...best get at least four extinguishers. Don't you think?
Well the epic gate saga is now over, the wound heals dryly and the gate has since been drunkenly re-conquered. It is not the boss of me. DO YOU HEAR THAT, GATE - ?
YOU
ARE NOT
THE BOSS OF ME.
So there's that. I wish I had more art for you this fortnight but due to a secret secret project that soaked up a lot of my time like a sponge (very worthwhile too - you will hear about it and see it soon I assure you) I've produced very few non-secret works. Additionally there's a new chapter of the 'Nothingman' saga completed and ready for your little earlingtons on the Crazy Fox Machine myspace. It's only got five lonely plays - go and add some numbers to that why don'tchye - ?
This is a segment of a much larger drawing in unprovoked tribute to my favourite ever band ever CHROME HOOF. Who are not only glorious but COMPLETELY GLORIOUS. I urge you to stick their frenetic timings and shardy punkprogdoomdisco into your head and dare you not to be swept up in a frenzy of bopping and agreeable headshakes. Hoof hoof hoof hoof - need I say more?
Finally - a Feral Gargantua jam (join us, join us - !) about 'Careers in Space'. Whereby I decided that only worthy profession to spacify was my own - archaeology. So here they are - a hapless archaeologist with their own wee Portakabin attached to them lovingly via oxygen hose. They trowel away at a mighty alien visage and groan at the endless laser context sheets aching to be filled out. It's a noble occupation. The bigger picture is here.
This one was, for a few weeks, secret - and depicts a scene from a saga so indescribable that you can only follow these green words and go and see for yourself. Dave Thomson = wow. See the bigger bugger in yonder artbarn.
Drawn by the always-excellent James Feist - a rising-star in small press comics (not my words, gentlemen but those of Pete Wells). Coloured quite patchily by your friendly neighbourhood hole-hand. It depicts Hellboy and his BPRD comrades - fighting the supernatural with the supernatural for...WHY NIGH ON FIFTEEN YEARS IF NOT MORE THAN THAT. A bigger version can be seen at this location.
Finally - a Feral Gargantua jam (join us, join us - !) about 'Careers in Space'. Whereby I decided that only worthy profession to spacify was my own - archaeology. So here they are - a hapless archaeologist with their own wee Portakabin attached to them lovingly via oxygen hose. They trowel away at a mighty alien visage and groan at the endless laser context sheets aching to be filled out. It's a noble occupation. The bigger picture is here.That's it then - I hope you've had as a good a fortnight last as I have - watching my wounds seal up and wondering if soon a face will poke through - and GAZE INTO MY OWN.
"What do you want?!" I'll stammer - watching it's beady eyes bloodily blink.
"I've come to warn you - " It begins in a shrill tone " - not to follow the pointing finger of the arm of Engon Falgrax - !"
Before it has time to explain I bludgeon it senseless on the edge of my desk.
"Sod you handbeast. Sod you."
O - x
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