

When I destroy a photograph of someone I feel so fucking good. I want to end everyone’s memories of people, I want to stop people three or four generations down from knowing who anyone was or what they did.
To be a noise producer (“musician” or “artist” seems less than universally appropriate for practitioners of the discipline; a more neutral term is necessary) is, inherently, to be a pervert. It’s always deviant behavior, always against the grain. But there’s levels to it.
the road from philadelphia to tunhannock erupts into a tableau of arborescent violence; hosts of dryads weaving reds, oranges and yellows, ghost girls reaching out through limbs to arms to branches to fingers to leaves.
Drawings of tender, violent, chivalric male intimacy.
An anthropomorphic swan who dreams of flight finds a sequestered community of “adult drawers” who attempt to help her realize her dream.
The downfall of an actor playing Dogbo, an anthropomorphic dog, unfolds in a bleak, noir-tinged Hollywood thriller that disintegrates into sadistic cartoon logic.
The ritual sacrifice of three men at the hands of three inverse-graces.
An effeminate man invites a beautiful young skinhead into his home. Masculinity, the other, limit experience.
A short comic about a sensitive, vulnerable boy—diagnosed and manipulated by a mysterious psychiatric professional.
The absolute bizarre experiences of touring, noise shows, strange personalities in subculture, and being caught up in the antics of peers.
A wide range of artists from a variety of disciplines deliver sinister incantations.
The Tyrant Queen of Iron City presents us with a bouquet of petty grievances.