Basement Archive Room

It's an 8 page ebook.
Well, pdf.
It's a sort of partial archive.

Basement Archive Room

Print it off, pass it along. e-mail it out to your friends.
I'd appreciate it.

There'll be more.

Goodnight.

Fifty Odd Words No.38

From his bed she stole his jumper; wrapped her hands in wool and about the top of her thighs. Her legs stretched out naked and waiting, for the pale touch of light.

She sucked deep on a midnight light, and played the smoke like it were a guitar. Against the stifled room, she coughed and crimson touched her palm.

Pah!

I'm going to eat cheesecake and draw.And write a short story:

Punk Ain't Dead + Things I Like That Go Together No. 2

I'd like to come up with a good reason why, but that's not going to happen, so here's something better, because people should listen to Patti Smith more:

This also fits in with another 'Things I Like That Go Together', so I've added Tank Girl: Visions of Booga. There are a few connections here: the first being the obvious punk influence in Tank Girl and the general attitude that oozes out of it, reading it makes you want to stick it to the world in general. The second connection is that both Patti Smith and the character of Tank Girl are strong willed and impressive women, something that you don't see enough of these days (Take a look at the front cover of 'Horses' and you can't help but admire Patti Smith; there really is something in her eyes that had never been seen before). What I think is the most important connection is Beat poetry. Patti Smith brings the feel and rythm of beat poetry into her rythm and when you listen to her (especially with headphones) you can't help but become mesmerised. Visions of Booga is a lot different to other Tank Girl stories in that it is a subdued, thoughtful piece and at all times it acts as a homage to the beat generation and it's ideals. It comes out as a much more mature piece and shows that Alan C. Martin is more than just a purveyor of comical ludeness (Although, that is one of his finer arts).

Here's the front cover, with Ashley Wood's awesome art. The internal art is done by the very British Rufus Dayglo, who will remind many readers of Jamie Hewlett.


Wow, that was quite a long post. Meh.

Rabbits.

Broken Alley

I dredged the alley for time and came up empty. So I waited - watched and, after stripping my soul bare, dived in.

I drowned myself a few moments later.

Dream...

Some time after the accident the three of us returned to our former home; that monument to entropy. Collapsed and distraught, it struggled against a charcoal sky. Beneath its shadow, where only the whistling gate remained, we stood, sentinels at the final outpost of a dead time. I turned to Lucius.

“Should we go in?”

He replied by trampling the last of the grass beneath his boots. He crunched through charred wood and brick. At the top of the steps, from the framed pillars of his funereal palace, he called to Alice and me.

“Well, are you coming in or not?”

I hesitated.

Head held in reverence, Alice floated past. She appeared to me as if underwater; the whispers of her hair shifted in open cross-currents of lost time. Buoyant with melancholy, she passed through what remained. Her smoke rose up in tendrils and became smudged out in the last of the Burgeoning heavens. Ashen trees mourned winter. A far off stack belched black blood. The clouds were going to break.

I followed the others, holding on to what remained of the whistling gate: it broke off in my hand. I thought of dropping it there, on the scorched earth to rust into the ages, and I should have, but I could not. Inside the guts of what was left, I propped it against a rotten wall, creating a moment of order.

Lucius threw me his flask: the insides were warm and choking.

“There is nothing left here, is there?” I asked, one last time.

Silence and musk. Alice feathered my face with hers, wrapping her arms about me. The memory of a heartbeat came back for a moment - it passed. Her chest remained in permanent pause. She pulled away. I wiped white ash from my shoulder. Back in the end days, she liked to do that for me.

Lucius muttered: “I’m off now,” and dropped through the ruined floorboards. I stared in reverie at the space he used to occupy. Alice caressed a smile of midnight at his departure.

After a time, she surgically removed the cigarette from her bloodless lips, and lit another off the embers. She said: “Me too,” and out of reality, her form faded.

She used to be my dream girl.

Girl Bunny Bear Love

Emergency drawing...

Beach

An accompanying illustration to "Something Suitable For Skimming".

Look Up.

Finally got my useless scanner to work properly!

Feet...

A moleskin doodle, thought I'd try out my new marker pen.