Secret Comics On Patreon

Sneak peek panel of a secret comic over on my Patreon:


What does that much cartoon vomit mean? Unlock it and find out. Or read some older stuff that I’ve made public. Stuff’s gonna be going through Patreon first.

Today I’ve been mostly immobilized by migraines however. Still, Blessed Nuit/93



When I was a bit younger more uncertain and naive, there were women who came to the city and were my contemporaries or a little older who maneuvered the nighttime scenes with metaphoric knives out. Not everyone was this way, thankfully, but it was definitely a human trope. This type of person invariably fancied herself some newfangled combination of Dorothy Parker, Holly Golightly, and Edie Sedgwick.

Time marched on and began to bring a new kind of transplant with it, a bit more affluent but with the same type of attitude, only now they were fancying themselves, some newfangled combination of Carrie, Samantha, Sarah Jessica Parker, and hell-I-forget-the-other-one. But anyway, did I get less uncertain? Or did people’s New York City delusions just get less impressive?



…is nothing in our lives right now.

Everything is at last not stored and in Abuelita’s humble railroad apartment, haphazardly wedged wherever it would fit.

At least we beat the snowstorms getting it over here, but not the NYPD pulling over our Jamaican “man-with-a-van” for being a Jamaican “man-with-a-van” because, you know, everything is terrible.

It got resolved but our railroad still isn’t.

So we went to see Sunn O))) because we were going to anyway.





The boiler room a coat of dull red paint blanketed in another coat of thick dirt and grime.

A penitent filled with self-hatred hunched over swimming in vodka amphetamine and depressed psychosis takes the butterfly knife out from a plush leopard print handbag and rests it against the smooth skin of the wrist.

Somewhere under the surface a vein is translucent blue. Then powder-purple-under-candy-orange as a neon sign somewhere at the top of the stairs switches on changing the hue of everything. Blinking on and off, gas filled tubes probably bent into the shape of the logo of some god-awful cheap domestic hog swill that gets sold as beer. With eyes in the throes of a psychotic break, the blue and purple veins become roads, trails along a beach where the blade is a docked boat waiting to sail…anyplace. The grimy walls and banging boiler dissolve into orange, pink and salmon colored sands.

The penitent and the butterfly knife ruminate on the sandy trails for almost and hour. That’s how long it takes before it occurs to anyone to look for them and tell them(well, one of them) to get on stage.


Swarm (Daily Prompt)

I remember opening the door of the loft and seeing them sliding across the floor, fat yellow segmented bodies moving at lightning speed. Still, they hesitated long enough to let me catch a glimpse their fixed, leering eyes and pink lips parts to reveal stained teeth behind their manic grins. They would have been comical if they weren’t writhing all over the floor of the collective space, the Qlippotic cesspool we shared with the Evil Hippie Cult. Or if I wasn’t the only person who was seeing them, or hearing the clacking noise they made as they moved.




The day I watched you eat your your young

When there was nothing to be done

And all around the altars burned

Subjects seek approval in return

“We love you loyal”

Blood on your lips

“We love you loyal”

Crushed in your teeth

“We love you loyal”

Flesh on your tongue

“Love you loyal”

“Love you loyal”

That time I led your youth astray

To give them any other way

You swore you’d flay my skin alive

You’d think you were the one who’d died