FomC - 6.2.7 &1/2 - Far from neugen 1, done at last

Here we go, one last time! And, for shirts and gurgles, this time all the captions will be random sentences from Walden by Henry David Thoreau!

"If they cannot understand that, they cannot understand much that I have to say."

"It is one of the oldest scenes stamped on my memory."

"How surprised must the fishes be to see this ungainly visitor from another sphere speeding his way amid their schools!"

"During the fast they abstain from from the gratification of every appetite and passion whatever."

"Why do precisely these objects we behold make a world?"

And there we have it, the end of yet another so-called journey. I hope you had more fun than I did!

End Section Whole Damn Thing.

FomC - 6.2 - far from neugen 1 contin'.

Let's just pick up where we left off, shall we? Only slightly more captioned, because I like to.

Yep, this guy's already sick of the entire ordeal. Too bad, we ain't even halfways!

I so enjoy drawing big gross flies. Witches, I'm more lukewarm. But you have to do what's necessary, don't you?

A brief commercial break. Ha! More like commercial broken.

This one's up to you.

Well, yeah.

Ooh, I like this one! I really do.

End Section Two.

Found on my Computer - 6.0 or so - far from neugen 1

The true-life photographs in this and the next few posts are all from a long disused file known as "far from neugen 1.fla" I can only assume it was the beginning of a proposed series, that I can only also assume was going to continually get farther and farther away from neugen. Please, follow along with me in your schoolyard notebooks, and when it's all done, let me know how far you feel we've gotten. From, of course, neugen.

End Section One.

. . . a little colour there for y'alls.

Found on my Computer - ROT

Yes, Rot. As I recall, this was an idea for a magazine or similar type junk. I just uncovered it a couple o weeks ago, and have decided to drag you on a tour of it, using the best of my recollection. First off, we have our logo. Ripped off from Joe Kubert's "Tor", I went the extra mile by not even finishing it. Like, at all. Still, what an O that is. This should give you an inkling of the quality work to follow.

My best guess: Letters page? Well, I hope it's a letters page. I like to think my terrible magazine will be read by birds, who will send us their thoughts and feelings. Also, that guy in the hat.

Clearly a statement on my entire life. Probably some sort of "About the Author" . . .

This idea is "Ideas". The surest sign I'm already running out of ideas.

A man meets a tiny devil. Note that this devil is nowhere near anyone's shoulder. Totally avant garde.

Yeah, I have no clue. Not even a one.

This would most likely seem to be a prediction of any publisher to whom I might take this swell proposition of magazinery.

This one I remember well. It's a cover concept for an early issue. It would seem I was in a particularly sunny mood that day. Who wouldn't buy an upbeat magazine such as this?

I don't know what it was for at the time, but currently reflects my attitude towards "Rot". If you love it, set it free. This is my way of setting it free. I'd really rather it didn't come back to me.

Or it might be something about a bird in the hand fleeing for the bush. Seriously, this was a while ago.

The star of the show! (?)
Maybe? (!)

And that's how it ends. Doubtless a subliminal message from myself indicating that the entire project was never meant to be.

And there you have it! Sure, hey, it's not my most well thought out plan, but . . . well, yeah. It is, in fact, by far my most well thought out plan. Now you know why I'm not in charge of magazines!

Illustration Friday - Wrapped

FOMC prt 4B - stufnnonsens the Seconded

6. See, now, the problem here is one of context. Could be, everything's fine. That said, careful inspection of the clues reveals Clint, here, is at a Barry Manilow concert being put on for surly reptiles. Dig a mite deeper, and you'll also realize that he has coated his hide in Moroccan spices and is about to bake himself in an oven at 477 degrees for 44 and 1/2 minutes. Not a wise decision for one who claims he'll win the Pulitzer Prize in 2014. Not hardly at all.

7. Harold Jordan, sometime pilot, was judged by an item of cosmic jewelry to be utterly honest and completely without fear. And so great and unlikely power was bestowed upon him to maintain peace and order in a huge portion of cosmic space, while he mostly stuck around home and palled around with aliens and detectives and women. Also there's a magic lamp.

8. Here we see Lt. Jordan attempting to use his cosmically green energy to disguise himself as little-known accountant Pintry Hornbrewer, with only mild success. And for no reason, either.

9. Name, or description? You decide. But if you're wrong, it comes out of your pay. So think it over.

10. Calvin Spencer, costume designer for the Huntley Theatre Company in Upton County, had just found out that his rent will be raised by an inordinate amount. Soon, he will take this matter to the local tenancy board, in hopes that it will constitute a breach of contract, as regards the status of his lease. It will be a long and arduous task, fraught with frustration and anxieties of many kinds.

11. The same, without the lines.

Found on my computer prt 4A - stufnnonsens the First

Stuff and nonsense to be sure! A Flash file, the frames of which would seem to be brief glimpses into an unfurnished mind. Or, perhaps, hindered predictions of the world to follow. I will attempt to decipher the images one at a time. In two stages. Also one at a time.

1. At first glance, this man might seem a monster. Further inspection, though, reveals the arrow points rahter specifically to his mustache. Implying, thereby, that the mustache is the monster. Thereupon, further, appearances fairly dictate, that judging by his expression, he is completely unaware that there is a monster on his face. Moreso, thereafter, he must not even realize that he no longer comes across as cleanly shorn of facial growth, thus potentially quite a devastating turn of events should he attempt to interview for employment positions, wrangle a date from a sightly lass of even virtue, or devour a bowl of affectionate soup.

Monstrous.

2. Now that's just sad.

3. A gentleman, presumably named Helfry Strombord, enjoys stars to such a terrific extent that he wholeheartedly approves of even the most ineptly rendered ones he can find. Frankly unappealing.

4. Once, perhaps . . . but no, alas, no longer.

5. Mr. Strenuous Woppings of Dundover Pond Blvd. does dearly love to impersonate the sounds and smells of African wildlifes, as they would come across if they were miniature automata composed of exotic and costly metals. But I wish he wouldn't.

Found on my computer prt 3 - walrus

Oh yes, he seems affable enough. Fairly pleasant. Folksy, even. But how much do we really know about walruses, really? Do they generally wear pants? What are their long-range goals? Do they like the taste of fish, or the convenience? Are the tusks voluntary? So many questions, and yet his only answer remains a gently wave of what isn't even quite a hand. No, I'm not advising hatred.

Merely a heightened sense of caution . . .

Found on my computer prt 2 - Movie 17

So, this relic makes the extravagant claim of being the 17th movie. I consider this highly unlikely, as movies were not in colour until they had made hundreds of them. Be that as it may, it certainly seems to be quite entertaining. My challenge to you, dear reader, is to determine what this numerically nomenclatured film is actually about. Feel free to use your wits, imagination, or sheer gumption, follow your heart, spleen, or middle toe. But be warned - it may not actually be a movie at all . . .

Found on my computer prt 1 - gretlick

I've owned my own computer for nigh on a decade now. It still runs Windows 98, and I have relatively few complaints. Yes, it is finicky about which DVDs it will play and when. Yes, it prefers smaller PhotoShop files. But I'm a humble man. I guess, or something. Anyhow, one fun aspect of a long-standing computer is performing virtual archaeology and digging up things barely forgotten and nearly remembered alike. Such as this fellow. According to the file name, he may be called gretlick. Which sounds rather interesting, until it becomes apparent that he is definitely not interesting. So, enough about him.

Creepy Spookums Galore!

Leon craves a midnight snack, and goes wandering through the halls in search of the long-lost kitchen. He thinks about mouse tails and peanut butter sushi and beef fried toenail clippings and other things he'd rather not eat. This spoils his appetite altogether, and he curls up to slumber atop a pile of mostly pillows.

At nearly the same time, Henry has just finished writing his name on the wall of his cave-like room, far off down another corridor of this probably pestilential dwelling that sprawls across the marshes or something. Henry enjoys the act of writing, specifically in the genre of his name. But Henry has a secret. A potentially quite terrifying secret indeed. Come in closer, my dears . . .

Oh no, closer still, much much closer than that. Really come right on in there, and you will certainly see . . .

Why, it's "television's" The Fonz!