Friday, October 30, 2009



If you are even a bit curious about the so called, "BOOK" I keep rattling on about you can have wee peek at a few pages over at the Century Guild blog.
Don't say I didn't warn you. Under sixteen must be accompanied by a parent or guardian.

Ta, must dash.. I'm accepting the Dorian Grey Memorial Deviancy award.


Sunday, October 25, 2009


The title of this post has to do with the fact that I have four "followers" that have taken the time to actually stand up and be counted. I consider myself lucky to have that many. So, from now on, I'll be writing for you lot. Thank you.

Lemme pull yer coat for a minute ok?
Look, there are big things happening here. Oh, nothing you can see yet, except that that from now on, the color of the text when I write here has changed. No, nothing for you to see yet.
There is going to be a while before anything really new, anything that points true north, that signals that there is foreword movement coming. If I were so inclined, I might say that artistically, I'm on hiatus....unpaid leave of absence. "But why Mr. Zed" you ask?
Here's where the coat pulling starts......

I've been more or less in the public eye for nearly a quarter of a century. My very first published work in the comics medium was Puma Blues number one, cover dated August 1986. Right now, that feels like forever, and few extra days for seasoning. I've written here recently that I've been basically bed-ridden for three weeks now with a really evil flu. One tends, if one happens to be me, to think quite a bit when my hands are doing nothing any more productive than blowing my nose, scratching my ass or changing the radio channel. This can be extraordinarily troubling if you have a boiling pot of pasta for brains. Throw shit at the wall and study what sticks. Throw anything, nothing off bounds, just whip it out and hope for something interesting to happen.
What essentially happened was that after absolutely nothing stuck was that I realized that after twenty three years of slowly, steadily being seduced into the artist I am today, I'm bone dry.
After the completion of Fracture of the Universal Boy, I had, in fact summed it all up, said it all and the only way to keep going was to keep re-plowing the same field until I either drop or go barking mad. Neither option seemed like it had a lot to recommend itself. As the saying goes, " I may be crazy, but I'm not stupid."
And so, the demolition began. Let me tell you something, (tug tug.) the absolutely worst, most devastating thing that that can happen to a true artist, ( as opposed to an entertainer perhaps?) is the idea of stasis. Of not progressing to someplace valid and true. Of simply giving them what they want, or expect or maybe even need rather than being able to reach inside and be surprised, and excited by new things, concepts and challenges. A sort of living death. Ok, perhaps I have higher expectations of myself, or it could be I'm just a pretentious asshole. But, after the Book was finished I found myself with a very clear choice: either go on singing "i can't get no satisfaction" until I get carried of by the nice friendly guys with the stiff white coat, or some very serious self examination comes down.
Just what the fuck I needed right now. Sick, broke and looking down a black hole of a future. Oh, yeah kids, I'm thrilled. Alas, we don't always have a choice in these matters, we must remain open to ideas when they come, no matter how distasteful. I believe it's called being a grown up.
The process of essentially stripping down twenty odd years of personal history to get to a point where nothing remains except the truth is not recommended unless you have the proper tools.
We humans have a near infinite capacity for self deception, and I'm no better or worse that anyone else in that regard. Eight years of therapy helps. trusting what skills one does have for real helps too. Eventually, if the courage to look yourself in the eye and see every line, pock mark and white hair without blinking can be accomplished you get to a place that is clear, unvarnished and open as a the thrill of first love.
That's about where I am at the moment. In love for the first time, and I don't know if she loves me back. Talk about nervous. Shit. I have butterfly's eating my intestines and my deodorant ain't working.
It's all about love. L.O.V.E.
The mystery's of life and the human heart. Awkward, pimple on the nose, aw-shucks every time I see her I get a boner.

I'm in fact, re- dedicating myself to the honest examination of heart and soul. Having decided that the old bag of tricks will not help me here, I've decided to just grow a set and ask her out.

Throw it at the wall and hope to God that it sticks. And brothers and sisters, I'm scared to death. But damn it, i feel alive.

Now the hard part......praying you'll be interested in what happens enough to be the fly on the wall and gimme an amen, thumbs up, you go dude....whatever.

Rather cryptically I'll leave you with this: Paris 1920.

Just wait.



Friday, October 23, 2009


I hate the fucking flu.
Three weeks now of slowly rotting on the sofa pulling enough of myself together to get to my doctors. I almost went second stage, ie: pneumonia. Not good. So I've busied my self with composing paintings in my head. Six so far, two of which I've practically fainting to do. But that could just be the drugs. I'm beginning to think that if I was forced to never, ever make pictures again I'd slowly suck up into my head and kill myself.

Another bit: I must have pressed a wrong button somewhere and deleted all my saved addresses from the web mail I get here. So, i you've written to me about something and I haven't written back, blame my creeping technophobia. Sod it, I'm sorry.

One more bit: I'm planning to finally finish the tattoos on my left arm into a finished piece. That is, if the artist I want to work with ever writes back. All our lives seemed to run by day planners.

Yet another: today is the day there has been sunshine since I came down with the plague. Things just get better all the time. I should have been an urologist.

And yet again: I'm burning all my old canvases tomorrow. I hate the sight of them. It's my party and the quest list is crap.

One last thing, and promise to go away: when I'm reasonably lucid, I'm plotting and researching my next book. This has lead my to finally come to terms with my birth in Louisiana and it's culture. Still wouldn't want to live there, but I'd visit in winter sometime. "native son returns" and all that.

There.....all(most) all off my chest, which hurts right now, but not as much as a week ago.
So, Pierre, if you're reading this by chance, send more Gauloises, PLEASE I'm back to work Monday and I owe you big time my friend.

I DON'T BELIEVE IN FLU's a paranoia thing.

Loveliness to all....


Wednesday, October 7, 2009


I suppose I should show up now and then. It's just a bit difficult when essentially I have nothing to say that matters. The book is done. Yay. The question I was absolutely unprepared for was, "what now?"
Oops. Didn't think of that. The bottom has fallen out of my raison d'ĂȘtre. Simply put, I just don't know where to go to re-establish my love of work. The old ideas and concepts seem stale, a bit mouldy about the edges and inedible. And just as perversely, I find that the idea of really painting again on a large scale is slowly becoming more and more attractive. This would be of course suicide, quick and efficient and very painful. I just can not hope to support my family by investing large scale in fresh painting gear.....couldn't afford it anyway. It will be early spring before I can even hope for any returns on the book at all. So, I seem to be facing a very long, cold winter casting about for both renewed inspiration and a decent living.

Everything I try to cast an eye towards in the way of fresh feelings comes back a vague echo of whatever I was hoping to find. A kind of "been there done that" vibe that alternately pisses me off of makes me want to just go hide in a hole. Part of the trouble lies for better or worse is the one salient fact that for ninety-nine percent of the "public out there sees me as strictly a comic book artist, when in fact I was always an artist that did comics. I have no real other mojo.

This HAS to change. I MUST have more options. Damn it.

I guess I'll just have to get through this part. But I'm not happy with things.

And writing it down didn't help.