29 September 2007


I think what most depressed me about American comix, dark age circa, and the little men who seemingly glumly run and ruin that industry, is the abject self righteous pompousness of the twerps who collect there. The low point floor of the rainy gutters for me came in dealing with Warren Ellis, who has become the newest center of evil in my massive interlocked fairy tale, who seemed all upset when I professed my non -ironical, unriddled, golden aged love of the great and wonderful Capitan Marvel. Who in hell doesnt like Captain marvel, expect mean fag boys in hidden ovo suburban closets and the occasional middle browed lesbian...?

Note, I Physically ruined this cartoon by fixing it to get it into a cartoon magazine, and ended up destroying it. I tore the somehow more acceptable figure off,as oh, the esoteric Monsters could stay as they were. This is an exemplar of our lovely age of abortion, ugliness can always stay, it is beauty, or at least the wrong type of beauty, you know, the Lucas defamed dark, which is pounded into the ground by a our smiling faggot Visigoths. I ruined this lovely little, sweet, play boy in the sixties-ish image by placing an Adam Hues traced and copied , sadly, like shit woman goddess, which I did both quickly and white knuckle, theres a quinella, and then, was rejected anyway. Fuccck Yewwwwww, I said, and tore the glued over image off, and tried to recreate the image as she was, and in fact, got a little Etruscan wall thing out of it, as the paper beineith had made a certain stucco like texture , which, like Oak, is always nice.

Thursday, September 20, 2007



In the winter of 1995, if I recall right, I spoke on the phone to what I come to know as a legendary comix maker, Jim Shooter, then of Broadway comics.

I had seen an ad, or my sister had, and I sent some pastel heavy work to mister Shooter. She worked at the art school then and would apprise me of job bulletins sent out through the school. Broadway video, notable only for Saturday Night Live, was looking for talent to fill a new comics company. He called me, as my sister had set up a interview by the comic lord, as she knew unlike most who bullshitted and slouched there way through such things, if even bothering to show up at interviews, I do take things more seriously than I pretended.

He spoke to me on the phone for a good half an hour, perhaps because I wasn’t at all a fan boy who would have known, or cared of his marvelous repute, and thus would faun over him, but merely spoke to him about my illustrations—I never called them comics then ,-- that I had done. Though, I later found, he wrote on the favorite cartoons I had at one point, superboy and the legion of superheroes, which was the only incarnation of superman I found magical.

He liked them all very much, and liked there tactile feel, as just then it seemed Photoshop had taken over, and he believed, as did I, that something in art and comix was lost. I had sent originals, a no no, but told him I had crayon made traced copies somewhere to remake, as seen above.

He loved my use of color which he said was almost unprintable with the way color separations were done, and thought my comics were a lot of fun and intelligent and I again got that sort of compliment , backhandedly , which I lived for at one point. He said he saw the New York Italian in me fully in my work. I seemed to get NewYork in my fake city, down to the smells and the gershewinite jazz, and the buildings and the gratings , ect, which others didn’t even attempt. He eventually switched topics, and started asking me if I was interested in writing for him, especially when I spoke of my respect for the great Otto Binder, as there was no goofy satire or bottle city of kandors or bizzarros in comics anymore. He said what my art lacked in over rehearsed bullshit, it made up for with vitality and feeling, and he said my work reminded him of marvel days when the work was fun, and when Jews and Italians were everywhere in comics. I had that Immigrants feel for America. He asked for me to distill my idea into a forty page script to send to him, which I , amazingly lazy, or really intimidated, never sent in.

In addition, on the phone, he spoke to me about making it in a business he seemed then weary of. He liked my earlier attempts at Captain Magnus, and Fly Girl, a blue and white suited, like the then ascendant Yankees, bosomy lovely who would be VUNDERGIRL, and whom perhaps I should go back to calling Fly-Girl. The heroes, even then truly ethnic and Italian, they were part of AMERICAS TEAM, a send up of the Justice Society of America, who also included The Onyx Witch, Johnnie Hermes, Rat-man, and others all in a city called Brindisium, later named simply Neopolis. I did understand Women, he said, as we talked and he looked over the pieces, probably, for his voice had that sense to it. I did get bombshells, he said, and something could really be made out of that.And, he said, Lose the flairs, or you’ll never get a job in this field, as it was seen as if not immature, almost defiant not to use those pens which are sold to jerks who dream of drawing everything in the manner of Ben Casey Sunday strips.

I bring this up because I just did a few things more illustrative than Comicy, and liked the freeness I again felt. I may just leave the business of comics, which I have never much liked or trusted, behind, knowing that even though dismissed now, at one point I had that most American of ideals and attributes in me—promise. I did this above picture, reamde from a frozen in time blue crayon outline still in a Bank Portfolio leather bag, kept all this time. How about that, you murky, fanny, silly, sissy twerps…? I wonder what they would say if the fags at journalista and at comics journal ever knew that...?


I have gone back to attacking pages for the completion of Mister Stupendous, with a verve I haven't felt in a few years. Seeing the crap which these comix idiots leave behind them, has nerved me to return to every ideal, every trick, every shtick, every game, I have ever used or utilized and the pages are back to being a replication of gem colorings learned from Castelfranco years ago.

[The returned cd from rat land has regiven me my busty kerry marie clips, a play called the rats of venice and much of my humorous crayon work from before... ITS LIKE SOME ROMAN GOD HAD TAKEN PITY ON ME AND THEN SENT ME GOING IN AN OPPOSITE DIRECTION.]

Also, this above was supposed to be a cover for a left wing zineish magazine, the kind of progressive crap which is one step above mimeographed. This explains the space I left at the top. Even then, I started to think about maybe actually listening to what I was asked for. But, though the editors thought it was funny, and telling, another woman, who didnt see that coming, as still, like fifth grade the fat lesbian boards with too much self righteousness are my enemy. editor nixed it, saying that this was again 2004, and the flag burning might 'alienate'
some of the people who bought the magazine , as then, even Momma Hillary was playing hawk, as she would do as amazingly at the end as in the beginning of her campaign. Would I re do it and come up with another visual clue that Herman was laughing through chaos, which was for an issue about the heinously smarmy --I think they didnt like that I didnt like the daily weekend update crap-- equally self righteous fake newsshows more in vogue then than now...I responeded For thirty bucks,...?.... fuck you, and I made it a cover to Rag. ]

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