Doctor Who… The Dark Side of Regeneration?

WARNING: This article contains almost no spoilers!

In the wake of BBC introducing a promising new Companion and the most recent face of the Doctor getting only one more season to play out his amusing blend of mid-life crisis and cranky grandpa (with a healthy dash of teenage angst), I’d like to talk to the Whovians out there about the plot hook that has made it possible for 13 men (15 if we’re looking outside the show canon) to play the role of our favourite TV Doc! (Sorry to all the McDreamies and Quinns and Browns out there).

Regeneration is a HUGE part of the Doctor Who shtick. Yet, so many fans don’t seem to be able to really reconcile the device with their expectations of the show. We’ve all done that thing where we watch an actor play a role and then he/she just forever becomes that character… I mean I defy you to ever watch NPH in anything and not think of him as Barney, the creator of ‘The Playbook’ and ‘The Bro Code’. Funnily enough, with the Doctor many of us tend to do the reverse. Having related to a Tennant or a Smith in the role we just can’t help thinking to ourselves as we watch Capaldi… “this isn’t the Doctor” or “this isn’t my Doctor”. That latter line has some pretty rooted significance if you’ve followed the show over the years (watch this clip to the end for a particularly moving evocation, though you may have to Google the back story a bit. Well, you’re not going to like it, but I’m here to tell you how you’re doing yourself and the show an injustice by thinking like that…

TO KEEP READING PLEASE FOLLOW THIS LINK TO THE ORIGINAL POST ON THE COMIC CON INDIA BLOG

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GloPoWriMo: Day XXX: Sol

Like clockwork it comes
A starting gong
Immortalised in song
And ode and verse

Enemy of the night
Friend to all life
Cutting through the darkness
Like a red hot knife

The signal of the rise
After the ever present fall
Landing on each being
Big or small

A symbol of hope
And the passage of time
Ushering in the new
Lighting and burning
As the perennial climb

The bringer of the morn
And the blue birds sweet cheer
Telling one and all
That tomorrow is here

GloPoWriMo: Day XXIX: My Shoes

Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt starts with a single word. And how fitting. Because oh so often just one word can change the course of a conversation. A relationship. A people… Okay that was a little dramatic, but you’ve probably noticed by now dear reader that I have a penchant for that sort of thing (if you have indeed had the misfortune… err I mean pleasure of being a frequent visitor).

So shout out to the piece that started today’s rambling adventure “Oh, The Places You Will Go” by the incomparable Dr. Seuss. (I would have gone with Green Eggs and Ham but it’s around lunch time and I was afraid I might make myself too hungry to finish ; p)

Upon my feet
They trod the street
Painted red and white

My shoes, my shoes
How much they do
From dusk till the dawn light

They jump, they skip
They twirl, they flip
They’re really outta sight

They climb, they kick
Sometimes step in shit
They march, left and right

They’re tough, but worn
Sometimes give me corns
Sometimes they really bite

And though they get muddy
And may look quite cruddy
I like my shoes, despite

My shoes, my shoes
So much they do
From dawn till the dying light

My shoes, my shoes
Because they do
Some guy stole them in a fight

GloPoWriMo: Day XXVIII: Falling, Tumbling

Today NaPoWriMo prompts a ‘Skeltonic Verse‘ (best name ever right?!). The description prompted an all too familiar subject so I just ran with it, but this is a particularly fun poetic scheme so I will probably throw in a second challenge entry today. So enjoy the first of you two-for-one NaPoWriMo Skeltonics reader…

Falling, tumbling
Nervously bumbling
Flat on your face
As you heart does race
Past the pain
Again and again
Those old refrains
“This is love”
“She fell from above”
“My turtle-dove”

Pain and pleasure
Beyond all measure
Sometimes fighting
Sometimes biting
Always lighting
Birthday candles
Silly love handles
“Relationship weight”
Then comes hate
It slowly precipitates

Then a split
What a hit
Words get shook
That’s all it took
Now you’re blinded
Absent minded
Craving the past
Till you move on at last

Now newly single
So lets mingle
Meet new people
Most vapid sheeple
But soon through the crowd
One stands aloud
And so then
Lets do it all again

GloPoWriMo: Day XXVII: George

It was fire and smoke
When it first fell upon my tongue
I masked the taste with agents
Designed to sweeten or dull

But in time I came to grow
And with it grew my thirst
My hankering for the amber
Golden nectar slowly nursed

That beautiful smoky liquid
That wonderful sweet refrain
Burning so good down my throat
As it fills me up again

Too warm and it would be a harsh friend
Too cooled and it’d lose its essence
Not so fast as to lose its depth
Or slow as to be lost in evanescence

Intoxicating, exuberating
That smell, that bittersweet flavour
If I had a peg with me right now
I’d sit back at ease and savour

GloPoWriMo: Day XXVI: Buried and Found

Today’s NaPoWriMo prompt encourages us to explore the viewpoint of archeologists far in the future… What will they find? What will they make of what we leave behind? When the remains of a long forgotten human race are found, will they make any sense?

My answer may be a stretch. Or just too convoluted even to follow. But nothing ventured nothing gained!

Upon what would have been his middle finger
On his non-dominant hand
There we found this piece
An inscribed gold band

It was scratched and the ring warped
Telling its wear through climates and years
Whatever this piece signified
This one held it very dear

You can see here that it is missing filling
Around these characters unknown
So even to have it repaired and renewed
It would not part from his bones

Three letters, what do they mean
Are they numbers of letters?
Did they inspire fear and hate and prejudice?
Or did they push him to be better?

He must have worn it most his life
For his finger did shape around it
And something interesting actually
About another near where we found it

We have studied the bodies around him
And done a DNA match to identify a few
There is one near by that is peculiar
It has an identical indentation on its finger too

 

GloPoWriMo: Day XXV: That Box in the Corner

There is a small chest that lies
Somewhere in my living room
Always kept, often forgotten
In the corner by the broom

Stained wood and faded polish
Rusty hinges and creaky handles
With drips of white paint
And dried wax from old candles

It is most unremarkable
Which is something quite ironic
Bought as it first was
Because it looks quite iconic

Like something that could hold secrets
Or protect old memories from harm
Now it lies there, half empty
Half full of its original charm

It has those little edges
That scratch me when I lift it
And contents that shuffle
Like wheat when it’s sifted

I can’t quite picture it now
Though I try and I try
Which is ironic for a box
That holds memories gone by

GloPoWriMo: Day XXIV: ABCs

Always Begging
Cruel, Denied
Ever Feeling
Gargantuan Heft

Ill-conceived Jungles
Killing, Lasting
Maiming New,
Old Patrons

Questioning Rights
Silencing Truths
Under Vapidness,
Worrying Xenophobia

Yet

Zero

GloPoWriMo: Day XXIII: The Alpha and the Omega

I’m not usually for too many rules of form when I write. So I generally gravitate towards simple rhyme schemes, or the one-off free form, when I am randomly inspired to pen something. This is why the NaPoWriMo prompts can often offer interesting opportunities to try something new.

Today that something new is the ‘Double Elevenie’ (which in my head for some reason just kept summoning David Tennant’s “Alonsie”). Certainly a very structured style of poetry, I’m not sure the Elevenie or its Twin would be for me, but it was an interesting experiment…

Quills
Making worlds
Upon blank surface
Moving swiftly, building freely
Beginnings

Swords
Starting wars
In hateful hands
Cutting down, slicing through
Endings