Ode to Bodily Harm

This is a shirt mock-up resulting from a shared joke with my Twitter friend @EvilTwinBrian. Mainly it has to do with practicing martial arts with weapons and the inevitable smacking of your own body parts in learning to handle them with any grace. The conversation started when I admitted to clipping my ear with my own nunchaku. This is mostly for his benefit, but here you go!

Like Water Off A Duck's Back

This is the faucet from which I let frustration drip right out. It hardly ever works, but I have a couple of friends who are good plumbers.

Good God

Last night, after re-reading part of The God Machine, I found some righteous red paper and got to sketching. The red reminded me of the color of Good God's hair in the book, so I started adding her features to the sketch. This is what resulted. Hope Chandra Free doesn't mind. :)

Sketchbook

I'm slowly working up the nerve to talk about my pet project(s). In the meantime, working with pencils. :)

Level Up!

New karate belt earned. Halfway to black. Probably should have tied it better for the photo, but I was excited!

So Which Comes First?

Owned!

From C2E2, The Cursening pug by the rad (and awesomely tall) Mike Norton.

Gojira!

From C2E2, by the beyond cool Zac Atkinson.

Vomit: A Love Story

It's the end of C2E2. A mad rush to Union Station, several uncertain glances at ticket stubs followed by equally uncertain glances at signs overhead, and finally a generous offer to share a row on what promises to be a completely full train. The first hour goes by uneventfully, kind exchanges and small talk dispensed. Rain streams gently and consistently from a fluffy gray sky, the flat light providing a moody but relaxing backdrop for the ride home.

An hour and a half has passed by at a snail's pace, a noticeable contrast to the blur that is the landscape just outside.



















Almost all conversation has stopped for now, announcements from the speakers overhead ceased. Some passengers are sprawled across two seats, dozing in positions that promise a nasty crimp or two upon waking. I listen to some music, eardrums cocooned in tiny black buds, my head pillowed by my wadded jacket against the cold window.

Then, like the business end of a bad dream, the muffled but unmistakable sound of retching.

My stomach lurches automatically, and I dare only to look over with my eyes. My poor neighbor is hunched forward deeply, unnatural and rigid, her body making the sounds of something attempting to reject its own organs. I want to ask if she's OK, but she's clearly not, and it takes all my energy to maintain a hold on my last meal at McCormick. Now fervently fighting illness, I turn up Major Lazer and wait it out.

The above scene repeats for two more hours. I try not to laugh when dinner announcements commence. I distract myself by imagining causes for her condition other than the bobbing motion of the train. She's a god coming to test our humanity. She's patient zero for the zombie apocalypse. She's the human carrier for an experimental degenerative puking virus on its way to a lab in rural Canada. I even started drawing the comic panels in my head, with the working title Death Train.

When my stop finally comes, she's quiet, and I can't believe she's got anything left. Through my own nausea, I ask how she's doing. I collect my things and move out quickly so she can lay down across my seat. I tell her I'm sorry about the illness, and offer to get her water. She declines, and I resist the urge to warn her of dehydration, instead encouraging her to get some sleep.

I turn to get in line with other people waiting to disembark. When I look up from making sure I have everything from my seat, almost everyone is staring in my direction, eyes wider than normal, searching for... what? Assurance? Explanation? Just a natural expression of holy s*** what was that? Probably all of the above. I can see most of them hadn't been blasting music in their ears, and were going to need fresh air sooner rather than later.

Given her destination, the woman was to be on that train for at least another whole day. The thing is, I never saw any evidence of her possessing what I can only imagine as a bigger-on-the-inside miracle receptacle to receive her frequent offerings.

I'm going with the god-in-disguise theory after all.

Lisbeth

Still hung up on this brown paper.

I was reading about David Fincher and his plans for the remake of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, and started drawing. A lot of Noomi Rapace in this Lisbeth, a little bit not. :) Rooney Mara looks pretty amazing in the W Magazine pics, though. The Swedish movies were really good, and I understand there are departures from the source material in the American version. Should be interesting.

Sketch 2

More playing with brown paper. The scanner light really brightens everything. The paper is actually very dark.

Sketch

Messing around with some black & white Verithins on brown paper. Hair is fun.

Anonymous to Anonymous

Some really amazing news came down the digital grapevine regarding someone I used to know. A really vaguely worded high-five into the aether is the best I can do for congratulations right now, but there it is.

High-five!

Months-Long Moment of Weakness + Past Due #6

I don't do a lot of year-end reflecting. A new year is just a new year. But the tail end of 2010 soured epically with significant personal losses. Death got involved--in the literal sense as well as the symbolic. Let's just leave it there.

As a result, I let myself indulge in a period of mourning (unfortunately situated right in the middle of working through the 30 Characters exercise). I was alternately paralyzed by uncertainty and pissed at myself for feeling that way. LAME.

For the first time in my life, I assigned real significance to the idea of a New Year. The idea of leaving the crapstorm behind and starting anew. While I still find sadness creeping in from time to time--the events being only a couple of months old--it's with an important sense of distance. Time is doing its job.

This brings me to the drawing I've had ready since November, though it seems oddly more relevant now. The Opportunity Farmer.