Marc Johns is an illustrator from Victoria, BC, Canada. He creates whimsical drawings filled with dry wit and humour. Whether it’s a man with branches growing out of his head that need pruning, or a pipe that’s trying to quit smoking, his characters are simply, sparsely drawn, yet speak volumes with just a few strokes of the pen. He’s been drawing since he was tiny. He’s not tiny anymore, but he’s not exactly big either. Marc is not sure why he’s talking about himself in the third person…
chemical names, bird names, names of fire and flight and snow, baby names, paint names, delicate names like bones in the body, rumplestiltskin names that are always changing, names that no one’s ever able to figure out. names of spells and names of hexes, names cursed quietly under the breath, or called out loudly to fill the yard, calling you inside again, calling you home. nicknames and pet names and baroque french monikers, written in shorthand, written in longhand, scrawled illegibly in brown ink on the backs of yellowing photographs, or embossed on envelopes lined with gold. names called out across the water, names i called you behind your back, sour and delicious, secret and unrepetable, the names of flowers that open only once, shouted from balconies, shouted from rooftops, or muffled by pillows, or whispered in sleep.
let him lay his head on my chest and we will be like sailors, swimming in the sound of it, dashed to pieces. makes a cathedral, him pressing against me, his lips at my neck, and yes, i do believe his mouth is heaven, his kisses falling over me like stars. names of heat and names of light, names of collision in the dark, on the side of the bus, in the bark of the tree, in ballpoint pen on jeans and hands and backs of matchbooks that then got lost. names like pain cries, names like tombstones, names forgotten and reinvented, names forbidden or overused. your name like a song i sing to myself, your name like a box where i keep my love, your name like a nest in the tree of love, your name like a boat in the sea of love - o now we’re in the sea of love!
names like detergent in the washing machine. your name like two x’s like punched-in eyes, like a drunk cartoon passed out in the gutter, your name with two x’s to mark the spots, to hold the place, to keep the treasure from becoming ever lost. i’m saying your name in the grocery store, i’m saying your name on the bridge at dawn. your name like an animal covered with frost, your name like a music that’s been transposed, suit of fur, a coat of mud, a kick in the pants, a lungful of glass, the sails in wind and the slap of waves on the hull of a boat that’s sinking to the sounds of mermaids singing songs of love, and the tug of a simple profound sadness when it sounds so far away. here’s a map with your name for a capital, here is an arrow to prove a point: we laugh & it pits the world against us, we laugh, and we’ve got nothing left to lose, and our hearts turn red, and the river rises like a barn on fire. i came to tell you, we’ll swim in the water, we’ll swim like something sparkling underneath the waves. our bodies shivering, and the sound of our breathing, and the shore so far away. i’ll use my body like a ladder, climbing to the thing behind it, saying farewell to flesh, farewell to everything caught underfoot & flattened. names of poison, names of handguns, names of places we’ve been together, names of people we’d been.
names of endurance, names of devotion, street names and place names and all the names of our dark heaven crackling in their pan. it sure as shit is. if there was one thing i could save from the fire, he said, the broken arms of the sycamore, the eucalyptus still trying to climb out of the yard - your breath on my neck like a music that holds my hands down, kisses as they burn their way along my spine or rain, our bodies wet, clothes clinging arm to elbow, i’ll be right here. i’m waiting. say hallelujah, say goodnight, say it over the music and your feet won’t stumble, his face getting larger, the rest blurring on every side. and angels, about twelve angels, angels knocking on your head right now, hello hello, a flash in the sky, would you like to meet him here, in heaven? imagine a room, a sudden glow. here’s my hand, my heart, my throat, my wrist. here are the illuminated cities at the center of me, and here is the center of me, which is a lake, a well that we can drink from, i can’t go through with it. i just don’t want to die anymore.
ROBB STARK; mix for the king in the north;
001. i just can’t wait to be king
002. i just can’t wait to be king
003. i just can’t wait to be king
004. i just can’t wait to be king
005. i just can’t wait to be king
006. i just can’t wait to be king
007. i just can’t wait to be king
008. the rains of castamere
ladies who should be playing mythical head bitches in charge | ANTONIA THOMAS as HELEN OF TROY, the spartan queen who defied the kingdom of her father, who eloped with the prince of troy, whose decision leveled a city and launched the greatest war in legend.
She had been the prize of men her whole life, sullied by men, caged by men, given, given, always given. Helen of Sparta was a queen who was beholden to the basest peasantry; Helen of Troy shall be a goddess on earth. Choice, choice, she chants as she boards the ship with the bright eyed youth. Let them come, she thinks, and smiles. Let them come for their queen; let them come for their idol and their star, let them come for the mirage of a woman perfect beyond measure. Let them break their spears on the walls of Troy, let them break their spines beneath Trojan swords. You made me into a goddess, she thinks. And a goddess demands blood.