Public Amoralism.
The amoral muse himself and I celebrated his birthday with some local bushwick vandalism over tacos and the sunrise. Who needs Satchi & Satchi when you have wheat paste… I believe this will become a frequented tradition.
Far off away on a distant planet.
Greetings lovers, star gazers and forlorn beacons alike! Some silly burning in my stomach bids me to illuminate the night sky of mystery perhaps perplexing you mighty souls. Recently good Hartrum and I have been getting something caught in our eye collectively and we call it nostalgia. Way back in our youth during the famed ‘Din of Sin’ era the two of us got our wishy-wash heads together and created a super team. Some X like thing you know the like. Among the grade A, choice, embodiments of our teenage minds was our golden boy the Comet. We both always dug the look of the guy. So with today being new and wants of coming up with something new and off word, we are taking up our old boy and giving him a screaming debut under the Matadors cape. Ive spoken with Kris a little lately about all this and Im sure he is in his sugar shack hacking away at his keyboard constructing dreams from star dust, and then in the future there will be…there will be!
But yet I want to share a few things with you still! About these lovely scrawling I have done just this last night or so, sat coloring them downtown here in Asheville. I do dream some dreams unlike my dear-hearted collaborator. And in these sweet imaginings my Komet is a god among his race in deep space, his power cosmic and obtuse propels him across the sky in his cleverly shaped one man vessel, which fumes a pleasant inhalant, rendering those bellow his wake…rendering them softly mellow and blithe. And with a thought he tosses his mind out into the atoms in the air and anything that could be there will be there soon! *sigh* Good natured fiends, I know you are watching, and here is a bone! My blood brother will be marching with us too, look and see where I have made his name from nothing there in the smoke! Words are like filthy hunger, and I lust. Jos.Romeo
With a great aside, I want to admit with pleasure, these drawings were done in very good company. Well there are some exceptions. But it is for certain that one persons flame keeps me constantly on the verge of artistic stroke and boy tears. As well, I note that the first illustration here is locked into a collected book belonging to, and on loan from Byron and Maria. Thank you for letting me away with it. I hope it keeps well with you for years to come.
POP GRATITUDE
Original 1st Page of Bastards 1, circa 2007
The only way to give credit to anything exploding with creation and the bitter-sweetness (the sort we’ve all become accustomed in order keep our lonely natures floating) is to examine the relationships that have stimulated us along this yellow brick trail of broken hearts, and polished arrowheads. If English is inherently illogical, then it seems I’m ill equipped to properly explain the gratitude I have for all my fellow drunkards and lovers and how I owe to them every spoonful of stardust in the infinite for how they’ve brought me up and fashioned me out of sweet smelling woods and other earth grown products, but I’ll do my damnedest to give it a shot. Let us rejoice and be glad that we’re constantly touched by all the inconsistencies and “far-out” qualities of the masculine/ feminine kids who rock with us into the very light of day we fight with tooth and nail to avoid. I don’t mean this in any sort of folly-filled spiritual way, but in that “human-all too human” prettiness that causes us wake each morning with dual feelings of dread and exuberance.
Being overseas has left me split down the middle, something close to a recently divided papaya- smashed with a dirty machete…and all the pale meat splashes juice into the air and you feel fine for only a moment, but then your fingers and shin-bones are sticky and it all grows irksome. On one side of the fruit I have my love for strange adventure, far-off people unusual countries, the possibility of death by gypsy stabbings, etc…but then there’s my heart and the people who created my personality from shit and ash and the acrid smell of nowhere, southern USA (chicken fillets fried in peanut oil- delicious and deadly.)
Of course, I’ve never split a papaya myself, but I reckon the experience would resemble something like the scene I’ve just described. Where does one even get a machete outside of Southeast Asia? I’ve lost my way again. Raise your wings, goons and goonettes. Slice the air with all those pretty colors and fight like tequila drunk roosters in the dwindling, summer sun.
Madly in love with you all, K
Comic – The Stunning Spider-Girl and Robin
This was part of my first submission package when I was shopping my art around, trying to get a job working for some other comic creators. I think this short really showcases my story telling style. And my favorance for tween age drama and purloined romance. I hope you guys enjoy this homage to comics everywhere and time. J.Tenney
Matador Sequential proudly presents The Stunning Spider-Girl and Robin Part 1.
The Sea Light goes out a bit…
The Sea-Light Goes Out a Bit
Cooper hadn’t quite lifted the freshly lit cigarette to his mouth before it was knocked away by Edward’s swinging right arm, shooting up flamboyantly to better explain the inner workings of a proper karate punch- the burning cigarette butt spinning in the air like some kind of Chinese firecracker, and then onto the the carpet, lost in a stampede of ragged dance steps.
“You son of bitch,” Cooper said, his long black hair covering his eyes. “I just lit the thing.” Edward was too involved in the exhibition:
“You gotta put your hip into it, of course,” he said, “but then there’s the opposing arm coming back, like a lever or something.” He threw the punch, pushing himself off balance. “Clearly, I’ve had a few.” He was talking to a young blond couple sitting on the one, long orange couch in the living space of the apartment. They were both extremely blond-headed. They’d been listening to Ed go on about karate punches for some time, and either one of them was bound to change the subject. Edward was sweating on his forehead, taking sips from his tall glass of bourbon. Finally, he finished the drink.
“I’m gonna go freshen this up. You guys want anything?” He turned and walked to the kitchen. The blond couple shifted in their seats.
Kids stood around dressed in fish scales and aluminum foil turtle-shells under blue lighting. It gave the kitchen a nice, secret feeling. The blue was very prominent around the tall lamp in the corner, but faded, and into the hallway was just dark-the dim strings of decorative Christmas lights running along the low ceiling. Edward thought to stop and mix a drink, but decided to go to the bathroom.
He stood against the wall and thought about smoking a cigarette. He knew most of the people standing, but didn’t talk to anyone. A girl in a black hooded sweat shirt, made to look like the head of killer whale, went on about the absurdity of star signs. Charlie Clap walked by and threw a couple of fake jabs into Ed’s gut.
“Where the fuck have you been, man?” He asked “I’m outside with Brutus. He’s talking my ear off about the future.”
“Yeah? Brute’s concerned like the rest of us, I guess,” Ed said.
“You gotta come out there and have one.” Charlie put his hand on Ed’s shoulder and left him standing against the wall, waiting for the toilet.
Charlie Clapp walked out to the living room, past Cooper and the blonds, and out the door to Brute, looking up at the half-moon.
“Did you find Ed?”
“Yeah, he’s standing in line for a piss.”
“Why doesn’t he just piss out here?”
“I don’t know. You want to go inside?” Charlie asked.
“Hell, I don’t know.
“What’s your deal tonight, buddy? You’re acting mighty introspective,” Charlie asked.
“Just drunk, I guess.”
“That’s the idea,” Charlie tossed his beer bottle over the fence. The glass bounced against something, ringing quickly as it fell.
What the hell’s gonna happen after all this?” Brute said.
Charlie leaned over and picked up the last beer from the box. “I don’t know. What do you want to happen?” Charlie continued and told him that nothing would happen, really. Charlie said that they’d all get up and get old and take shits and have a couple of kids. Charlie wore an old-style fedora hat. His thick beard made you forget he was not a large man. He smoked rolled cigarettes.
“I don’t care, I guess,” Brutus said. “I just want to put my dick into something tonight.”
“Yeah.” Charlie turned and looked through the window, but Brutus was looking way up at the blue wooden fence, and past the dirty creek where the moon had set on a patch of dark pines on the ridge.
(Short story that takes place during Bastards of the Infinite #1 just before Brutus’s run-in with the Sick Girl. Originally released in Matador Sequential Presents Issue 2.) ——-THE MATADOR RIDES FOR FREEDOM ON THIS 4TH OF JULY. HAPPY INDEPENDENCE, FRIENDS!
Preview – Amoral Tales Art
A few more previews from the upcoming issue of Amoral Tales by the wonderful Sadie Rebecca Starnes. Set for a mid-July release. Click Sadie Rebecca Starnes’ gallery for more.
