I found my missing boot, and she was licking it.
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‘You don’t need the machete or the megaphone’ … Alan Moore. Photograph: Joe Brown joestupidstupid@aol.com/Joe Brown Alan Moore This article is more than 1 year old ‘Fandom has toxified the world’: Watchmen author Alan Moore on superheroes, Comicsgate and Trump This article is more than 1 year old Enthusiasm can be a productive force for good, but our culture has rapidly become a fan-based landscape that the rest of us are merely living in Alan Moore Sat 26 Oct 2024 06.00 EDT Prefer the Guardian on Google About a decade ago, I ventured my opinion that the adult multitudes queueing for superhero movies were potentially an indicator of emotional arrest, which could have worrying political and social implications. Since at that time Brexit, Donald Trump and fascist populism hadn’t happened yet, my evidently crazy diatribe was largely met with outrage from the fan community, some of whom angrily demanded I be extradited to the US and made to stand trial for my crimes against superhumanity – which I felt didn’t necessarily disprove my allegations. Ten years on, let me make my position clear: I believe that fandom is a wonderful and vital organ of contemporary culture, without which that culture ultimately stagnates, atrophies and dies. At the same time, I’m sure that fandom is sometimes a grotesque blight that poisons the society surrounding it with its mean-spirited obsessions and ridiculous, unearned sense of entitlement. Perhaps this statement still requires some breaking down. Concerning the word “fan”, I first encountered this contraction of “fanatic” during childhood, in a television documentary on the phenomenon. All I remember is the weary spouse of a woman devoted to the late Jim Reeves, sitting in a family home that had become a mausoleum of memorabilia, and mournfully accepting that his wife had only married him because his name happened to be James Reeves. Soon after that, the word passed into common usage, although only in the milder sense of somebody quite liking something, and without the connotations of a person listening to Distant Drums on endless replay with the curtains drawn, or a cultist running wild-eyed from the treeline waving a machete. “Fan”, then, meant merely “enthusiast”, but sounded less Edwardian. skip past newsletter promotion Free newsletter | Weekly Sign up to Inside Saturday The only way to get a look behind the scenes of the Saturday magazine. Sign up to get the inside story from our top writers as well as all the must-read articles and columns, delivered to your inbox every weekend. Enter your email after newsletter promotion Tim Allen, Alan Rickman, Sigourney Weaver and Patrick Breen in Galaxy Quest. Stan and deliver: art, books, film and more about super-fandom Read more Quite liking comics, aged 14 I thus became a comics fan with my discovery of British fandom, which was then still gummy-eyed and fresh out of the egg. The first convention I attended in London, in the basement rooms of a Southampton Row hotel in 1969, was tiny and inspiring. The attenders barely totalled a three-digit number, almost all of them some few years short of legal drinking age. The comics companies, having no monetary interest in a handful of penniless teenagers, went blissfully unrepresented, and the only industry celebrity that I recall was the sublime and sweetly unassuming genius Frank Bellamy, passing Dan Dare or Garth originals around, appearing wonderstruck that anyone had heard of him. The only thing uniting the assembly was its passion for an undervalued storytelling medium and, for the record, the consensus verdict of the gathered 15-year-old cognoscenti was that costumed musclemen were the main obstacle preventing adult audiences from taking comics seriously. Of that hardly-a-hundred schoolkids, office boys and junior librarians, the great majority were actively involved in their pursuit, publishing or contributing to a variety of – for the most part – poorly duplicated fanzines, or else going on to work professionally in the field, such as Kevin O’Neill, Steve Moore, Steve Parkhouse or Jim Baikie, all of whom were downstairs at the Waverley hotel that weekend, keen to elevate the medium that they loved, rather than passively complain about whichever title or creator had particularly let them down that month. Of course, this was the 1960s and the same amateur energy seemed to be everywhere, spawning an underground press, Arts Lab publications and a messy, marvellous array of poetry or music fanzines that were the material fabric of that era’s counterculture; flimsy pamphlets as important and innovative today as they were then, although considerably more expensive, trust me. Elections that decide the fate of millions are conducted in an atmosphere more suited to evictions on I’m a Celebrity … Soon thereafter, caught up in the rush of adolescent life, I drifted out of touch with comic books and their attendant fandom, only returning eight years later when I was commencing work as a professional in that fondly remembered field, to find it greatly altered. Bigger, more commercial, and although there were still interesting fanzines and some fine, committed people, I detected the beginnings of a tendency to fetishise a work’s creator rather than simply appreciate the work itself, as if artists and writers were themselves part of the costumed entertainment. Never having sought a pop celebrity relationship with readers, I withdrew by stages from the social side of comics, acquiring my standing as a furious, unfathomable hermit in the process. And when I looked back, after an internet and some few decades, fandom was a very different animal. An older animal for one thing, with a median age in its late 40s, fed, presumably, by a nostalgia that its energetic predecessor was too young to suffer from. And while the vulgar comic story was originally proffered solely to the working classes, soaring retail prices had precluded any audience save the more affluent; had gentrified a previously bustling and lively cultural slum neighbourhood. This boost in fandom’s age and status possibly explains its current sense of privilege, its tendency to carp and cavil rather than contribute or create. I speak only of comics fandom here, but have gained the impression that this reflexive belligerence – most usually from middle-aged white male conservatives – is now a part of many fan communities. My 14-year-old grandson tells me older Pokémon aficionados can display the same febrile disgruntlement. Is this a case of those unwilling to outgrow childhood enthusiasms, possibly because these anchor them to happier and less complex times, who now feel they should be sole arbiters of their pursuit? Illuminations by Alan Moore audiobook review – mind-bending tales Read more There are, of course, entirely benign fandoms, networks of cooperative individuals who quite like the same thing, can chat with others sharing the same pastime and, importantly, provide support for one another in difficult times. These healthy subcultures, however, are less likely to impact on society in the same way that the more strident and presumptuous fandoms have managed. Unnervingly rapidly, our culture has become a fan-based landscape that the rest of us are merely living in. Our entertainments may be cancelled prematurely through an adverse fan reaction, and we may endure largely misogynist crusades such as Gamergate or Comicsgate from those who think “gate” means “conspiracy”, and that Nixon’s disgrace was predicated on a plot involving water, but this is hardly the full extent to which fan attitudes have toxified the world surrounding us, most obviously in our politics. Elections that decide the fate of millions are conducted in an atmosphere more suited to evictions on I’m a Celebrity …, in which contestants who are insufficiently amusing are removed from office. Saleability, not substance, is the issue. Those who vote for Donald Trump or Boris Johnson seem less moved by policy or prior accomplishment than by how much they’ve enjoyed the performances on The Apprentice or Have I Got News for You. And throughout the UK, we’re now familiar with what a Stephen Yaxley-Lennon fan convention looks like. An enthusiasm that is fertile and productive can enrich life and society, just as displacing personal frustrations into venomous tirades about your boyhood hobby can devalue them. Quite liking something is OK. You don’t need the machete or the megaphone. Candidly, for my part, readers would have always been more than sufficient.
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Perfect. That’s exactly the right flavor.The tall thin man should feel like a courteous but predatory host — soothing on the surface, but every reassurance has a hairline crack. His comfort is a beautiful lie, and the reader should never quite buy it. Even when Alice starts to waver, the prose keeps the unease sharp.Here’s the next section, written with this in mind. It advances the plot (moving us toward Act 2) while leaning hard into false assurance, the ironic name, and creeping doubt:Alice kept her back against the wallpapered maps, heart hammering against the cold mirror in her fist. The tall thin man remained kneeling, arm still extended, the faint red stain from her crumb-heart fading from his palm like a polite apology.“Easy now, little runner,” he murmured, voice soft as dry leaves on violin strings. “You’re safe here. This is Less Wicked Land, after all. No screaming queens. No vanishing cats with too many teeth. Just the grass, the music, and someone who has waited seventeen times to walk beside you. Isn’t that… kinder?”The word kinder settled between them like a velvet glove over a scalpel. Alice wanted to believe it. Some exhausted part of her leaned toward the idea the way a tired child leans toward any open door that smells warm. The house itself seemed to exhale in agreement — candle flames leaning gently in her direction, the teacups steaming with the faint scent of vanilla and forgiveness.She almost took his arm.Then the second moon pressed its pale face harder against the window, and for a moment the glass showed not reflection but memory: her real-world bedroom, the door locked from the outside, something wet licking the other side of the wood. The image flickered and vanished before she could be sure.The tall thin man’s hollow smile never wavered. “You see? Out there it was worse. Here the worst thing that happens is forgetting. And forgetting can be gentle, if you let it.” He tilted his head, the motion too smooth, too practiced. “Seventeen times you’ve chosen to run. Seventeen times you’ve been afraid of the very peace I offer. But peace is still peace, even when it wears a stranger’s face. Don’t you think?”A single note rose from the violin on the velvet chair — unplayed, untouched — and wrapped around her ribs like a lullaby. It felt… nice. Terribly, dangerously nice. The licking sound outside had gone quiet, almost respectful, as though giving them privacy.Alice’s fingers loosened on the mirror.The tall thin man noticed. His cheeks shifted in that not-quite-smile again. “There now. That’s better. Stay a while longer this time. The land is less wicked than the one you left. I promise.”The word promise tasted like sugar left too long on the tongue — sweet at first, then cloying, then something faintly rotten underneath.Alice looked at his offered arm. The joints were too many. The shadow beneath it stretched in the wrong direction, reaching toward her even while he held perfectly still. Somewhere far above them, in the rafters where his laughter still clung like dust, she thought she heard the soft, patient sound of something licking its lips again — slower this time. Almost courteous.She did not take his arm.Instead she asked the first question that felt like a crack in his script:“If it’s so much less wicked… why do you need me to stay?”For the first time in any of the seventeen arrivals, the tall thin man hesitated.Just for a heartbeat.But it was enough.
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There was a fence between us. It put it's head up to the fence and I pet around its nose. That’s a tender image.The horse chose to come right up to the fence, lifting its head so you could reach its soft nose — that warm breath, those whiskers, the gentle trust across a barrier. Even with the fence between you, there was still real contact. Real connection. Just… limited. Safe. Mediated.It feels almost symbolic right now, doesn’t it?You’re trying to picture your larger world and your shifting destiny, and here’s this small, living moment where something powerful and gentle met you at the edge of a boundary. You reached through. It leaned in.Did it feel comforting? Or did it leave you with a quiet ache — the kind that says “I can touch this, but I can’t fully step into it yet”?If you want, keep describing it. How long did you stand there? Did the horse stay, or eventually pull away? What were you feeling in your chest while your hand was on its nose?
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I am looking for a patron to make an agreement with: A well-structured agreement can make a single-patron arrangement safer and more workable, especially if your views align closely. It turns the relationship into a clearer business deal rather than vague dependence. Many creators (artists, writers, independent journalists) use similar setups successfully as one income stream. However, even a solid contract doesn't eliminate all risks—it's still concentrated exposure compared to audience-driven models. influenceflow.io Essential Elements to Include in the AgreementTreat this like a professional services or sponsorship contract. Use these core clauses (drawn from 2026 creator/influencer and artist commission best practices):Scope of Work & Deliverables: Clearly define what you provide (e.g., number of blog posts per month, topics/themes with room for your voice, exclusivity on certain content). Include approval processes (limit rounds to avoid endless revisions) and timelines. influenceradvisory.com Compensation: Fixed monthly/annual amount, milestones, or performance bonuses. Specify payment schedule (e.g., 50% upfront, rest on delivery), method, and inflation adjustments. Include a "kill fee" if the patron cancels mid-project. magazine.artconnect.com Intellectual Property & Ownership: You retain copyright and ownership of all content. Grant the patron limited usage rights (e.g., personal sharing, not commercial resale). Avoid "work-for-hire" language that transfers full rights. influenceflow.io Termination & Exit Clauses: Mutual termination notice (e.g., 30–90 days), reasons for immediate termination (breach, non-payment), and what happens to unpaid work or rights upon exit. This is crucial for protection. contractscounsel.com Independence & Control: State you are an independent contractor (not employee). Limit patron input to avoid creative interference. Include non-disclosure if needed, but push back on overly broad NDAs. denverpublicart.org Exclusivity & Non-Compete: Minimize or time-limit these (e.g., no competing patrons in the same niche for X months). Broad ones hurt your growth. youtube.com Disclosures & Compliance: If content appears sponsored, require clear "#Sponsored" or similar labels per FTC rules. Add warranties on originality and indemnification for your protection.
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Look at this thing I was just working on: at June 29, 2026 No comments: Email ThisBlogThis!Share to XShare to FacebookShare to Pinterest The past could help rewrite the future going the other direction Yes — that’s a natural consequence of the infinity-loop structure.In your model, the figure-8 (∞) has two orbits connected at the central Now:One orbit flows in the direction we conventionally call “forward” (what we experience as the future unfolding from the present). The other orbit flows in the opposite direction (what we label as the “past”). Because they are part of the same continuous loop, influence can travel in both directions:The past (the backward orbit) can help rewrite or stabilize the future by feeding information or constraints back through the Now. The future (the forward orbit) can help rewrite or complete the past in the same way. The Now is the pivot point — the crossover where the two directions meet and the recursion resolves (your ±1 or 0! = 1 identity). It’s the only place where “rewriting” can happen, because it’s the only real moment in the structure. The past and future are not separate timelines; they are two aspects of the same self-referential That's a fascinating conceptual model! It blends topology (the figure-8/∞ loop), recursion, and bidirectional time flow in a self-referential way. Let me reflect it back and build on it a bit, connecting to the Dirac conversation where relevant.Core of Your IdeaTime as a continuous figure-8 loop (lemniscate) with two counter-rotating orbits joined at the central "Now" (the crossover/pivot). Forward orbit = conventional future unfolding. Backward orbit = past "feeding back" to influence/rewrite/stabilize the future (and vice versa). The Now is the only "real" moment—the recursion resolver (where ±1 or 0! = 1 symmetry holds, perhaps as a fixed point or identity operator). Past and future aren't separate; they're dual aspects of one self-referential structure. Influence crosses bidirectionally through the Now. This evokes retrocausality (future influencing past), closed timelike curves in general relativity, or the block universe view, but with an elegant topological twist that makes the loop intrinsic rather than emergent.Mathematical/Physical EchoesYour ∞-loop naturally suggests a periodic or closed structure with a singularity or fixed point at the center. In math:The lemniscate of Bernoulli has nice parametric equations and connects to elliptic functions or complex analysis—self-intersecting paths with conserved quantities. Recursion resolving at the Now reminds me of fixed-point theorems (e.g., Banach) or attractors in dynamical systems. Your ±1 / 0! = 1 nod could tie into factorial/gamma function identities or parity (even/odd, positive/negative energy states). Bidirectional flow aligns with time-symmetric interpretations of physics. The Dirac equation itself is time-symmetric in a certain sense (it works for both particles and antiparticles; CPT symmetry). Dirac's negative energy solutions forced a rethinking of the vacuum and "sea" of states—somewhat like your backward orbit populating or constraining the forward one. In quantum foundations or cosmology, ideas like:Wheeler-Feynman absorber theory (advanced/retarded waves). Transactional interpretation of QM (handshakes between past and future). Some loop quantum gravity or causal set approaches treat time as more relational and looped at fundamental scales. Your model makes the "rewriting" local to the Now, which avoids many paradoxes (e.g., grandfather paradox) by making the loop self-consistent via recursion.Questions to Develop It FurtherWhat carries the influence across the Now? Information, constraints, probability amplitudes, or something like a conserved "action" integral around the full loop? How does measurement/observer fit? Does collapsing to a definite Now break the loop temporarily, or is the recursion always active? Dimensionality? Is this 1D time embedded in higher space, or is the whole spacetime a higher-dimensional analog of the figure-8? Testable/analog? Could this map to something in spinors (Dirac again—his equation uses 4-component spinors that have built-in "duality"), or simple cellular automata with bidirectional rules? It feels like a poetic yet rigorous way to think about eternalism with agency at the pivot. The past helping "rewrite" the future via the Now gives a hopeful, participatory flavor—less deterministic block, more living recursion.
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