Aug. 11th, 2008

karanguni: (BATMAN and NIGHTWING)
Hello, flist. I am here to pimp out Batman - the Batfamily, more specificaly, from comicsverse. Do not worry. There is no required reading. The prerequisites? An enjoyment for good character dynamics. The ability to feel your heart break at the sheer amount of loyalty - and obsession - that can come with creating (and keeping) a family together that isn't bound by blood. An appreciation for those who are willing to die for what they believe in - and, more than that, those who are willing to live for what they believe in. A thought for the ones who push people they love away because they care. And a moment for those who take the time to remember the important things in life, and the challenges that come with those things.

Batman, alone in his cave, once took the time to sit down and talk about himself in third person, asking the question, what motivates the Bat?

Of Dick Grayson - the first Robin, the Robin who was fired (or quit), the Robin who went away demanding independence and came back independent as the vigilante Nightwing, the ward who became a son who became an almost-equal; of Dick Grayson, the man that Bruce Wayne has arguably hurt more than any of his other partners; of Dick Grayson, who took the hurt and ran with it, and who would die for Bruce as much as Bruce would live for him, Batman writes:

"As well as I profess to know the Batman, even I can't be sure what he was thinking when he agreed to assume legal custody for the orphaned boy who would be the first Robin.

I can tell you this about the boy: he was fearless. He was effusive. And he was full of grace."


The rest of the things are better said in images:

Sometimes my heart says yes, yes, yes: )

 

A universe of unmapped grief and love
And new master light is beyond
The pleiades and plow and southern stars.

O soaring
Icarus of outworld, burn bright
The traceries of known skymarks,
Slide the highway planets behind
Your clear waxed wings.

Go conquer the everywhere left
Beyond your sad confinement
In a predicted bonehouse,
Witch thrown riddle of flesh
And water.

O soar until nothing
remains but great glittering holes
In the black godspun shirt over your head.

- John Fairfax