Wednesday, 10 February 2010
This is a picture from the comic book The Klandestines that I have written. This is just a silly little thing and not an actual panel. Drawn by Dong, coloured by me. A scene from issue 3 of the series. Uploaded here because I can't think of anything else to put up and I decided I don't like the previous post and would like it not to be the latest update.
Most of my hours are spent toning The Klandestines at the moment. It's like being at school again, colouring in. :D
Tuesday, 9 February 2010
This is a tale of two tribes. One wore red, and the other blue. Their many and particular differences became voided in the simple action of peeling back layers, to reveal skeletons that cannot be told apart.
High noon, full moon out on a summer’s day. Swift gunfire scatters, slices into the haze. Red dances to the beat pounding heavily on an old tin drum. There is the sound of a thousand wild pigeon wings jumping high into misty white air. Blue waltzes quietly, following the pattern of a million ancient feet. It’s like the sick old lion that has spent a lifetime on the beat. Too tired to carry on, but still hungering for more. He holes up, lying sick and weary at the cave door. Word gets out that their most odious king is nearly dead and gone, he will not be here for long. At long last! Hoist his limp flag at half mast. So roll up, pay your respects. Along come gazelle, imapala and ox, followed gingerly by the fox. Three sets of footprints go in. None come out. Along come zebra, warthog and deer. Six sets of footprints. Nine, twelve, fifteen. Scorning the fox for his indifference, they follow the pattern of a million ancient feet while the fox turns tail, he bails.
Meanwhile, back in the now, red and blue flash clashing sabres and swords. Two miles from front lines, dignitaries disguised as thieves pile high their shiny hoards. Five miles hence, Kings and ministers draw out a game of noughts and crosses. Generals and doctors mark them off, count their losses. The next grid is prepared as they review how they fared. A million purple soldiers line up at the mouth of a cave. There is the sound of a thousand captive dove wings jumping high into clear mauve air. Though the barometer reads fair, the weather spills out a snow shower of small white feathers. Reality TV audiences collect them to hand out to the sly old fox. This done, they turn back to their idiot box. Vicariously drink up, consume, piss out hours and hours of misplaced experiences. At the end of their day, wave goodbye to the bosses. Go home to watch the unfurling game of noughts and crosses.
[This image was sent to me a couple of years ago by the Arts Institute at Bournemouth/ ACUB and I wrote a story to illustrate the image. The story was bad. They didn't publish it. This is a new version of the same story. I wrote it a few moments ago so I don't yet know if it is bad. I do not know who drew this picture, other than that they were once a student at the AIB at the same time that I was a student at the AIB.]
Friday, 5 February 2010
Hate the fact that eight hours a day
Is wasted on chasing the dream of someone that isn't us
And we may not hate our jobs
But we hate jobs in general
That don't have to do with fighting our own causes
But we'd rather be supporting ourselves
By being paid to perfect the pasttimes
That we have harbored based solely on the fact
That it makes us smile if it sounds dope
Fumble outta bed and stumble to the kitchen
Pour myself a cup of ambition and
Yawn and stretch and my life is a mess and
If I never make it home today, God bless
I’m not a great listener of hip hop, but Aesop Rock is something different. It’s a crossroads where poetry, music, art and philosophy crash together, sometimes a little messily. But mess is okay. If you focus really hard you can start to see sense in the mess. On the surface it might seem like too much in one place, too complex, too rich, too confusing. But if you take a step back and stop thinking about it all then it becomes clear that there is an order to the seemingly chaotic splatter of words.
Here are some bizarre music videos from Aesop Rock’s album None Shall Pass, followed by the song No Regrets from the older album Labour Days. I have included the lyrics to No Regrets because they are beautiful and I try to live in harmony with them.
Lucy was 7 and wore a head of blue barettes
City born, into this world with no knowledge and no regrets
Had a piece of yellow chalk with which she'd draw upon the street
The many faces of the various locals that she would meet
There was joshua, age 10
Bully of the block
Who always took her milk money at the morning bus stop
There was Mrs. Crabtree, and her poodle
She always gave a wave and holler on her weekly trip down to the bingo
And she drew
Men, women, kids, sunsets, clouds
And she drew
Skyscrapers, fruit stands, cities, towns
Always said hello to passers-by
They'd ask her why she passed her time
Attachin lines to concrete
But she would only smile
Now all the other children living in or near her building
Ran around like tyrants, soaking up the open fire hydrants
They would say
"Hey little Lucy, wanna come jump double dutch?"
Lucy would pause, look, grin and say
"I'm busy, thank you much"
Well, well, one year passed
And believe it or not
She covered every last inch of the entire sidewalk,
And she stopped-
"Lucy, after all this, you're just giving in today??"
"I'm not giving in, I'm finished," and walked away
1 2 3
That's the speed of the seed
A B C
That's the speed of the need
You can dream a little dream
Or you can live a little dream
I'd rather live it
Cuz dreamers always chase
But never get it
Now Lucy was 37, and introverted somewhat
Basement apartment in the same building she grew up in
She traded in her blue barettes for long locks held up with a clip
Traded in her yellow chalk for charcoal sticks
And she drew
Little bobby who would come to sweep the porch
And she drew
The mailman, delivered everyday at 4
Lucy had very little contact with the folks outside her cubicle day
But she found it suitable, and she liked it that way
She had a man now: Rico, similar, hermit
They would only see each other once or twice a week on purpose
They appreciated space and Rico was an artist too
So they'd connect on saturdays to share the pictures that they drew
Now every month or so, she'd get a knock upon the front door
Just one of the neighbors,
Actin nice, although she was a strange girl, really
Say, "Lucy, wanna join me for some lunch??"
Lucy would smile and say "I'm busy, thank you much"
And they would make a weird face the second the door shut
And run and tell their friends how truly crazy Lucy was
And lucy knew what people thought but didn't care
Cuz while they spread their rumors through the street
She'd paint another masterpiece
Lucy was 87, upon her death bed
At the senior home, where she had previously checked in
Traded in the locks and clips for a head rest
Traded in the charcoal sticks for arthritis, it had to happen
And she drew no more, just sat and watched the dawn
Had a television in the room that she'd never turned on
Lucy pinned up a life worth's of pictures on the wall
And sat and smiled, looked each one over, just to laugh at it all
No Rico, he had passed, 'bout 5 years back
So the visiting hours pulled in a big flock o' nothin
She'd never spoken once throughout the spanning of her life
Until the day she leaned forward, grinned and pulled the nurse aside
And she said:
"Look, I've never had a dream in my life
Because a dream is what you wanna do, but still haven't pursued
I knew what I wanted and did it till it was done
So i've been the dream that I wanted to be since day one!"
The nurse jumped back,
She'd never heard Lucy even talk,
'Specially words like that
She walked over to the door, and pulled it closed behind
Then Lucy blew a kiss to each one of her pictures
And she died.
1 2 3...
A B C...