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GamelogoBy Australian Ninja

Remnants & Relics. Buttonhole *Special* Feature

Welcome dear reader to Remnants & Relics, the first in an ongoing series of features looking back at various aspects of yesterday's video games. This series is one that I'd hoped to kick off many months ago, but I just haven't had the time to do it justice, until now. So consider this your opportunity to put on your best pair or rose-tinted glasses, open up a luke-warm can of clichés and prepare to hop aboard the way-back-machine.... It came from beyond two dimensions! -A Look Back at Isometric Gaming-

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ToonlogoBy Australian Ninja

ACMI Day Tripper

Welcome Buttonhole readers to another feature that is so choc-full of goodness that I've divided it into several sections. The top half is about the Indy video games showcased at ACMI. The bottom half is about the Pixar exhibit. It's ridiculously long and all terribly interesting to read, so you may as well read it in two halves, or just the parts that interest you. After reading about the ACMI exhibits on their website and getting more than a little excited, I decided to make the perilous trek to inner Melbourne. With time on my side and money stuffed in my pocket I ventured forth to the train station. Once on board I passed the time by staring out the window, reading a volume of Dark Horse's Concrete and snacking on tasty fruit. Arriving at Flinders St, I wandered around until inevitably finding my way out of the rat-maze like station.

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ToonlogoBy Australian Ninja

Classic Comic-book Review. Kraven's Last Hunt

"Here lies Spider-Man - Slain by the Hunter" So reads the grave of one of histories greatest superheros. "But he's not dead, is he? What happened to everyone's favourite web-slinger? Spidey seems to be alive and well now, what with his three movie deal and a string of monthly Marvel comic-book titles to his name, so why was he buried six feet under? The year is 1987. The company is Marvel. The character is Sergei Kravinov also known as 'Kraven the Hunter.' Back in the 60's Stan and Steve (Lee and Ditko, respectively) churned out a heap of cool villains for the title "Amazing Spider-Man." Doctor Octopus, The Cham

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Joel pic for sammy poems Popcorn Eyes. Some poems by Sammy.

For those who like such things, dig in.

Tue, 20 September 2005

Sammy by: Hillelman

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Buttonhole has many creative types as part of our team. Amongst our staff we have photographers, musicians, artists, people who can make soup from toenail clippings (ok, I made that one up) and so forth. One of my hobbies and/or passions is writing poems, short stories and anything else that takes my fancy. I thought I'd share some of my creative stuff with our readers and hopefully that'll encourage other Buttonholers to do the same. If I get a good response to this stuff I will post some more in the future. I if don't get a good response...well, I'll still post some more in the future. Because I can and it makes me happy to do so. If you don't like it, just don't read it. No skin off anyone's nose either way really.

My thanks to Joel White for the great drawing

Little girl go on and
Colour me in.
Prepare to finish
What you choose to begin.
Once we're strong enough,
There'll be no need to fight.
What we can't do today,
Tomorrow we just might.

Little girl draw an image of me.
Big enough for the stars to see.
Every breath that I take,
To inhale your scent,
Helps my time continue
To have been well spent.

Whenever I think of my Grandmother,
Which is quite often,
I smile.

Life was rather cruel to her.
She had to contend with
Constant adversity,
With very few moments of peace,
Yet she was never defeated.

I will remember her-
Not as an old woman,
Not as a sick woman,
Not as a crippled woman.

I will remember her-
As a strong and proud woman,
A loving and caring woman,
A truly beautiful woman.

With her faith and support,
She made me a better person.

I'll remain eternally grateful,
To have been a small part
Of her life.

And when the time eventually comes,
I will know exactly
Where to find her.

I shine now
Everything is dark.
The crickets don't chirp
The dogs don't bark.
No sound is needed,
No ears left to hear.
It is way past the end,
Another has to be near.

I shine now
See me through the dark.
All is gone from here,
Never even left a mark.
No sights remain to be seen,
No eyes still able to look.
Each page has been read,
But we've all lost the book.

Yes, I shine now,
And all shadows are my own.
The rain has ceased falling,
The wind's done being blown.
No more thoughts to be had,
No minds are here that can think.
They all went off swimming,
While I remained here to sink.

Lately I've been spending much of my time
Giving birth to aliens.
It is an uncomfortable experience
And only the pain keeps it real.

I also continue to commit suicide
A couple of times a week or so.
Some day it just might
Be the death of me.
We all need our hobbies.

Every so often,
I save the world.
Usually by accident.
It leaves me feeling
As to whether or not
I have done the right thing.

Before the Earth was round
Many people and things
Would just fall off
Over the edges.
And those people and things
Went on to be transformed
Into gods.

Before the sun was hot
A whole lot of things were frozen
And when they came to be thawed out
They understood
That movement is an art.

Before the sky was made
There was no place for flying
And when its existence became known
Masses of dreams crashed to the ground.

Before there were any names
Nobody labelled anyone
And once the names were given
Everyone forgot who they were.

Was I ever that stupid?
Or was I ever that smart?
I can't understand
Any word I ever said.

I sliced through my flesh
Laid bare my bones
What purpose did it serve?
Made me nothing but cold.

Nobody loves me any more.
Nobody loves me any less.
I caught pieces and parts
Of every heart I wanted.

They all left me.
All left me just the same.

Sometimes you find yourself
Standing at the opening
Of a cave.
You know that it
Is dark inside.
You understand there is nothing
Recognisable to accomplish
By entering.
Yet, for whatever reason,
You just can't resist.
So you go in
And stumble
Inside a pitch-black place.
Can't see anything
Feels strangely familiar.
You get lost and just when
You are starting to panic,
You manage to escape.
Once the relief subsides
You decide that next time
You will go in deeper.

What a convincing act,
Had me totally fooled.
Probably wasn't that hard.
We all want to believe,
In one way or another,
Whether we admit it or not.

At the right place at the right time,
Or maybe exactly the opposite,
This set was built around me.
And I believed I was somewhere else.
It was nice and I felt kind of special,
But in the back of my mind,
I knew it wasn't real.

We always know.
Yes, but now that I think of it,
Who's to say what is?
Real that is.

There isn't too much harm,
In letting yourself escape.
These things often come down,
To being whatever we make them
And in the end it's mostly fantasy,
So be convinced without shame.

Beauty only exists
When one chooses
To see it.
Nothing is particularly
Unless it is allowed to be.

Everything is being
Looked at.
Always someone,
With eyes
Judging and assuming,
But very rarely
With vision...
By too much pollution,
The true picture
Becomes obscured
And difficult to observe.

This machine won't shut up.
Telling me how to live,
What to say,
What to do,
When to breathe.
This machine hates me.
Wants me to be something,
Something or other.
What does it know? Never been alive.
Only a machine.
And I don't take orders,
Not from anyone-
Least of all from a machine.
For a little while I'll go along,
Do what it says,
Make it think it is winning
Let it think it can control me.
Then, when the time is right,
I'm going to sneak up on it,
Slowly and quietly one day
And I am going to smash it!
Bust it up into little pieces!
And then I'm going
To tell the machine
How to put itself back together.
Just look at it, in all of its bits-
Utterly helpless,
Of no use to anybody.
While I'm yelling at it,
"Come on, come on
Fix yourself!
Listen to me!
You stupid bastard, fix yourself!"

When you reach the bottom
All the boots get heavier
You walk with lead steps
And get kicked twice as hard

When you reach the bottom
All the air gets heavier
You take exhausted breaths
And blow twice as much smoke

When you reach the bottom
All there is to look at is above
You prepare for another climb
And everything looks twice as high

A jaw of steel,
Mouth filled with plastic teeth.
Tough skin,
And even tougher underneath.
If there's an end to reach,
He'll be standing there.
Having taken nothing,
And holding onto his share.
He's my hero,
If I was made to choose one.
A mind full of thoughts,
Like bullets in a gun.

Stripes on the walls
Like wrinkles on skin.
Except they're meant to look nice-
The stripes, not the wrinkles.
But who needs them?
All bright and useless.
I'd rather look at wrinkles
They have character.
The funny part is
I put those stripes on the walls.
There's a hypocrite in us all.
Or could it be simply
That we refuse to be satisfied?

Takes a certain amount of thinking
To understand
Just how little there is to know.

If you do not believe...
Truly believe,
In something,
Then to me you do not
Exist at all.

I am far too aware
Of my own foolishness
Not to have faith
In what I am unable
To explain or comprehend.

The outcome was expected, but no less effective.
Devastation is a hard thing to prepare for.
Probably can't really even be done.
You might see it coming,
But there's nothing you can do
To stop the impact.

I was familiar with the intriguing nature
Of this most extraordinary form of cruelty.
Something in me insisted I had a chance.
That somehow I could beat it.
Get to that blissful centre
And remain forever there.

Such foolishness is easier to swallow
Than mundane, flavourless logic.

So, I went for it again.
Went for it with everything I had.

I got there for a time.
Bathed in the warm light.
Felt almost full,
So nearly complete.

Just as I began to get used to it,
To allow it totally...
It thrust me into oblivion.

There is no place like home.

Turned off the filters
Bombarded with images.
Something akin to dreaming,
Only far less creative
And potentially far more damaging.

Mass produced pictures
Soulless yet polished,
To the point they become
Almost blinding.

Hopeless words
Escape from well endorsed lips.
Spoken with no courage,
Or any worthwhile conviction.

Notes are strung together,
In a carefully constructed manner
Producing a mockery of music.
The resulting noise enters the ears
And chews at the brain.

When you turn it all off
And start thinking your own thoughts
You can rest assured
There is no real need for any of it.

Such a kingdom built from this;
The ignorant in search of bliss.
Each for himself and all for none.
A God given right to carry a gun.

Land stolen for free
The home of the depraved.
Profit from lies,
Fame and fortune craved.

Independence was fought,
For to escape queens & kings.
Now a president may rule,
Just more puppets on strings.

Can't afford to heal the sick.
Can't afford to house the poor.
Yet still money can be found,
When they choose to pay for war.

Such a proud nation rules our earth.
God help us all. What are we worth?

He was late for his birth,
The second time around.
He missed the instructions
About how everything was
Supposed to happen.
As a result he found himself
Unable to comprehend
The things that went on
Within him and around him.

He chose to assume it didn't matter.
It didn't seem to,
Not really.

All these things and
All these people
And all these things that
All these people
Claimed to care about.
Never made much difference
Or made no difference at all.

So he just stood there,
Looking at himself
In a mirror.
He really was quite handsome.

As a Christmas present
My sister gave me
This really nice little book
For me to write in.
I think it is beautiful
And one of the best presents
Anybody ever gave me.
But I am afraid to write in it.
Because I don't know if my words
Will be good enough
To belong in that book.

And this battle rages on.
God only knows why it did start.
In the middle with no fear
Stands Hillel with golden heart.

There goes the destruction,
There goes the death and screams of pain.
While he stands still in the middle
Hillel, his golden heart with another stain.

All those blackened, bloody eyes,
If for once they looked to care,
They would have seen him-
Hillel and golden heart forever there.

So once the dust completely settles
And all damage finally has been done,
Still standing, this middle of nowhere;
With golden heart, Hillel- the only one.

Light drilled through everything
Every day starts this way.
Doesn't matter to me,
I'm firmly blindfolded.
Safe and sound,
Unable to see the damage.

There are so many corners here.
Dark dusty corners,
Animated by scurrying legs.
All these frantic legs
And how busy those insects
Can make doing nothing look.

The only thing more
Abundant than corners,
Are televisions.
On one of the televisions there's a man
He came in riding on a donkey
And he claims to be God.

I peeked out over my blindfold,
That is one fine looking donkey.

With the two of them there
It really is something to behold.
Almost like magic,
The feeling they project,
Warmth and validity.
Their place has been made
And the only requirement
Is that they be together.
When they talk to each other,
I can't help but smile
And nod to myself
As I think
At least there are a few things left
That still do make sense.

Planted a seed,
Wanted to grow you a flower.
Just kept blooming.
I have a forest now.
I have a jungle now.
Its wild and it multiplies
And continues...
Utterly beyond control.
So here I am lost
In this thing I started.
This natural mess
Of a maze I gave life to.
With no ability to keep track
Of what I created.
And I don't know that...
You even wanted...
A flower in the first place.

Tongue firmly in my cheek,
Makes it difficult to speak.

The words can seem to come out wrong,
But my feelings remain as just and strong.

If I come across as a little less sincere,
It's due more to confusion than any fear.

Still saying all of what I need to say,
Just putting it differently, in my way.

Sometimes less is more: I agree with that.
Thanks. That's all. For now.

by: Hillelman

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More articles by Hillelman

SmartArtist Web Hosting

More Other Stuff

Technical Difficulties
RIP Steve Irwin
Trolley of Death
International Portable Film Festival
Buttonhole is Back Baby!

Which of the following “super powers” would you most like to have?
Super strength
Ability to fly
X-ray vision
Super speed
Super intelligence

ToonlogoBy Borgieman

Manifest '07 Report

Ninja's note: Once again, it's time for another Buttonhole report on the Melbourne Anime Festival, otherwise known as Manifest 2007. If you missed Ichibod's feature on a previous Manifest, check it out here. This Manifest coverage comes to you courtesy of forum regular and newest Buttonhole contributor Borgieman, a cool guy who knows his Anime and has been known to play a video game or two. So read on true believers! A Day at Manifest 2007

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ToonlogoBy Australian Ninja

Only Yesterday. Anime Review

The problem with having favourite films is that every time I watch another Studio Ghibli film it becomes my new favourite. It kind of renders the word 'favourite' meaningless when every Studio Ghibli film takes my breath away. Still, I can't complain about being thoroughly entertained by this whimsical and insightful film, "Only Yesterday". This gem was directed by Isao Takahata, well known for his anime film Grave of the Fireflies. Although Only Yesterday is a light hearted film that ambles along at a leisurely pace, it still manages to explore themes such as love, work, family relationship struggles, following your dreams and country versus city living. In the film, the main character Taeko decides to take a working vacation in the country, getting away from her office bound job and unexpectedly starts t

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ToonlogoBy Jason

Speed Grapher V1. Anime Review

Well, "I don't like it" was my initial feeling when viewing this Anime for the first time. Subsequent viewings haven't changed my views a great deal. Nothing really stands out as being absolute shit but it seems that this series tries too hard. It's almost like they were more interested in creating something 'edgy' and confronting but sadly forgot to include an even remotely palatable story. The hero of this particular piece is a bloke called Tatsumi Saiga. Tatsumi is a photographer and a veteran war journalist for whom taking photos has become somewhat of a fetish. Although he seems to have become jaded - nothing is worth wasting his film on - that is, at least until he stumbles across an exclusive club for the mega rich

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