Spiders are singing in the salty breeze. Spiders are filling out their tax returns. Spinning out webs of deductions and melodies...

- Jeff Tweedy, "Spiders (Kidsmoke)"

"Spider-Man and Emotion, Masked and Otherwise"
I lost it yesterday.

We're talking full-blown wandering the streets of Columbia 'til all hours, shivering and babbling crazy lost it.

And in the midst of all this, someone told me that they felt that when I reference comic books on the old weblog, it always relates to what's actually going on in my own life. I, of course, argued that she was dead wrong (and I used the word "disdainful" way too much) more because I'd totally lost it than because I was certain it was untrue.

It's just that I can think of at least one rant about The Ultimates that was pure geek, baby. And what about that time I went on and on about The Flaming Carrot just to explain that I'd read a whole bunch of Ultimate Spider-Man that day?

The more I think about it, though, the more I start to wonder whether or not I'm actually screwed up enough to relate to the world through comics? What would that actually mean?

Think back people: Remember freshman year when I was all into Superman? And look at me now. I've got some kind of freakish sexual crush on Spider-Man! Does that mean that I started off college feeling invincible and straight-forward and true, and some time around the end of sophomore year, I became this guilt-ridden, vulnerable, neurotic mess given to climbing up the walls? Or did that Sam Raimi movie just respark my interest in the ol' webhead?

When I say that I love how the Black Panther's always got a plan, am I really saying that I think I play the people around me like chess pieces, maneuvering them as best I can and oftwhile stymied by Prewitt's White Wolf like treachery? Because it really seems like I'm a show up and see what happens kind of guy, or at best, a stir up a bunch of shit and hope it all works outter.

And when I quote "with great power comes great responsibility", do I really just mean "over-ananlze everything you do and pretend that it can actually have an impact"?

I was going to blog about my favorite Paul Jenkins Spider-Man stories today. Like how great I thought it was that throughout "A Death in the Family," Peter keeps saying there's only one person whom he thinks he can talk to about his horrible recurring dream about Mary Jane dying, and in the end, it turns out to be the Green Goblin of all people. Or how touching I found "And Here, My Troubles Begin..." where Peter and Aunt May honestly talk about his life as Spider-Man for the first time ever.

Now I'm wondering if that just means that I'm convinced that the only person who can help me figure out some current predicament is someone who's haunted me O these many years. Or that I'm starting to think it'd be great to just be direct with someone else for once.

Isn't it possible that I just like a good story?

Like that one Jenkins wrote about a little black boy who's so obsessed with a certain wall-crawling superhero, he has imaginary conversations with him whenever things get tough. It's funny. The story's called "Heroes Don't Cry," but at the end, when Laphonse finally realizes that he's got to grow up and says goodbye to Spider-Man, it always feels like there's smoke in my eyes.

Why can't we just say what we want? Why can't we just ever say what we mean? Just come clean, listen and talk. Hello private callers, IDs blocked...