16 August 2008


When I was posting art to a site called Comics friends, or comics buddies, I cant recall, I was astounded by the list of Friends I had accumulated in only a few days. This included Gail Simone, Jamie Iglle, Drew Gershi, Occasional Ubergirls, Danielle Corsetto, someone named Quintin Tarantino, though, I doubted that one. I was befriended by French-belgian women who drew mater natura in watercolors, and by inkers for marvel who , like me, fondly recalled a man named Nova and thought it was marvels finest hour. I was befriended by guys in t shirts, yes, cute broads, older women, and lulu broads. Despite, or perhaps because of, my having called Sin City a nightmare of black ink and Dwayne reed band aids, I had people who emailed me with almost steam letting off emails who agreed with me about much of what I had said.

I was befriended by a comics loving buxom porno goddess, and amazingly to me, Didio from DC , no less, and too, the woman from Dr. Sketchy , Various Asian wunderkins named Lee, and a lot of Lucas film plebes who worked in that particular slaves ship, all with names like Darren, Troy, ect. I was befriended by a comic book writer whose picture was that of a forty year old man in a red engineerings star trek shirt, complete with sixties era Phaser gun at the ready. I said, that's the guy I want to go party with...I wanna party on the town with that bad ass, who has not just a jew blue, Lenny Nimoy shirt, oh no, baby dolls, dudder has a red, Cracked Magazine cover, Scotty, first nigger to die on Saturn shirt, cause he knows the score, and hes ready to do his bidness. This guy , and I want being completely snide, was old school, and had a shirt which only the green sarong which Shatner wore in the last season was more hard ass in its Trekkie joyfulness. I was added by Mike Grell, whose legion comics I once loved as much as Shazam, and for similar reasons. And, last but not least, I was befriended by Stan Lee, which like Quintin Tarentino, I doubted. But, I found I liked these people, more than I thought I would the blogger queens and their constant sneering, fan boy bullshit.

The only ones who refused my comic friendship were something called slg. Though, I thought their kelly girl who runs it was cute as a button, Jesus, enough with the Shakespeare Mishpucka, already. But, still, I found that I was quite both fond and proud of my comix work, which, to be honest, I always thought of as gutter shit, hoping to eventually make them into novels or screenplays. But suddenly, I was fond of my comic work, mostly Mister Stupendous, which I had brought back from his supendium limbo just then.

Within MS, as a ten year old, no less, I was doing things which the Warrens and the Alans and the Byrnsies of the world would take credit and build newsprint laurels for themselves, which they would attach themselves to, with almost crazy glue. At ten, I conceived of the epic Roman strong man again as comic hero, done as reclamation of Saturday morning serials, half a year before Lucas made such fun actual religion. A decade before the reboot of Superman, I had CC Eaton as a plutocrat enemy, more along the lines of a Doctor Moriarty, not poor Saleri, who was demeaned as a musical Salvetti, before the cool kids all flocked to more serious Bach anyways. I brought Jews , Italians, homos, Blacks and Greeks into my comics, where they were absent in professional land, and in a form they all helped create. I placed things like Harvey Milk and Moscone's assassinations as backdrop, and the killing of a decent parish priest pope was quickly replaced by a Nazi pope who seethed with rage at roman heroics, as Nazis always have, as they try to replicate it... and cant. And now, how did I know...?, a German pope, the ancientness image to me of a decline and fall, is true, and I only hope he ends the same way the predecessor Pope Boniface the XII--did in my comic arc, where Mister Stupendous, defender of the republic against all things Gothic, beats him to death with a Bernini statue of Saint Claire, the patron saint of Television.

I was always mindful of the ethics of Italic fairy tales as a template for the comics, as I instinctively knew unlike the later house spics who would get bags of accolades for stealing from Dante's Inferno, --or at least the lithographs therein--adulthood isn't seen in the diminution of everything and everyone as it is with the phoney baloneys of chick lit, and that the more evil you make the surrounding's, more noble the Roman lawyer as a guide has got to inherently be.

I note that Steve Erkel and Old Man Battleship Mac Kane don't tackle any unraveling, unwinding, eighty word questions from any Jesuits or Franciscan monks on cnn, do they...?As a priest told me once, and I have used as a compass for almost everything, "Tony--", I was told by a fat old Italian, Ariosto adoring, Priest who liked me very much and loved my father and my mother as exemplars of the italic decency which Martin Scorsese tries to hide , if not arson away so people buy into his bloody puppetry shows. And it was this priest, when a German nun tried to expel me for no bigger thing than the fact my father wast rich enough, like the mafia princesses pops, to pay suddenly demanded tuition to keep the blacks and jews even out, said she would leave before I would. He wanted me to be Jesuit in everything I did, as a defender against Luther's demons minions of Gothic slop, "--Just because something is beautiful and bright and shining and romantic and heroic, doesn't mean its a lie, and ergo, just because something is awful and venial and ugly and dower and cold and vicious doesn't make it truth. "

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