We all have one. For some it's getting that perfect present for Christmas. For others it's having your first really bad boo boo taken care of.
For me, it's art related. I'm certain this comes as little shock to anyone.
I was going to Sunset High School and my art teacher had picked me as the best artist of my school to join similar artists at a DISD sponsored Artist Guild thingy. We met every wednesday at a park rec center and focused on ne aspect of art each time, broadening our scopes. It allowed us to meet like minded people and talk shop. I enjoyed the Hell out of it.
My Art Teacher (Mrs Woods) and I never saw eye to eye. Ever. To this DAY she is still the only art teacher to ever fail me. She saw me helping another student in class and hauled me to the hall for a 20 minute lecture on condecension. We just didn't like each other.
The finale of the Youth Artist's Guild was a gallery showing of our collected best work at City Hall with ALL of Dallas' dignitaries present. The Mayor, teh council, all the leading business people and various reporters and followers. It was a Who's Who of 1987 Dallas. I had submitted a fairly complex painting of a single cloud that garnered a lot of attention. I was not the best artist in this bunch by far. But my cloud painting took everyone off guard. They were expecting a bob when I gave them a weave. A LOT of folks gathered around my painting and were talking to me about it. The Mayor was asking me questions...one of Dallas' premier Black Artists, Arthello Beck was complimenting me on my use of some of the techniques that he taught me when it happened. Mrs Woods walked up to my mother, standing behind me beaming in the adoration of over 20 of Dallas' finest and said in her OUTSIDE Voice, "Mrs Wilbanks? Your Son Has A Potty Mouth!" This stunned everyone present except for mom. She looked at my teacher and laid into her with such...words fail me here. Leave it to say that afterwards, Mrs Woods need have no doubt where I got my Potty Mouth from, be it in this life or the next.
Never been prouder of my Mom.
Happy Mother's Day Mom.
--rog--
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
So Here's your pound of flesh...
How does it taste?
Does it erase t he memory of your loved ones burning?
Does it replace theimages in YOUR head of people jumping from the towers to their death?
All I see when I think of Osama Bin Ladin are flames and twisted metal. Burning bodies and smoking wreckage. Screaming bystanders and gape-jawwed outsiders. Which are you?
Did YOU die in the flames?
Did YOU jump to your death as I watched?
Did your family or friend roast alive as they waited for some unknown rescuer doomed to his OWN death?
I ask you this as a friend who has felt all of these...where does your satisfaction come from today?
Do you roll out in the streets today to celebrate?
Do you burn candles today in tHANKS?
Do you drink a toast?
How does this make you feel?
I ask you this plainly as I am able. How does us killing another man make you feel?
Do you feel like running the streets as they do in Iran?
As they do in Pakistan?
As they do in Saudi Arabia?
Does our pound of flesh make you feel whole?
This is a very simple question. Does OUR act of savagery make us as a nation better or does it simply make us whole and replace a piece that was missing?
Think of this as you tap the keg and call for a national day of celebration.
We just executed a man. How are we different from them?
It's a simple question.
Does it erase t he memory of your loved ones burning?
Does it replace theimages in YOUR head of people jumping from the towers to their death?
All I see when I think of Osama Bin Ladin are flames and twisted metal. Burning bodies and smoking wreckage. Screaming bystanders and gape-jawwed outsiders. Which are you?
Did YOU die in the flames?
Did YOU jump to your death as I watched?
Did your family or friend roast alive as they waited for some unknown rescuer doomed to his OWN death?
I ask you this as a friend who has felt all of these...where does your satisfaction come from today?
Do you roll out in the streets today to celebrate?
Do you burn candles today in tHANKS?
Do you drink a toast?
How does this make you feel?
I ask you this plainly as I am able. How does us killing another man make you feel?
Do you feel like running the streets as they do in Iran?
As they do in Pakistan?
As they do in Saudi Arabia?
Does our pound of flesh make you feel whole?
This is a very simple question. Does OUR act of savagery make us as a nation better or does it simply make us whole and replace a piece that was missing?
Think of this as you tap the keg and call for a national day of celebration.
We just executed a man. How are we different from them?
It's a simple question.
Saturday, April 23, 2011
My Badass Dream
I get these from time to time. They play out as movies. I never get to star in them, though I think that would be way cooler.
I always spectate and kind of nudge the action along where I feel it needs to go...like a director.
This one was unique in that it actually features a comic book character of mine in what I think is one of the best action scenes (though you may disagree) I have done yet.
I woke at the very end so alas...it goes no farther.
I always spectate and kind of nudge the action along where I feel it needs to go...like a director.
This one was unique in that it actually features a comic book character of mine in what I think is one of the best action scenes (though you may disagree) I have done yet.
Friday, April 8, 2011
On Nightmares...
Last night I had nightmares. We all get them, so that in and of itself is nothing worthy of note. I don’t get them that often though. When one does rear its ugly head, I deal with it using techniques I read in Omni Magazine back in the 80’s. That article dealt with something called “Lucid Dreaming” . The thesis of the article was that you can ‘wake up’ in your dream and take control of your environment. Picture the Holodeck from Star Trek. Now imagine that room responding to your thoughts. That article helped arm me against nightmares so that I can usually diffuse them before they get out of hand.
Lastnight, however, the nightmares were different. Or maybe they were the same and I’m just realizing something unique about the nature of nightmares. They came in bunches. Were it not for the storm that was raging outside and waking me up about every 45 minutes to an hour, there is a good chance I sleep through them all and remember nothing.
But remember them I did. I won’t repeat them here. My Demons are well documented. How I deal with them is for me and me alone.
I sensed something going on in my head that night. There was a feeling that came over me when the dream turned the nightmare corner. There was a sensation of ooze. Of a fog that coated the ground. It crept into the dream and carried in its wake the nightmare. It was a peculiar sensation, like theme music marking the entrance of the hero. This signal harbored dark intent. It wanted to scare me. I wanted to scare me.
I have studied just enough about dreams to understand that they are my inner mind’s way of dealing with the issues in my life. In so much as they seek to prepare me mentally to deal with emotions like love, hate and fear. Akin to dipping a toe in the water. But the takeaway from this night was the feeling that some outside force was intruding. I looked down in my dreams as an oily film flowed in from the outside edges, creeping across the floor and recognized it from the previous dreams I had awoken in the middle of. It felt Alien. It felt like it had bad intentions.
The ancient Greeks had a name for the creator of nightmares, EPIALES. They associated his intrusion into the dream as a “feverish chill”. I got the impression that this was an orchestrated assault, and that it wanted a pound of flesh…or the dreamland equivalent of that.
The feeling was as real and familiar as that of any other dream. When I saw this murky crust seeping in, it was telling me to prepare myself. To be on my guard. It was after this introduction that the fun started. Every time.
Enter the fog, cue the guilt nightmare.
Enter the fog, cue the poverty nightmare.
Enter the fog, cue the nightmare I get murdered in.
Enter the fog, cue my dead mother.
It was clockwork. By the end of the night in my dreams, I would see this fog and cue myself to wake up in t he dream. This didn’t prevent the horrible images that were coming my way from being any less graphic, but it did prepare me for them mentally and emotionally.
I feel like I have come face to face with the enemy here. He has tipped his hand.
He picked a stormy night to spill his ooze across my mindscape hoping to frighten me but I don’t frighten much these days. I startle…just like normal people, but I don’t tremble in fear.
Lastnight, however, the nightmares were different. Or maybe they were the same and I’m just realizing something unique about the nature of nightmares. They came in bunches. Were it not for the storm that was raging outside and waking me up about every 45 minutes to an hour, there is a good chance I sleep through them all and remember nothing.
But remember them I did. I won’t repeat them here. My Demons are well documented. How I deal with them is for me and me alone.
I sensed something going on in my head that night. There was a feeling that came over me when the dream turned the nightmare corner. There was a sensation of ooze. Of a fog that coated the ground. It crept into the dream and carried in its wake the nightmare. It was a peculiar sensation, like theme music marking the entrance of the hero. This signal harbored dark intent. It wanted to scare me. I wanted to scare me.
I have studied just enough about dreams to understand that they are my inner mind’s way of dealing with the issues in my life. In so much as they seek to prepare me mentally to deal with emotions like love, hate and fear. Akin to dipping a toe in the water. But the takeaway from this night was the feeling that some outside force was intruding. I looked down in my dreams as an oily film flowed in from the outside edges, creeping across the floor and recognized it from the previous dreams I had awoken in the middle of. It felt Alien. It felt like it had bad intentions.
The ancient Greeks had a name for the creator of nightmares, EPIALES. They associated his intrusion into the dream as a “feverish chill”. I got the impression that this was an orchestrated assault, and that it wanted a pound of flesh…or the dreamland equivalent of that.
The feeling was as real and familiar as that of any other dream. When I saw this murky crust seeping in, it was telling me to prepare myself. To be on my guard. It was after this introduction that the fun started. Every time.
Enter the fog, cue the guilt nightmare.
Enter the fog, cue the poverty nightmare.
Enter the fog, cue the nightmare I get murdered in.
Enter the fog, cue my dead mother.
It was clockwork. By the end of the night in my dreams, I would see this fog and cue myself to wake up in t he dream. This didn’t prevent the horrible images that were coming my way from being any less graphic, but it did prepare me for them mentally and emotionally.
I feel like I have come face to face with the enemy here. He has tipped his hand.
He picked a stormy night to spill his ooze across my mindscape hoping to frighten me but I don’t frighten much these days. I startle…just like normal people, but I don’t tremble in fear.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
The Artist Died
While working today, where I called an art gallery, I was told that they were no longer in business because the artist they represented had died. I was saddened to hear this. I've been walking in lockstep with death for far too long now. But this time something odd happened. While typing in my notes from the call, I typed the following:
"The Artist" and stopped. I couldn't type the last part. Those 4 letters..."died" would not come. I sat there for an eternity looking at the computer motionless. I was frozen in action but not in thought. My mind raced at a million miles an hour as I sat still.
I began to think about what would happen to MY work when I finally shuffle off this mortal coil.
I have very few completed work. Most of my Magnum Opusi, Opuses, Opus' (however the hell you pluralize opus) are incomplete. I have told no one how my many stories will end. Not out of fear of them spoiling the ending, rather because I want everyone to get the same reaction and Wow factor reading it only after I edit that story for a final time.
I sat there and looked at those two words, "The Artist" and wondered why I had capitalised the word Artist. My brows crinkled and I got some fleeting thought that I did this out of honor. But this wasn't true. I was typing my own obituary. I capitalised that word because to me...the word Artist is a proper noun.
After what felt like 2-3 minutes, I finally typed the last four letters. Died.
That's when I became self conscious. I began to think my coworkers were looking at me. I wondered what they would say if they knew my story. These folks I now work with have no clue about the last year of my life and the living Hell it has been. I won't tell them. I'm not even certain I'll be around them long enough for that to matter...and besides. I'm fucking sick of talking about it and getting the same reaction every time. To them, I was just sitting there zoning out. To me, however, I was in a state of panic.
I felt like a failure for not having finished my stories. I felt like I was losing this race I'm on with the reaper too fast. And make no mistake, kid. We're ALL on that race and it's a rigged contest. We'll never win. The best we can hope for is to accomplish something that lives on after we die. As an Artist, I have that power, but what have I left behind to date aside from a handful of poorly cared for paintings and a filing cabinet full of stories that you will all love if I ever finish them. You want to know what it was like during 260BC? Got that one. You want to live life in the trenches of WWI France? Got that. You want an existential analogy on the merits of good and evil set in Purgatory? I got that one too. But they are all in folders. Incomplete sketches, the lot of them.
If the reaper were to claim me tonight in my sleep, what would happen to them? Would I be able to trust my family to treat them with the respect they demand? Would they be placed in hands that could do better than mine? or would they simply be placed in a large crate and buried in teh earth alongside me?
As I looked at the words "The Artist died...." having just grated my own soul thinking about what would happen to my work when I kick off, I remembered the reason I typed those words. I thought about the Artist I had called about. He died in his 70's. He had some pretty good art. He lived a good life and died with many, many friends. In the greater scheme of things I would say he won at life.
I felt guilty for bemoaning my far off demise (fingers crossed) when this man had in fact beaten me to it. But then the arrogant bastard in me stood up and said "Your work is more important than his, Roger. Your work will bring feeling to people in a way he never could with just those paintings." My arrogant side is pretty adamant about things like this. I agreed in this case. There may be someone 10 years from now who reads my Suicide Story and it changes his life. Perhaps someone will meet Eugene, My hitman with a past and not make the same mistakes he made. I am so much more these days than an Artist. That's not arrogance talking, it's fact. As a Writer (yes, I capitalise THAT one as well) I have an aspect he didn't have. That doesn't make his loss lesser. It doesn't make my contribution greater. I just think I have more work to get done. And hopefully, someone will get out of that work something that will help them. Wishful thinking, I know. Odds are I'll die as anonymous as I lived. With only you generous few there cheering me on as I ride the lightning. But I like to think I am meant for greater things. As Browning said, "A man's reach should exceed his grasp...or else what is a Heaven for?"
"The Artist" and stopped. I couldn't type the last part. Those 4 letters..."died" would not come. I sat there for an eternity looking at the computer motionless. I was frozen in action but not in thought. My mind raced at a million miles an hour as I sat still.
I began to think about what would happen to MY work when I finally shuffle off this mortal coil.
I have very few completed work. Most of my Magnum Opusi, Opuses, Opus' (however the hell you pluralize opus) are incomplete. I have told no one how my many stories will end. Not out of fear of them spoiling the ending, rather because I want everyone to get the same reaction and Wow factor reading it only after I edit that story for a final time.
I sat there and looked at those two words, "The Artist" and wondered why I had capitalised the word Artist. My brows crinkled and I got some fleeting thought that I did this out of honor. But this wasn't true. I was typing my own obituary. I capitalised that word because to me...the word Artist is a proper noun.
After what felt like 2-3 minutes, I finally typed the last four letters. Died.
That's when I became self conscious. I began to think my coworkers were looking at me. I wondered what they would say if they knew my story. These folks I now work with have no clue about the last year of my life and the living Hell it has been. I won't tell them. I'm not even certain I'll be around them long enough for that to matter...and besides. I'm fucking sick of talking about it and getting the same reaction every time. To them, I was just sitting there zoning out. To me, however, I was in a state of panic.
I felt like a failure for not having finished my stories. I felt like I was losing this race I'm on with the reaper too fast. And make no mistake, kid. We're ALL on that race and it's a rigged contest. We'll never win. The best we can hope for is to accomplish something that lives on after we die. As an Artist, I have that power, but what have I left behind to date aside from a handful of poorly cared for paintings and a filing cabinet full of stories that you will all love if I ever finish them. You want to know what it was like during 260BC? Got that one. You want to live life in the trenches of WWI France? Got that. You want an existential analogy on the merits of good and evil set in Purgatory? I got that one too. But they are all in folders. Incomplete sketches, the lot of them.
If the reaper were to claim me tonight in my sleep, what would happen to them? Would I be able to trust my family to treat them with the respect they demand? Would they be placed in hands that could do better than mine? or would they simply be placed in a large crate and buried in teh earth alongside me?
As I looked at the words "The Artist died...." having just grated my own soul thinking about what would happen to my work when I kick off, I remembered the reason I typed those words. I thought about the Artist I had called about. He died in his 70's. He had some pretty good art. He lived a good life and died with many, many friends. In the greater scheme of things I would say he won at life.
I felt guilty for bemoaning my far off demise (fingers crossed) when this man had in fact beaten me to it. But then the arrogant bastard in me stood up and said "Your work is more important than his, Roger. Your work will bring feeling to people in a way he never could with just those paintings." My arrogant side is pretty adamant about things like this. I agreed in this case. There may be someone 10 years from now who reads my Suicide Story and it changes his life. Perhaps someone will meet Eugene, My hitman with a past and not make the same mistakes he made. I am so much more these days than an Artist. That's not arrogance talking, it's fact. As a Writer (yes, I capitalise THAT one as well) I have an aspect he didn't have. That doesn't make his loss lesser. It doesn't make my contribution greater. I just think I have more work to get done. And hopefully, someone will get out of that work something that will help them. Wishful thinking, I know. Odds are I'll die as anonymous as I lived. With only you generous few there cheering me on as I ride the lightning. But I like to think I am meant for greater things. As Browning said, "A man's reach should exceed his grasp...or else what is a Heaven for?"
Sunday, February 13, 2011
TRY SOMETHING NEW! 2/13/2011
In continuing my rant from the week prior, I have again gone out in a conscious effort to expose myself to something new and outside of my comfort zone. This is the simple request I have made of everyone out there, yourself included, and as I am unwilling to ask anyone to do that which I myself am unwilling to do, this is where we find ourselves.
The point with this little exercise is to give something new a chance with the hope that you get off your couch and buy a new CD or pick up a new book.
My complaint is we find ourselves setting our 'tastes' and it takes an act of Congress to get us to deviate from them. Here's your Act of Congress then.
Just this week, while at work on break sketching out a page from The Portland Express, a coworker approached me to talk comics. I will never turn away one of these convos if it gives me the dual opportunity of shilling my shit or making a convert to comics in general, so I indulged. He gave me his story, I listened patiently. Bought since the 90's...collected titles...got burned by the collector war of the same decade...still reads X-Men.
I sat patiently and when he was done I asked my 2 questions.
1) What was the last comic you bought that you liked?
2) Why did you stop buying comics?
These are questions you need to ask EVERYONE you meet. The answers will amaze you.
The last one ghe bought was an X-Men title he couldn't even remember details about....and he stopped buying comics because they got too repetitive. There wasn't anything new out there. I showed him Nails and he liked it...so let's hope I sent another fan down the chute of Creator Owned comics.
On to the goods for the week.
The Comic
Comfortably Dumb by Loyd Gant
Kind of hard to get a gauge on this but I am talking about it anyway for a very specific reason. First the points, then the reason.
The comic is only one page so far. That one page is done in a pop-art inspired cartoonish fashion. It is also very well done. The panels are clear, the lettering is readable and there is a point that flows through it from one panel to the next. I want to see more. Now the reason I included this one pager as a new comic. It isn't really a new comic in the biblical sense. It's only one page. The artist has nothing more than that up. Either he ran out of time (which happens) or he got zero support and simply stopped. I'm leaning on the latter here. That is in my opinion the worst aspect of this artform. We hate each otehr. Well...not hate...that's the wrong word, but it's pretty damn close. It's probably better to say we're scared to death of each other. This business has us all climbing up a pole. The same pole. And it's covered in grease. We're so insular in focusing on our technique that we don't make the time to say to someone else, "Hey...nice pole climbing." Well Lloyd is climbing quite well.
It really bothers me at times when I look at the dynamics of comic making from the outside and see everyone shoving their way over each other to say "Hey! Look at my shit, dude!" There is a fear built into us from jump that someone will steal our idea...or that someone will accuse us of that themselves. That fear is the driving force, I think, in preventing comics like Lloyd's from getting the feedback it needs. Hell...it's the same with MY webcomic. People seem afraid to say "Well done, man" when they come across something that was indeed, well done. The fear stops em cold. Am I worried someone will steal my ideas? Of course. It has happened 3 times so far...each time by Marvel. I look at that as a sign that I was on the right track with that particular idea, but not ready to implement in their eyes. A backhanded compliment, if you will.. Do I want vengance? No. I want us to accept that there are creators who need support and I want us to give it to them. I do NOT want, however, for us to fall over ourselves calling crap great. Friends do that all the time. If you are a friend of a comic artist...spare him the misery of your compliments if all you're doing is being a good friend. You are NOT helping him. If he drew crap, you need to tell him. You are his friend. It's better he hears it from you than get his head inflated and eventually popped down to earth by someone who actually doesn't care about his feelings. Those who are being read almost flat-out refuse to look at someone's new work for fear that person will sue. It's insane. Without the feedback from working professionals, many talents simply die on the vine.
Honesty.
Fearlessness.
Integrity.
These are ALL traits we want to be known as having, and they only take a moment of actualy listening to our consciences.
Your friend will thank you in the end.
But read Lloyd's comic when he gets more than one page up. I think it's gonna be fun.
The Band
N.E.R.D.
This one will seem like 'duhr' moment for anyone who actually has listened to this band. It's been my brother's favorite for a while now. But I always said, "Not Interrested." when he said you oughta listen to these guys. I thought his tastes were garbage and these guys must be as well. It was this movement that I am pushing here that changed t his. I am willing now to GIVE something a chance rather than dismiss it out of hand and in this case in particular, I have NO shame admitting I was wrong here. These guys are good.
This is the song that did it for me. Help Me I listened to this one about 30 times during a drive home recently. Stuck in traffic affords you that opportunity. Everything here made my like button go off. The 70's retro horn funk...the lyrics
"No, I won't kill you, but I'll watch you die."
"Cool can only be killed, never absorbed."
If this experiment has shown me anything it is that my last 39 years on this planet have been wasted. The simple act of deciding I will give that a try paid off. Is that always going to be the case? Hell no. I know I'm going to get my ears raped or my eyes assaulted on this trip of mine. But the fear of that is gone now. I KNOW that I was wrong in keeping myself comfortable. And I can only pray you decide to take action here. Don't read my comic just because I ask you to. Read it because it's something new and you decide to give it a shot.
The point with this little exercise is to give something new a chance with the hope that you get off your couch and buy a new CD or pick up a new book.
My complaint is we find ourselves setting our 'tastes' and it takes an act of Congress to get us to deviate from them. Here's your Act of Congress then.
Just this week, while at work on break sketching out a page from The Portland Express, a coworker approached me to talk comics. I will never turn away one of these convos if it gives me the dual opportunity of shilling my shit or making a convert to comics in general, so I indulged. He gave me his story, I listened patiently. Bought since the 90's...collected titles...got burned by the collector war of the same decade...still reads X-Men.
I sat patiently and when he was done I asked my 2 questions.
1) What was the last comic you bought that you liked?
2) Why did you stop buying comics?
These are questions you need to ask EVERYONE you meet. The answers will amaze you.
The last one ghe bought was an X-Men title he couldn't even remember details about....and he stopped buying comics because they got too repetitive. There wasn't anything new out there. I showed him Nails and he liked it...so let's hope I sent another fan down the chute of Creator Owned comics.
On to the goods for the week.
The Comic
Comfortably Dumb by Loyd Gant
Kind of hard to get a gauge on this but I am talking about it anyway for a very specific reason. First the points, then the reason.
The comic is only one page so far. That one page is done in a pop-art inspired cartoonish fashion. It is also very well done. The panels are clear, the lettering is readable and there is a point that flows through it from one panel to the next. I want to see more. Now the reason I included this one pager as a new comic. It isn't really a new comic in the biblical sense. It's only one page. The artist has nothing more than that up. Either he ran out of time (which happens) or he got zero support and simply stopped. I'm leaning on the latter here. That is in my opinion the worst aspect of this artform. We hate each otehr. Well...not hate...that's the wrong word, but it's pretty damn close. It's probably better to say we're scared to death of each other. This business has us all climbing up a pole. The same pole. And it's covered in grease. We're so insular in focusing on our technique that we don't make the time to say to someone else, "Hey...nice pole climbing." Well Lloyd is climbing quite well.
It really bothers me at times when I look at the dynamics of comic making from the outside and see everyone shoving their way over each other to say "Hey! Look at my shit, dude!" There is a fear built into us from jump that someone will steal our idea...or that someone will accuse us of that themselves. That fear is the driving force, I think, in preventing comics like Lloyd's from getting the feedback it needs. Hell...it's the same with MY webcomic. People seem afraid to say "Well done, man" when they come across something that was indeed, well done. The fear stops em cold. Am I worried someone will steal my ideas? Of course. It has happened 3 times so far...each time by Marvel. I look at that as a sign that I was on the right track with that particular idea, but not ready to implement in their eyes. A backhanded compliment, if you will.. Do I want vengance? No. I want us to accept that there are creators who need support and I want us to give it to them. I do NOT want, however, for us to fall over ourselves calling crap great. Friends do that all the time. If you are a friend of a comic artist...spare him the misery of your compliments if all you're doing is being a good friend. You are NOT helping him. If he drew crap, you need to tell him. You are his friend. It's better he hears it from you than get his head inflated and eventually popped down to earth by someone who actually doesn't care about his feelings. Those who are being read almost flat-out refuse to look at someone's new work for fear that person will sue. It's insane. Without the feedback from working professionals, many talents simply die on the vine.
Honesty.
Fearlessness.
Integrity.
These are ALL traits we want to be known as having, and they only take a moment of actualy listening to our consciences.
Your friend will thank you in the end.
But read Lloyd's comic when he gets more than one page up. I think it's gonna be fun.
The Band
N.E.R.D.
This one will seem like 'duhr' moment for anyone who actually has listened to this band. It's been my brother's favorite for a while now. But I always said, "Not Interrested." when he said you oughta listen to these guys. I thought his tastes were garbage and these guys must be as well. It was this movement that I am pushing here that changed t his. I am willing now to GIVE something a chance rather than dismiss it out of hand and in this case in particular, I have NO shame admitting I was wrong here. These guys are good.
This is the song that did it for me. Help Me I listened to this one about 30 times during a drive home recently. Stuck in traffic affords you that opportunity. Everything here made my like button go off. The 70's retro horn funk...the lyrics
"No, I won't kill you, but I'll watch you die."
"Cool can only be killed, never absorbed."
If this experiment has shown me anything it is that my last 39 years on this planet have been wasted. The simple act of deciding I will give that a try paid off. Is that always going to be the case? Hell no. I know I'm going to get my ears raped or my eyes assaulted on this trip of mine. But the fear of that is gone now. I KNOW that I was wrong in keeping myself comfortable. And I can only pray you decide to take action here. Don't read my comic just because I ask you to. Read it because it's something new and you decide to give it a shot.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
TRY SOMETHING NEW! 2/8/2011
OK Folks. I'm putting my money where my enormous mouth is here.
I have been on a tear since Mssrs Niles and Powell kicked this bear in the balls last week preaching the cause of trying out Creator Owned Comics. It all comes down to one simple thing, really. Before you try something new you have to take yourself out of your comfort zone. We all have one. It guides all aspects of our life, from our daily TV watching habits, to our dining habits to our musical tastes (or lack thereof) and our literary pleasures. Since it's the latter rather than the former I am preaching, I think it only fair that I include a few of the others as well because, and I'll be honest here, if you already READ comics, odds are this isn't meant for you.
It's you. Yes...YOU. The one over by the twizzlers at the checkout line that I am talking to here. You never read a comic, well, there was that one time in detention when Jeff had a copy of X-Men 300 that you borrowed. You read about 10 pages of it before you got bored. Not bad, since comics really aren't your thing right? But here's my point, if I may. You read The DaVinci Code twice. You read and reread ALL 7 Harry Potter books last week during the snow storm. You have read almost every book written by Stephen King. But still, the XMEN wasn't your thing. Fair enough. But the point I want to stress here is you are missing out. You like adventure stories. But Super Heroes bore you. I get it. Try reading MY webcomic The Portland Express. There aren't any superheroes in that at all. If that isn't your bag, try The Walking Dead. You know...that TV show? Yes it was a comic. Or maybe you liked Red? Read THAT comic too. I promise you if you try enough of them you'll find one that speaks to you. It's so simple. The only thing is it'll cost you. That five minutes of your time where you put yourself completely at the mercy of the creators will seem like an eternity if you don't dig what they are selling, but if it strikes your fancy, a 100 page graphic novel will seem like a Super Bowl commercial. Over too fast and leaving you wanting more. The point is you will never HAVE that experience if you don't gamble. And it is a gam,ble, man. Never doubt that. You will get some comics that just aren't for you. I still get those daily. But if you read 20....and hate 19 of those...that 1 will be a doosey. I know this.
But it doesn't mean shit if you just hear me tell you this...so I am going to put it to practice. I'm going to try a new comic that I never saw before and tell you what I think....good or bad. I'll do the same with music. I'll listen to a new band and is I like it...I'll tell you why. If I didn't...then no loss. The point is I am doing what I am asking YOU to do. Get your asses OUT there and SEE what is available. There are some KICKASS comics out there just like there are bands you never heard of that will make you soil your drawers and love it.
The Comic
Fubar (http://zombiefubar.wordpress.com/)
This is a zombie comic....consisting of over a dozen black and white short comic stories featuring WWII Nazis and Zombies. I haven't bought the actual comic yet. But I plan to. I was able to read one of the short stories though and that sold me. The story is titled "And the crowd goes wild" by Jeff McComsey and it's fairly straightforward. Man with baseball bat tees off on zombies. It's not War and Peace....more like War and Pieces. The art is finished by Steve Becker. I never heard of him, but I dig his style. It mirrors the quirkiness of Will Eisner and makes killing Nazi Zombies look like a load of fun. In Jeff's own words, "Steve Becker and I were sitting around the studio talking about FUBAR, and we came to the conclusion that the first volume needs just a little bit more brains and baseball bats. We decided to do a collaboration for this story. These are my layouts/pencils, inked by Steve. It’s also worth noting that Steve did hand drawn sound effects, which I think really set this short off. Enjoy." The story was a full 4 pages long. Perfect bathroom reading in my opinion. I say Check it out in comic shops all across the world. 15 stories, 184 pages of World War II zombie pulp fiction available for $11.99.
The Band
Mumford and Sons.
This one is simple and if you follow me on teh FaceBook, you probably heard me squee about this band.
It's a brit folk rock band that does songs with footstompin melodies and brain raping lyrics. The Cave is one such song. It haunts me. I heard their song Little Lion Man and was willing to leave it there with these guys. I was ready to write them off as a one-hit wonder. Then This week happened. I decided to listen to another song by them and see if I liked it. This was that song. It combines heartfelt moments of solitary self-imposed confinement and adds a sprinkle of Ulysses (the Greek, not the Irishman) to make a song that actually hit me with a physicality I haven't felt in a long time. I'm in a dark place right now as those of you who know me can attest. The death of both my parents days before my birthday hit me like a ton of bricks. THIS song told me that was ok. It gave me permission to feel better. I can't suggest this band more strongly....and the sad component to this story is that had Niles and Powell not started this and had I not decided to try new things...I would NEVER have listened to this song.
If THAT isn't reason enough for you to just get off your ass...take yourself out of your comfort zone for 5 minutes and see what is on the next island, I dunno if I can help you, man. Just go on and buy those twizzlers and I'll see you in about a week or so with another try. But I'm not going to give up on you. I think we're sitting in the eye of a strengthening hurricane. It's going to gain momentum but only if WE power it. If we let it fall limp on the sand...it's just a rainstorm and the status quo remains. Where is the fun in that?
I have been on a tear since Mssrs Niles and Powell kicked this bear in the balls last week preaching the cause of trying out Creator Owned Comics. It all comes down to one simple thing, really. Before you try something new you have to take yourself out of your comfort zone. We all have one. It guides all aspects of our life, from our daily TV watching habits, to our dining habits to our musical tastes (or lack thereof) and our literary pleasures. Since it's the latter rather than the former I am preaching, I think it only fair that I include a few of the others as well because, and I'll be honest here, if you already READ comics, odds are this isn't meant for you.
It's you. Yes...YOU. The one over by the twizzlers at the checkout line that I am talking to here. You never read a comic, well, there was that one time in detention when Jeff had a copy of X-Men 300 that you borrowed. You read about 10 pages of it before you got bored. Not bad, since comics really aren't your thing right? But here's my point, if I may. You read The DaVinci Code twice. You read and reread ALL 7 Harry Potter books last week during the snow storm. You have read almost every book written by Stephen King. But still, the XMEN wasn't your thing. Fair enough. But the point I want to stress here is you are missing out. You like adventure stories. But Super Heroes bore you. I get it. Try reading MY webcomic The Portland Express. There aren't any superheroes in that at all. If that isn't your bag, try The Walking Dead. You know...that TV show? Yes it was a comic. Or maybe you liked Red? Read THAT comic too. I promise you if you try enough of them you'll find one that speaks to you. It's so simple. The only thing is it'll cost you. That five minutes of your time where you put yourself completely at the mercy of the creators will seem like an eternity if you don't dig what they are selling, but if it strikes your fancy, a 100 page graphic novel will seem like a Super Bowl commercial. Over too fast and leaving you wanting more. The point is you will never HAVE that experience if you don't gamble. And it is a gam,ble, man. Never doubt that. You will get some comics that just aren't for you. I still get those daily. But if you read 20....and hate 19 of those...that 1 will be a doosey. I know this.
But it doesn't mean shit if you just hear me tell you this...so I am going to put it to practice. I'm going to try a new comic that I never saw before and tell you what I think....good or bad. I'll do the same with music. I'll listen to a new band and is I like it...I'll tell you why. If I didn't...then no loss. The point is I am doing what I am asking YOU to do. Get your asses OUT there and SEE what is available. There are some KICKASS comics out there just like there are bands you never heard of that will make you soil your drawers and love it.
The Comic
Fubar (http://zombiefubar.wordpress.com/)
This is a zombie comic....consisting of over a dozen black and white short comic stories featuring WWII Nazis and Zombies. I haven't bought the actual comic yet. But I plan to. I was able to read one of the short stories though and that sold me. The story is titled "And the crowd goes wild" by Jeff McComsey and it's fairly straightforward. Man with baseball bat tees off on zombies. It's not War and Peace....more like War and Pieces. The art is finished by Steve Becker. I never heard of him, but I dig his style. It mirrors the quirkiness of Will Eisner and makes killing Nazi Zombies look like a load of fun. In Jeff's own words, "Steve Becker and I were sitting around the studio talking about FUBAR, and we came to the conclusion that the first volume needs just a little bit more brains and baseball bats. We decided to do a collaboration for this story. These are my layouts/pencils, inked by Steve. It’s also worth noting that Steve did hand drawn sound effects, which I think really set this short off. Enjoy." The story was a full 4 pages long. Perfect bathroom reading in my opinion. I say Check it out in comic shops all across the world. 15 stories, 184 pages of World War II zombie pulp fiction available for $11.99.
The Band
Mumford and Sons.
This one is simple and if you follow me on teh FaceBook, you probably heard me squee about this band.
It's a brit folk rock band that does songs with footstompin melodies and brain raping lyrics. The Cave is one such song. It haunts me. I heard their song Little Lion Man and was willing to leave it there with these guys. I was ready to write them off as a one-hit wonder. Then This week happened. I decided to listen to another song by them and see if I liked it. This was that song. It combines heartfelt moments of solitary self-imposed confinement and adds a sprinkle of Ulysses (the Greek, not the Irishman) to make a song that actually hit me with a physicality I haven't felt in a long time. I'm in a dark place right now as those of you who know me can attest. The death of both my parents days before my birthday hit me like a ton of bricks. THIS song told me that was ok. It gave me permission to feel better. I can't suggest this band more strongly....and the sad component to this story is that had Niles and Powell not started this and had I not decided to try new things...I would NEVER have listened to this song.
If THAT isn't reason enough for you to just get off your ass...take yourself out of your comfort zone for 5 minutes and see what is on the next island, I dunno if I can help you, man. Just go on and buy those twizzlers and I'll see you in about a week or so with another try. But I'm not going to give up on you. I think we're sitting in the eye of a strengthening hurricane. It's going to gain momentum but only if WE power it. If we let it fall limp on the sand...it's just a rainstorm and the status quo remains. Where is the fun in that?
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