All this and ego, too!
It’s a miracle traditional American comics get made at all (and still with the same characters they’ve had since the fucking Boer War or something. Mister Terrific! How can these things still exist? What monstrous act of love and will keeps a comics ‘universe’ alive for so long, against the odds?). They’re the last bastion of something, that’s for sure, but it’s hard to imagine them, through the compound eyes of future eons, as anything other than a curious example of primitive, hand-drawn ‘virtual reality’ technologies. Most of the people who do this kind of work, do it out of love, like the love you’d show to an ailing friend.
That’d be Grant Morrison, and this helps explain why he’s on my shortlist of all-time favorite comics writers ever.
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