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Shivabali's Bio

My beginnings in the hobby started with my love for 1950-70's horror and sci-fi movies as a kid (I was born in 1969). I loved all the monsters from Frankenstein to Godzilla. One of my first memories around 4 or 5 was reading Friedrich/Ploog's Frankenstein #1 along with the 45-record sound track! Wish I had that now...alas, have never even seen it for sale.

Comics also got me into some of my favorite writers like Howard, Lovecraft, Bradbury, King and the like.

I constantly upgrade books I already own and sell the replacements. I am also interested in new sets I find or people lead me to. Glad to see the Jim Steranko cover set! YES! Please don't go out and try to top me now :) Along with Silver/Bronze/Copper Marvels I also love to collect modern sets like Walking Dead. I relish in collecting a set that I actually read (and watch!).

Comics have influenced my life and sensibilities in terms of the importance of art in all its' forms: painting/drawing/composition/writing/music on and on etc.

Let's keep it Vibrant!

Happy Collecting People!

Thanks for reading if you're still reading...I must admit, I usually don't...that's why I haven't written a bio after almost two years as a member! Maybe it's the beer, but I was compelled tonight to take this thing to the next step. Taking off the mask, and throwing out a personality. Take that Mr. Parker!

PS: I love to write quatrains. Basically 4-line stanzas that create a story and a mood. I've included some below that remind me of my comic/monster/arcane/horror-loving obsession:) The supernatural and superhero and supervillain and the fine line in between keeps me forever intrigued. BTW the "quatrains" below look more like paragraphs here because of the limited horizontal line space.

His death note read: “I think I’m Superman”.
The family said he was a family man.
The note ended: “I’m here, but can’t be seen.”
They said his mortal wound was glowing green.

Mr. Lovecraft and Cthulu formed his mind,
With ancient civilizations and gone gods and lost time.
Read through the Necronomicon, perhaps you’ll be forsaken.
But look upon the million eyes and madness will awaken.

There are rats in the walls, she hears them all night;
She hears the soft scratching and scurrying blight.
Fleas will come biting, carrying plague,
They first find your feet, then crawl up your leg.

Oh how they prayed to the mighty Gods,
Those of thunder and rain and meat.
Oh how their tattoos bled victories and defeat.
Now they are all gone, mingling with the sod.

This stranger invited me along for a midnight adventure,
Something about a hidden crypt, and ancient treasure.
He supplied the hooch and shovels; we dug deep into the night.
What we found I cannot say, but I pray I’m not right.

When she awoke, the pain led her to her left inner wrist.
The tattoo, upside down, took her a second to make around.
She gasped at the letters there…or rather the
initials and that triple six.
He had been dead for half a year. What is going on around here?

The guy supposedly worshipped Bruce Lee,
Especially that heart extraction feat.
He finally tried it on the wrong person;
He died before landing face first in the street.

When they met that night, she told him, “I have never felt better!”
It was summer, she was different; she wore a turtleneck sweater.
The sweater was white, and a red blot stained the collar.
When dawn came, she ran off, imploring: “I must find my father.”

Neighbors said he was a musician with a bad attitude and a worse voice.
He left a note about a guitar-string suicide next to a full bottle of pills.
The last line read in red ink: “some guys have all the luck.”
He was surely dead, but not a single expert could discover how.

Once, while walking in the jungle, I came across a shrunken head.
Without fear I lifted it by its hair and whispered in its ear:
“Come with me and be my friend.” I believe it nodded then.
During the flight home, our pilot saw my head and feinted dead.

After the breakout, I reported success,
The zombies were dead, just a scratch on the neck.
Now it is told, the plague started here,
But with a head-shot suicide, I’ve nothing to fear.


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