Who were you, Hank?
Who was I, Kid? Legend… in my own mind. Like all the men ‘fore me. Ruthlessly strong, but so unfortunately young. Innocent in my deeds so much as compelled by them…
I was the shining scourge of this underworld. My posse rising from the dust around me on devilish mare and spectral horse. Our eyes dark as dusk, but we rose with heart. Heart burning strong with the fire of the setting sun. We had all lived lives of great glory and pursuit, and in that, we shared our death. Paving the lands of the unknowable, bringing the sunset. Bringing the fire.
We tamed lands, we awoke the plains with life. Free from time and boundaries, we burned the maps. Unshackled the prisoners and kept riding, let the die lay where they may.
Oh we faced opposition. We were not the first. There was always someone before, now washed out by the sifting sands. But we held strong to our passions in the long nights. In the dark times. Often only saved by the warmth of the cracklin’ fire. We tamed those beasts, just like the rest….
Heavens… it’s been so long since those days. Lineages have crumbled, galaxies have formed. Stars have collapsed, even…more than likely in our name…
Well… what happened?
What always happens. You get old. But ah…how do you die? You’re already dead. You decay, you lose your form. You lose your mind, you fall prey to the darkened soul…
The consciousness is unlimited. Timeless, and in so formless. Left here with only the power of your mind, your world is yours. But we as unique form can only hold so much life. Only so much rain in the old bucket, rotted through with a sharp rust. Time doesn’t age you, of course, we are free of time… but it is the perception that does you in. The expectation.
You expect to be old. You lose pride and let the wounds come. Then you heal and you let them come again. You lose strength, you lose faith…. Those who followed in your glory, die away… Done in by a ruthless betrayal. A wicked turn.
Your compass gets cracked when you’re bucked from your horse. Scared by a damned snake in the grass, who by the way, never really existed in the first place!
You lose your way in the dust, hide yourself in the rocks…
I ain’t asking for much anymore…Nah…Just the sun to shine and the people to see on their journeys.
Now listen here, alright? Our strength is in each other. With each other, we are ourselves. Y’see? I rode with that posse like a seed on the wind. We were brothers, but each with it’s own fertile soil. Set to be born, to grow, and to further the idea.
I show them the way, one way. I show them the path that lies off the trail and into the brush. Through the bramble of their own minds. The only knowledge worth knowing, is that of the self. The first hand. That’s what makes us, and here, it makes the world around you too…If you believe it enough.
But if everyone has that power?
The survival of You depends on what you believe as truth.
Heh. I am fading now. Wasting away…. The further you sink back to reality, the older you get… You forget… You’re not here. You’re really… really right there. Right where they left you…
And then in walks Sketchy.
Is it dangerous to assign a personality to an aspect of your own personality?
So I was sitting here, brainstormin on my comic idea as I do a lot lately. And all of a sudden Sketchy pops up. And it works. Given everything I am trying to build on and explore in this story, when Sketchy just struts in and starts running the show, it just makes sense.
The world I am building exists in a space of conscious reality. A holding place of our conscious minds when we die. Without careening too far down into this mind pit, I basically want a world where anything can exist. A place where mind, idea, life all exist as one.
So if anything can exist, Sketchy can exist.
But you get the double whammy of that first point doesn’t even matter. Given the nature of Sketchy, he lives in my mind, in my world of ideas. And given his, forgive me, lore, he holds control over it, using his power mostly to be a dick, hoping into my stories and messing them all up. So there’s nothing stopping him from entering this world, as it is nothing but an idea in my mind.
I may be getting too meta here… Especially considering I’m the only one who has any real idea what’s going on in my head. But I dunno, I guess it’s just fun sometimes to think about thinking. Where ideas come from, what we see in our mind, sex, drugs, and rock&roll.
Anyway, just a little mind puke. Trying to write stuff down a lot more lately, tell myself it will make it stick this time around. Going well so far, but I dunno if it’s interesting at all to anyone. Let me know, so I can feel better knowing I’m not just talking to myself. If I start that shit I am in real trouble.
It would be like Monkeybone except less Brendan Fraiser and maybe about even on the masturbation jokes. Something tells me I should watch that movie again…wish me luck.
Where is the line that crosses “I want to make a comic” and “I’m working on a comic”? Is there one? Are you not “working” on it the minute you start thinking about it? Sketching out characters, thinking of stories?
For some reason I envision it in my mind as the minute I start the script. Even though I’ve done all this sketching, concepting, thumbnailing. I still feel in my mind this is a not for sure yet thing, but here I am, dreaming up entire lifetimes for these characters and putting fingers to keyboard. Pencil to paper and sketching, evolving these characters and this world. Everything I do, see, taste, new and old is an element in this universe. The characters are me, my mind split apart, spread across a cast of characters on the edge of reality.
But yet, I feel still so unsure about so many things that I still just feels like an idea, not a work in progress. Might feel that way all the way up till I get the thing printed, but the day that switch flips will be an important day.