NMSD 17

Things I've written whilst drunk

[1] And when they tried to speak to each other it was always with the circling formalities of days long since past they would look back down their shoulders and not see  a single moment that anchored them together they had forgotten how to speak with the certainty of sweat and hands eager to the touch all humid reactions and instant groans. Their language was no longer that of sharp breathed intakes and lips bit to the quick and blood welling bright in the front of everything. They forgot how to laugh the cigarette taste clogging their mouths till all that was left was their needs. They knew there was more than this adjusting of bodily spaces and they lacked . . . oh how they lacked.

[2] Guys! WE'RE FUCKING ALIVE! And we can taste it all the blood and the sweat, the fear and the night air, the cum and the moment right before it all changes! GUYS! We are alive! And yeah there is some monumental shit to deal with...BUT WE GET TO DEAL WITH IT! We get to eat gas station hot dogs and work too much, play too little, miss the important moments and dwell on the worthless, but guys! We get to fuck and cry and know each others names! Our feet get to rest in lakes and our hands on bodies that seemed made for action! GUYS! We are that action.

Logo by Dustin Harbin

Just putting this here so i can link it elsewhere but hey look how great Dustin Harbin is, you should HIRE HIM AND PAY HIM MONEY.

Sketches

Here are a few rough drafts of pieces I am working on for a show

 

Also progress is being made on the SECRET comic project

Inkstuds Interview

So hey I was on Inkstuds! Check it out!

Carbonara

Guest comic I did for Sarah Becan's "I Think You're Sauceome" webcomic

thisisit

He realized that he had become mostly filled with ill will and malice. He would walk home late at night stumbling slightly from the after work drinks and stop to stare at couples dining in restaurant windows.  He would stand mere inches from the glass. When they would look up at his unwavering attention he would then mouth "FUCK YOU. FUCK THIS. FUCK YOU" with more than the socially acceptable amount of direct eye contact.

Later in his apartment, surrounded by half read books, he would sit on the couch his head nested down onto his chest and glare at the radiator. This wasn't quite how he had envisioned filling his time. Occasionally he would get up, walk three times around the room stopping to open half filled notebooks before sitting back down. Eventually he slept.