Portrait

Portrait by Ken Plume Copyright 2006

The Lone and Level Sand - Comic Con Reviews

First up from my Comic Con stash is The Lone and Level Sand by A. David Lewis, mpMann, and Jennifer Rodgers. I read the book in it's first printing, which was softcover, black and white, and published by ADL's Caption Box comics. I enjoyed it in that form, but, I felt the grayscale art wasn't quite right, and the lettering wasn't top notch.

This new version by Archaia Studio Press is positively breath-taking. The colors make the art pop, the production is amazing, the redone lettering and general book design makes the book the complete package it always deserved to be.

The book is a thoroughly researched retelling of the story of Moses and the exodus of the Israelites from Egypt, as seen in that one Charlton Heston movie. The big difference is that the book is told from a historical perspective, and more importantly, from Pharoah's point of view. It comes of as an even-handed portrait of a man who while certainly a villain, had quite a bit more going on then was ever really addressed in that big leather bound scroll they kept up in the daius until trotting it around the shul on Saturday mornings.

Probably the biggest suprise for me about the book and it's reception is how little flack ADL got for doing the angle he did. Despite the thoughtful and delicate way he handles what to just about 2/3rds of the world would be blasphemy, the knee jerk reaction (and this even to my lapsed Jewish self) is "What the fuck do I need to feel bad for Pharoah for?" Well, you don't. He obviously had a choice and he made the wrong one.

The use of religious mysticism versus practical logic is pretty brilliant and reminiscent of the work done in Age of Bronze, another thoroughly researched look at a time period best known for portrayal in an Epic Poem or two.

Anyways, LaLS is really a wonderful piece of literature that hasn't gotten the attention it deserves, so, do yourself (and my buddy ADL) a favor and pick it up. It's dirt cheap on Amazon and it's thus far my favorite Graphic Novel of the year.

Oh, and it's up for a Harvey Award or two, so make sure to vote for it if you're eligible to vote. (And while you're at it.... there's this other obscure indie book up for... eh, forget it. Just vote for Bendis or Brubaker and break my little heart.)

Lone and Level Sands. Go. Buy it.

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Originally uploaded by Joshua Hale Fialkov.

Comic Con

I keep meaning to take pictures but I'm forgetful. Have some pictures from tonight's Random House Panel up by morning, in theory.  Things are well, if you're reading this, and at the con, don't forget my panel tonight at 6pm. Cheers.

For Your Consideration…

For Your Consideration...

Originally uploaded by Joshua Hale Fialkov.

We've kept fighting through self-publishing and Speakeasy and that weird unpublished limbo we spent several months in. But we never gave up, and we owe that to you guys. And it's worked – Elk's Run has tallied seven Harvey Nominations and is being collected by Random House.

But here comes July 28th, the deadline for Harvey final ballots – and we come to you all once again, hat in hand. Your votes count and can help make the difference for us.

You can download your ballot here: http://harveyawards.org/, the information for submissions is contained therein. We'd also like to recommend the excellent work of all of our supporters who are also nominated, including Brian Michael Bendis, Brian K. Vaughan, and A. David Lewis. It's an honor to be nominated alongside you guys.

See you in San Diego,

j.

Yeesh

What a weekend.  I wrote for around 30 hours this weekend.  Mostly stuff nobody'll ever see which is... strange.  But, I'm definitely back in the zone, and am cranking stuff out at an alarming rate.  The week before Comic-Con is always highly productive, if only to make up for the weeks afterwards where I'm too dead to do anything but sleep. And I recorded two songs somehow during all of that.  And saw Pirates of the Caribbean.  Jebus. I need a vacation.

I had this strange dream about me and a few friends hanging out outside an abandoned building and being chased by a slasher villain who's weapon of choice was something akin to the Flying Guillotine mixed with a giant fucking bear trap.  I'm still unclear on what it meant, but I'm happy to take Freudian/Jungian analysis.

Shock Treatment

Ah, just got the Shock Treatment sountrack in the mail today. Shock Treatment is the mostly ignored sequel to The Rocky Horror Picture Show. I have on VHS (although, I don't know that i have a VCR that works anymore), and it's actually a pretty good time. It's sort of a surrealist post-modern type thing, with some excellent pop-rock a la Rocky Horror.Anyways, according to Amazon, there's a DVD on the way, but, who knows. Highly recommended all the same.

Just How I Left It

Just How I Left It This is the first original I've written in a while that I really, really like.  Lyrics could use some tightening, but, this one was pretty much free form, so I guess all things considered it's pretty good.

Nice and stripped down production as well, only 3 tracks.

American Music

American Music Jebus, everyone wants me to do Violent Femmes songs.  So, I do the must mundane middle of the road one there is.  Mostly because one of my old bands used to play it, so I actually know the words.  Most of the words anyways.  I also found a long-thought-lost cache of harmonicas, which you can hear in full effect throughout.

Today was a good day…

I didn't use my AK. Had more good stuff then a guy should ever expect happen today to both me and my friends, so, it's time to rock out.

With or without your cock out.  I'll make that individual's last free choice.

Comic-Con Schedule

First year I won't be running from booth to booth non-stop, which is pretty nice.  Anyways, if you want to see me, here's the times and places I willl defiinitely be.

Thursday July 20th - 6:00 PM - Random House Publishing Group Panel

Friday July 21st - 2:00 PM - Signing Punks Lithos with Kody Chamberlian at Artist Alley Table JJ-02

Saturday July 22nd - 12:00 PM - Signing at the Random House/Del Rey Booth 

hacked

The Punks Site Got Hacked Apparently, the Turkish Islamic Seperatist Movement understands the importance and scope of Punks the Comic.  Soon, we hope to announce a publisher who agrees with them.

About Punks.

Not about the seperatist stuff.

Why Won’t You

Why Wont You So, I haven't recorded in over a week because I've been sick as shit, and my throat's been blown out. So, I'm all raspy voiced. Which somehow made me write a song as though I was a member of Matchbox 20 or Creed.

It's purely embarassing. Unless you're a record producer who wants to buy it, in which case it's not even slightly tongue in cheek.

Enjoy, and forgive my shitty voice.

Dreams Do in Fact Come True

Homicide: Life on the Street - The Complete Series - with Law & Order Crossovers! For anyone who doesn't follow this blog, or talk to me, Homicide is my favorite TV show of all time. It's the very definition of what's great about the one hour drama as a format, and a high water mark for what Network TV is capable of.

From Homicide sprang the HBO Dramas (literally in the case of Oz and The Wire, and spiritually for all the rest.) A Cop Show that's about cops rather than case of the week, about character rather then sensationalism, and populated with some of the best actors to have share the small screen. It's a masterclass in dialogue, pacing, and directing.

Every aspect of the show is breathtaking, even the season 2 guest-star-a-ramas are pretty excellent.

Plus it has what are the best episodes of Law & Order ever made, thanks to finally including the crossover episodes. You realize that holy shit, Jerry Orbach has a character! Benjamin Bratt actually CAN act. These guys aren't just one line of dialogue about their personal life per episode, they actually have characters. What's funny is that as you watch L&O episodes that follow the Homicide crossover episodes, the acting from the leads is that much better because they've been given a chance to develop their characters.

Anyways, buy the fucking thin, it's worth every penny.

BEWARE THE CHIMP UPRISING.

Fuck Robots, Monkeys Will Destroy Us.

On What Happened to My Brother Buckeye Ty.

by Joshua Hale FialkovCopyright 2006

The darkness crept over the house slower than it ever had before. We knew that something was changed, Frank and me. Ty left the house for days a time before. Hell, regular like. But this time... day five he'd been gone, I reckon, although it was always hard to tell just when he left, what with him often times staying over at whatever lady he deemed worthy of stickin' his pecker in. He'd been seeing Christy someone or another. The one with the big tits and bigger ass. Not that I'd kick her off my cock.

Frank'd talked to her at school that day, and she'd been less than concerned 'bout the whereabouts of my big brother and that throbbin' guy he'd done stuck in 'er.

"You tell Ty this his dick is so small I didn't even know when he stuck it in! And that he can fuck Michelle in the ass all he wants, but I ain't ever gonna let him do it again."

Not much to go on, other than one of the two dozen freshmen named Michelle let Ty stick it right up her pooper. I'd made a mental note to myself to follow up on that one with him in person.

I tried to find which one it was, but, even the trashiest 14 year old who takes it in the ass knows better 'n to admit it to Buckeye Ty's brother. They call him Buckeye on account of us originally bein' from Ohio, and that's the state motto, and well, I suppose you'd understand the double-meaning if'n you ever seen one.

All that's beside the by, though. Back home, like I was sayin' when the sun went down, and Ty's bed stayed empty we knew somethin' was up. So, me an Frank we took it upon ourselves to form a little search party, just like they did in some movie we saw on TV 'bout that little girl that got stuck in the well.

Let me just say a second here on that. Wells are mighty fuckin' hard to fall down. I mean, even just a open well, not more than a gully in the ground... it's still a fuckin' 3 foot hole. What sort of fuckin' imbecile falls into a 3 foot hole like it ain't even there? The kinda fuckin' idiot that deserves to stay down there and fucking die, that's who. Bunch a dumb cunts fall down a well, pollutin' a fellas drinking supply. Shit, it's bad enough the number of people that piss in it from up above, yet alone some dumb 8 year old bitch treadin' water for three days while the police and firemen try and figure out if it's worth tearing up the hole or just let the kid drown and fish 'er corpse out with one of 'em industrial lift things.

Anyways, like i said, night, it was a fallin', and Ty wasn't comin' home on his own, so we decided to find him. Now, we ain't had no clues, but I knew that he liked to hang out down by the train tracks in the woods. He'd take us and we found all kinds of cool shit like beer bottles and this one time we found a joint and we all got fucked up and fuckin' Frank tried to show us how good he was at jerkin' off, if you can even start to fuckin' believe the sort of homo-retard shit that guy fucking pulls. Pulls like his goddamn peenie.

So, I grabbed one of them Craftsman flashlights my moms keeps in the cupboard right above the instant breakfast crap my pop had to eat cause of his bad heart, which might i add killed him anyways, and he died not having the sweet taste of maple syrup and bisquick touch his lips for near two years. If that ain't punishment from God, I reckon I don't know what is.

Out in the woods, at night, round here... S'not... pleasent. If you catch my meaning. These gulleys and shit, lots of bikers and drug addicts and shit hang out, and all that's fine and dandy, less'n you ain't in with those guys. So, y'know, me and Frank, we weren't what you'd call comfortable to begin with.

So, we walked, and kept our eyes out, and it bein' a school night, it was pretty damn quiet. We spooked a couple a deer at one point, they ran like hell, and poor Frank near pissed himself. But that aside there weren't nothing there. Not but trees and the creeks and so forth.

And then it got real dark. I mean like... maybe a cloud went overhead or the trees got thicker, but, it was damn pitch black. My flashlight was losin' power pretty fast, and we didn't have one of them big giant flashlight batteries laying around. Frank had a penlight, but those things ain't worth a shit unless you're in a room two inches by two inches. In which case, you'd have to question how exactly you got in there.

So, it's real dark, and my flashlight's going out, and Frank's pen light's not doin' a donkey's dick worth of good. And we both just sort of stare at the nothingness, listening for something. But there ain't nothing to hear.

Silence.

Nada.

Fuck all.

Rustling.

Just a little bit. The leaves up above moved on their own, like something was moving from limb to limb. We tried to see, but it was too damn dark. Cept, through the rustling up above, we could see somethin' that looked like a spotlight in reverse. Beamin' from the sky down to a small clearing. So, we figured like, "Holy Shit, God's given us a sign, and he ain't fucking around," right? So, we start heading towards where that light was coming from, and sure enough, we could see it, once we'd gotten through the thicket.

That light was shining on a spot on the ground, bare and dead, like nothing'd ever grown there, and nothing ever would. The trees even seem scared to grow there, save for one big one that loomed impossibly high over the small clearing.

We stood there in that moonlight for a second, thinking about the wonder and the magic that is the moon, and all other sorts of gay shit like that. Fuck, I'm lucky that Frank didn't whip it out right there in honor of the big silver bastard up in the sky (which he reckoned looked like one half of a fucking great set of titties.)

As we stood there, watching the moon, gigantic and beaming on us, the world seemed to slow down, save for the sound of the branches up ahead swaying in the light breeze that found it's was through the trees and valleys to this one spot.

For a second there, I forgot all about Ty, and Michelle with what must be her giant fucking vagina. Like tossing a hot dog down a hallway, Ty'd say. "Had to strap a board to my ass to keep from gettin' sucked in!"

A splatter of rain fell on my cheek. Fall rains a lot, so it ain't that weird. I wiped that drop off my face, and felt it spread out, like water often does, but, it didn't seem quite so watery. I looked over at Frank, and he too had had something fall on him, but it didn't look quite like rain. No, it was chunky, and dripping down his cheek in a most unpleasent way.

"That looks like shit on your face, Frank." I said, stating what was becoming obvious.

"God must be shittin' on us."

"I reckon so."

I crained my neck up to get a look at the sky above, figuring it must be some wild animal or somethin' having it's fun like a monkey in the motherfuckin' zoo.

But all I saw was a pair of shoes. Swinging, like they was hanging from a body that was hanging from a rope that was hanging from that impossibly high tree.

Shoes.

They were them Nike Pump's. You remember those? They were all the rage.

They were gray with the little Orange basketball shaped pump thing on the front, and the little release valve on the side.

I remembered when Ty got a pair of those. He couldn't afford 'em, so he had me and Frank get into a fight in the store while he was trying them on, and then while we were beating the fuck out of each other, he high tailed it out of there, his shoes pumped to perfection.

Shoes just like that, save the shit dripping off of them.

And just like that, Frank figured it out. His eyes went wide, his face got white like if the Pirates just won the World Series.

"That's... that's Ty."

"That ain't Ty, what would Ty be doing up there?"

We both stared for a moment, trying to figure out what exactly was going on.

I traced the rope with my eyes, trying to figure out where it was tied to. But it wasn't tied anywhere. It was like somebody'd just been drug up there by God himself and left to hang. The nearest branch, the branch the rope hung from, was a good 20 or so feet up, and I didn't reckon neither Frank nor I could make it that far to cut him down.

But we had to. It might be Ty. I mean, I'm sure it's not Ty, but, it might be, right?

But we tried. For an hour almost. Takin' turns, slipping and slidding, I damn near tore off my left nut trying.

Finally, Frank got up pretty high, and he used that pen light (it was a pen knife on the other side, apparently) to saw away at the rope, till it snapped and the body fell down like a sack of potatoes.

That sound, incidently, I still hear it in my sleep. My nightmares, I guess.

And so, there, in a crumpled heap and covered in shit and piss, was my brother. Deader than a doornail, no note, no explanation. Just plain dead. I'd always known Ty wasn't quite right, but, this is a bit worse than that.

My dad killed himself too, despite the healthy diet and the no pancakes rules, he actually tried to hang himself, but it didn't work. Instead the i-beam in the basement snapped, and he fell down on that concrete slab. He hit his head, and his heart just gave up. So, they said it was technically an accident, but, I say when a man's got a noose round his neck, it probably ain't no accident when you find him dead, even if he is curled up in a ball by the fucking washing machine.

Me and Frank lifted up Ty, doing our best to avoid the shit and dribble. We carried him back to our place and woke my mom. She came downstairs and cried and cried, bout how all of her men were leaving her, and all she had left was us halfwits. Which, while probably somewhat accurate, was still a bit too cruel for even her.

We couldn't afford a proper service or nothing, so we asked the town for some money from the town council budget, and they gave us like all of one hundered dollars, and we did some begging and pleading with the man at the Pittski's Funeral Home (I told my mom she should offer to blow that creepy old fuck for a free coffin, but she was still uptight about sex and stuff.)

We put Ty in the ground, and not hardly anybody showed up, ceptin' us, obviously. We got a couple extra days off from school, which is cool, cause if I missed anymore without permission, I'd've gotten kicked the fuck out.)

Me and Frank graduated, and I got a job at the Mill over in Edgewood. I'd go on to lose 3 fingers total, and marry some bitch that wouldn't let me stick in her pooper. Frank didn't never find a real job, and he got killed in a car accident 'bout three years ago now. My moms is still alive somehow. Everytime someone she loves dies it makes her that much more determined to suffer through life. I figured she'd've kicked it by now, but she's waitin' on me to go first, so as she can be a real martyr, I guess.

But, I ain't going nowhere. I don't drink and drive, and now they keep me away from the sheet metal, and I don't think I could ever figure out how to hang myself from a tree as nice as Ty did, or hang myself so poorly from a rafter as my dads did, so I suppose I'll just wait it on out, and see which one of us croaks first.

My money's on her.

Things I Bought in a Sleepless Stupor

\ Full size, rollable keyboard.  I end up dragging my giant ass keyboard with me wherever I go if I'm away for more than a few days.  This, in theory, will help with that (although for longer trips, I'll probably still take my trusty ergonomic).  It's dirt ass cheap, tho, so I suppose it's worth a try.

My Goal Right Now…

Is to make it an entire night's worth of sleep.  The most I've gotten since the cold started is from 1:30am to 4:06am. On the upside, uh...

I got nothing.

Someone Got Me A Subscription to Maxim

Just cause I'm single doesn't mean I'm desperate, y'know. Thanks, though. Whoever you are.

Come See My Comic-Con Panel

Comic-Con 2006 :: Programming for Thursday, July 206:00-7:00 Random House Publishing Group Graphic Novels— The Random House Publishing Group are the publishers of Harvey Pekar’s American Splendor and Flight 3, edited by Kazu Kabuishi. Two of the company’s newest titles are the critically acclaimed Elk’s Run and the highly anticipated Dark Wraith of Shannara. Join Kazu Kabuishi and Joshua Hale Fialkov, as well as the RHPG editors, to hear more about these books as well as Random House’s graphic novel plans for the future. Room 7B