin talk to his customers about comics, movies, music, and quantum physics. Always wanting to join in the fun, but too afraid. Trying to remember in my old age how we met exactly, I think I owe it all to one stranger who approached Merlin for advice on a script. When I saw that, I saw an opportunity, and I was always anxious to have someone praise my work. This was back in the day when my only feedback came from friends and girlfriend.
I remember only one thing from our first conversation. Merlin asked me, “What books are you reading.” I don’t think he realized just whom he was dealing with or he would have simply said, “Looks good.” Leave it at that. But right there our relationship was formed. I was squire, and he was wise man. It’s for that reason I asked him to join Gothic Studios. I knew nothing of the comic industry, and I’d heard Merlin speak enough on the subject to know how aware he was of the ins and outs. Besides, when forming a comic studio, it doesn’t hurt to have a retailer in on the ground floor.
At Merlin’s first meeting, he hipped us to the facts and killed all enthusiasm when he gave us his only condition for joining us. We had to realize that breaking in would take five years minimum. He couldn’t have picked the wrong bunch of kids to tell. Alex and I dealt with it, but used it as a tool to procrastinate. Neil saw it as a hurdle to jump, and when he couldn’t, he blamed the industry and us. But, that didn’t change the fact that Merlin was right. It takes five years, minimum. We accepted, Merlin joined, and without his guidance many thing DMS accomplished would have never happened. We probably wouldn’t have known or gone to the San Diego convention, put proposals together, had business cards, met professionals, and made ashcans. Qabbal would still be Dead Souls and I’d still write anything but full comic strip format. But, probably the biggest thing we owe to him is keeping DMS alive much longer than it would have been had he not been around.
DMS needed a leader, and I was so afraid I often ran away when the group needed me most. At those times, Merlin was there to grab the reigns. He was the leader I should have been, and there were times I saw it, knew it, and envied him for it. But, it was the quiet moments, when it was just the two of us, when I’d let my ego take a rest and we’d talk about everything, every problem I was having in and out of the studio. There were times he was an understanding friend, and others where he was the crabby old kung fu master. Because of him I started reading books I’d never pick up. I discovered Phillip K. Dick is the driest writer on the planet. His stories are the only ones better on screen than paper. I read about nanotechs in Blood Music. African magic in Blood Brothers. I read about junk from Burroughs and more junk from HST. He took away my reliance on inspiration and gave me control of my imagination. But, while I became a better writer, I was becoming a worse person.
It’s all about timing. Meet the right person at the right time and you could create an independent nation. Meet them at the wrong time, and you’ll find yourself in San Diego, dead in a bunk bed. I met Merlin shortly after I was married and we became friends real fast. Alex, Neil, and I hung out, but Merlin and I practically lived together. We’d see each other every single day almost. We’d go to movies and dinners with our wives. We traveled together. Smoked weed together. Sometimes we just hung out. But I was going through changes, and there were thing in Merlin’s life that was too dangerous for me at the time. The shiny loaded gun in the shoebox a child can’t imagine would blow his or her head off. It doesn’t take crack to make a junky. Anything is narcotic for someone with an addictive personality. It started at the con with porn stars, went so far as strip bars, and became obsessive with nudie magazines. Funny, unjust though it may be, I seem to remember myself in the same way I watched Johnny Cash destroy himself in Walk the Line. It all started with a “pick me up.” Merlin was going through his own tribulations, but I won’t assume to know what they were. I’ll simple say things were out of balance.
While I drowned, I forced myself on Merlin all the more. I went from Arthur to Uther, always relying on Merlin’s magic for everything. Then Merlin began to pull back. Perhaps he felt taken advantage of, and that wouldn’t be an exaggeration. Or, per chance he knew I relied on him too much. Hell, he could have just gotten bored and tired of seeing me every day. I knew things were different when I went into his store one night with the usual “I suck” look on my face. I opened, looking for the usual pat on my back. Instead, I was given a verbal slap across the face. A “get off your ass” speech that sent me back. It was a wake up call on several levels.
It’s very hard to change anything once it’s become a habit, and both of us fell into that trap. The days between meetings were full of decisive decisions, but every Saturday just saw more of the same procrastinations. It got to a point when Merlin would not come to every meeting because there was nothing to do. I knew there was something wrong, bnut I did nothing. I was enjoying my newfound body and ego too much to care. Merlin started drifting. And then, he was gone. There were only two of us left. And we started strong, in the beginning. But, Merlin was the driving force. The meme of DMS that kept us focused. Without him, we became lost, uncertain, and fear would eat us alive.
JPG.
posted by QABBAL at 2:29 AM
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