Thursday, October 13, 2011
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Monday, August 1, 2011
today.
today i submitted NADJA to kickstarter. it's been a long time. i want to do comics again. i dont know if it'll happen. but i can always try. because then i can either succeed or fail: and I cannot do either if i dont try.
haven;t read this in a long time. i think i needed to be away from it to see it with new ocular lenses...
a long time ago, i wrote this:
PARKOUR
Taken down from the windswept drafts of the fallout of Neo-Paris, Nadja began her weekly search for survivor camps and new wreckage to salvage. Usually it was nothing new, occasionally a token from years past, a life past, would rear it's disheveled head from the debris. More often it was residue and tissue and burnt materials from the time before her time.
"Today" Nadja thought "would be a good day." There was electrostatic in the air. Waves would wallow past the sun as it sat there miles above Neo-Paris in an angry blaze and scowling face. Usually, after a wind storm most of the elderly refused to go out, still littered with the memories of fear from the plagues, the fallout of the war that divided humanity.
If nothing else, the sandstorms would at least un-bury the dead so they could once again remind the living of the choices that had come to form the present state of humanity. Despair was a daily occurrence, but it festered under hushed breathes and the listless paranoia of the survivors.
Today Nadja took path away from the small group of life she called home; like a minute pollen sample or penicillin in a petri dish: isolated, secluded, and terrified that another deadly swab would be the end of the colony.
As much as she made it her day to day, going about and sorting those survivors who should continue to survive from those who survived with no purpose. It was exhausting work, futile it seemed, but it gave Nadja purpose that no one else could fulfill. In the world before her time, the world of money-men and weapons, one of her state would have been locked away for the things she did. But in this new world, where there existed no commodity except that which was life, she was as good as any peace officer who could place a bullet on the brain.
So a twinkle was good, a glimmer detracted from the dull pallor of dead flesh or the festering beating of a survivor. A glimmer changed the days events and detracted from the everyday slaughter and sadness of this future world.
A twinkle usually meant an item from a world's past; something manufactured by the hand or the machine built by the hand; Something relevant to advancement. Money burned, status was an oral fixation, nothing from the capitalism of the last world had staying power beyond the blast of a nuclear war.
Only things worked from the earth by hand, only things created from some advancement from the nature of man could make it past a blast and provide some physical evidence that indeed a small percentage of the human race added something to their life.
Occasionally it was jewels: those were frowned upon like murderous weapons from the materialistic connotations that befell the mass majority of mankind. Sometimes they were gears or wheels or buttons from some intricate manifestation of a problem solved by something coined 'technology'.
The wheels of men's mind revealed themselves this day, after the sandstorm over the phosphorescent horizon of Neo-Paris. A day that would soon be hard to be forgotten...
let's see if we can get her off the ground and set her up with a pair of wings
haven;t read this in a long time. i think i needed to be away from it to see it with new ocular lenses...
a long time ago, i wrote this:
PARKOUR
Taken down from the windswept drafts of the fallout of Neo-Paris, Nadja began her weekly search for survivor camps and new wreckage to salvage. Usually it was nothing new, occasionally a token from years past, a life past, would rear it's disheveled head from the debris. More often it was residue and tissue and burnt materials from the time before her time.
"Today" Nadja thought "would be a good day." There was electrostatic in the air. Waves would wallow past the sun as it sat there miles above Neo-Paris in an angry blaze and scowling face. Usually, after a wind storm most of the elderly refused to go out, still littered with the memories of fear from the plagues, the fallout of the war that divided humanity.
If nothing else, the sandstorms would at least un-bury the dead so they could once again remind the living of the choices that had come to form the present state of humanity. Despair was a daily occurrence, but it festered under hushed breathes and the listless paranoia of the survivors.
Today Nadja took path away from the small group of life she called home; like a minute pollen sample or penicillin in a petri dish: isolated, secluded, and terrified that another deadly swab would be the end of the colony.
As much as she made it her day to day, going about and sorting those survivors who should continue to survive from those who survived with no purpose. It was exhausting work, futile it seemed, but it gave Nadja purpose that no one else could fulfill. In the world before her time, the world of money-men and weapons, one of her state would have been locked away for the things she did. But in this new world, where there existed no commodity except that which was life, she was as good as any peace officer who could place a bullet on the brain.
So a twinkle was good, a glimmer detracted from the dull pallor of dead flesh or the festering beating of a survivor. A glimmer changed the days events and detracted from the everyday slaughter and sadness of this future world.
A twinkle usually meant an item from a world's past; something manufactured by the hand or the machine built by the hand; Something relevant to advancement. Money burned, status was an oral fixation, nothing from the capitalism of the last world had staying power beyond the blast of a nuclear war.
Only things worked from the earth by hand, only things created from some advancement from the nature of man could make it past a blast and provide some physical evidence that indeed a small percentage of the human race added something to their life.
Occasionally it was jewels: those were frowned upon like murderous weapons from the materialistic connotations that befell the mass majority of mankind. Sometimes they were gears or wheels or buttons from some intricate manifestation of a problem solved by something coined 'technology'.
The wheels of men's mind revealed themselves this day, after the sandstorm over the phosphorescent horizon of Neo-Paris. A day that would soon be hard to be forgotten...
let's see if we can get her off the ground and set her up with a pair of wings
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
good god...i have neglected this poor thing they call a blog
a friend of mine has become the blog-magician: single handedly dissapearing with no trace from an otherwise live and healthy, meaty lil blog of a blog.
mine lays here, skinny and lethargic: hooked to an IV, it's ribs showing....yes....it needs some juice...
i have gone and moved. im almost done with the thing they call 'moving in' which if you have alot of shit, like myself, and are a very sentimental pack rat, like myself, and also have other hobbies which allocates lots of random items, like myself, it is a very painful, exhausting thing. the good part though is that I got someone there to help me out before i pass out. that's always a nice thing.
im dying to make art. my art table is littered with said random shit. all i want to do is draw, and my art chair is still at my other place. god damn it. im gonna be so glad when im done.
and then i will have art for whoever happns to swing by and find this long lost blog. i promise i'll give it some redbull and tonic and kick it into high gear asap!
mine lays here, skinny and lethargic: hooked to an IV, it's ribs showing....yes....it needs some juice...
i have gone and moved. im almost done with the thing they call 'moving in' which if you have alot of shit, like myself, and are a very sentimental pack rat, like myself, and also have other hobbies which allocates lots of random items, like myself, it is a very painful, exhausting thing. the good part though is that I got someone there to help me out before i pass out. that's always a nice thing.
im dying to make art. my art table is littered with said random shit. all i want to do is draw, and my art chair is still at my other place. god damn it. im gonna be so glad when im done.
and then i will have art for whoever happns to swing by and find this long lost blog. i promise i'll give it some redbull and tonic and kick it into high gear asap!
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Monday, February 16, 2009
more of "welcome home"........
so more pages coming off the hot burning printing press of an art table. These are really becoming all i could hope for. They are aged like a fine cheese...since i penciled them months ago (seriously, they are well overdue)...it's taken me a long time to go from start to finish, but all the stuff im learning in between seems to be rearing it's pretty face....who doesn't love that devilish grin of success???
and in other news....i feel a storm a brewing, with some amazing fireworks of inks and art on the horizon. I cant say too much about it, but when it happens you bet i'll let you know what to look out for ;) The world has strange ways of connecting people at various times in ones life. Let's just say that chevy nova's can be the chrome links in a chain of some neat cyber friendships of fainting sheep.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
a lil project im working on...
two new pieces, from the same writer or different stories. hope you enjoy.
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