new TEE

so I have another Tshirt design. I have come out of Tee-tirement
and I don't know what to do with it. If I had the resources I would just print
them myself and get it over with. sadly this is not the case,
should I
A:submit to www.threadless.com
B:submit to www.teefury.com
C: suck it up and just print it. money or no.

and this is a drawing of the same frog pile.

old unfinished comics.

just for fun. one about a half dead gangster mildly possessed by a specter.
and one about a rat man I guess.

this is me

This is a 100 percent accurate representation of me. totally faithful to every curve and feature. who wants to go sledding? who has a sled and some mittens for me?

Observational drawings

I have this little group-a-magig that meets once a week to draw still life drawings
for an hour. it's a lot of fun actually, and not boring at all... here are some drawings!

Lonesome endorphins

Winter grasps for my heart when I skid along frozen sidewalks and see forlorn people who sit in domed archways. Yesterday was difficult in that way, and I was almost sure that winter was going to take my heart immediately.  A sinking feeling pervaded my chest, and when I was home, it took all my will for me not to lay down and stare at the wall. However hard it is, applying this will power inevitably makes things better. I forced myself to get up all day long, when all I wanted to do was sit. I didn’t necessarily do too much that was productive, but long walks and a spontaneous volunteer shift at Pineapple, kept me busy while the blues passed over me, and crippling loneliness clouded my eyes. It was a bothersome, empty feeling day off, and I imagine that as this city grows colder, people will instinctively stick to themselves more and more. It will be up to me to apply my will, and keep busy, so today I did exactly that and feel great. I had to spend a little money but over all it wasn’t much, and the joy I exchanged for it was great.

I volunteered again at Pineapple, and worked there for a short shift, when that was over I went for a long round about walk that brought me to the library, my place of work to pick up my check, to several bars, to Pizza Luce and returned me home twice. I went to a lot of different places, a whirlwind version of solo barhopping, looking for a familiar face among the crowds. When no familiar faces showed up, I didn’t take it hard and meandered over to Blackwater, local piano bar. Blackwater is spendy, but I don’t mind paying for one glass of whiskey, especially when I nurse it for forty-five minuets while listening to live jazz. Watered down for sure (the music not the whiskey) but still well worth the extra dollar or two I spent on my drink, especially when it is the one drink of the night.

There are always these beautiful women at Blackwater, and I wonder where they go when they aren’t there. They are beautiful but somehow not attractive, they seem to travel in exclusive clicks, speak in high pitched tones, and order drinks that foam and bubble like chemistry sets. They would be horribly obnoxious if encountered at close range, but from a distance, they stop being people, and I can view them on a different level, like wild birds. They must migrate home to the hills in daddy’s BMW.  The waitresses are even more beautiful, if somehow plastic looking, and equally unattractive, I call one over and ask her what nights have live music and from when to when they play. Maybe I can lure someone out with me, to sit and contemplatively swallow the atmosphere, of a place both tacky and elegant, coastal and midwestern, past and present.

When I step back out into the streets, and snow blows up in wild circular patterns, my endorphins follow suit. They may be solitary, but maybe they aren’t lonely at all. 

Fickle yuletide ape.

I’ve stolen your dreams. Tyler H. at least, if not many others, your dream is mine now. Don’t feel bad though, your dream is self-replicating, and my achievement of it, only serves to prove that it’s feasible, and even easily achieved… Enuff suspense,

I dressed up as a gorilla and handed out fliers.  Gasp in wonder, I know I am a god among men. I even achieved all the important things attached to that particular endeavor. Tons of high-fives, and photos taken, I only spoke English to one person, while in complete gorilla gear, and I snuck in the phrase “it’s a living” into that conversation, children though I was real, and I did sneak off onto a side street to smoke a cigarette.

It…

Was…

…Awesome!

Old Poems

Old poems. mildly depressing, but grasping at content.
<3


Echo's ghost

The question was a rattle, the echo of a rattle that never dropped a
beat that seemed to pull the walls together in conjunction with a
falling gut. Propped up on my elbows I could never answer, I need the
support of my knees, but those caps are gone now treading seawater
bleached by the sun. They dropped out from under me in a foreign land,
and went their own way.
     So I didn't answer, just dropped the elbows to shove the arm to nudge
the frozen weathered hands, to sift through clean white sheets.
Probing for the secret, probing to see how they managed to pull the
sun through the shades. It was 12:23 when the echo rattled, I could
always tell on sunny mornings the glass covering the picture on the
far wall would be obscured by unbearable light. So I let it rattle on
and dropped my head beneath the sheets to search for my knees.
     In the underneath I was sure that the room was empty, but the hair on
my shins still stood on end waiting. They, not as sure as I that the
echo was an echo, they not aware of the mouth-less space that lived on
the other side of the sheet. "No mouth, no speech" I cooed as I tried
to lay them flat with the backside of my fingers.
     Crawling deeper into my refuge, I felt Icy feet on my back, and those
hairs stood on end again as the echo got into bed with me and I curled
up at her feet like a dog, and begged her to stop asking.




Frigid digits.

I've lost all that Icy blood
That my grandfather gave me,
Poured it on the moss
When I saw that sea
Stretching like a mouse feed cat
Breathing temperate through the leaves.

And now my toes go cold
With everybody else's

Drop two winters and pick up
The chills.




Lactic Ruffles

She will swim
The chocolate milk sea

Drool and whisper
Pooling languidly
Like raw blood.


Tactical daydreams

If I were an old man in a bottle,
I would skip across the waves,
Kissing every sea turtle and blowfish that struck my fancy.
I would cower low and stand high,
Catching guppies in the sunshine
And when finally confronted about my violent past
I would shake the world of my bottle and calmly bark an evil sea song.

Nothing would stop me not the moon or the sun,
Even comets or missiles fragmenting my body,
But more importantly my mind,

But…

If I were a young man in a bottle,
I would float on stagnant waters,
Kissing myself and the slime and the muck.
I would cower high and stand low,
Eating ancient catfish in the moon glow
And when finally confronted about my doldrums future
I would rock the world of my bottle and furiously sing a lovely swamp song.

Everything would stop me, the breeze and the star shine,
Even drifting thoughts and day dreams fragmenting my mind,
But more importantly my body.

But I am not bottled,
and have no bright future,
no stunning memory
no worthy exploit.
Just starlight and hope.
Tactical daydreams, to keep me from seeing with right eyesight.

spicy eel

Have you ever had eel canned in chilli sauce? Well you should, I can see already the looks of disgust on several of your faces, for various reasons, you there because the idea of eating flesh is repugnant. You there, you dislike the very idea of canned meats, and you have never tried eel, and you can’t imagine being interested it, bathed in chilli sauce or not. Let me tell you, I agree with each and every one of you, but eat it anyway. EAT IT! It’s delicious.

            Canned eel in chilli, was a major part of what became my thanksgiving last night. It may have been a little early, but the spirit of thanksgiving was there, in a much more tangible way than it has ever been at any pre planned Thanksgiving. I had some powerful chums around me, I can’t say that I know any of them too well, but sometimes that’s not nessisary. A fine chef was there, and made delicious bird fleshes, and bean soups, and I helped by making a veg/glutin free option (rice and broccoli). We glutted ourselves on these things, many snacks, wine and beer, and after all was finished, and the chef removed his pants, we ate icecream. A flurry of spoons plummeting twords the torn open carton.

When everyone left, it was of course much too soon, as it would have been no matter when they left, be it Nine o clock, or two in the morning. When they went, there was left behind a great plethora of foods, off of witch I intend on eating, thus becoming fat and happy.

Kozy fire

This morning massive wooden pillars lean askew at woeful angles. I have always noticed the great pillars on the front of the Kozy, and thought how amazing it would be to see the building restored. I would pass by, imagining what it must have looked like, how beautiful it was/could be again.

It has a distinctively different appeal now. The front of the building is burnt rubble.  the bar, the back of the building and the ballroom, seem untouched, if you let your imagination go, you can imagine the building being struck by a small meteor. In front, just inside the caution tape, the tree that stood in front of the Kozy, that I had never paid much attention too before, is covered in perfect half-inch icicles that remind me of Christmas decorations.

Last night, thunder came down the stairwell. This is not an unusual event; children and full-grown adults regularly pound down the stairs near my door. I hardly hear it anymore. I was heading out with my bicycle and red hat. When two of my neighbors zoomed passed me, they let out “the Kozy is burning” as if it were nothing. I stepped into the street and at first all I saw was a small amount of smoke coming out of one of the windows.

            People generally regarded as ‘hard’ looked soft; their eyes were big and lacking guile, almost seeing nothing. People look like children when they are in this state. I asked one man if I could do anything to help, and he looked right through me like I was a ghost. It wasn’t until I walked around the building, that my eyes must have taken on a similar quality. The flames leaping into the air nauseated me. I felt sickened, confused, I got on my bike and departed.

I removed myself from the situation, as fast as I could, as far as I could, almost thought about not stopping. Luckily, I had been on my way to a friend’s house. She took me in and feed me and distracted me. 

I wish I could do something for them. 

Today Is Hard.

I made the mistake of putting all my woes in a row today, inspired by being denied grant funds. They always look more terrible when you set them in a row and dress them up in names. It would be nice if I could just undress them and put them back to bed, but they woke up, and they are fancy. they want to drink cocktails and dance.

One more...

Now the little book is almost complete, so I will save a little up so it can be nice to see it in real life! I think I might have an angle on printing it for cheap. wish me luck.

last two illo's inspire zine!!

I'm going to make a little book, the exact content is secret, but here are some drawerings anyway.

two with color printing chart.

I found a color printing chart on the Drawn blog. It's an old fashioned fella, and it's yellowed and worn. these used to be the minimal range of colors that they could use to print comics and periodicals, way back, if I'm remembering correctly.

anywhoo, I used them to make to drawings. "yuck" is the best one. I love drawing monsters.

House plant

(hey psst, psst... before we get started I just wanted to say... this is my hundredth blog post. isn't that wild? someone should take me out for a beer or something.)

Recently I got my only house plant. I’m not sure what exactly it is, and it’s only moderately athsteticly pleasing, but to me it is the bee’s knees. (it may be a sign that I’m getting too attached to my current tenuous housing situation but that’s a whole other blog post)  I’ve been doing my best for my little leafy friend, and regularly open my blinds so he can eat up delicious sunlight.

            In addition to this, I have been getting more and more comfortable with my questionable neighborhood. So this Sunday, uhh yesterday at this point, two days ago by the time I will post this, I got home from work and just left the blinds open, while I drew some pictures of a pensive frog leaping into the water. I had just got done drawing his questioning eye balls peeping out from a bed of ripples, when a jarring set of knocks resounded through my window. My eyelids were heavy at this point. It was shortly after bar close, and a figure stood outside my window gesturing to me dramatically, comically. I couldn’t see her well; I could see her well enuff to know it was a woman, but not much more than that. The thought occurred that “this must be one of my friends come to visit”. Who else would pound on my window and flail like a psychotic?

            The figure gestured toward the door, and I left my apartment and walked in to the lobby, to find someone decidedly, not my friend, on the other side of the glass door. I cautiously opened the door a crack and poked my head through. A woman in her late forties was standing there, controlling her drunken sway; she could not however control the smell of cheap whisky hanging off her like a coat.

            “Can I use your bathroom?”

            “Uhhh…” I look in the direction of the now closed cozy and the casino a short distance away.

            “They won’t let me into the casino.”

            “My god” I think “what kind of behavior do you have to perpetrate to not be allowed into a casino? Gambling loves drunks” I almost didn’t let her in, but I remembered two things. I’m a big guy, and this is a little drunken lady, stocky and experienced but little, and (thing two) I am half god. I can take her, if need be, and she was being essentially polite, so I pivoted on one foot and swung the door open.

            Once inside the apartment I direct her to the bathroom, and she heads for it, in the mean time I begin to reconsider my decision, and even briefly search for something to brandish at her. But talk myself down from wielding my hammer ominously, when she get’s out of the toilet. It’s not long before she comes out.

            “Do you live here alone?”

            “Yes”

            “My name is Diane”

            “Hi I’m Michael.” When Diane takes my hand she squeezes it once in a handshake, and another quick grasp after we finish the shake, in a maneuver that I could only interpret as an attempt at seduction. This close to Diane, the cheap whiskey is almost overwhelming, and I begin to feel drunk, and I’m not ashamed to admit it, a little scared. Not for my physical well being, as I still feel like I have a handle on that issue, but for some much less tangible reason.

            “Would you like some company tonight?” she asks me.

            “No, thank you”

            “Really?”

            “I’m fine” It’s difficult to continue to be polite at this point, but things are getting real surreal real fast.

            “well could I have some money to help me get back to west Duluth?”

            “I don’t have any” I say, and I don’t. I had just that morning scrounged every large coin currency left in my house, to buy coffee.  I did manage a handful of nickels for her, and then with her weighed down with five pounds of a dollar fifty, I expected her to leave. I eyed the hammer, which was now very nearby.

            “Can I just stay here?”

            “No”

            “Can’t I?”

            “No” I didn’t offer any explanations, I didn’t say anything but “No” and she left. If I had said anything but “No” I think I could have easily been guilted into letting her stay, and sleeping cuddled up to my hammer all night.

Blogging has been odd lately

I've become disgusted with drawing digitally (for now), and with out a camera or scanner I can't post much up. And in actuality I haven't been doing much drawing wise. I have mostly been mostly either writing or working on my stencil junk.
anyway, I am posting up an auto summary, of several pages I wrote, it's pretty hilarious, computers think different things are important than what I do.

“How do you do?” she looks oddly at the wall as if any second it might collapse into mind shattering shapes and colors, as if the devil lives in that wall. “I’m Henrietta Ignate”

“Is it your first time Traveling?”

If we could move seats I would, Henrietta is proving not to be the most enjoyable or the least paranoia-inducing neighbor. I don’t know the name of it, I wonder if it has a name. The man in the coffee shop, looks high powered, a hopeful member of the social elite, ageing now into obscurity. Pause

To the right there is a sports novelty shop, a small bagel shop, and restrooms. I take a sharp right into the men’s room and dry heave, with mucus and coffee in thimblefuls.

“Joe, it’s the office”

“Hey! “Son of a bitch” Joe pulls his coffee in close.             “You girls look like you had a good time” Joe shifts in his chair so he’s faceing them.

U75 is a wild time”

The first girl “What parts?”

The girls giggle again.

            The other girl “My Dad works for the company, his pay checks are pretty big”

“Ulysses Rutgers.”

            Joe’s Full name is Joseph Kincaid. I could just barely afford to live there and eat, if I sold my blood plasma, and if I toke advantage of local food service programs.

My shtick

      Everybody is leaving and running and fleeing. Fall is threatening to collapse into winter in a very final way, though we are having some good days too. Last night I remained awake till somewhere near six o clock, dancing, drinking, dining on frozen pizza, and laying in a seemingly vast pile of people from which one person would soon be absent. Most of the night I was fine and untouched, except for rare moments of childish selfishness. The last moments of the evening became vaguely awkward when I threw a blanket at the feet of two of the people, one who is leaving, one who is not, pointed at my spare matrice, and told them that they were staying the night.

They did not of course, but paused sweetly with the blanket sprawled at their feet, contemplating my rudely phrased offer? Or maybe just trapped like deer in the headlights of a (clearly) fractured mind.

I have lost so many people in my travels, lost as many as I’ve found. It’s nothing new, its nothing so odd or strange. People come and go, like rain or money.

Has it helped that I usually leave and abandon people before they can abandon me? Most certainly, it’s been my shtick.

A LIST OF OUTGOING TEXT MESSAGES

11-2 thru 11-5

-More than anything!! thank you!

-yup. I'll be waiting.

-I don't have any.

-Adventure zone just you and me tommorrow?

-I'm going to be teaching a lesson but I could probably do both

-I won't be able to see you off

-absolutely

-'s okay. Paid bills this morn and realised i have negitive dollars and can't do anything ever again. :)

-no prob

-Honey is over here

-Do you have a hair trimmer?

-I will be a while, call me if it finishes before I arrive. your house yes?

-I tore my credit card up. I do have half bottle of decent whiskey tho. Interested?

-I took one I found on da ground.

-my foton is full of crumbs and empty of people

Terrible haircut

Today I gave myself a wretched hair cut, bits and peices shoot off in all directions, and it is deeply uneven. it's the kind of hair cut I gave myself in college, that was once commented on this way: "I like it, it looks like you just had brain surgery." I would go get it fixed at a barber shop, but, I spent a dollar fifty this morning on a coffee at Conney Island, and threw in my last couple of quarters for tip.

My first pay check is going to buy me a new lease on hair, until then I get to wear my hats more often, and think about hats in general.

not my charicter

this isn't my character, but it doesn't matter whose it is. just another digital sketch.
I MISS MY CAMERA!