Coldfire was the name they gave her when they gave her armor and a sword, when they knew she could use the dark to kill. It was better than her name and larger than life, and it made her a myth. It made her a hero.
For months during the worst days, when we slept with cold cloths over our mouths and in the cracks of the windows, I promised myself I would leave California when it stopped burning, but it never did.
I say I am finding grace, but I think I am succumbing to liminality. My life runs between two parallel lines. I hop between either line, attempting to escape the middle ground of liminality that lies between them.
Based on the diary entry, it seems like the author is struggling with some personal issues, particularly in regards to their romantic life. They seem to have a strong desire to be with someone, but they are not sure who that person should be.
Our apartment feels like a museum, not for lack of life lived –as marks on the wall from shoes tossed off after nights out where we carry each other would indicate– but because it has been curated in her image.
Feeds are flooded with videos of Japanese and Korean supermarkets, convenience stores, and 7/11s. What does it mean for Asians to be "next in line to disappear," when they are now made so increasingly visible in contemporary media?
While flying, telekinesis, super strength, and bending the space-time continuum are all well and cool, they wouldn't be possible without the labor of VFX artists. Entertainment news sources and anonymous testimonials by VFX workers see the on-screen CGI quality decline as a residual consequence of an even larger issue at hand: getting pixel-fucked from behind by Marvel. What exactly is pixel-fucking?