I way underpriced myself for this recent run of commissioned illustrations, but didn’t realize it til I saw how fast I burn through grocery money now that I’m trying to get swole. Shit’s changed since I last did freelance art fulltime in 2008.
Guh, can’t wait to finish this batch and price myself properly so I can afford protein powder and Bandcamp downloads once or twice a month.
In good news I took a break from everything last night, reclined on the couch and listened to psytrance and Wagner preludes while watching incense burn.
White privilege is posting a manifesto on Youtube and carrying out a mass shooting that causes more deaths than the Boston Marathon bombing and the media doesn’t label you a terrorist.
Do you crybabies even read the news before you decide to rage about privilege? Elliot Rodger was half-White/half-Asian, and complained in his videos about white women not sleeping with his stupid creepy ass, and boasted about planning to kill them.
Was about to bicycle to the gym, then this started falling from the sky.
Ice from the heavens! WHAT TERRIBLE WIZARD OF THE WINDS IS BEHIND THIS?
Forgot to mention that during the RVA NoiseFest when I went to the Kroger for some eats, I saw some guy walking down Broad St., wearing huge baggy JNCO jeans, middle-parted bleach-blonde long hair, and a bunch of celtic cross and/or ankh pendants.
I was too astonished to take a photo, and I wasn’t sure anyone would believe me, but a couple other guys at the noisefest said they saw him too.
The sightings ARE real. The missing link still walks among us.
If your Identity is so weak that you need it affirmed by pop culture, a swindling government, and corporate advertising - stirred to joy when it’s recognized, boiled to indignation when it’s ignored - you’re a slave. Meat-caste. Cattle. Consumer.
Still bummed that I missed out on moot at Ulfheim last weekend due to work on the other side of Virginia. Spent the evening with my sketchbook, Casio and based D’Annunzio.
Disney Adventures was a pretty cool little magazine that ran during the early 90s. Usually it was about videogames, comics and movies, but they always had some really cool educational historic stuff in there geared towards kid audiences. Remembered this illustration from their issue about Vikings, and was able to find it after some short Googling.
May Wolfmoot 2014. Photos by Susan C. and Rodney H.
Bummed I missed out again. Looks like it was an awesome time.
Good piece by the monsters at SIGURD on the necessity of bodily shame, and of emphasizing the mystical and artistic aspects of fitness. If this article shames you (it certainly shames me), embrace that hate within you, weaponize it, and fuel your training sessions with it.
"The modern gym needs its gods to return, it needs Hercules and Achilles to come back from the woods and start lifting among the mortals and strip everything back to basics. People want to be ashamed of themselves, it’s a god given right of the superior to make people feel bad, even if you’re the skinny runt in the room you can shame the hardened lifters by destroying yourself with every movement under the sun to try and make yourself better. Iron sharpens iron and the strong respect the strong. Athletes and wrestlers want to see people mastering themselves, just as the gods want their citizens in the gym destroying their flesh so it can be rebuilt.”
The failures of the modern gymnasium are many, the paramount one being the worship of “keeping fit” and “staying healthy” as opposed to “mastering the self” or “dominating” a chosen sport. The modern gym is a place the ancient creators of the concept would be very confused by. The leisure…
So I saw this little sampler keyboard stacked up in a recording studio [Sound Of Music on Broad st.] during the RVA Noisefest. After the fest I called up the studio, asked them if I could buy it. They were interested to sell, but no idea if the thing even worked, since it was apparently a donor item from way back and nobody’s been able to make it power up.
So I went over there and the really cool dudes working the studio let me use their workbench to open it up and poke around inside. After dislodging a corroded brown RadioShack battery from the early 90s, careful rust-removal and air-blasting, IT WORKED. They sold it to me pretty much for pocket change, and let me tell you this has made dropping a deuce so much more productive now that I’ve got this thing to keyboard around on when I’m taking my 30 minute morning visits to the chamber pot.
Between this and my Casio SK-1, I’m looking forward to making some dungeon synth/medieval drone noise. Hopefully I can keep this thing alive for years to come, since they’re not easy to come by.
Next part of my quest will be to get some replacement keys, or make my own. The pressure sensors underneath work fine, it’s just the 2 leftmost keys that are missing. If anybody reading this knows where to find replacement keys, or how to just make my own, I could definitely use the wisdom.
Chris Dorsey, known for his unattractive beard and wandering around town with a diseased fat little dog asking people to vote for him as Sheriff and posting Youtube videos about Masonic-UN chemtrails over Richmond, caused a ruckus in city hall tonight and was carried off screaming by the cops while threatening to sue the city for “quadrillions”. Topping it all off, local veganarchist collective hive-queen Mo Karnage took the podium and called the City Council President Charles Samuels “a dingo”.
Vaguely resembles a medieval village dispute. We just need some jugglers, squawking geese and public beheadings.
In 2008 while finishing one of my biggest and most ambitious comic book job, the most terrifying realization hit me - that I might spend my whole life working as someone who only imagined the beauty of adventure and peril, and never experienced it. Weightlifting and war were utterly necessary for me to pursue as an artist. For my inner style to have any meaning, it demanded action and toil in the physical world. It had to become a threat.
on the drive back from DC yesterday I saw some guy riding a rickety Mad Max’d-up motorized bicycle down Hwy 1 in Alexandria, wearing tight ripped up jeans, boots, a leather jacket, sunglasses and a German WW2 helmet. Not, like, a plastic motorcycle helmet, but an actual steel Fritz helmet. Due to traffic I couldn’t slow down and maneuver to get photos or shout my approval, and I lost sight of him through the cars and didn’t see him again.
Did I just encounter the ghost of GG Allin?