Jim Starlin, The Infinity Entity, & Thanos: The Infinity Revlation.

I'm not sure what my first Jim Starlin comic book experience was.  Probably his run on Captain Marvel.  I do remember that he blew my mind, though, and that I followed him into the Warlock comic book and then into Dreadstar for about a million issues or so.  And I have re-visited him on occasion over the past few decades.  But when I picked  The Infinity Entity up off the stands a week ago, it had been awhile.  And it took something for me to pick that comic book up, because I'm pretty much through with Marvel so far as their comic books are concerned.  (The movies, on the other hand, are definite must see items.)  The comic books all just seem so moribund, so tired . . . and so fucking ugly.  Where are they digging up these artists?  Or maybe it's just the acceptable style now.  (Case in point:  I was kind of interested in seeing the new Power Man & Iron Fist comic book . . . until I saw the cover of the first issue:

I mean . . . really?  That's the best you've got?  No thank you.)  But when I saw issue one of The Infinity Entity . . . 

. . . whose cover not only does not suck--except for the fugly coloring, but also bears more than a passing resemblance to Starlin's artwork (though it's actually Alan Davis), I felt the pull of nostalgia and put down my $3.99 (so to speak).  And I read it and (1) was disappointed and (2) decided not to buy issue #2.

But I was still craving The Starlin, so next time I was at the library I picked up Thanos: The Infinity Revelation, a 2014 original graphic novel written and pencilled by Starlin.  Started reading it and stalled out after a couple of dozen pages.  It was just two guys (Thanos and Adam Warlock) talking to each other, you know?  I mean, it pretended to be something other than that, but when it came right down to it . . . that was all it was.  They'd punch each other for awhile or go to another place to punch other people, but it was just a stupid conversation about cosmic grocery shopping, essentially.

So I put it down.  And picked it up and finished it off this morning, but more out of ocd-ness than anything else. And--SPOILER WARNING--it remained a story about two guys talking to each other. With the occasional punch.

And I've been thinking about this quite a bit of late.  Maybe all stories are about two guys (or gals, or a guy and a gal) talking to each other.  And the other stuff that happens to or around them is really just there to get you to the next conversation.  Which may be why Beckett decided, "Fuck all that!" and took away the setting and the plot.  And even took away the other guy (or gal) at some point, so it was just a guy (or gal) talking to him (or her) self.  Like Not I. That may be the true Bride Stripped Bare of theater.  The gushing mouth.  Because even in a conversation . . . how much give and take is there, really?  How much of a conversation is you waiting impatiently for your turn to speak?  How much of the waiting time are you even listening to what the other person is saying?  (Besides, they say the same shit over and over, don't they?)

Or maybe I'm just in a bad fucking mood.  Or maybe my mental and spiritual dyspepsia has finally become my status quo.  Doesn't seem that way to me, but wouldn't I be the last to know?

So let's conversate, brahs and tahs.  What do you think about all of that?