Figures And Metal


My used figure arrived in the mail this morning. An Anime figure, Anime being my guilty, embarrassing pleasure. I had waited several weeks for it to arrive, and as I opened the packaging with a straight-edged razor I had acquired from working in retail (I would put the box cutters in my back pocket and forget they were there, taking them home; my posterior is intact as well), I was then amazed at the sensation of opening something truly used.

I had bought used clothes online before, but they were always packaged neatly, even professionally. But this box bore my name and address on it, hand-written on a loose-leaf label, with wobbly penmanship that now brings to mind the underside of Woody’s right boot.

Save for some bits of dirt and a slight smell of stale cigarette smoke detectable upon close inspection, the figure itself was in excellent condition and I was stunned at the detailed sculpting; I had never owned a Japanese figure before.

I had taken interest in figures recently, after looking at my old childhood toys, the majority of which were snarling monsters. I took home with me from my old action figure collection, well-preserved since youth, a green figure with many eyeless heads, all bearing their teeth. I later learned, never having seen this monster before, that his name is Biollante, and he once fought Godzilla. I was surprised he was not in “Godzilla: Destroy All Monsters Melee” or its sequel, but I suppose King Ghidorah and his Mecha counterpart were enough to satisfy the need to have an abomination with at least three heads on its shoulders grace the screen.

Since bringing home the green monster, I have purchased a used NECA Alien, with only the tip of its tail missing. I have always appreciated Giger’s art, even if I am unable to look at his work for too long without feeling cold and depressed. But the Alien figure itself is very fetching, with its clear, phallic head and its aggressive upright stance. Even his small second mouth comes out, and ever since I was little I appreciated moving parts on a toy as long as they were unconventional (triggered arms were not unique and their movement had no importance; my action figures never made contact with each other out of respect for paint), especially if they emerged from and retracted into some hole like a snake on a certain Mighty Max toy I remember or the multiple heads on a deformed, muscle-bound version of Venom.

After buying the Alien figure and realizing it was not a waste of money, I bought one of Clive Barker’s Tortured Souls, unused. Talisac it is named, and it is probably the grossest figure in that series. I would describe it but I really have no interest in it anymore. Not too shortly after buying this figure, I regretted it a little, it being so grotesque and in that way an eyesore. But I was very much into death metal at the time of the purchase; an interest that comes and goes seemingly without warning. The figure went with the music.


I had but a month ago aimed to create a metal album with a stranger over the internet, him on vocals, myself on guitar and bass, using an in-program drum kit. I had made and sent him the first track. His response via text message was a declaration of it being “awesome”, complete with an explicative for emphasis. I couldn’t be more pleased with these results but knowing I had promised a ten track album I then realized that I no longer cared about metal anymore; I had essentially, pardon the expression, “shot my load.” Metal season for me had ended, most likely with his praise. Perhaps I selfishly craved recognition, and after gaining it, lost my drive.

However I got drunk a week later and recorded four more guitar tracks, the fourth, during which I was most tired and intoxicated, being mostly mistakes that I would have to edit out to cobble together a decent song.

I’m guiltily opting for the excuse of a hard drive crash.


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