The Pen Comic, page 1
Throw open the vaults! For a series of years, I was the custodian of a collaborative comic book that I started one night with a woman I hoped to get to know better. Because you don't always get to grind pelvises with those you would care to, as a young man I figured that rubbing brains together in hopes to light some kind of spark was a serviceable substitute.
As part of the overall historical archival exhumations around the Mistigris 20th anniversary, where unreleased, lost and incomplete art is being brought to light for the first time in over a decade, I'll be sharing the pages of this work -- in hopes to lure new contributions to it! (And, who knows, forensically restore or even enhance old contributions to it 8)
It begins humbly. As an artist who can't really draw -- a man constrained by big ideas and only able to really express them with small words -- I had to find workarounds. Then she takes a turn. And then... well, this will go on for many pages.
HAVE YOU EVER wondered where pens go when they're used up? Follow, for we are about to embark on an epic voyage of suspense and intrigue...
To be, o
Shite! Mine pen hath gonne drye! (Ye olde uni-balle)
No matter how he tried, Willy couldn't keep the pen's essence from slipping past the ball, his tongue, into the great beyond. Also... it was the third pen that day that had left him, and he was in one of his fouler moods.
"Squire!" he called while contemplating how Chaucer never had to put up with such incompetence. "Take this infernal device to ye shedde and fill its contents with manure! With such a poison pen I shall compose my most scathing couplets yet!"
The squire accepted the pen, then, hesitating, disappeared.
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As part of the overall historical archival exhumations around the Mistigris 20th anniversary, where unreleased, lost and incomplete art is being brought to light for the first time in over a decade, I'll be sharing the pages of this work -- in hopes to lure new contributions to it! (And, who knows, forensically restore or even enhance old contributions to it 8)
It begins humbly. As an artist who can't really draw -- a man constrained by big ideas and only able to really express them with small words -- I had to find workarounds. Then she takes a turn. And then... well, this will go on for many pages.
HAVE YOU EVER wondered where pens go when they're used up? Follow, for we are about to embark on an epic voyage of suspense and intrigue...
To be, o
Shite! Mine pen hath gonne drye! (Ye olde uni-balle)
No matter how he tried, Willy couldn't keep the pen's essence from slipping past the ball, his tongue, into the great beyond. Also... it was the third pen that day that had left him, and he was in one of his fouler moods.
"Squire!" he called while contemplating how Chaucer never had to put up with such incompetence. "Take this infernal device to ye shedde and fill its contents with manure! With such a poison pen I shall compose my most scathing couplets yet!"
The squire accepted the pen, then, hesitating, disappeared.
← previous page | next page →