Recalibrations of the steamship Gypsy Phoenix

I left Yorktown, Virginia one week ago tonight, but I finally broke down last night.
I cried.
I cried like a pussy-whipped aberration. Another failed relationship, another notch in the leather belt, with the end result looking more and more worn like heroin chic. As the days and weeks and months burn on, life becomes so much more semantic. My priorities turn to steel. I really wasn't sure that I could or should continue this blog, as the wanderlust still lures me back to the open road. But the followers of my jalopy seem to be growing, and though I do not know most of you I feel I ought to keep on with the brave fight.
As such, I am interviewing artists for the blogger/blogspot run by the guys behind A.N.A. Comics, having already done the Torquemada bit on their three founding fathers, I am compiling a set list of names that will be some manner of insightful fun for those interested in the craft of graphic arts.
I am writing away as well for Erik Hendrix and the team at SP! Nexus magazine, mostly reviews but also interviews of a different persuasion along with possible articles on a range of topics. In fact, with very few exceptions, the bulk of my reviews from here on (beit comix, books, records, etc.) will appear exclusively thereabouts. So, especially as the issues remain free I invite all to check out what we are doing over there.
One point of personal inspiration comes via the talented Sandy Plunkett. Few may identify with the story, of a fan managing to track down his favorite artist only to end up with a regular and very friendly correspondence with such. Sandy's art book will be out this coming May, and I am apparently on the short list of reviewers. As I do still occasionally scribe for other sites, I will be looking for ways to help sell the book to the world. Anyone familiar with Sandy's work will understand why. Helping his audience rediscover his work, hopefully enough for him to at last get his original graphic novel out later in the year, is something I equate with being a higher calling. Having a creative and wizened powerhouse of a soul like him in my corner...the world is big enough for many a black sheep, but the stoic comfort of the kindred in spirit is a volatile thing, something to treasure and expand upon. I know I am not alone when I say that I learn best by comparing notes with others. (as with my friends Ness, Jaymes, Nicholas, Judex, Greg, Peter, Kevin, Xei, Rob, Len, the other Len, Richard, the other Richard, Jason, Erik, and Mel.)
Regarding my own projects, yes, they continue in their own way. Look for stories in two separate comic book anthologies in coming months. The Jack The Ripper book is almost complete, the illos for my friend's book of medieval poetry is next on the list, along with a couple of web-comix, conceptualizing the back story of another friend's ongoing comic book series, character designs for someone else's comic and pin-ups for yet another book. And 10,000 words for an anthology novel of dark fantasy. And my own horror novel. And the Vomitoria, and the Aesthetics Engine. A mixed bag, to be sure, but then nowadays I only work on things that attract my pineal gland, my whims and fancy, schizophrenia or no schizophrenia. Pun somewhat intended, like my tongue in a foreign cheek.
Do not mistake my words for a rekindled zeal for life. I just wish to reaffirm that I know damn well where everyone and everything stands. And luckily, Hell does not exist.

But jalopy shall assuredly keep on in its merry little archaic dance. Appreciation extended fully to those who sent in emails in recent weeks. Every man is an island my arse.
Just wish I didn't have to swing the metaphorical/spiritual bar tab on my lonesome.