and she was like,

comics and comics still.

2008-07-24T20:21:55Z

you can now preview my entire story for popgun volume 2 along with five other tales at the anthology's official site!

and if you're a tori amos fan, comic book tattoo is now out! i did the art for a story by rantz hoseley based on 'the waitress.' you can read about his writing process and see some of my in-progress artwork over at comic blog tattoo.

there's also an interview with me in support of CBT in the latest issue of little blue world. to sweeten the deal, perez hilton is featured as well.

and finally, my good friend brandon bird, pop culture curator and fine art enthusiast (plus a very fine artist in his own right), has a rad new blog! there you can see such astounding sights as my first and so far only piece of smallville fanart, sketched in the presidents' gallery of the national museum. i thought lex luthor would be especially pleased by that.

remember to review hellboy, brandon!

you've come a long way, batbaby.

2008-07-17T17:21:19Z

"holy list, batman!," an illustration for a list of batman's defining moments in the las vegas weekly.

popgun superman.

2008-07-07T17:56:23Z

the internet has told me that my redesign won project: rooftop's superman: man of style contest. gigantic thanks to everyone who took time out of their lives to organize the event and judge the entries, and big time congratulations to all the talented artists who entered! there are always so many innovative takes on classic characters over at P:R. it's like the fountain of youth for golden and silver age ideas!

oh, and thanks to the guys at pulp secret for announcing the contest's results on their show, even if they assumed i was dude!

i'd also like to mention that popgun volume 2 is being released on the 16th. first, i am going to be lazy and not a little obnoxious by quoting myself as an introduction to the endeavor and my teensy part in it;

I handled full art duties on writer Tim Daniel's piece for PopGun Volume 2, a kind of freewheeling "mix-tape" anthology on the theme of not having a common theme. Our piece is therefore rather aptly entitled "Loner," and it's basically a spooky tone poem touching on love, estrangement, isolation and the endurance of a human spirit caught between classes at an average American middle school.

second, i am going to mention what a privilege it was collaborating with mr. daniel. not only did he come up with some great, inspirational material, he also provided me with a near constant stream of support and enthusiasm for my sometimes tortured efforts. HE IS A CHAMP.

you can read the beautiful script he gave me to work from over at the site he built for our story, or check out some preview pages along with art from a bunch of the other classy comics featured in this upcoming collection at its official site;

crazy + asians.

2008-06-30T15:30:20Z

i'm working on a couple of little comics simultaneously and they have me pretty well tied up in a rigid procession of panel configurations, so here's a brief and fancy free detour in the form of some silly standalone pieces.

3 small mixed media works utilizing watercolor, india ink and gold acrylic. they'll be on sale and display at the world of wonder storefront gallery (WOW) in hollywood as part of the CRAZIANS show opening july 11th. check it out if you're in the area, and let me know how it is! :D

"music gives you unlonely feeling."

"i shall not sleep for nighttime duration."

"oh! we heal hurt patience."

mistah harree pottah!

2008-06-18T18:07:41Z

character: harry potter.
rating/warnings: flight of fancy!
media: pen, ink, & ps7
artist's note: sketched on the bus from NYC to DC and while on the phone with a friend, colored for warm-up this morning.

newsarama-ed!

2008-06-03T00:05:31Z

yay, check out my brief interview conducted by chris arrant!

edit, june 7th; new permanent link location.

spacefamily portrait.

2008-06-02T12:42:07Z

characters: superman, supergirl and superboy.
rating/warnings: attack of the retro spacemen science-nobility!
media: pen, ink, & ps7
artist's note: the superfamily redesigned for project: rooftop's superman: man of style contest.

extras

clockwise from upper left; kal-el, jor-el and lara, kon-el, kara zor-el.

rough draft, drawn directly into photoshop.

i'll be traveling around until about the 15th, but i shall endeavor to check my e-mail when possible! <3

mean old batdad.

2008-05-28T05:57:46Z

1:33 AM _ming: gmail just provided me with this link, which is kind of beautiful in its own wild, untamed way.

1:34 AM Brandon: Crocs are horrible.

1:35 AM _ming: those aren't crocs. those are batcrocs.

1:37 AM Brandon: You are not buying those for our child.

1:39 AM _ming: you're a horrible parent.

1:40 AM Brandon: Excuse me, but the whole point of us adopting an orphan as our ward was to train an art/crimefighting successor.

Crocs will severely neutralize his threat level.

And we already got him those pixie boots.

the trouble you're in.

2008-05-22T16:01:51Z

a new illustration for an essay in the LVW arguing "why releasing low-level, nonviolent inmates is safer than keeping them incarcerated," by damon hodge.

and on that lighthearted note, i'm off to see indie! :D

if you want to be happy for the rest of your life.

2008-05-16T15:32:13Z

watched mermaids for the first time last night with leapingcustard, who cunningly described the scenery as "masstastic." it was all thoroughly charming, and mrs. flax was the dishiest in her early 60's finery.

speaking of on-topic amazing wardrobe choices, the diva's in the details for cher in this week's las vegas weekly! i love how they handled the page layout.

living dead boy.

2008-05-14T19:20:44Z

character: jason todd.
rating/warnings: strategically shadowed zombie parts.
media: pen, ink, & ps7
artist's note: when jason was born for the second time, take two.

this remix is for oxboxer because she pointed out the perfect jason song and now the damn thing won't leave me alone. thanks girl. <3

Cowboy
The Rumble Strips

I gave up my love
And I gave up cigarettes
Now I've got my health
But I've got regrets
Walking all around, breathing easily
There ain't one single thing left in this town that's pleasing me

Staring in the water
I wonder where you are now
Remember when I held you
Down by this canal
You looked into my eyes, I understood you well
You opened up my mind and you filled it up with hell

Oh! And your eyes, they're not like the ones I knew
Lord knows I tried, but they don't cry like others do
But I thought I knew a thing or two
But that book that I flicked through
It seems like it was writ' by you
Oh shit!

I've been drinking on my own again, drinking to my health
I've been thinking on my own again, thinking for myself
And I walked 'round to your house, and I rang your front doorbell
Well I had my fit of breathing, honey
Take me back to hell

i've also updated the 'about' section of my site with 8 new 200x40 banners for linking, if you're so inclined!

♥magical albino warlords♥

2008-05-12T12:51:28Z

here are four illustrations for michael moorcock's newest elric of melniboné novella, black petals, originally published in the 85th anniversary issue of weird tales magazine (#349, march/april).

i. elric of melniboné
(color version)
____________________________

ii. princess nahuaduar and elric meet
____________________________

iii. discovery of the black flower
____________________________

iv. kalakak answers elric's summoning
____________________________

so long, buffalo jim.

2008-05-09T15:02:46Z

if you're lucky enough to be a las vegan or just happen to be passing through this week, be sure to check out my portrait of the lately departed and much lamented buffalo jim barrier on the cover of the las vegas weekly.

trust that i'm still hoping, darling.

2008-05-07T17:39:14Z

character: the wonder and super women of DC.
rating/warnings: hot like hephaestus's forge and krypton's young sun.
media: pen, ink, & ps7
artist's note: this is a reworking of an earlier series of drawings.

click for detail shots!

i also recently went back and tagged every entry in my journal, so if you only want to look at pictures of the original boy wonder, his surly mentor or bad eggs, now you can!

and now,
♪♪♪ call!
if you have any comics-inspired playlists or songs of the moment, share the love around! just random good old-fashioned music recommendations are accepted as well. i'll start. here's a song for mr. bruce wayne.

The Night Descending
Iron & Wine

Black hair, the night descending
Baby never puts her trust in
Tight black tie too quick to laughter
Ain't no telling what he's after

Found a friend without religion
Riding on a stolen engine
Far too fast to pacify you
Ain't no telling what he's up to

In time, the night may soften
Trust that I'm still hoping, darling
Wooden coin, he called my daughter
No good knowing what came after

Met a man with missing fingers
Shaking hands with shaded strangers
Far too strong to pacify you
Ain't no telling what they're up to

Late night, the cock crows shortly
Morning through the open doorway
All us servants beg the master
Ain't no knowing what he's after

In a year of fallen angels
Broken hands and boys in danger
Pray the lord might pacify you
Ain't no telling what he's up to

all conned out.

2008-04-25T19:04:49Z

man. the last few weeks have been pretty stressful and busy for me, but one really bright spot was visiting my pal alexa and playing some of the most intense dress-up of my life with her at nerd prom '08. she also took most of these photos since my memory card crapped out at the last second. thanks, lex! me hate you the worst. ♥

on friday we were death & delirium from the sandman.

death and delirium of the endless take new jersey transit!

let's not even get into how badly my nose itched all day.

look at them fishes! lex did her own deliriously good makeup.

death in the city.

on saturday we were the world's worstest, bizzara & batzarra!

'zarras conquer myspace, news at zero o'clock!
the bizarro versions of supergirl and batgirl.

she's like supergirl, only a little more bizaaarrrrrrre.

batzarra am not having trouble with batzarra gauntlets!

and of course there were many other strange and wonderful sights to behold.

♥ ♥ ♥ oh, aquaman! ♥ ♥ ♥
he's my aquaboyfriend.

disturbingly grainy devil-eyed covert capture of discowing.

really big thanks to shawn knapp and his buddy jeff (curtailed
purple shirt) at DC direct for hanging out with us over the
weekend, letting us help ~~paw~~pack up the watchmen and TDK
prototypes and showing me around the DC offices monday.
totally superheroic, and they're hilarious company. though i
think shawn may've been a little worried by my darts "skills."

alexa, little queen of darts.

sunday we dressed like normal people and had a perfectly lovely time.

...and that's a con!

edit: ah, and how could i forget! on saturday we got to meet sean murphy and dustin nguyen and lurk around them in the artists' alley for a bit. they both took the time to look at my portfolio and say generally encouraging things despite the bevy of fanpeople fighting for their attention and merchandise. two deeply talented guys, and about as nice as they get!

un somnambulist, he was awake see for 85 weeks with no sleep.

2008-04-16T12:26:14Z

today on the gritty menu we have an illustration for an article in the las vegas weekly on local racial tensions, and for pretty we are offering a sharpie and acrylic sketch of the fabulous zatanna on a piece of cardboard backing.

perhaps not the most harmonious pairing, but so it goes.

i'm hopping on a train bound for new jersey/new york environs in an hour or two. on the one hand, i am tired and traveling tired is always a bummer. on the other hand, comics. :D

in my mind it was never too late, i was bleeding powers.

2008-04-07T17:20:00Z

updates will probably be even more scattered than usual until nerd prom is over, so here are a couple of drawings to remind my lj who's boss in the interim. i don't want it getting any smart ideas while i'm away!

character: iron man.
rating/warnings: NEWNEW IRON MAN™ SO INVINCIBLE!
media: pen, ink, & ps7
artist's note: my entry for the project: rooftop 'iron man: invincible upgrade' contest.

stark enterprises advertising property/company mascot
iron man is a real hero who lives and works predominantly in the US,
but the "character" of iron man does embarrassing commercials for any
product you could think to slap an iron man logo on in asia.

that tony. always trying to make a few billion bucks.

and here's a special fun exciting bonus, the new top image from my oh so very updated website.
fighting for your rights in her faded grey jeans, it's wonder ming!

the friendly skies | a mild disguise

2008-03-24T17:31:46Z

character: cliff secord (the rocketeer, most recently of dark horse comics).
rating/warnings: one dangerously asymmetrical zipper.
media: pen, ink, & ps7
artist's note: a very slight redesign for project: rooftop in honor of dave stevens.

i'm going to make my mark
maybe in show biz
maybe on solid ground
i do not know
cast off
save all my money just for
blast off

frank black, "blast off."

characters: lois lane & clark kent.
rating/warnings: a smidgeon of lunky, a dash of beefhead.
media: pen, ink, & ps7
artist's note: basically just an excuse to go crazy on patterns.

tell me, how long will i have to wait?
can i get you now, or must i hesitate?
put on my hesitation stockings and my hesitation shoes
long as i got them hesitation blues

lead belly, "hesitation blues."

villains may commit their crimes / but i won't do you harm.

2008-03-10T21:07:59Z

who would you rather be entangled in some variety of hypothetical romantic interest with, harvey dent before his two-face transition, or "bruce wayne" at any point after his world wanderings with the catch that you'd never know about the other side of the proverbial coin?

i'm honestly stuck on which option would be the more perfect setup for a psychological horror movie.

speaking of setups, this one is coming weeks in advance but i'll be attending the new york comic-con next month. i'm going with my pal lex in costume (UH HUH THASSRIGHT), so we should be easy to spot if you want to say hi! just look for the lanky blonde and sturdy half asian in various states of ridiculousness. more on that later.

you may remember my adventures at last year's nycc. i have the option of using the professionals' entrance this time around, but i'll probably wait in the regular line with lex in case any more potential hilarity gold decides to spice up my life. maybe i'll run into my little chum again. fingers crossed, guys!

edit: GOTHAM KNIGHT! the theme music is so swoopy and dire. i adore it so.

and to stay, and to stay.

2008-03-04T16:24:43Z

character: aquaman.
rating/warnings: shameless goofball joy. mostly.
media: pen, ink, & ps7
artist's note: this version of aquaman is sporting hero panties and boots!

down into the endless blue wine
i'll open my head and let out
all of my time.

tom waits, "the ocean doesn't want me."

let the seasons begin, take the big king down.

2008-02-03T01:42:22Z

character: big barda.
rating/warnings: mega-rod aside, nothing major.
media: pen, ink, & ps7
artist's note: another redesign for the fashion-forward eyes over at project: rooftop. see what they saw in it over here.

(back to your regularly scheduled art soon)

2008-01-30T20:44:57Z

hey, know what's hilarious? stuff i wrote when i was eighteen! here are two short pieces of literary fanfiction for an english class back during my senior year of high school. the assignment was to choose a minor character from each book we read that semester and then produce a piece of creative writing fleshing out some part of that character's backstory.

if these stories seem nonsensical, it's probably because they make no sense. i invented everything aside from one or two lines of dialogue, the characters' names, and their "canonical" actions of being blown up and sitting in a car, respectively. if i just dropped a spoiler on you by mentioning those "being blown up" and "sitting in a car" bits, thus destroying any future enjoyment of woolf or faulkner, i'm sorry! kinda!

TITLE: Mourning Dress
FANDOM: Mrs. Dalloway, by Virginia Woolf.
NOTES: Written (and originally posted) May 28th, 2003.

Evans was an English soldier during WWI who had the fatal misfortune of stepping on a land mine while his friend Septimus looked on, leaving poor Septimus quite deranged with grief. This is the life that flashed before his eyes.

* * *
She comes down the staircase in his mind again, petticoat and heels swish-clicking a tentative rhythm against the banister and walls. His memories are darkened steps and she always descends them, face obscured by the intricate twirls of rotted railings and the ominous distraction of low ceilings. Two long arms, her frail form, and a rustle of hesitant skirts coming to rest at the very corners of his childhood.

Not his mother, no, not even a real person anymore, she is just a disembodied action; descending. He can’t recall now if her hair was brown, black, or simply dead, an afterthought to her uneasy imitation of grace as she called to him from hidden heights.

“Aren’t you coming down to—” Get down, Evans! Get down!

It was the only staircase they could rightfully call their own, he remembers, as several other families had boarded in that house as well. It went up to their room, their one room. Nothing to be bitter about, and he’s not ashamed of a working class background, of too many brothers and sisters in too few hand-me-downs and rags. She sewed the most of them, bleached bone fingers pulling threads and buttons to the quick, making them last. She had had a box for all those buttons, hadn’t she? A Chinese lacquered box with flocks of painted nightingales and foreign blooms pressed firm beneath the surface, a once careful wash of fine color faded after years and years of use?

Yes, a lacquered box, and she had opened it while he sat on the tabletop, her lap heavy with ribbons and clips of cloth out of better ladies’ sewing kits. Remnants of her own childhood, perhaps. She had said, “This is how you must hold the scissors if you are to—” You’re too close, Evans! You are too—

Or had it been ivory? Now that he thinks on it, he can’t be sure if it was ivory or lacquer, if the lacquered one wasn’t merely some trinket he’d seen in Septimus’s good house. Septimus came from a family with a name, a good name, and a good house to match it. Not too extravagant for he wasn’t rich, after all, wasn’t society. But Septimus’s house was a bit out of the city, out of the hubbub and disarray, while still close enough for convenience. Empty rooms and sheeted furniture, gold-plated chandeliers with all the candles taken down. A good house.

Septimus sold it when his parents passed away. He joined up with the army, and that’s when they met. That’s when Septimus showed him the house, took him up the smooth and lovely stairs to a bed, a white bed, dustsheets rising all about them.

Right before they shipped out, Septimus bolted the door for the last time while remarking on the loathsomely bourgeois nature of seasonal residences. Later, in the barracks, Septimus would say to all the lads, “I’ve a house, you know, or had back in—” Back away! Evans, back away!

It was the kind of house that as a child he had wanted for himself, the kind of house he longed for now, to wander aimlessly in dreams with clumsy feet, waiting for her ghost to scowl at him from the end of every endless hallway.

Maybe if they had lived in a big empty house with gold-plated chandeliers and enough pieces of furniture to warrant sheeting a few of them, maybe she would have lived. She belonged in just such a place, often told him and her other children bedtime tales of the estates out in Canterbury, the green lawns and careful yards. Her dresses belonged out in Canterbury, would have been new and fashionable there. She would have been young, beautiful and whole. The lot of them would have had a father who hadn’t died after the seventh child, and she would have lived into middle age, wouldn’t have left him as the second youngest to constantly doubt if she had ever been there at all, to wonder Is this my life? Is this how it goes?

“Evans, don’t go! Don’t go, Evans!”

And there are dishes breaking in the kitchen. She is fighting with the other tenant women, her pale fingers like claws around cracked plates. There are bombs exploding beside him, behind him. The crazy rapture of truly knowing his body for one instant, knowing that it is finally ripping apart in all the ways he has expected it to his whole life.

A lifetime, and she was coming down those stairs through all of it, she was always coming down. Did she ever reach him? He can’t remember, can’t remember her face. Oh god, he can’t remember her face, and that suddenly seems quite important now that logic and meaning is being blown to bits. She was his mother and she died when he was very young, but hadn't she had a face...?

Septimus screams from behind the barbed wire, from behind the railing, from behind his good house. He screams, “Evans, come back!” but the plates are already crashing, the steps going up in flames.

All she had ever been to him were two long arms and white skirts, white flags, white petticoat and heels swish-clicking a tentative rhythm against the banister and walls. Yes, that was it, he knows it now. How could he have ever forgot? She had worn a mourning dress as she came down the stairs, a mourning dress, and everything flares blindingly white.

_______________________________________________

TITLE: Proper Cloth and Skin, Spring 1910
FANDOM: The Sound and the Fury, by William Faulkner.
NOTES: Written (and originally posted) April 30th, 2003.

Constance Daingerfield was a society girl who once took a ride in an automobile with a group of people she found quite unfashionable. She briefly met a bloodied Harvard freshman named Quentin Compson, but he was not who she was looking for.

* * *
To appear a proper lady is, of course, a dignified aspiration. Beyond being simple common sense, putting forth a civil and cultivated persona is also the shared and practical prerogative of every young girl of my sort. I’ve the good sense to recognize it, unlike poor Elizabeth Holmes, my old maid of a cousin who in addition to being unaware of correct and seasonal attire is also plain in name as well as face.

Constance is plain as a jane Helen a shame that she should be yours and so unexpected Helen I dont know what shall come of your girl.

For instance, I know that pure long staple Egyptian cotton is an absolute necessity this summer for unwed girls under the age of twenty, and acceptable even through the third month of engagement for those slightly older. Leastwise, that’s what I’ve read in the catalogues, and that’s what I tell Mother. But I’m afraid I simply cannot understand how she can insist I be a lady and yet deny me the essential trappings and proper accoutrements required for such comportment in the same, unaccountable breath.

Beyond perplexing in my opinion, and even poor, dear Elizabeth agrees that Mother’s eye for fashion has grown less keen in the years since Father passed away. But personal grief, I insist, should have no bearing on the matter of appearance, and it is odd that Mother’s widow's wear should be so smart while she persists in procuring only the drabbest and most loathsome of accessories and shifts for her daughter and only remaining family.

Constance Mother would often say Constance you are expected to be the good face of your fathers name in society now that he is gone if I should have to tell you but one more time to quit fidgeting about the state of your dress then I dont know what you think will come of it Its only blind vanity in your case when I was your age things were simpler much neater You mustnt always rely on pristine circumstances the day may come when you are left to your own devices no father no mother Elizabeth Holmes is a good example to you she is sweetness and light.

My current outing dress is beyond insufferable, as indeed is the event itself. A ride in an open air car and I haven’t even the gloves for it! The white veil lent me by Elizabeth is obviously no consolation, and it is all just too embarrassing to be brought along to tea with Mrs Bland. I feel a regular, common mockery! Not only must I have Elizabeth for company, as our mothers are both attending their biweekly Boston Women’s Ornithological Society meeting, but I must also lay low any possible enjoyment of the day before the foppish vanity of Mr Gerald Bland.

To hear Mrs Bland tell it, the young Mr Bland rows crew for the Harvard team quite successfully, but I say that you would not be able to guess it from looking at him. He is slender as a scarecrow, and though his clothes are of a good make and cut, they hang just as distastefully on his frame as if they were in actuality just such a scarecrow’s tatters and rags!

And Mother, oh, I know she is conspiring with Mrs Bland to see me married to him, and that will not do, not at all. He seems decent enough in character, if overly prideful, but I’d safely wager that he watches those lewd kissing motion pictures such that the Christian Endeavor Group has so wisely sought to censor these past months.

Imagine the sons of such a beast! Sinfully and insipidly pretty, prettier than girls. Dressed poorly as peasants, spending all their dreadful days moping about the dredges of society, rowing backup for crew teams and the like. Crew is so unpleasant, all that bared skin and those laborious motions. Cricket is far better, so very much more European, and the boys do look clever in their sweaters when all out on the green.

Not that the present Blands (Lord knows where the elder Mr Bland has gone, to the grave or less reputable ends!) should fathom the merits of a gentle pastime. For all their airs and flashy Southern gentility, it is painfully obvious that they haven’t a clue, the either of them.

“Look!” Elizabeth says, smoothing the edges of her own dingy white veil away from her small, watery eyes with her knobby misfortunes of fingers. “Isn’t that Quentin Compson there, Mrs Bland? Isn’t he Gerald’s group?”

“My,” Gerald himself leans so far back over his seat to look at the cluster of figures on the sidewalk that his cufflinks nearly scratch the fronts of my knees. “My, I think it is.”

“Goodness!” Mrs Bland cries. “Well pull over, Gerald, we must see what ever the matter is that he should be surrounded by such a rabble!”

Shreve, fat and impractical beside me, squints his little piggy eyes, he and Elizabeth practically a matched pair of gawking grotesques. “God, is that blood on his nose there, blood on his face?”

The blood had been heavy clinging to all my skirts scent clinging to my breath heavy about my face making it hard to walk but I found Mother but not before Elizabeth and then Oh Constance how awful Oh Constance her eyes were small and full like button moons glinting jealous she laughed at me then Oh Constance pretended to scream but she was only jealous Ive always been the better woman my hands poured the tea shes still a girl you know For all that shes older even Mother smiled a little was proud a little Oh Constance.

“Goodness!” Mrs Bland cries, then “Why, Quentin! Quentin Compson! Quentin Compson!” and it rings most disagreeably in my ears. An odd name, Quentin, weak sounding, queer, and I can’t recall if I know the fellow. He does seem familiar, and I suppose it’s possible that we’ve met before at a party or evening dinner, but I’d remember such sallow eyes, such a haunting and handsome face, even washed clean of blood.

Such a face! I think I would.

“Good afternoon. I’m under arrest. I’m sorry I didn’t get your note. Did Shreve tell you?”

And such manners! How subdued, even in the midst of the shameful mob. Elizabeth’s sour fingers slip into my palm, and I am quite jostled against her heat-dampened frame as Shreve moves to lumber after Gerald. They mean to play at men and sort the situation out themselves, but for all that Quentin Compson appears to me to be more compelling than the both of his peers, I wish we’d just leave him and drive on.

“We mustn’t stop,” Elizabeth mumbles, her voice tremulously choked no doubt by the excitement of the situation. “We mustn’t stop here, it’s indecent!”

“Hush, Elizabeth," I tell her. "I suppose you’d see Gerald and Shreve’s young friend there strung out by the mob, then? Heaven forbid your own children someday live to know such charity.”

Her fingers are luminous and slimy as a swamp creature, eyes winking and lonesome in the sunken dough of her face, gaze fixed on the display of retreating gore. “You mustn’t joke about my having children, Constance.”

“Oh?” I say. “And what do you think of that Quentin Compson? You aren’t even paying me any mind, your attention’s still fixed on him! Oh, Elizabeth. Really.”

“It’s different for you, Constance.” Her eyes are on me, now, unreadable black. “I shouldn’t think you’d understand, you with a suitor every week.”

Its tight too tight around the waist about the waist god I dont want to waste away grant me this grant me his Ive never been unkind never meant I was a child dumb deaf blind God make him love me it doesnt matter who Just a man any man Make him love me.

“Constance, I didn’t mean it!" Elizabeth blurts, the sloping folds of her thick palms a flurry of contrite consolation on the tops of my thighs. "Come now, Constance, here. Here, if you haven’t the suitors just now, you did then, and you surely will soon again. No pain lasts forever, look at me if you don’t believe it yet.”

Im sorry to tell you Helen hes been wasting several weeks now I do hope your Constance wont take it too badly its only to be expected missionary work is hard so far away The weathers so warm on that side of the world hellishly warm.

“Oh Constance, come now.” The fat of her flesh, caught behind poorly spun cotton, smothers my shoulders. “Oh Constance, come now, you’re wrinkling your dress. He was very handsome, but surely nothing special.”

“I’m quite alright, Elizabeth, do stop going on. Look, here comes your prince.”

Mrs Bland’s outlandish, feathered hand raises to the sky, seems to take flight. “Now, girls, do be quiet. Now, Quentin, you tell me what all this foolishness is about.”

And when the story, quite dull and long, has been told and squared away, Quentin Compson sits in the car with us for a while, jammed in back of Shreve and myself. His pant legs are torn and rimmed around by blood, a surprisingly delicate hue, less tacky an accentuation than Mrs Bland’s peacock perversions. He's a fine enough young man, I suppose, and Elizabeth is not all wrong for once, not all handsome men are sure to be something special.

“This here is Elizabeth Holmes, of course, Reverend Holmes’s niece,” Gerald says to Quentin Compson as he slips into the front seat, “but do you know Miss Constance Daingerfield?”

“No.”

And even in introductions, how cruel that dear Elizabeth, who grew up and remained so plain while I have excelled, should precede me. Things have changed since childhood. We are not children.

God make him love me Oh Constance.

in other news, i am SO BUSY with art, but. a few days ago i got back from a brief trip to montréal where i met this little gentleman named dumpster. what a charmer!

oh brother don't turn, go on, go on.

2008-01-14T19:03:45Z

character: ~~richard~~dick john grayson (nightwing).
rating/warnings: gravitas, grace, bullet scars and ballet flats.
media: pen, ink, & ps7
artist's note: the opening lines of my visual treatise on l'esprit du dick.

oh, i bet you long for the life that you lived.
me and myself, i got nothing to lose but this war...

...and when the war came,
i signed up for you.

madrugada, "the riverbed."

on a slightly different note (ha. ha.), if you have any songs (or playlists, or epic discographies) that remind you of dick and his fellow bats/birds, i'd certainly appreciate the recommendations. or just any music recommendations, really. i'm kicking into art overtime now, a somewhat manic state which always has the odd potential to become a gruelingly silent affair, and i never thought i'd say this but if tom waits, led zeppelin, frank black, or any permutations thereof pop up on shuffle one more time i am going to go bonkers.

i need some fresh blood before i can stand to savor the classics again. SOS!

youtube is my channel [v]

2008-01-10T16:18:45Z

here are some of my favorite songs from a couple of my favorite asian solo musicians. both shiina and jay are super popular, and rightly so. whether you understand the lyrics or not, the music is beautiful and the videos are stylish. or over-styled. even passe! but great fun at any rate. :)

♪♪♪ shiina ringo - distinctive, dizzy, jazzy, and crazy to know. that was our girl shiina.
meisai
honnou
yami ni furu ame
tsumiki asobi
la salle de bain
tsumi to batsu

♪♪♪ jay chou - taiwanese hip-hop/r&b soul pop rapper, y'all!
nunchucks
ninja
in the name of the father
third year class two
cliff of love
east wind breaks
orange jasmine
excuse

melons of om.

2008-01-03T16:59:24Z

another new illustration for an article in the las vegas weekly, this time about a porn convention! taking that into consideration, i think i managed to keep the cheesecake to a fairly sedate level, but i will warn you; never before in my art career have i drawn melons so large. not that these ones are any larger than what you'd see on your average female background character in what we call "ze comics," but still.

to counteract the extremely sparkly sordidness of the aforementioned, i'm also including a sketch of everybody's favorite son of a serial-womanizer-for-justice hot multiracial vigilante buddhist monk, connor hawke. i drew him for the lovely rubynye on the occasion of her never have i ever birthday meme.