You watch, this entry will get me all kinds of hits from perverts looking for “Vivid Video.”
I was just reading the new issue of “Criminal” (#6) by the marvelous Ed Brubaker and Sean Phillips when a connection hit me. I was thinking how fantastic this comic was, how it soared, and maybe it’s my association of comics with super-heroes but it occured to me that recently when I’ve felt euphoric or inspired I could clearly imagine myself flying, totally weightless, hummingbird-quick, looking down over familiar places without benefit of solid perch.
Okay, standard-issue Walter Mitty material.
But then the other shoe dropped.
Quite aways too.
Since the earliest months of my parental status I have had the most terrible dread of The Kid and/or me falling from some godawful, towering height, unable to reach said Kid or anything else which might arrest a quickening and fatal descent. I can vividly sense the complete absence of anything beneath me or anything above me offering help.
So Good Times equal divine suspension, snorkling sans all that pesky water and tubing.
Bad Times equal imminent “Splat!”
Perfect bookends to my gravity-based neurosis, but for the fact that only one can actually happen.
Here’s Icarus.
