GOING DEAf FOR A LIVING ...THE LAST BIT.

*Sigh*

Both heartfelt and from the depths.

I suppose in the classic sense, ( you know, the true romantics, Byron Shelly, etc.) of the first and openly declared Romantics, I should instead be railing at fate and the hostile universe from some mountain top under a thunderous sky streaked with lightning, but instead I sit here, almost numb with stifled passion and dreams gone dim of art not made, ideas left to whimper in the dust under the cruel table, bare of feasts and past music by players departed.

Ah, so baroque and poetic, so self referential and reeking of self pity, eh? But, who ever said poetic turn of phrases were not true? Certainly not me. I AM convoluted and romantic by nature.

Have any of you ever listened to Bill Nelson's "The October Man"? Look it up, it's undoubtedly on you tube somewhere.

It's as true a musical portrait as one can find, so much so I feel stupid even mentioning it...like being caught with my knickers down in public. That sort of thing can't exist in this chrome and electron, instantaneous

gratification age.

But it's me....a walking shambling thing from some place unknown to quantum physics.

I have a terrible confession to make. AH HA!...don't you love it you Ophrah-esqe kids? At last the wizard comes out from behind his curtain! Well, sorry kids, in fact behind the curtain IS a wizard, what steps out

is, or was one, he's just been in a sense, bound and gagged.

You see dear reader, I can't draw. I can't paint, I can't do anything, and haven't for months and months now.

Art needs to be free, free to go where it will and do what it needs to do. Anything else is just product. Like a hamburger, or a slice of pizza.

Here's why. Listen closely children.

I am going to assume that by your being here that you know what it is I have done and what I am known for. Fair enough? Right then.

"Fracture of the Universal Boy" is simply put, more ME than anything you have ever seen before. It is in all truth ME without boundaries and without censorship of any kind. It is the last twenty years of me in the comics business. A summation, a kind of grand finale, and a farewell to the past...I had hoped ahead lay and open road to progress and new ideas, still "me" but me moving ahead with what I do, the next level of artistic evaluation.

I can't back up. That gate is closed to me. And, until the book is free, I can not go forward.

Oh, I am sure there are those of you right now just shaking your heads in disgust at this wimpy display of self pity. Only it's NOT.

I am what I do. Are you? Really? Ask any real artist, and they will tell you that this kind of "block" or fear is deadly to the mind, heart and soul and causes very real deep suffering.

I was given a package by Madam Auf Der Maur at Sdcc, that contained the video of "Out Of Our Minds"

It was one of the the single most disturbing, beautiful and fierce artistic statements I have seen in years.

I still can't quite digest it's implications. THAT"S art my friends. That is just what art does. I have dreams of what I am capable of, and the single fact that I sit here impotent and dreaming still while every day the world turns and these things remain locked up inside slowly but surely eats bits of my soul away, hurts beyond words.

The book must come out, and I must eventually be free to once again explore new vistas.

Thank you Barron, thank you Madam.....I need you in this world. It gives me hope.

Peace to all,

M.Z.