#drew snyder

[mariocki]

Night School (Terror Eyes, 1981)

"There's been another killing."

"Mmm."

"That doesn't seem to surprise you."

"When man kills for the sake of killing, there's no reason why he should stop."

"Do you really believe that man can go out and kill, just like that?"

"Why not? You see, animals kill when they're hungry or when they're threatened. But man is the only animal who destroys his own kind for the sheer pleasure of it."

[ruleof3bobby]

THE SECRET OF MY SUCCESS (1987) Grade: F

Time has been horrible to the mostly on the nose jokes. Felt like a rip-off of other more popular 80's comedies. Don't Watch.

[sotheresthisseniorcitizen]

[voskhodart]

I woke Snyder up from his nap and he immediately ran off to get a boob job and change roughly half the pronouns on her Wikipedia page.

[daily-cassie-sandsmark]

[lulu2992]

Inktober 2023, Day 4: Dodge.

And quite a spectacular one!

[mitjalovse]

A couple of surprising finales presented a direction that turned into a conclusion with a hindsight, but you also had a hunch there was more to be promised. Ice Cream For Crow by Captain Beefheart and The Magic Band, for instance, is quite weird. That's normal for him, though he did go on the LP I mentioned into a soundscape that could be described as the 80's Tom Waits taking a ton of hard drugs, then visiting his favourite place to gather some strangers to play music – notice I didn't say musicians – and finishing this with a trip to a local wasteland, where his cohorts are told to play whatever instrument the way they like. Unsurprisingly, he makes all that work out and yet he could've gone further in this mode, mind you, though he just … stopped.

[larkandkatydid]

Some of My Favorite Non Fiction books

The Classics: The Books that People are Always Telling You to Read Because They Rule that Much:

Robert Caro, the Power Broker- I'm forced to announce that everyone who based their entire personality around this book was right. It's awesome.

Isabel Wilkerson, The Warmth of Other Suns - a true heir to Studs Terkel, deserving all the hype.

Patrick Radden Keefe, Say Nothing: A True Story of Murder and Memory in Northern Ireland

Annette Gordan-Reed, The Hemmingses of Monticello- I think that people think they know this story because they know who Sally Hemmings is...but I was so struck by what a beautiful, horrifying exploration into the life of a man who wanted to be surrouned by a family who loved and cared for him above all.

Timothy Snyder, Bloodlands: Europe Between Hitler and Stalin

David Gann, Killers of the Flower Moon

Newer Books that I Think Should Become Classics:

Donovan X Ramsey, When Crack was King

Sarah Schulman, Let the Record Show: A Political History of ACT UP NY. - both this and Ramsey's book are extraordinary oral histories but there are also few books will leave you feeling more capable and poweful.

Kidada E Williams: I Saw Death Coming: A History of Terror and Survival in the Fall of Reconstruction. This is the best book I've read so far about the defeat of Reconstruction and is, to me, The American Bloodlands.

Hugh Ryan, The Women's House of Detention: A Queer History of A Forgotten Prison.

Fintan O'Toole, We Don't Know Ourselves: A Personal History of Modern Ireland - No book is better than this one at presenting a grim, angry feminist take on what national liberation can even be if women remain oppressed. For a book that's so cynical and angry, it has such a hopeful last chapter that I genuinely cried.

Tumblr WomenBlogger Classics: These are two books I read because I saw them on tumblr a bunch and they are awesome books that I love very much and so I want to pass on the experience.

James McCauley, The House of Fragile Things: Jewish Art Collectors and the Fall of France

Drew Gilpin Faust, This Republic of Suffering: Death and the American Civil War

[ccmpletemess]

"Probably, but I may not have paying attention." Noah admitted with a shrug. "Ah, makes sense. I've had it for years at this point, it's easy to drive when I--" He paused, swallowing before a soft sigh escaped his lips, "I have a prosthetic," he shrugged. "Well that and I don't know shit else about cars." He shot the other a grin.

“surprised they didn’t tell you to come back once it was finished,” he muttered before shrugging. “sort of - name’s on the building.” it wasn’t a gloat, just drew laying out the facts of what came so natural to him. “i mean, don’t need to apologize to me. it’s your car, dude,” drew chuckled. “but you definetely don’t want it to rattle when you turn the ignition. probably just something not fitted right or it’s come loose over time. how long you have the car?”

[rebeccathenaturalist]

What Superman Taught Me About Saving the Planet

Originally posted on my website at https://rebeccalexa.com/what-superman-taught-me-about-saving-the-planet/

Well, 2024 is just about wrapped up–and what a year it’s been! A lot of us find the holidays to be reflective as well as celebratory, and I think it would be fair to say that after this year a lot of us are just downright exhausted. That’s why it’s important for us to turn off the news and work emails and other serious things, and give ourselves some much-needed “brain breaks” as I like to call them. As I’ve been indulging in some time off during my winter break, it’s gotten me thinking about what attracts me to various fictional media and the characters within–and how I can never really escape the things that are most important to me.

Most of you all know me through my natural history work, but hang around me long enough and it becomes glaringly obvious that I’m a pretty big nerd, too. I play D&D and other tabletop roleplaying games a few times a month, my comfort movies include The Lord of the Rings trilogy and multiple Studio Ghibli movies, and I’ve enjoyed comic books since I was in my single digits. I started out with my sister’s old Archie comics and the compendium of Walt Kelly’s Pogo strips that I read near to falling apart every time we visited my paternal grandmother. I’ve since expanded to a variety of comics ranging from the past few decades of DC/Marvel superhero fodder to a hodgepodge of indie titles and even the occasional manga (lately I’ve been borrowing my best friend’s collection of Dungeon Meshi.)

What's all this have to do with nature and Superman and saving the planet? Click "keep reading" to find out!

Walt Kelly was also my introduction to political and social commentary, even if I didn’t understand a lot of it until I was older. (Image source here.)

As I’ve gotten older, I find myself revisiting characters I’ve been rather ho-hum about in the past, including the big three DC flagship heroes. Historically I’ve enjoyed the exploits of the Bat-Family (the Cataclysm/No Man’s Land arc will always be a favorite re-read), and Gail Simone’s fresh takes got me interested in Wonder Woman again. But Superman? The Big Blue Boy Scout? I hadn’t really paid much attention to him since Smallville was first on TV (though admittedly I did mock the ’90s mullet a few years prior). I haven’t gotten caught up on the Injustice years, in part because I heard secondhand how much the writers just absolutely slaughtered Superman’s characterization by turning him into an absolute totalitarian. And I haven’t been impressed by what I’ve seen of Zack Snyder’s edgy version of him, either.

To be very honest, I’m rather tired of the tendency to grimdark everything that started out as vaguely wholesome (*coughRiverdalecough*). I can appreciate that sort of subversion from an artistic perspective, but personally I’ve grown weary of tragedy, dystopia, and depressing endings. I guess I’ve spent so much time trying to keep myself buoyed up while working to make this world a better place that I can’t get into vicarious distress via media. Hence my leaning harder into Ghibli movies, re-reading Linda Medley’s Castle Waiting collections (my all-time favorite graphic novels!), and other stories that manage to avoid being saccharine while wrapping up with a happy ending.

So it’s no surprise that when this set of panels from Superman Red and Blue #5 first caught my attention a while back, I was intrigued. I feel that Daniel Warren Johnson–who wrote, drew, and lettered the story–really captured the heart of Superman as a character. In every thing he does, he repeats the words that Ma and Pa Kent raised him with from the first moment, no matter how difficult the situation. What people like Snyder often miss is that Supes isn’t just some overpowered, one-dimensional do-gooder in a black and white world. Sure, his earliest appearances in the likes of Action Comics had him beating up the bad guys, but his lore has been expanded since then.

He’s a being of two worlds; he’s had to balance his Kryptonian nature with his Earthly nurture. He came of age on a farm in rural Kansas, raised by two kind-hearted human beings who taught him compassion and responsibility, and helped him adjust to being one of a kind in a world that often punishes differences. He’s polite and kind, and more sensitive than he’s often given credit for. Like any superhero he finds himself having to make difficult decisions, and villains often use his compassion against him (like the classic “two helpless people are in peril–who will you choose to save?” trope, in which our hero manages to save them both). And he’s had to deal with morally gray areas, in which his desire to do what’s right comes up against the question of what “right” really is in that context.

I can relate to that conflict. When we’re kids, I think a lot of us buy into the black and white, good and evil, right and wrong dichotomy we’re fed not just because before a certain point our brains just have trouble parsing a certain level of complexity, but also because the adults in our lives want to protect us from life’s difficulties as long as possible, knowing what we all eventually have to wrestle with. The older we get, the more apparent it becomes that life doesn’t have a lot of easy answers, and situations are rarely simple. As a kid I was convinced all the loggers who wanted to cut down forests where the northern spotted owl (Strix occidentalis caudia) nested were evil, Captain-Planetesque baddies who just wanted to see the world burn. As an adult, I still disagree with the push to log old-growth and otherwise structurally complex forests because I have an even greater understanding of the ecological implications thereof. But I also have more empathy for my fellow human beings who are afraid of losing their livelihood with no easy replacement, victims of the whims of the market and logging company C-suites. And I have the knowledge to understand that domestic sawmill closures are complex and aren’t solely due to the protection of older forests and their endangered denizens.

But I think what I loved the most about Johnson’s panels above is that they show that Superman, born as Kal-El and raised as Clark Kent, never lost his roots in love. His coming to Earth was a last desperate attempt of love by his biological parents, Lara and Jor-El, to save him from a dying planet. And he grew up enfolded in the love of Martha and Jonathan Kent, which he carries with him into every action he takes as Superman, whether he is saving someone from a burning building, visiting kids in a cancer ward, or sharing pizza with a group of homeless people. When he looks upon the populace of Metropolis, and then zooms out to space and looks back at our blue marble of a planet, all he can think to say in that overwhelming moment is “You are special. I love you. I’m so proud of you.”

I know that can be a hard thing to say to our species at this moment in time, as our actions have caused the extinction of so many other species, destroyed their habitats, caused a catastrophic shift in the planet’s many systems. But my psych training is rooted in humanistic psychology, and Carl Rogers’ idea of unconditional positive regard–the idea that even as we hold people accountable for their actions we always extend compassion to them, and hold space for them to do and become better. And I’m also reminded of deep ecologist Arne Naess’ concept of the ecological self, which includes the parameter “We certainly need to hear about our ethical shortcomings from time to time, but we change more easily through encouragement and a deepened perception of reality and our own self.”

And I see that final panel of Superman–Kal-El–Clark Kent–floating in space, beholding the entirety of the Earth and experiencing its beauty and fragility and sheer miraculous existence in what has been termed the Overview Effect. He is embodying the very best of who we can be, creatures so immersed in our love for our fellow living beings and our beautiful planet that it directs our every action. Even with all the ugliness and violence and sheer, unnecessary horrors he has seen people enact, he still holds and embodies immense hope for a better future for everyone, human and otherwise.

And that’s my Superman, who cynicism and malice bounce off of like bullets. Sure, if you look at the character as just a one-note musclebound power fantasy wrapped up in spandex, he’s boring after a while; you can only have so much “beat up the bad guys and save the day” before it becomes rote. But that’s never who he was in the first place. While, like other characters, he will always be influenced by whoever’s writing him this time around, one of Superman’s most enduring fundamental traits is his perennial hope and optimism that no matter how dark things get we will still rally to make the world a better place. And if not letting Superman down is what it takes to keep me trying in the face of insurmountable odds, well, here’s to truth, justice, and a better tomorrow.

Did you enjoy this post? Consider taking one of my online foraging and natural history classes or hiring me for a guided nature tour, checking out my other articles, or picking up a paperback or ebook I’ve written! You can even buy me a coffee here!

[i-didnt-do-1t]

Snyder paid for the funeral.

He paid for everything.

The casket and the headstone and the procession through the gates of the refuge that ended in the courtyard with the boys stood along the cobblestone, dressed in black and heads bowed.

The stark white of Snyder’s shirt contrasted sharply with the coal black of his blazer and over coat. The pale of his skin.

It was an effortless attention he drew as he walked behind the coffin, hands clasped behind his back. The picture of solemnity.

The silence settled, as he reached the top of the possession, a hand gently rested on the rich wood of the coffin.

It didn’t even reach five foot in length. He ran his hand along the smooth mahogany as he made his way to the steps of the refuge door.

The quiet was pressing, claustrophobic, the cold air cutting. It was early November and it hadn’t snowed yet, but the dark clouds were looming, hovering low and heavy, and this time in the afternoon it was near dark already.

Snyder stood at the steps in silence, enough time for the cold to melt into bones and cut through the thin fabric of the shirts the boys had been forced into, before he spoke.

“It’s a sad day for us all.” His voice rang amongst the high walls and the brick. He didn’t need to raise his voice. He had all eyes on him, everyone listened. “We’re gathered here to pay our respects to the young Michael Sullivan, who, as we all know, was killed earlier this week in a brutal accident.”

He paused.

“Accident.” He let it stand. “A wrong descriptor, maybe, more aptly, a brutal death due to the careless negligence of his alleged loving older brother. Well, I ask you boys, where is Jack Kelly now.”

The mahogany casket was light enough it only took four pall bearers, refuge guards.

“Because it isn’t here, at his brother’s funeral.” his jaw tensed as he swallowed. “This is what happens when you forget your place. Francis promised his brother freedom, and he earned it, but at what cost.”

Against the black of Snyder’s coat, the first few drifts of snow settling upon on his shoulders, and upon the coffin, were obvious.

“All I can ask of you boys now, is for you to join me in prayer. Let us act as older brothers to Michael, caring and loving, as we miss him and send him to our lord god in heaven, in Sullivan’s place.”

[overlordmetal]

Art Rewind: DC

Similarly to what I did last time with a few of my Dragon Ball artworks from over the years, I selected some highlights out of some DC fanart I’ve created.

"The Dark Knight"

A sketch work I drew in 2018 to test out an art journal I’d just gotten at the time. While he could have benefitted from longer ears, I still really like how this one has aged.

"Batman"

An artwork based on the iconic still toward the ending of the iconic opening from "Batman: The Animated Series". I drew it as a gift for a friend’s birthday in 2019.

"Batman and Robin"

An art collaboration between @eigs and I, she drew Robin while I drew Batman. Originally only a sketch in 2019, I returned to it earlier this year and digitally colored over it.

"The Kill(ing Joke)"

A couple of Joker artworks I drew, this first in 2020 based upon his comic appearance, and the second in 2021 based upon Jared Leto’a appearance in the music video for Thirty Seconds To Mars’ "The Kill".

The Penguin

Penguin is (usually) my favorite Batman villain, and as a result, I wound up showing him a little appreciation in 2020 with an artwork of his own.

"Man of Steel"

I drew the DCEU iteration of Superman in anticipation of Snyder’s cut of the Justice League film in 2021. I know the trend was black suit Superman at the time, but I hadn’t drawn Superman in so long, I just wanted to get him in his standard colors.

"Doomsday"

An artwork I’d drawn of Doomsday in 2021. Fantastic Superman villain.

"Batgirl"

Drawn in 2021 as my entry in a "what-if?" challenge where I depicted Stephanie Brown in my own redesign continuing as Batgirl while Barbara Gordon remained as the Oracle instead of reclaiming the Batgirl title like she did in the New 52.

"It's Not Easy"

Drawn to celebrate Superman Day in 2022, I aimed to capture both the brilliant hopeful side of his character while simultaneously addressing the alienation and burdens he battles behind closed doors. I’m not too crazy about how this one turned out, largely because I didn’t put enough work into the background but I am proud of the shading and coloring and I still really like the overall concept.

"Superman"

Drawn in 2024 to celebrate Superman Day again. I couldn’t go for anything too complex due to my work schedule but I think I succeeded in a simplistic approach a lot better this time. It’s also probably my best Superman artwork to date.

—

I’d like to thank you if you’ve read this far, I hope you enjoyed and that you’ll have a good rest of your day. If you have thoughts or comments you’d like to share, you’re more than welcome to. These are characters I grew up with and I’d love to draw them more should the opportunity arise.

[laciebuncat]

I drew this art trade for a dear follower from deviantart by the name of @Krisztian1989 he ask me to draw Robin Snyder from The Powerpuff Girls.

[voskhodart]

23 | corpse

Don't cry as if he wouldn't be proud of you. A thirst for patricide runs in the family.

[youaintnothinbuta]

race x reader where reader (fem preferably, but could be gn) is a brooklyn newsie, she’s spot’s best friend. race catches her eye at the rally (is that the right word lol) at medda’s theatre and he finds her after. you can pick what happens next. thank you!

Thank you so much for the request!! <3

“You always this distractible, Race?”

Summary: You and Race meet for the first time after Medda Larkin’s show, after not being able to take your eyes off him during the performance.

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Racetrack Higgins

Word count: 920

Warnings: none. Fluff. Probably typos/bad grammar, u know the drill <33

Request something here !

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You and Spot began the long journey through the streets of Brooklyn to Manhattan and eventually Medda Larkin’s theatre, where the crowd was growing quickly. You wandered inside, looking around, Spot nudging you to look in the direction where he’d Just spotted Jack Kelly.

“Jack!” He called out.

Jack turned toward the pair of you, his eyes lighting up as he saw you and Spot. With a boyish grin, he made his way over to you, giving Spot a pound hug and you a real hug. “Well, if it ain't the pride of Brooklyn,” he smiled, “And her loyal sidekick.” He teased Spot, lightly punching his chest.

Medda Larkin herself wandered over to Jack, with him introducing the two of you to her.

“Are you two hiding too? Jack’s got a whole litter with him tonight.” Medda joked, teasing Jack.

“Goons. You know how it is.” Jack shrugged. He did indeed have quite a few of the boys hiding out at the theatre with him that night, after they all had a run-in with Snyder that was a little too close for comfort.

“Consider yourselves my special guests tonight,” Medda smiled, her usual twinkle in her eye. Just then, she got called on stage, and the lights in the theatre began to dim, everyone in the audience getting settled in their seats. Jack headed back over to his group, which comprised of about 6 or so of the Manhattan newsies. You and Spot found seats by the side of the stage, just as the curtains drew back, revealing Medda standing centre stage, her voice resonating through the theatre as she began her performance.

Spot seemed quite taken with Medda’s performance, his eyes adhered to her entirely. You on the other hand, kept finding yourself distracted. Sitting on the other side of the theatre, you watched as Jack seemed to be telling off one of the boys. He took something away from him, a cigar maybe? It was hard to tell in the dimly lit theatre.

After staring for perhaps a moment too long, the boy’s eyes locked onto yours, the sudden eye contact startling you, making you avert your gaze back to Medda. You were pretty sure you knew who it was. Racetrack, you’d heard him be called. He was one that was talked about a lot, but you’d never actually met him.

Throughout the rest of the show, you found your eyes wandering off of Medda and getting stuck to Race. Strangely, he seemed to sense your attention each time, as his gaze met yours repeatedly. It was as though he could feel your eyes on him, and each time, his gaze ensnared yours.

As the theatre erupted into applause as Medda left the stage, Spot soon found himself chatting away with all the Manhattan boys who were there. You glanced outside the front doors of the theatre, and saw Race standing alone, leaning against a lamppost. His eyes met yours, and a small smile played at the corners of his lips, a small gesture inviting you to join him.

You silently excused yourself from the group. Race remained where he was, his posture relaxed as he took his cigar from his mouth.

"Racetrack Higgins, ain’t it?" You raised an eyebrow.

“Guilty as charged. So, you and Spot, huh?”

You laughed, almost snorting, shaking your head. “He pay you say that? We’re just friends.”

He raised an eyebrow, his gaze holding yours in a way that made your heart skip a beat.

“Good to know.” His voice carried a teasing tone as he took a step closer, his grin widening.

You smiled, a slight blush tingeing your cheeks. "What’d you think of the show?"

He chuckled softly, shrugging. “Don’t know. Didn’t catch much of it.”

“Oh, really now?” You quipped.

“Yeah. Some girl was givin' me the eye somethin' fierce, couldn't concentrate.” He teased you.

“Huh, wonder who that could be.” You shot back, smiling as you grabbed the cigar from his hand.

You took a drag from the cigar, puffing out a little (pathetic) smoke ring, coughing, making Race laugh. “You always this distractible, Race?”

He grinned, tipping his hat back a bit, shaking his head, “Only when there's a pretty girl around, messin' with my head.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Smooth talker, huh?”

“Hey, it's the truth,” he said with a nudge to your shoulder. Race's fingers brushed against yours as he took his cigar back, his touch lingering just a moment longer than necessary. Your breath caught with the feeling of touch, you felt your cheeks go pink.

You noticed the group starting to make their way over. “I'm not saying I’m expecting you, but tomorrow I might be waiting outside that little bakery with the good pies.”

Race smirked, nodding, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “I think I could find an excuse to head that way.”

Before you could say more, the group of boys wandered over to you two, Spot giving you a questioning eyebrow raise before telling you it was time to go.

With that, you headed off with Spot, en route back to Brooklyn for the night. Similarly, Race joined Jack and the other boys, who were headed to find their night’s shelter, too. As you walked away, you stole a glance over your shoulder, catching Race's eyes watching you, a smirk still playing on his lips. The feeling was mutual, and you couldn't help but smile to yourself at the thought of seeing him again.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

The D-Day cover of the New Yorker from 1944 might be the best in the whole history of the magazine :: "Rea Irvin (August 26, 1881 – May 28, 1972), was an American graphic artist and cartoonist. Although never formally credited as such, he served de facto as the first art editor of The New Yorker. He created the Eustace Tilley cover portrait and the New Yorker typeface. He first drew Tilley for the cover of the magazine's first issue on February 21, 1925. Tilley appeared annually on the magazine's cover every February until 1994.[1][2] As one commentator has written, "a truly modern bon vivant, Irvin was also a keen appreciator of the century of his birth. His high regard for both the careful artistry of the past and the gleam of the modern metropolis shines from the very first issue of the magazine ..."[3]" :: [Robert Scott Horton]

+

« As observers of totalitarianism such as Victor Klemperer noticed, truth dies in four modes, all of which we have just witnessed.

The first mode is the open hostility to verifiable reality, which takes the form of presenting inventions and lies as if they were facts. […]

The second mode is shamanistic incantation. As Klemperer noted, the fascist style depends upon “endless repetition,” designed to make the fictional plausible […].

The next mode is magical thinking, or the open embrace of contradiction. […]

The final mode is misplaced faith. […] Once truth [becomes] oracular rather than factual, evidence [is] irrelevant. At the end of the war a worker told Klemperer that “understanding is useless, you have to have faith. […]”  

Accepting untruth of this radical kind requires a blatant abandonment of reason. Klemperer’s descriptions of losing friends in Germany in 1933 over the issue of magical thinking ring eerily true today. One of his former students implored him to “abandon yourself to your feelings, and you must always focus on the Führer’s greatness, rather than on the discomfort you are feeling at present.” »

— Timothy Snyder, On Tyranny: Twenty Lessons from the Twentieth Century