Page 14. A random page I like
I’m very happy to finally have this out and available! It is now up on the new Ebay account and Zarstar studios store. Really lucky to have Norman Wong coloring my work. He makes my lines look much better than I think them to be. I will be making a few store adjustments and will be building up original and print work on Ebay.
There is a bit going on that is too lengthy to type (and to read), so I’ll do my best to edit and condense.
My Emo Vortex #1 now available on the new Ebay page and Zarstar Studios store.
For anyone who purchases anything from Zarstar Studios directly, I’ll send a little original thank you.
The new ebay site it just beginning, so I’ll be running some .99 auctions to build up some transaction numbers. Mostly original sketch cards, and one off drawings that distract me from comics.
Here are some sketch cards I worked on during WonderCon in Anaheim this past weekend!
Here are some tales from the sketch book done this week:
Have a good weekend! Thank you for reading!
The Robot in my veins has reported that I have been in my own head too long. I have been ejected and now wait till I can return in. This kinda sucks. Mental lock outs mean I have to absorb reality.
Here is a page from My Emo Vortex. Might be issue 3..or is it 2? Whatever.
co colored by Shuiez Hermenz
Phase one: Arrival. Touching down on alien land is nothing new, well at least the process. Several steps after leaving the vessel, the suit begins to activate. Absorbing through the fine knit filter mesh it is determined whether the air is primarily oxygen (C02) or nitrogen (N). Depending on which determines the process. Fine hair like fibers begin to sprout on the interior of the suit. They then begin to penetrate through the soft matter of the navigator or suit bearer. From here on until the process is complete the navigator/suit bearer will undergo tremendous agony while real time genetic re-structuring takes place.
Ever since I was a kid I always had this..anger issue. Michael Jackson’s Thriller was the first horror type thing I consciously absorbed. I associated with the werewolf at the end so much. I was too young to know any better but as I grew the anger grew with me. I was convinced in first grade I was a werewolf. Well, not quite a wolf, but something of the nature. In my age I have learned to hide it in “passion”. Although hide might be the wrong word. Let’s use the word guise instead.
The guise has matured into a slight compulsion to conceal the anger. If you know anything about what I do, this may make more sense. Born anger is a dangerous thing. True unprovoked anger has always been an emotional obstacle. We all have emotional obstacles. I realize this. I used to feel the anger as a curse. It may be, but a curse is only as good as the cursee (yeah I made that up).
That all being typed brings me to the Misfit Bird. This is an example of the anger in a somewhat violent less form. When I feel the most frustrated I create. Most of it I will never show. It is ugly, unskilled and often times nonsensical. You know, angry.
This bird is the not too shabby embodiment of the wolf, curse, guise, anger. My brush work is fun to color in flat.
Just so you know Saturday evenings is the worst time to post stuff. That said, let’s get down to the posting.
The little things. They connect to the great good or bad (which ever you prefer). This works both ways. As we all notice the large world around us, there are seemingly smaller worlds living parallel in conjunction to what we know and understand.
Who cares right? I don’t know. I think it can be useful. Taking the time to connect the dots that lead to where you are and how you learn to understand the conscious world.
Last thing. There is a bigger world …or is it smaller? I guess that depends on how the individual perceives our species on the totem pole.
Good thing Saturday is a bad day to post. Someone might have actually read this.
I found her somewhere in the depths of San Bernardino. She caught the corner of my eye. With a look like that she quickly became the focus. What struck me as odd aside from the obvious, were these neon green rolling papers she slings out. Naturally, I thought she was getting ready to inhale the devil’s grass. That was until I seen her crouch down to pick up three smashed cigarette butts from the front of the liquor store where I was picking up my daily amenities.
She tore out what little tobacco was left in those lipstick stained butts, stuffed them into her papers and rolled ’em up. It was gross, unsanitary, yet resourceful and mildly romantic.
I asked how she was doing. “I’m smoking butts, how the fuck you think I’m doing?” I apologized. “Sorry, I asked too early. I’ll ask again after the first drag” She broke character and smiled a very short smile.
Being the gentleman I am, I lit her makeshift cancer stick with Irma, my lucky torch.
“What’s your name? I’m Dave” I say reaching out my claw. Staying in character she smiles a wide smile “Fuck off”
She walks off into the setting sun like a fading sunburned polaroid. The biggest kick I get is only knowing her as Fuck Off.