BOOK.

Right then.

It's been a while hasn't it? Have we been slacking off? Have we just been rude and not bothered with you all out there in the kingdom of the Electric Angel?

Nope.

You see dear friends and fellow believers , you fabulous aesthetes and Chimerical Mauve's and Mauvettes......

The Fracture of the Universal Boy will be real, hopefully before Christmas. The announcement will be forth coming in San Diego. Along with private work for sale and a select number of fine art prints. Proceed with all due haste and wallets to The Century Guild booth.

I won't say anything more until after the show.

Right now I'm in a whirlwind of just amazing shit........and there is no rest for wee Zed for a while.

But, it's so very good.

Be kind......

M.Z.

GLORIOUS RUBBLE

...The last few weeks went by in a trainwreck, firefight, slowmo, high anxiety, draw as if my life depended on it kind off way. My migration route was disrupted by what, I have no idea.

That's the way it goes every now and again. Nobody to bitch to out here but me, so I squirm like a worm on a hook inches from the mouth of a big fish. And what do I do? Give him a choice finger.

If inspiration won't get you there, often times naked bravado is worth a shot.

Right then, listening to early Ahex Twin, old Bill Nelson, "chance encounters in the garden of lights", some Saafi Bros., John Cale, Krush Kale, and the new Punditz disc.

Enjoying Lucien Levy-Dhurmer's pastels, Gail Poroki's "Opened Apples" stuff ,and the strange melancholy semi-landscapes of John Atkinson Grimshaw's paintings. Not a bunch of film that jumps out at me right this moment.

I should be getting a cover rough to "Fracture" soon.....can't wait.

Guests from Italy at the end of the month.

Up on the drawing board,..." Heliosphan", "Nemesis" and "The Persian Envoy".

Poppies blooming in a few days.

Life simply is...........

M.Z.

THE ALCHEMICAL ROMANCE OF ZED.

A flute made of reed.

NEFES or breath that animates.

NAR the fire that transforms the breath.

SU breath and fire becomes water the balm and solvent

Gold to lead to Gold.

For the last two years, a pair of Baltimore Orioles has nested over my drive way. The Spring season has advanced far enough for then to return.

The feeder I've placed near to the nesting sight was visited this morning once again by the male bird, who was being seriously harassed by a much larger and aggressive bird.

The most remarkable thing happened. The male Oriole never ruffled a feather, rather he took a submissive posture and began to sing. He sang as if the bells of angels lived in his throat.

They have naturally a amazing song but this was so loud, so clear and unrelenting that the bigger bird actually backed away and flew off.

The beautiful bugger sang him down.

Air to fire to water. Intent, transformation, peace.

Alchemy.

I'm just a window washer. It's my job to keep the dust and grime off the glass so others that look can see what they see.

I sing the dirt off your eyes.

With love,

M.Z.

NO NET NO POLE NO WIRE

Bugger. I'm really bad at this blog thing. I get so distracted by work that I honestly forget I don't say anything for weeks.
I suppose if you care to read this from time to time, you'll just have to put up with my being rude and not keeping up my side of the bargain. But I do feel bad-ish about it.
Right then.

The window for commissions is absolutely, and completely closed for possibly a very long time.
The things I have to do are simply to important and to compelling to take time out for whatever else the world wants. Again I feel a bit bad about it, but facts are facts.

I'm on a streak of work that daily leaves me exhausted and emotionally fragile. I'm so deep that I have no idea if anything actually means anything, I'm just riding a tsunami of images that leave me nothing but eyes and hands. My head is iridescent mother of pearl gibberish.

Oh, just a distant and feeble wave to Gail Potoki who is brilliant and a half. Go see the "opened Apples" show this summer anywhere it comes.
Brutal and fey magic.

For now, 'till later,

M.Z.

HAIL ATLANTIS!

...I just wanted to say that.

Geez where to start.

Ok.....Steve Bissette has been blogging history lately and it's been truly fabulous. I get to revisit old traumas and disappointments with the soothing balm of decades of time under the bridge. There is no better way to do it really. The 'ol Zulli curse is woik'in overtime though as the stuff Steve and I found terribly exciting and full of potential garners little if any notice. Even really rare "Alan" material has made nary a peep, squeak or hiss. I get this urge to change my name to "Stephen King" now and again.

I'm working in a mad fever on a new group of dry media pictures that for some reason I'm calling "Animalia". The only thing is there are precious few animals to be seen. Such is the mind of an old Sufi-Gnostic symbolist, romantic. Effin sucks some days.

We endured over a week of massive pre-spring floods, ( no harm as usual except a grands worth of repair to the gardens and driveway.) followed by a foot of snow in a complete white-out.

Now it's getting on to "mud season."

I busted my work glasses by mistake and have resorted to over the counter magnifiers that have left me with a constant headache.

You ever get that solution to dilate your eyes when you go to get glasses? Damn stuff leaves me seeing auras and bouncing off of walls for hours. A small price one guess to stop the pounding in my head and remove the ground glass from behind ones eyes.

Finally getting around to reading some Gene Wolfe.

Did a new cover for "Boy". Love it man.

Umm, well, that's about it, except for the total lack of response to my opening commissions again. Ah, well, some days the monkey on my back quotes Shakespeare.

be peaceful y'all.

M.Z.

SAY THANKYA.

Tax time.

Not generally a festive time for the self employed artist. I never seem to get caught up.

So, "I owe, I owe, it's off to work I go."

That means it's commission time here at the fabulous Zed estate. I'm burying my dignity and cutting my prices for a week or two. Anything your heart desires. Just write me. Honest mister, I need the dough ya know say thankee.

I'll pick up the first few that I can reasonably expect to finish before the deadline.

I'll work my butt off, sweat bullets, hoe my row, give it my best shot, get in there swinging.

Give us a ring eh?

Seriously.



Very seriously.



Operators are standing by.



Oh, a few things of interest in the days to come.



M.Z.

WELL, THAT WAS FUN SORTA.

I'm back, more or less.I spent three or four days,( I'm not all that sure, it went by in a surreal blur.) feeling like a candle when it burns down so far the wee bit of wick gutters and is snuffed out in a puddle of soft wax.I'm just really starting to get back at it, albeit rather slowly.

I usually know when it's time when the nudge to do something starts nagging at me, first in little pops and flashes then bigger cravings. I've faced facts long ago, I'm an addict. The creative process is part and parcel with everything I do.I'll be doing three maybe four private pieces in the next few weeks to both clear my head and re-adjust to holding pen and pencil. Believe it or not, but after the first day off I couldn't even fathom holding so much as a crayon.

Then I suppose I'll finish up the details of the book, paginate, wonk around a few odd panels to spiff 'em up and what not. But the real pressure is finally off, and for that, I'm insanely grateful.

Oh, just as a side bar sort of thing, I'm finishing the Dark Tower books. I had a strange brain fart back in the late nineties and for some unknown reason I just could not read fiction to save my life.I stuck to non fiction for nearly nine years before I found I could read for pleasure again.

Odd, but true. Needless to say, I'm having a ball.

Other than that, winter seems to be sticking really hard this year. I know it's not earth shaking news but damn, I'd love to see the poppies setting out pods........So, back to it and settled down. Not bad. Sorry there is no alarming news or angst-y things, but I'm rather pleased that life seems to be turning a page, however slowly.

Till later,

M.Z.