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excerpt

new comic

coming sometime before the end of the world, but sometime after the beginning of it

the world

I want to eat the world

I want to close my eyes and

I want tomato rain to fall on me,

the last unconscious being, and then

wake up

I want to sing forever

and then stop suddenly

I want to destroy this desk

and throw pieces at you

people I want to

be invincible but still wonder

what death must feel like

maybe I could kill someone

and then apologize and wake him up

and ask what it was like

maybe I could eat

one piece of the world at a time,

sure, that’s what I’ll do, and eventually

I’ll get to all of it.

I think I’ll start with the edible things.

Maybe I could sit down and talk to someone

on the sidewalk and learn the purpose of

matching color schemes.

My stomach feels like I swallowed a yell

and I want to vomit it out.

but maybe a yell is part of the world,

so I’ll keep it down.

You can learn something, sitting on the

sidewalk talking to strangers about the old wars and

watching them tear up and choke with crazed crazy grief.

I’ll have to swallow this paper eventually too

and then all of this will be gone forever

unless it’s somehow

miraculously

metaphysically preserved,

or the collective unconscious

commits it to memory.

this time

Time is a leaking faucet,

annoying as hell and

persistent as a bitch.

In the same way

blood can be wiped nicely off

a leather seat if you clean it soon enough,

I can clean my mind

of everything, and you’ll never see

what was there.  It’s

clean

and empty

as the back-seat –

the man whose blood’s been cleaned

probably dead by now.

But we still can smell the unseen

blood underneath the seat

that I missed with the once-over,

smell it cook

in the heat of the sun.

Friends get in my car and ask,
what’s that smell?

and I tell them,

I don’t know.

If he’s dead, he’s dead.

Is it true that

the pain of the lost

is God’s smile

and their torment

His grin?

Is it true of the man burning in hell,

oh well,

he deserves that shit and we don’t,

and right is right

and wrong is wrong,

is it true I am right,

you are wrong,

is right true?

is wrong?

I sing my own demise.

Greet me sweetly,

oh demise,

come when I’m not looking

come when I’m down

come like the first time I saw a woman

come like a sunset

if the sun was a mass of burning truth.

Muse, sing in me

if the muse is my demise,

and my demise is love given to me but

withheld from me to others.

Time is a bleeding man

moaning MY FUCKIN ARM when he’s conscious of it

and otherwise dead wait.

WHY

YOU'RE YOUNG AND SO AM I BUT

EVENING IS COMING SOONER THAN WE THINK

AND WE WILL NEVER FIGURE OUT THE ANSWER TO THAT QUESTION WHICH SITS QUIETLY IN THE BACK OF OUR MINDS - THAT SAD QUESTION - THAT INERTIA - 'WHY?' - WHY, WHO SITS AND WAITS BUT WE'LL TELL HIM,

NEVER MIND

AND ENJOY EVERY DAY OF OUR VAIN LIVES UNDER THE SUN

THE DEVIL IS UNDER MY SOUL
AND THE DEVIL IS COMPLACENCY
AND THE DEVIL IS KIND
AND HE IS LOVELY
AND I LOVE HIM
AND I WILL KILL HIM MYSELF
IF I CAN,
IF I WANT -
I ALWAYS WANT
AND NEVER DO,
NEVER CAN

gone
all told
to the silver man,
freezing in no hopes
shaking head with cap
and saying
"Oh dear me,
dear me,
this's the -
the big one!
we're all dead
for sure."
Life is a leaking faucet
because no-one can stop it,
even if you die,
the worms live on.
Say, worm,
do a happy worm-dance.

it airplane

You’re sleeping next to me

in an airplane

suspended in the dark sky of

Raliegh to Los Angeles

meanwhile gangsters kill

each other in parking lots

until the survivors sell frozen yogurt to us

in Texas layover.

Now more than halfway to LA –

we’ll stay there and

call it home even

and abide

the bullshit

and love everything good

until we leave,

and we will love

everything good.

Time is a folded napkin.

We will get there,

Lord-willing of course,

and if we never

see a million

flower petals

falling like rain

from a benevolent God

of beautiful miracles

but instead sit in

the dark with

pain hunger temptation

anger loss and shame

let us say

still and always

this is the best shit

because God put us

here, and God

is good.

Lapse not into

absurdity and keep

me sane.

Sane without humanity?

Floating duck

spots of light floating

like burning bugs

erratic

quack

float

fuck,

I say, sing

something enrapturing

for luck

but quietly and

where no-one can

hear you.

Loud constant hush of

the airplane

sings to me now.

This is the sky-song

of the prosperous and

rich: silence,

rushing of wind,

darkness, oh,

I love to think

of the other

times where

we knew everything

would be okay –

we still know

it, of course,

I do, I sing it

every day.

Remember

the sun?

You talked about visions of the

sunset, described

in words that people

use about heaven,

with the attendant

“oh my God”

of praise.

The sun behind clouds

seen over the ocean

in the West where

it sets.

Dynamic like

the waves

and the heavens and

earth and angels

and souls,

souls, dynamic,

souls, changing,

changing up or

down or separating

at the seams

where two have

been haphazardly

stitched together

or tightened with

the signs of

years of wear and

mending.

Souls and their

love are

the beauty

of God,

sunsets, His

power.

Evil

   death?

          songs

            sad songs

               tears

        oh,

       fear

all this I thought

while

you described the colors

and apparitions

and sprites

angels

and songs

that you saw in the

clouds with

the sun

that no-one else

could see.

  your words were as

  beautiful as you are

  and with the same

  suffering – your hair

  blown by the wind

  covered your face

  you turned it down

  and brushed it away

  like you do all the

  horrors of your mind

  and of the world by

  God’s grace.

  I look now

to my side and

you’re fast asleep still

still no lights outside

clouds maybe but

for us only

dark

until tomorrow.

We’re going West

along with the sun.

We’re prolonging the

darkness for us.

The more the better

because usually it’s the

days that linger

with no end.

first woodcut

there was a crew called "FOI"

it stood for "FULL OF INSANITY"
I like that name

I never met any of them, but they used to write things on my street

these pictures are unrelated

sophia

The dull light, green
and yellow, flares
around your
neck and shoulders
and your face blurs out
in a picture
in my mind
and foreign charms
rattle on your chest --
keep smiling, like
you do, like you've got
the darkness to disprove,
like you know the
path and can show me to
the source of life
and light, that narrow
path, and winding, and
binding, and treacherous,
but it's alright,
the horror of hell
does not overwhelm
when we glimpse the last enemy
and rattle the gates of hades
and hear the gnashing and
weeping that sounds
like a song of profound
truth and I'll start
weeping too if my eyes
and heart fail and if I
look down or even
at you and fear
like the grip of a python
is waiting for me,
so smile like you do,
because you've got the darkness
to disprove.

first oils doodle

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