transmogrification

I am now in a place called Henpeck, looking for means to relocate to Bardstown, Kentucky. I walk miles and miles of railroad tracks almost daily. My circle is quite small, but it feels like a productive and energizing time.
I have also been researching Magick, particularly Thelemic mysticism and Shamanism, for a 10,000 word prose story due in roughly six weeks. I have partaken in DMT on several occasions for this purpose.
(On a sidenote, a curiosum I have come to wonder about concerns the common experience to be found among either particularly strong encounters with hallucinogenic psychedelics, lucid dreaming, or in near death experiences. Namely, a sense of awakening in a science fictional hospital-like room, with benevolent but strange faces looking down on them, examining them, inspiring and comforting them. My proposition, is that such vivid visions could be a resurfacing memory that most of us in the modern world can identify with. When we first leave the womb, we awaken to the light of a science fictional hospital-like room, with benevolent but strange faces looking down on us, examining us, inspiring and comforting us. What is it about transcendental meditation, psychedelic hallucinogens, and near death experiences all calling to mind again the very first waking memory lived by almost every person birthed in the civilized world?)

In other news, I received my copy of the Harijan graphic novel from Nicholas Myers and A.N.A Comics, which has an introduction written by moi. This is a great collection of a great story. Stick up your local package store so you can purchase multiple copies.

satan kiss'd

One thousand black feathers falling falling beyond her grasp failing in overtures of pain and exponential death she sits here sometimes, two towering behemoths in tow she dies here sometimes just to sink it all good and low with open eyes she looks up and sees the naught abound with open eyes she looks up and feels my arms around tasting shadows all over the view of a world many worlds away and turns about like smoke spirals blown from her face her skin pulled tight, her faith burned in sacrificial whim as nothing works out nothing again wax on the eyelids from the night before she whispers for ennui casting me as bore her skin pulled tight her hand on the door but I don't care for it, not anymore.

Carlin Biography

COMICS: George Carlin

Written, Lettered & Packaged by Jaymes Reed

Illustrated by Apriyadi Kusbiantoro

cover A by Apriyadi Kusbiantoro

cover B by Soussherpa

cover C by Patricio Carbajal

cover D by Soussherpa

cover E by Soussherpa

Published by BlueWater Productions

COMICS is a new, irregular series of biographical one-shots from BlueWater focusing exclusively on funny men and women, and starting the procession with the late George Carlin is a fine first act. While sizing up anyone's life in 24 pages may seem obviously daunting, and as eventful and tragic as Carlin's life was especially, a strong and surprisingly unbiased effort is made here to recount the more noteworthy themes of the comedian's days and nights.

Written and extremely well researched by self-proclaimed Carlin fan Reed, the reader learns much about the man whose comedic victories and defeats have already inspired countless aesthetic artisans and cultural commentarians. Beginning with his parents' early days in NYC and boldly marching through the decades-long career of comedy albums, books, films, censorship battles, and generally entertaining uncouthness, few grounds are left uncovered. Ably expressed is the fact that, despite the insightful heart of his many observations and the mountains climbed throughout his many years of showbusiness, the man did have more than his share of demons along the way. I have been a big Carlin fan for years, no surprise, but there were a pair of facts in these pages which were new to me. Such should be the aim of a well-intentioned and executed biographer, and Reed here proves himself a natural.

While I am completely unfamiliar with Kusbiantoro's previous work, his work on this book speaks volumes. Handling full art chores, he provides structured layouts populated with images somewhat more dreamlike-than the stark photorealism so drastically overemployed by many comics artists today. Of course, references abound in his portayals, and his likenesses are dead-on, but his color-rendering is what really sold me. An elaborate visual style would be absolutely out of place in a non-fictional biographical work, and Kusbiantoro smartly walks the line between blandness and ego. Very professional, and maybe the prettiest book BlueWater has ever released.

George Carlin was a one of a kind genius, brilliant and energetic. He was also as far from being a perfect human as any of us could be. Jaymes Reed and company have put together an excellent statement on the man's life and work, and should do well to tempt old fans and new into delving further into the incredible body of work left behind by the legend. Look for it now in Diamond's Previews catalogue, as well as among the Amazons. Please do.

radio be damn'd

but this song is 1000% in my gourd.

infra dignitatem

I am not spending much time online anymore.
As of January 17th I am late of the hellmouth that is Louisville, and currently reside in Laconia, Indiana. It is the house of my younger sister, and we have accomplished thousands of dollars worth of work to prepare the property for sale. Well, the bank is trying to foreclose, though they are also pushing for a short-sell. Either way, she is losing the place, but we hope to have a few more weeks, maybe even months, before any of the redtape can ravel itself. It has been nice though, in a town with a population of 30 or so. We have no internet, no cable, resulting in plenitudes of peace and quiet, allowing us to make up for lost time. She is recovering from both Meningitis and Lyme Disease, which might well take some years. She is without insurance now, but her doctors will not allow her to work. She deserves none of this, so, I am doing the big brother thing.
While I could probably find means to work online more, I actually prefer not to. More opportunities for print work present themselves every week, but this quieter time means more to me now than reviewing mediocrity or interviewing vanity or even proofreading anyone else's godawful script. I do enjoy the irony of every other hapless hack's willingness to lie, cheat and steal in order to get their pitches read, while I have never submitted anything anywhere. And strangely, in this silence are increasing requests for my words. But non serviam.
So, as days are spent reading and writing for myself, exercising my culinary muscles and watching movies with my sister, the two of us roadtripping through great lengths of Kentucky and Indiana, I am knowing degrees of calmness that have resisted my attention for too many years.
And regarding my reading list, I finished L. Sprague DeCamp's merciless Lovecraft: A Biography. I read Bram Stoker's Dracula and thumbed through the Complete Idiot's Guide To Freemasons. I was inspired by Ray Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451, and then read Aldous Huxley's Brave New World and Brave New World Revisited back to back. And now am rereading Roger Zelazny's Lord Of Light.
Wherefore now? I will have one final review set to go up here on the sixth, for a great book from a great friend of mine. I have three interviews finished or nigh finished, which will need to remain in limbo for the time being, but I have canceled other pending interviews, and am no longer accepting requests for any of it. I do not mean to imply that I think myself god's gift, but perhaps if more folks knew how to compose a review, knew how to conduct an interview, then perhaps I would not garner these insane levels of feedback. And comic book journalism in general is now really just such a predictable game, like watching slow-motion footage of a car wreck. On repeat. I have said before that I equate contributing to society with what Alcoholics Anonymous refers to as enabling, and this view only grows with time. As much as I love creative industries, the shocking number of poisonous personalities I have crossed paths with have taken their toll. I can and shall oppose your drama by completely negating your very existence. In stead of being made to feel like a big fish in a small pool, I would rather slither up on shore. I will not make money for you. I will not support your mediocrity.
Persons capable of communicating by letters or business calls know what my print output will be over the many many months to come. Some projects are collaborations with old friends, but I do things my way. I have never asked others for assistance in anyway, creatively or professionally, and I am no longer offering my assistance to others.
A has always been and always will remain, A.

Virtus junxit, mors non separabit.