LARGE NOSE MAN- Chapter 7

*What is this? A continuing story about a superhero I made up, Large Nose Man. I wrote much of this many years ago, so I have edited it to make (some) sense, although it’s just a bit of fun really. For previous tabs find them through the sections displayed to your right. One new chapter up every month*

Chapter 7

The police fell like cheap skittles as The Doctor’s henchmen tore through them with their machine guns.
Alex made a break for the fire escape. The Doctor caught him in the corner of his eye as he peppered the door with fire. Kent then tried to escape it by running to the far corner, amongst the many tall glass vats of bubbling green nuclear filth.
“You can’t escape coward…and especially not behind vats I can see through…” smirked the Doctor. He stared straight through the glass to meet Kent’s shaking eyes, full of fear.
“Come on, I can help you, I’ll help balance the books, secure your finances…anything…” Rambled Kent. He wasn’t particularly selling his worth, and he knew it.
“I’m afraid I’m my own man. I don’t need some shrivelled waste of life like you by my side. Goodbye, Mr…” The Doctor paused to think. “Wait, what’s your name again?”
“Kent, Alex” Kent replied.
“Ah, good, good. Goodbye, Mr Kent…”Said the doctor, as he raised his gun, and fired straight through the tank.
The bullet struck Kent square in the face as he tumbled backwards, the colour fading from his vision.
“Hahaha! Right in the schnozz!” Laughed The Doctor. The vat cracked and the green liquid ooze began to trickle and fizz across the floor. “Time to go, methinks…”
As The Doctor and his goons strolled from the room, Kent felt his face tingle, a burning sensation creeping all over him. The room blurred, and as he fell all went black…

RANDOM RANT-Death

Afraid of death? Does the thought of your life being drained away by the reapers cold hand send you into bouts of tingling sweat?

Well man up, damn it. Or a least, that’s what I would be telling you, if I wasn’t horribly reminded of my cowardice just last night.

Snuggled up in bed, I heard a creak emerge from our hallway. All of a sudden, I was bombarded with terrifying thoughts.

A murderer had slipped in through the window, I reasoned, and I was merely moments from being hacked into human prosciutto through my tangle of bedsheets.

Rationality had clearly been thrown out of the window (it turned out to be someone going for a glass of water), but that didn’t stop me being half scared to death of er, death.

The most irking thing about all this though, was that I was always under the impression that my view of life was bleak. Like the values of a Goth, but without the wrist cutting or stupid hair.

But this non-existent threat puts it all in focus. I may think my life is worthless, but, illogically, I want to grasp onto it all the same.

It’s all to do with seeing what will happen next. Like a drama that only I find gripping and meaningful.

So even if my story ends up a crushingly dull life working in IT, where I suicidally smash my face into fleshy mush on a keyboard, it could be, to me, a poignant tragedy. Although most would see it as pure black comedy.

So anyway, death. It can be funny. But most of the time it’s terrifying. Even if you don’t want it to be. Despite what the Blue Oyster Cult say, It’s hard not to fear the reaper…

FILM REVIEW- Bright Star

*Told in an melancholic 3-verse poem form, best enjoyed while lying in a field of wild flowers, staring wistfully across a lake while children frolic in the fields around you*

Hark! What is this? Another film from Jane Campion,

Creator of the achingly dull Piano, alas,

I am unsure my mind can take another two hours or rambling tosh, evermore.

 

Not so bad though, is this latest paramour,

A biopic of poet John Keats later years and the relationship he shared,

With a small ensemble Campion draws us in.

 

Ben Whishaw plays Keats as a distracted, odd talent,

All nervous darting eyes and hangdog expressions,

Hard to love but his slow, deliberate reading of his verse well played.

 

Abbie Cornish as his muse always torn,

She gains our attention but perhaps not our hearts,

As such a slushy over emotional bore she sometimes become.

 

Heaven thank then, Paul Schneider,

Whose barbed comments and hostility towards Abbie,

Helps give the film a needed jolt out of its continually romantic musings.

 

Campion frames the film with the necessary air of wistfulness,

Yet several scenes jar, with previous developments left unmentioned,

Creating an occasionally frustrating and torturous narrative.

 

Perhaps it is a deliberate flaw to represent loves hurdles,

Those who love somewhat preening self indulgent waffle will hold it to their hearts,

But those with cold hearts will no doubt be bored beyond rational thought, evermore.