"Through the darkness of future past / The magician longs to see / One chance out between two worlds / Fire walk with me."

So apparently all this time we couldn't find Jared he was just watching Twin Peaks and eating pie. Oh, that guy. Pour yourself a cup of joe and head on over to Mongrel Digs so he can talk you into doing the same.
We've also received word by carrier pigeon that Mongrel Pictures has just entered post-production on an exciting new web-series. The pigeon didn't say what was so damned exciting about it though. And when I asked when he expected it to debut he just giggled and held his breath.
I don't like birds.

Excerpt from Alan Moore’s Watchmen:

“Heard joke once:

Man goes to doctor. Says he’s depressed. Says life seems harsh and cruel.

Says he feels all alone in a threatened world where what lies ahead is vague and uncertain.

Doctor says, “Treatment is simple. Great clown Pagliacci is in town tonight. Go and see him. That should pick you up.”

Man bursts into tears. Says “But doctor…
…I am Pagliacci.”

Good joke. Everyone laughs.

Roll snare drum.

Curtains.”

Read what Quinn Allan has to say about Watchmen in our new column, Mongrel Digs.

The easiest and most reliable way to keep a secret is to become an entirely unreliable source in regards to all things.

Let nothing of any sense leave your mouth unless it's drowning in a flood of processed manure.

And smile like it tastes like cotton candy.

(It will stick like cotton candy.)

Hide your treasures in a sea of sugar and bile.

Labels: sketch

Wind tearing the skin off the pine, crimson splash of leaves off hospital lands beating against the windows. Been a violent fall so far but it keeps your mind off the ground. Something across the hall is bleating and the ceiling's getting downright juicy. It's no damn good for the posture, friend.
Peeled myself off the drywall to alert the world to the presence of something new in the merry old land of Orcakinder. Something that reminds me of the good old days, sucking dust on a Santa Ana afternoon on the corner in the shade of the convenience store. Listening to the crazies in the loft above the store, all hisses and choking and jazz music. That one day the window blew out and we all swore we'd never talk about what we saw inside. You remember?
I really wish we'd followed through on that. Maybe then the wind wouldn't be so upset with us.
I miss what outside was like.
Love,
the dead minotaur