THERE IS NO NEWS
Seriously, nothing's happening really. No word on when the delivery intended for New Comics Book Day last week will be released from Diamond UK - although it seems unlikely that will happen until current movement restrictions are relaxed - and no word on when Diamond US and Diamond International will re-start distribution, but again, it seems unlikely that anything will happen until the COVID-19 movement restrictions are relaxed.
COMICS CONTEST STILL ONGOING!
The video is still available to view, and the contest remains open. We want to see the comics you make! Email pics of your work to firstname.lastname@example.org
THANK YOU FOR SUPPORTING US!!!!!!
Now more than ever, we really are nothing without you. To everyone who has bought gift vouchers, placed orders online or settled their invoice - a MASSIVE and deeply heartfelt THANK YOU!
Inspired by Sir Patrick Stewart and others reading Shakespeare, we're going to join in. Today we present "To His Coy Mistress" by Andrew Marvell:
To His Coy Mistress
Andrew Marvell: 1621-1678
Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, Lady, were no crime.
We would sit down and think which way
To walk and pass our long love's day.
Thou by the Indian Ganges' side
Shouldst rubies find: I by the tide
Of Humber would complain. I would
Love you ten years before the Flood,
And you should, if you please, refuse
Till the conversion of the Jews.
My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires, and more slow;
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast;
But thirty thousand to the rest;
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart;
For, Lady, you deserve this state,
Nor would I love at lower rate.
But at my back I always hear
Time's wingèd chariot hurrying near;
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found,
Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
My echoing song: then worms shall try
That long preserved virginity,
And your quaint honour turn to dust,
And into ashes all my lust:
The grave's a fine and private place,
But none, I think, do there embrace.
Now therefore, while the youthful hue
Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
And while thy willing soul transpires
At every pore with instant fires,
Now let us sport us while we may,
And now, like amorous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour
Than languish in his slow-chapt power.
Let us roll all our strength and all
Our sweetness up into one ball,
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Thorough the iron gates of life:
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.
That's it for today. See you tomorrow, until then, be kind to yourself, be kind to everyone else, stay home if you can - and make some comics!