(written at 11:30, Thursday night)
OPEN MOUTH
It's hard to decide what to do next: send a few emails out, watch an episode of SPORTS NIGHT or severely beat my Hated Roomate. I mean, SPORTS NIGHT is a draw, don't get me wrong, but Hated Roomate... well, he's been jibber jabbering on the phone about health insurance for nearly an hour now. Mind you, this is after he decided to stage the Apocalypse in my kitchen (which sits next to my room... and from where I can hear everything thanks to the Perpetually Falling Fake Wall). Now, I don't mind if you have to do your business... but for god's sake - take a break! Let me think over here. It's like having the TV on low murmur all the time. I know, I know... I have GOT to find new digs. This scene got very old very quickly, but it isn't easy finding something cheap and compatible these days. Especially when I'm work focused.
Speaking of work, got another page of NINETY CANDLES, my Xeric bound graphic minicomic, finished tonight. One more page and I'll be 30 shy of completion. Got some good feed bac k from Top Shelf post-MoCCA and it seems I have a few people pulling for me to get this out on the shelves, so that's good. I also fought through post convention crash to write 10 pages of BROWNSVILLE, bringing it to a grand total of 170 pages thus far. Jake's sending some pages my way before the 4th so that should give me plenty of time to make a packet for SPX and
get the script into his talented lil hands before I bolt for Orlando. Man, this story's like a flipping juggernaut... took my 2 hours to get those pages done and I STILL need to go back and make some changes. I thought wrapping this
up would be easier than starting but who am i kidding? Now that I hit a certain point, though, it's just a matter of crossing the I's and dotting the landscape. This book will rock so hard... think good publishy thoughts.
Starting to sketch character designs for THE BIG KAHN. Yay Jewish comics.
I gotta start working out earlier. I'm beginning to look more like the King of Queens than I care to... back to the three miles a day, Gurrah.
Not sure where this mafia obsession has reared its ugly head from. Most genres run through my head and out again like a thoughtstampede on its way to a vanishing mesa. But this one is sticking. I think I've played out my WW2 fascination post BAND OF BROTHERS by getting the INVADERS and MIDNIGHT RUNNERS scripts out of my head, but the goodfellas, the sharpies, the sharks- I've really absorbed this lingo, this life into my cells. Its not a rebel thing, I don't think ... I think it's the code, the honor. Something about the sense of duty and principle strikes a nerve. I keep re-reading TOUGH JEWS and I keep watching ONCE UPON A TIME IN AMERICA. Where did the pre-Holocaust Jewish hood go? I don't buy the Israeli quasi-drug cultur e being the "new Jewish gangster." That's
the eighties television culture peeking through the cracks. What happened to the Allie Tannenbaums of the world? The Charlie Workmans who didn't take shit from anybody? How come the post 1945 victimized shtetl men tality didn't cling to that in the face of genocide?
And here I sit, writing fucking comics and complaining about my weight.
Kiss my ass, Doc Atkins. Come home, Louis Lepke.
Oh, and about comics - when the hell did this industry turn into 3 PM in the high school parking lot? There's so much petty shit flying back and forth and people are jumping off the handle at just about everything...and worse, everyone -- and I do mean everyone... from Chester McModem to CEOs have to have their say. And people wo nder why they say comics are for kids. Viva La Internet!
However, on the flip side, MoCCA was amazing this year. I didn't really expect to sell many comics (though selling good minis at MoCCA is akin to getting sci-fi dorks to pop their loads with a Matrix sex scene --WAAAY too easy) but
was surprised h ow many new books and directions there were. I got to meet lots of West Coast folk I didn't think I'd ever meet due to my San Diego financial issues...and I got to hang out with old pals like Dave Lewis. I don't think
there was one person there who didn't enjoy themselves, unless you count the cleanup guys. Highlights: Meeting Eddie Campbell, getting Morse (what a prince) and Mignola sketches, talking to Top Shelf and again, meeting all the West Coast folks. Low point: couldn't get BLANKETS or KRAMER'S ERGOT due to finances and lack of ways to carry it home. I'm telling you people: COMICS SHERPAS.
One quick review, then its time to flip my shit:
PAUL IN THE COUNTRY (Drawn and Quarterly) by Michel Rabagliati: It's like those old Golden kids books I used to read, but more poignant. Easily my favorite find of the con, though I haven't read TELSTAR yet. Thanks to Chris Butcher for directing me to this (and Dylan Horrocks' ATLAS #1 which I've stupidly been p rocrastinating buying since I finished HICKSVILLE). Chris... I owe you a Coke.
By the way, it's Gay Pride Weekend- so squeeze some strange man's ass on Saturday. If you're a woman, sleep with your best friend. And tape it for me.
INSERT FOOT
"Her hand s fluttered up to her cheeks and she scratched lightly, tears flowing down from opened ducts. She ducked her head, scrunching into a doubled over position and Annie moved closer to help her stand if she so wished. From her vantage point, Annie could see s hock white patches in her hair, mingled with bright red rivulets that streaked and dyed the back of her neck and head. The impact of the crash must have done more damage to her than she had let on, for two thirds of her skull was running away from the la st third. Blood and gore mixed with hair and bone, and when she sat back, resting her weary head against the compartment wall, it left a grisly spot of slick ooze. Dave did not notice, as he was too busy staring into his mother's crying eyes. He took her hand and she shook him off, covering her face with both forearms. Annie gently tried to pull him back but he fought her off.
"David... you have to come away..."
"Stop, Mom, it's gonna be okay. Someone's gonna come and rescue us, okay?"
"David, I think we need to let your Mom..."
"Mom, please, Mom. Say something, okay?"
He was crying now, dragging his fingers into her blouse, gripping her leg with his little fingers. Annie was crying harder, unsure how to help, and Jeff moved over and pulled her back to him. He shook his head and placed two finger to his lips, indicating that this was David's ordeal, not theirs. The boy had just lost his Dad and may very well find himself orphaned if medical attention did not arrive soon. He was of the age where he still needed his parents,
however wanted to remain as independent as possible. He was going to need to deal with this alone, if he was to get through it. On his own terms.
"Mom... Mom, I need you, okay?"
She looked down, kindly, but it was obvious to those at the far end of the car that Mrs. Mandel had no idea who the boy was.
"Mom, its Davey! Mom, please! Say something, okay? I need you!"
Her gaze turned slowly, trailing up the length of the car from broken seats to mounds of dirt to trails of blood and debris. She half focused on her son and half focused on the ruined posters lining the roof.
"Davey..."
"Mom! Mom, its me!"
"Davey...?" She asked, voice rising in a way that raised the hair on the back of Jeff's neck.
"Mom...?"
She let her eyes drop, bringing them to rest on her blood streaked hands.
"Davey... Where's...where's your father?"
Annie gasped and placed a hand to her mouth. Rock, from his seat along the far wall, shook his head in dismay, knowing that the poor woman was well and truly insane now.
"Dave," she insisted, "where did your father go?"
"Mom...?"
"Did he go out for cigarettes again?" she laughed, her voice a biting snap in the soft, cold silence. "I told him that was a bad, bad habit. I told him they'd be the DEATH of him hahahHAHAHA!"
David was crying hard now, hands scrabbling at his mother's trying to get her fingers intertwined with his.
"I TOLD him not to go out and smoke and drink and smoke... I TOLD HIM they were bad, bad habits."
"You did, Mom... I remember."
Her hands flew up and slid over the back of her head, past her throbbing temples and into the rat's nest of her hair. Her fingers came away dripping blood and gore. She ran her hands down the sides of her body, trailing the thick,
viscuous fluid like fiery tattoos. Her eyes began blinking like mad and her speech started to stutter in her rising horror.
"I-I-I told him... I t-t-told him not to go out. I said st-st-stay down, be-qu-qu-quiet... bad, bad things happen. B-b-b-bad things, Davey...?"
David's fingers dug into her leg, pinching the artery accidentally and causing blood to rise from cuts and wounds. The red fluid washed over his hands but he didn't notice. He was openly weeping and had given up any pretense of
trying to talk to his mother. Her hands scrabbled back t o her mouth, tugging at the corners. They tapped their way up the sides of her head and came to ground in the ruined mess of her skull. She dug in hard, as if trying to stop the world's most persistent headache, and all at once, she jumped to her feet and yelled with a shout. Her hands shot out in front of her, spattering the immediate area with blood and gore. With a thin, high pitched shriek, she drunkenly stumbled towards the far door, just past the remainder of the group.
"He went OUT! I t-t-t-O LD HI M NOT T-T-TO! He w-w-w-went out and now he's, now he's, n-n-n-n-n-"
Annie tried to jam her fists in her ears to drown out the stutter that wouldn't quit. She sounded like a broken motor, attempting to overturn amid a ring of weeping mourners. David was on his knees, eyes downcast and filled with tears. He looked lost, gone. Far from the enclosed space that once was a passenger car, and off in his private grief. Jeff moved up the car, following Mrs. Mandel. Moe, the young doctor, rose to his feet cautiousl y and moved closer to
the door. Her voice rose, entering falsetto range and if down under the ground somewhere, there was indeed a Hell, no doubt the great Cerebus Hound that guarded its Gates was cocking its three heads in response to her thin, wailing call. She flailed wildly, spraying the men and women with flecks of blood as she came to a hammering stop at the sliding metal door.
"N-n-n-now he's DEAD!!!!" she got out in a scream somewhere between the realm of injured wailing and orgasmic relief.
"HE'S DEAD! HE'S DEAD!"
Her hands clawed at the door handle, trying to twist and turn it in order to spring it free from its superheated lock. Jeff and Moe sprang forward, trying to pull her back.
"Mrs. Mandel, you can't!"
She howled and attacked them, hands freewheeling in a display of raw terror and pain. The two men backed away, careful not to get beaten by her flailing hands. She pushed them off, and with the exertion, found herself stumbling back against the door. Her head struck the steel and from where Annie was watching through lidded eyes, she
could see the back of her cranium bulge out to the sides. Blood and brains shot out as if stabbed like a spoon in a
grapefruit. They found their mark along the silvery metal walls and slowly slid to the floor. Rita and Manda screamed and scooted away from where Mrs. Mandel was creating her final stand. Jeff pleaded with her.
"Mrs. Mandel, you've got to stay inside. Let us help you!"
Moe offered "You need medical attenti on ... at least let me look at your head!"
She shook her head in frustration. "Nononononono! He's deadhe'sdead!"
Annie pointed back at Dave, shouting through her veil of tears. "Look at what you're doing to Dave! Stop it! Stop it!"
Matthew dragged her to the ground and she collapsed, crying in his arms. David's mother turned and tried the door again. Jeff could see the ruined, gaping hole where the back of her head used to be. He averted his eyes and they
landed on the angry wet spot where she had struck the metal moments before. Everywhere he lo oked, death, gore and ruin stared him in the face. He tried to shut his eyes but her screams assailed his eardrums. It was like trying to run from one's self. Everywhere he went, death was staring into his eyes. While mere moments ago they had been coming together as a core, a group, Mrs. Mandel's breakdown threatened to drive them to whimpering insanity. She shouted and wailed, her voice nearing decibels never meant to be created by a human throat, and Jeff's teetn shivered from the scraping and clawing of her fingers on the metal handle. Suddenly, a latch snapped and the unmistakable sound of a sliding subway door filled the car. There was a minor shuffle and like water pouring down a drain, the screams began to trail o ff. Jeff opened his eyes and saw David's mother silhouetted in the doorway, the flames and smoke of the train wreck lighting her from behind. To her right, Rock was holding open the door, gesturing for her to walk through. He got to his feet, and slowly turned back to stare at Dave. The boy had stopped crying and was watching his mother. She turned in a circle, slowly rotating and taking them all in. Her gaze came to rest on Jeff and her son. She was still crying, blood now intermingled with the tears. She smiled softly, a final motherly gesture to her child, now further away from her than both could ever imagine. She stepped out the door, onto the small platform that had once been between the two cars -- it was awkward going due to the angle the car had landed in. She turned back again, sighed heavily and smiled at the group.
"He's dead. Til death do us part."
The smile dropped and her eyes bore into Jeff's.
"You take care of my Davey."
And then she stepped off the platform, out into the darkness of the tunnel."
Oh, yeah.... that's the stuff. A section from Chapter Twenty of COFFIN.
I have GOT to finish that one day.
OPEN MOUTH
Well..I've done it. I'm one of the herd.
I broke down and got myself a blogjournal thing to capture the soul of my thoughts long after it was considered hip by all the cool kids. I dunno why I did it. It might have something to do with the state of mind I'm in lately... liquid... ephemeral. Nothing solid or tangible. Perhaps this blog is a way of tackling those fluid thoughts and goals and pinning them to the screen with big ass skewers. My days are really nothing fascinating... not enough to fill a journal. I wake, I eat, I piss, I work, I work out, I write, I draw. Sometimes I drink. Okay... I drink more than sometimes. Regardless, it's not like I'm making major life changing decisions nor am I doing something so uniquely and singularly cool that I need to record it.
But shit happens.
OPEN MOUTH is the half of my blog that's designed to record the ho hum of my existence. It's going to follow my love of pop culture. It's going to record my near futile struggle to make it in comics. It''ll be used as a pointer and as a call out for news, articles, likes and hates. Essentially, OPEN MOUTH is the half of my blog that's going to be the "diary half."
Then there's INSERT FOOT. If MOUTH is my girlish lock-and-key secret diary, then FOOT is my hidden list of people I'm planning on taking out from the clock tower. There's a lot of stupidity out there. There's a lot of deviance. Things set us off, things take their toll... INSERT FOOT is my way of ranting and raving at a world that doesn't even know I'm here. It's me pissing off the lido deck into shark infested waters. Rancid beer spilled from my rusty fire escape on the heads of dapper youths cranking on the corner of Potential and Decline.
I hope one doesn't outgun the other.
INSERT FOOT
I've never hated myself as much as I do now.
I know I'm not going to keep this up. I'll get bored with this blog thing in about a month... if I'm lucky. The novelty of the new shiny toy is going to go the way of the acoustic guitar collecting dust in the corner of my room and the various hobbies, ideas and thoughts scattered around the clutter of my world. I'm going to get frustrated with the technology, frustrated with what I write and frustrated with the entire interconnected blog universe that's threatening to lend voice to every whiner with a modem.
Like me.
But while I'm here... I may as well right some wrongs.