Owen Paints Owen

So when I’m not earning master’s degrees—i.e. just one master’s degree—or helping the next generation write their papers, I’m still occasionally making art (after a little prodding and promises of remuneration, of course).

𝗦𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘆 𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲: I got an email out of the blue by a man saying he’d been googling his brother, a famous comedian in the Netherlands, and links to my art also came up. “How so?” you might ask. Easy: His brother and I share the same name. (And what a name it is.) 𝗢𝘄𝗲𝗻’𝘀 𝗯𝗿𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗵𝗮𝗱 𝗮𝗻 𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗮: 𝗢𝘄𝗲𝗻 𝗦𝗰𝗵𝘂𝗺𝗮𝗰𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝘀𝗵𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗻𝘁 𝗢𝘄𝗲𝗻 𝗦𝗰𝗵𝘂𝗺𝗮𝗰𝗵𝗲𝗿. 🎨 Now you behold the comic results, and Owen’s brother has gotten his strange wish.

The world’s a funny place, Groucho glasses and all. 😂 Greetings from sunny California to 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 Owen Schumacher of the Netherlands. Cheers.

Meanwhile, in Chichén Itzá...

RazzmaSnazz: Tail of Two Kittehs

“Oh! Well, I never! Was there ever a cat so clever as magical Mr. Mistoffelees?” —Rum Tum Tugger

Games in Verse: ‘Dynamite Duke’ (1990), Sega Genesis / Mega Drive

The World's First-ever Game Review Poetry Column:
Classic Games, Classically Reviewed—as Only a Fop Could
The Fop’s Rating: ★★★½ (Out of Four Stars)

Pixelated Uzis, Y’all

Square yellow high-top fade,
Shooting green drums,
Tick, tick, tick—
Granadan charlies, dead or alive,
Burn through your glass belly,
Passing powder as the ever-chambered round,
Blazing black, up and disappearing.
For mega crush, charge “B” and release.

Manhole covers sit forbearing,
Lightpoles, props forgotten
In a town occupied
As a hostage to be shot,
Gnarled, banged and granting
To you, red Duke,
No bullet better used
Than the one now fired.

It’s high time to punch a man with a mohawk.
Boss battles pare to the fist,
Maybe from a barrel overheated
Or conscience later nagged
From the floor-full stacks
Of lead-templed goons
Still men yet.
The hell with ’em.

You got an iron fuckin’ hand,
Whose grip, feel, flight and fire
Cock as a gun to gleaming shoulder,
Stem-wound, haymaker-stout and recalling
A “D” bomb and time none better
Than jabbing some gas grill man or clear-domed freak
With an aching-yellow dynamite dose.
Some dukes are kings. ❂

Games in Verse: ‘Altered Beast’ (1988), Sega Genesis / Mega Drive

The World's First-ever Game Review Poetry Column:
Classic Games, Classically Reviewed—as Only a Fop Could
The Fop’s Rating: ★★★★ (Out of Four Stars)

Golden in an Iron Age

Up and out the craggy dirt,
Phalanx eons passed, Titan standing,
‘Rise from your grave’
Like a heather-ton sandaled foot.
Dust, granite, souls as satyrs:
Blood-purple higher skies
Snap as Zeus’ hurling hand,
Twitching, never glitching,
As god-makers wile and compass you.
‘Bigging balls’ make you strong.

They glow blue-white, waft and weave,
And out the mouth of a she-wolf
If you hit her right.
A power no lesser gained at Remus’ sup
Than three in hand, muscles bulging.
Take ’em on,
And be a man no more.
Be a god, a beast—
A ’tweener hybrid, Golden Age chimera.
And all for a girl.

No marble, stone or mortal prone to fail
Could bear so high and hot a power.
Knossos and Rhodes dare only watch
And the Gemini writhe and dream
At your roaring, Vesuvian grace.
O god,
O beast—
Fired as a knave, cuirass bursting—
Athena calls your name
As a hieron sybil: ‘Press start and continue!’

Still Hades’ halls teem, have at you.
They break and twist, fluted Grecian,
With a Phobos stare, harangued and deadly.
‘Welcome to your doom!’
This is it.
No gorgons great, cyclops tall or hydra,
Neither Apollo and Phaëton, trident or Triton,
Nor Artemis’ crescent, or the great Zeus above
Could ever so challenge
So altered a beast. ❂

mxdwn Moment: The Darkness - Hot Cakes

“The album’s giddy cover art does wonders in exposing the farcical content within. A trinity of buttered-up babes sunbathing on a heaving stack of breakfast cakes—covered, of course, in a thick, glistening maple drizzle—seems to pose a one-upping question in visual form: Why ‘Pour Some Sugar on Me’ when you can dump the whole Denny’s on her? And dump The Darkness does—with dippy, decadent abandon.”

mxdwn Moment: Anywhere - Anywhere

“Whether its North African, Meso-American or Old English, Anywhere wriggles like a Sahara mirage—and satisfies like a heavily curried feast for the weary world traveler.”