Well, I did it--got the new MYTHOS magazine completed and sent off to the printer. Now it's a mere wait of a month or so before them babies arrive back at H.I. We're even going with a cardstock cover this time around, so it will be a sturdy, studular package for them what likes that sort of thing.

The man upstairs would approve.

My introduction-page art, sans text.

A temple to Zeus, now lying fallow.

The giant German atomic particle detector
named for the high-father of the Greek gods.

It turns out that due to the immense workload and other unforeseen events, the "Ballad of Utopia" trade paperback, now titled "Western Gothic", will not be ready for the San Diego Comic Con, and so I will not be there promoting it with pal and writer Barry Buchanan. A panel from the Gothic masterpiece.         It's a shame, sorta, but then I'm bailing out of Comics anyway, so what's the diff? Having the book ready and making an appearance was mainly a favor for bro Barry B., and otherwise, conventions are very tricky and expensive affairs, especially for exhibitors. Anudder panel from the aforementioned masterpiece.         I'm in the habit of giving other artists advice--it's well-known that we typically have great ideas for the OTHER guy should be doing--and have come to a nigh-inescapable conclusion: Comics rot the mind, especially if you're drawing them.         I began to think of all the artists I know of, and tried to determine whether they improved over their careers, stayed at the same level, or deteriorated; I decided that mainly they tend to deteriorate, as the huge workloads preclude "rest periods" or training to improve skills. Even more spooky Western thrills.         The pattern seems to be, at least today, that the young artists practice and learn, mainly from how-to books and other artists, and then once they "break in" they never crack another book. God knows they sure don't have time to, what with six or eight panels a page for the rest of their lives.         You could make a list with no end--I saw a cover by Mike Grell the other day, who I never liked (what's to like?) and though he was never really "good", he's a shadow of his former self; someone like Frank Brunner, a hopeless draftsman, has probably stayed the same--mediocre. Other guys who were once the darling stalwarts of Comics have long since lost their edge, like Berni Wrightson, for example.         So, kids--unless you can develop a style so simple and anti-representational that Fantagraphics would jump at publishing it, do yourselves a favor and STAY AWAY FROM COMICS!         June 5, 2005                 ~NO BOUNDARIES~                                                                                                                                      I read a bit of a recent H.P. Lovecraft biography over the weekend, at least as much as I could while "on the throne" here at Camelot. Lovecraft is enjoying renewed popularity among the so-called "Goth", Fantasy, and "isn't the Dark wonderful" sets, which is a shame, because the man clearly had something to offer. It's just too bad people have to spoil things by getting so silly about it all.         I'm also convinced that Lovecraft's depressive moods could, today, have been vastly improved through better diet and nutrition; the brain needs the proper chemical bath to function properly and happily, and this is also why I keep a good stock of unpasteurized beer in the fridge here at H.I. The man of the moment, H.P. Lovecraft.         A section of the aforementioned Biography reads as follows: The universe is nothing but a furtive arrangement of elementary particles. A figure in transition toward chaos. That is what will finally prevail. The human race will disappear. Other races in turn will appear and disappear. The skies will be glacial and empty, traversed by the feeble light of half-dead stars. These too will disappear. Everything will disappear. And human actions are as free and as stripped of meaning as the unfettered movement of the elementary particles. Good, evil, morality, sentiments? Pure "Victorian fictions". All that exists is egotism. Cold, intact and radiant.         Does the thought of an empty, godless, impersonal Universe scare you? How about people who write with sentences that are too short and choppy, with an over-abundance of periods? The former doesn't, not to me, any more than waking up and seeing a landscape of sheets and blankets--it's simply the way things are, and to not accept it is at best childlike, and at worst, idiotic. The latter is just caving in to and at the same time reinforcing average people's amputated attention-spans.         And naturally, imposing some sort of make-believe order on systems that don't even recognize us helps pass the time. The luxuriant abode of the Supreme, Cosmic, Fictitious Sugar-Daddy.         Christians and some other dogmatists love to hold other "primitive" religious belief systems up to ridicule as being "simple superstition", while they cling to their very complex systems of superstitions. To quote my aged English uncle, it's all "about as believeable as Santa Claus". Will humanity ever grow up? Not bloody likely, although England and some other European countries have higher populations of brave and intelligent Atheists than anywhere else on Earth, including here. Here's some dope's mental picture of the unknoweable and the indescribable; what's yours?         And, lest you imagine I'm preaching at you, my main point in all of this is about EGO; Lovecraft was right, it's the only thing in the Universe that's actually real to us, and the only way anyone ever leaves their mark for the Future, whether it's through art, science, music, or by men's civilisations themselves.         The next time someone accuses you of being an ambitious egomaniac, you can rest easy in the knowledge that you're as fully alive as you can be.         June 4, 2005                 ~FREELOADERS~                                                                                                                                      I don't accept the use of the word "tirade", "diatribe" or other common and easy cliches trotted out any time anyone feels someone else's anger is "inappropriate", i.e., it affects their own personal comfort; how selfish can ya get? Everywhere, all over the globe, and in Scandinavia too, waves lap at or crash upon shorelines as they have for eons and will continue to long after you and I are gone forever.         I'll freely admit that most of the "anger" on this Weblog is manufactured--it's done for the same reason many other people "act-up" at public appearances, like Harlan Ellison being a big jackass at conventions, David Carradine being drunk and insulting to the public, or Billy Mumy being insulting while stone-cold sober, although I don't believe that Mumy can help it.         What it is, kids, is SHOWBIZ, and it's someone bending over backwards to be entertaining in an effort to create interest so that his wife and children can be supported in the manner to which they've become accustomed, that is, eat regular meals. Now, do you feel cheated--or do you really want me to get mad? Another nice painting from the ARC collection, sent in to H.I. by my pal Al McLuckie.         There is plenty in the World to be angry about, and plenty of ways to learn to channel one's own anger in ways that aren't self-defeating. People are admittedly going berserk in traffic all the time and blowing others' heads off, but that doesn't mean everyone with a legit beef is in the same class as a "road-rage"-infected wacko.         You know and I know that you wouldn't be here if I wrote about nice flowers and the pleasant Summer sun, and I divulge the facts--that I am "angry" largely as part of an act.         You wanna fight about it?         June 3, 2005                 ~THE VORPAL BLADE~                                                                                                                                      Finally, after major printer snafus (and then fixing them being a low priority) the second issue of "Scarlet Cascade", the immortal, immoral Vampire mag, is o-u-t OUT. Don't buy it, though--you'd hate it; it's full of great Art and flying wit, just like this Weblog, if you take out the Boris, Al Rio, Tom Phlegming, Newton Burcham and so on.         In spite of several major setbacks and other travails, the last month has been good--I haven't heard anyone say "Elvis has left the building", or any variation of it. Legitimate "Funny" doesn't always stand up well to repetiton, but fake-funny certainly never does. It's here, it's there, it's fucking $7.95.         I like to poke around eBay in between doing these MYTHOS drawings that no one seems to want, and I've noticed something very interesting; the "Comic Art" section, right now, as of this writing, contains 2542 items; however, the REAL Art section has 191,087. Some days it's close to a quarter of a million.         Oddly enough, many Comic Art people have never been to or even spheard of the regular, "normal" Art section, which dwarfs it by about 75 times. It's what's for dinner.         Above is a sketch I did for the MYTHOS mag illustrating the story of Tereus and Procne; the moral is that if you allow your son to rape women with impunity, then he may get served up to you when you're really expecting regular food, and in complete ignorance you'll really enjoy eating him.         Then the old girl herself may show up with Junior's head and hands in tow, just to make her little feminine "point".         I can sure indentify.         June 2, 2005                 ~NO THANKS~                                                                                                                                      Pumpin' out these here "logs" is getting a little wearisome, especially when A. I ain't particularly mad at anything (due to an inability to concentrate, due exhaustion, due to overwork), and B. I am getting tired of the constant, draining workload for no other reason than loads of prestigious "glory". I am deeply honored.         Feedback's arriving about lots of past topics; Steve Rude is well-loved everywhere, unlike yours truly, but I still say he needs a change. God knows I do. Notice, I only capitalize "god" when it begins a sentence; that's an ordered mind for ya. Clever cartooning from one-time Hoffman International contributor Randy Mohr, a major talent with little drive and no ambition to speak of. Can I say that, Randy? Ha ha!         I confessed to a priest the other day (they're under every rock in Albuquerque) that I was an Atheist; he said "I admire people like you who have the courage to go it alone". I replied that as far as I was concerned, we're all alone whether we admit it or not. The guy was quite tolerant for a dogmatist, but that's all par today--whatever increases yer comfort level.         More balabber (like palaver) about the ARC "Art Renewal Center" debate, and many folks confess like the sort of vacuous work displayed there; ya know, potato chips are okay too, but in moderation, and don't ever confuse them with actual nutritious food. A steady diet of content-less Art won't make you fat--except on the head. A real Sphinx from Memphis (not Tennessee).         Egyptians may have gotten the idea of Reincarnation from the cycles of flooding that replenished the soils around the Nile; there are a lot of artists out there that secretly believe the same thing, that they will get "another go" the next time around.         I hate to pooper yer parties, pals, but ya only gets the one chance.         June 1, 2005                 ~NOISY IN HERE~                                                                                                                                      The reason the World's in such a quandary about almost anything you can name is, I am sure, because its institutions have grown far beyond any manageable size. Corporations and governments are out of control, and ya know, they like it like that. There is a good maxim that applies to almost anything you came name: "Small is better". That goes for families, nations, companies and so on. There was a good book many years ago called "Small is Beautiful" by E.F. Shumaker, which is where I lifted much of these ideas.         Actually, any moron can see this stuff--you don't strictly need a book, although it helps. The first Prez in space trepidatiously heads out for a new frontier--Mars.         So, as societal life becomes complex beyond average people's ability to work within it, problems snowball; our last "election" and its result are a good barometer of the trouble--people are so dislocated that half of them would vastly prefer a candidate they didn't have to think about, that they can accept on "blind faith". Well, they got one--actually, a whole mess of 'em.         Treating Politics like Religion has distinct advantages for these megalomaniacs; just as you're not supposed to question religious dogma, it becomes convenient not to question decisions concerning policy. In fact, it's actually become blasphemous to do so.         The modern method to address problems political is not to think them through, but simply to take a side and scream. The hip sounds of today.