So I finally did it, I made my own site, complete with a monthly bill I'll get depressed and wonder why I'm paying periodically.
for new comics, please head over to http://www.thebellthebell.com/
If you're wondering why that bike seat looks weird, it's because my bike seat looks weird. If you're wondering why the other guy, the sidewalk, my zipper, and the urinal looks weird, it's because I devote a lot of my time to drawing, SOMETHING I'M NOT EXACTLY RAD AT.
So there was this hole.
People said that it was older than sin, but no one really knew. It swallowed every word you spoke into it. Even if someone crouched down next to you, so close that your stubble brushed their ear, still they’d hear nothing.
People whispered their secrets into the hole. Maybe it was the shape or maybe it was inside each person, but still you always felt that at least you’d told someone.
There was a photo of Henry Ford speaking into the hole. They say his fingers were white as they clutched its edges. He spoke for hours and was seen to cry.
So that was just great, and everybody liked it. People came from all over, it was in the guidebooks, with a little icon that meant ‘attraction,’ and a single dollar sign, which meant it was very cheap to do.
A spring, down the hill, burbled up everything that anybody into the hole. No one minded, because its secrets were those of the last century, things spoken into the hole by people’s grandfathers. With their out-of-date fears and ridiculous synonyms for fucking their stories were more amusing than sad. Also, it was in real time, so it wasn’t like you could look and find what Babyface Nelson had said to the hole.
It was just what somebody’s aunt had said one afternoon, one hundred years ago.
Why would anyone worry so much about such a thing?
I bought my 3-year-old brother a copy of The Complete Nemo, vol. III (why volume III? because it was the one that didn't cost $80). I'd only ever looked at the art, and hadn't realized how scattershot the dialogue was. But I was amazed that the art, and the bare sketch of story, kept my siblings, age 6 and 3, totally fascinated. They asked me to read the whole book. I drew this.
But I.G. really hits the nail on the head here. Basically he says that we start making art because we love good art, but this is odd because we begin by producing garbage. It takes time. And I want to thank those of you who read this blog for joining me as I take this time, as I try to push my way, little by little, until I'm producing something that someone who loves comics as much as I do might actually enjoy.
Busting that cycle is something Ze Frank talked about, basically under the idea that we get all upset about how we're not doing what we normally do, but if we want our brains to wake up we gotta bust that cycle. This tells the true story of one such attempt.
The answer to this question is almost certainly no. Though it is scary that it's even close. There are a large number of unknowns, but fewer than you'd think as it really doesn't matter how long we existed in numbers less than a few thousand.
Whole wheat bread, the highest fiber content they sell in the store. Apply mayonnaise to both slices (not too much) add pickle relish to one side. Put on two slices of cheddar, add very think sliced red onion. Lightly butter pan, grill both sides. Serve with a glass of milk and a bowl of tomato bisque soup, a kind of soup not always sold.
Cube shaped head
Old TV that's not got a cathode ray tube, just a curved piece of glass from somewhere else, and inside there's this head that obviously thinks its expression is friendly.
Did you know that Sara and I met and quite liked each other in High School? We completely lost touch, and I had forgotten all about her, when eight years later we were going to the same university, and she saw me on a cc: list for a trip to a yarn seller's that neither of us intended to go to. She emailed me, and while she was in a relationship I'd just gotten out of one a few months before.
The rest is history, and I will tell you that if it's going to be than a lot of it should be easy. The trick is seeing that something's so good it's worth working when it's hard. The first thing, though, is that it should be easy.
Because if you can't order a g** d***ed pizza then what will you do when you're getting into a cab right after arriving in Shanghai, and your electronic translator falls out of your pocket and breaks, and you can't seem to remember the words for 'map?'
the viking and the samurai were friends. The next day, as they stood on the river bank, the Samurai felt that the secret were going to split his etheral body in two.
What about him? did you finally decide it's a waste of time trying to face him.
no. you knowhow, you know how we can't feel anything?
we can feel things
we know the shape of things by putting our hands against them. We can looka t ssomething when we touch and decide if it. But we can't really feel. We're numb.
Oh that. Of course I know that. You know how it is after a war, all the new guys it's all they talk about. How even if they got out of here they coud neverfeel their beautiful wife's skin blah blah blah. So what?
what if I told you that there was a way to feel again.
The thing is, that rebirth thing, the Jemadar's all did it, but they had to leave their memories here. It's not like they're going to come back as baby's and crawl out to find their wife and... and anyway my wife is certainly long dead. There must have been a hundred wars since-
The conversation had gone from where the samurai wanted it to. Somehow they were back in a rut they'd rolled in a thousand times before.
No. I mean, what if I said there was a way to be as we are now. to think as we are now, but get our sensation back?
Even if there was...
And here the viking did what he did. For whatever reason, he was one who would always accept his lot. Theoreticals were tiresome to him, and he liked to engage in long winded explanations as to why his past choices were the right ones, and how even his dim half-life was the best anyone could choose. Even if half his brethren rode now in Elysium, still he could explain that, given the circumstances, any normal man would be in hell now, and this cave was only the reward for his great sagacity.
There is a way. I know a way.
What is it? asked the Viking, all his cool and pomp departed.
more than that. you can feel everything. everything you could want to feel. Heat,, cold, the textre of things. And more, you can feel your memories, too, everything you touched.
The boy has been here for ages. said the viking. why now?
It's not his touch. It takes more. It's his blood.