The Dry Business of Getting Over It

"You're a schmuck!" may very well be the correct answer to the central question at the heart of this sketchbook page. Well, I ain't the first schmuck what got his heart caught in his throat. Won't be the last, neither.

High, Dry & Rock Bottom

There are many here among us who would merely scoff at the invocation of Joe Elliot, circa 1981, or assume implicit some ironic joke in his appearance in a sketchbook of mine. This is not the case, however. For those few who have been initiated into the higher levels of awareness, it is recognized the all-to-brief moment in time when Def Leppard could claim rule over the earth, a claim that was as real and as true as anything can be. Actually, the guitar solo/Rock Bottom/drum solo note at the top of the page was merely a reminder for a song structure for a new cut on the the upcoming Smacks! album. And Joe Elliot, circa '81, just seemed fit to accompany this intent of memory.

Insipid/Landscape

The word "insipid," emerged as I was sitting around with the sketchbook whilst the old lady was viewing some "reality" type program on the teevee. Then, the guy remarking, "totally without soul," appeared. I am certain he is making his proclamation with a French accent. The sci-fi esque "landscape" grew up from under this for whatever reason, or lack thereof. The fact that the other guy in bottom left foreground looks to me like Robert Evans in life-support gear was not only not intentional, but I try not to think about it too much.

Enoch Light Orchestra

We built this city on the bones of Cain. It walks. It devours.

Boffo Potato Piss, Gunmetal Stockings, Cocklegs & Cog-Suggers!

It all seems to hang on "BOFFO!" Like the Who, I can't explain what the little guy is talking about, "warmed over potato piss," nor his relation to the lady behind him. I was simply intending to remember the phrase "Gunmetal Stockings." I don't know particularly what "Cocklegs," are, but, lemme tell ya, brothers & sisters, I knows 'em when I sees 'em. Whether I happen to be dull-witted or not (gack!), I would probably concur that this is all beyond talent. And, we're all probably a bunch of cog-suggers. Good night.

Everybody Loves a "Paradae"

I can't talk. I can't spell.

Moider in the Furst Degree

People say I'm the life of the party 'cause I tell a joke or two. Take a good look at one of my sketchbooks, you'll see my cross-hatching looks out of place.

Not Just Hats But That Too

Last summer or so I spent a few months paying more attention to Magritte, scrutinizing his imagery. For years I had dismissed him unfairly as a one-trick pony, not in the same league as some of the others from the Surrealist era, yet, after some study, my personal perspective has reversed, placing him pretty highly among artistes of any era. I look forward to ripping off this image in an upcoming comic strip.

Start From the Start

One has to begin somewhere. In this particular instance, this is it. As usual, one leaps into the unknown.