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Dear Batman,
You used to be my hero. In a questionnaire, you'd make the answer to "Who's your favourite JLA character?", "Who's your favourite superhero?", "Batman or Superman?". Since you've revved up your batmobile and become a Hollywood celebrity, verging on the brink of sex symbolism, the distance between us grows like a tumour in the third world. The ultimate man in black, defender of brain instead of braun, upholder of the ideology that superheroes don't have to be bright and chirpy and gay. They can have their dark days, Dark Knight, and you, Gotham's winged avenger, have cast a very dark cloud my way. For that I say: you used to be hero.
Remember October, Bruce? I sat waiting in the middle of a huge field, a lone bee on a very large flower. Waiting for Godot, Beckett wrote. Waiting for help, I wrote. A discarded mount of tissues in my pocket, in my bag, on my lap, in my hands. (Everywhere, in essence.) Where were you in your Batmobile? Making calls that went unanswered. Sending messages that got me no replies. Perhaps they went unnoticed. Pleading voices coming out of me - who knew I had the capacity to be a beggar? (Maybe i should trade in civilians for a superhero outfit too. Just like you, twerp.) And finally, a friend with a heart came to pick me up to save me from myself. Good going, Batman. That day you lost one victim you could have saved.
Remember December, Mr Wayne? The worst flight I'd ever had and no one to pick me up at the airport. Did it really matter? All things do. The night I swallowed my pride again; it wasn't going to be the last time I did. All the times I've gone unnoticed and felt so insignificant, crying out inside for a superhero to wipe out all the villains. And, no, you never showed up, Mr Wayne. In my Christmas gift box were sweets someone got from someone else. One small square sachet of blue that made me feel smaller than itself.
Remember me, Batman? When every time I cry and the tears collect into a hot pool of acid to melt something away, I wish I could throw it at you in your cave. Where are you hiding, masked avenger?
The thing I always defended about you was that you were just a man. The thing that let you disappoint me is that you are just a man. Just one ordinary man. Now that your rose is in bloom, a light hits the gloom on the grey. And then a hero comes along.
(No) love,
A new super villain.
You used to be my hero. In a questionnaire, you'd make the answer to "Who's your favourite JLA character?", "Who's your favourite superhero?", "Batman or Superman?". Since you've revved up your batmobile and become a Hollywood celebrity, verging on the brink of sex symbolism, the distance between us grows like a tumour in the third world. The ultimate man in black, defender of brain instead of braun, upholder of the ideology that superheroes don't have to be bright and chirpy and gay. They can have their dark days, Dark Knight, and you, Gotham's winged avenger, have cast a very dark cloud my way. For that I say: you used to be hero.
Remember October, Bruce? I sat waiting in the middle of a huge field, a lone bee on a very large flower. Waiting for Godot, Beckett wrote. Waiting for help, I wrote. A discarded mount of tissues in my pocket, in my bag, on my lap, in my hands. (Everywhere, in essence.) Where were you in your Batmobile? Making calls that went unanswered. Sending messages that got me no replies. Perhaps they went unnoticed. Pleading voices coming out of me - who knew I had the capacity to be a beggar? (Maybe i should trade in civilians for a superhero outfit too. Just like you, twerp.) And finally, a friend with a heart came to pick me up to save me from myself. Good going, Batman. That day you lost one victim you could have saved.
Remember December, Mr Wayne? The worst flight I'd ever had and no one to pick me up at the airport. Did it really matter? All things do. The night I swallowed my pride again; it wasn't going to be the last time I did. All the times I've gone unnoticed and felt so insignificant, crying out inside for a superhero to wipe out all the villains. And, no, you never showed up, Mr Wayne. In my Christmas gift box were sweets someone got from someone else. One small square sachet of blue that made me feel smaller than itself.
Remember me, Batman? When every time I cry and the tears collect into a hot pool of acid to melt something away, I wish I could throw it at you in your cave. Where are you hiding, masked avenger?
The thing I always defended about you was that you were just a man. The thing that let you disappoint me is that you are just a man. Just one ordinary man. Now that your rose is in bloom, a light hits the gloom on the grey. And then a hero comes along.
(No) love,
A new super villain.
posted by Jeko at 11:38 PM
4 comments
