Whenever I feel like giving up, or taking my foot off the gas, I remember to look at my wrists.

She died with lies in her veins
Fist wrapped around a cheap bottle of champagne

How many lies are you going to take to your grave

I keep the grudges that I harbor chain linked in.
Like an rabid animal they threaten to be my end

She tried to catch happiness in a jar
But the glass broke and left her with scars,
Instead of fond memories.
She lifted her wrists and blamed the scars on me.

I turn up my volume to drowned out your screams
Because listening to you talk is like drinking kerosene

Attention is like a cheap suit
It only impresses the first time
Then falls away to revile the ugliness it hides.

-This time a year ago I wrote this, i just found it going through my stuff. I like it but I can’t write like this lately, I am just not in that place (thank god.)

Anyways, just wanted to share it instead of keeping it tucked away.

            I’m sweaty, my clothes are sticking to me and my body is depleted thanks to the overwhelming august heat. My mind on the other hand is still running a marathon. It has been an on going theme as of late. It feels as though I have sprung a leak of thoughts and cant write them down fast enough to keep a few from slipping between my fingers.

             This is more than likely attributed to the fact I buried my dreams for so long. I convinced my self that it was “for the best”, to shelf any artistic aspirations. I don’t know if it was out fear or external pressure, that is besides the point. The thing is, I am responsible.. I did the crime and the only victim was myself.

              Just like nature has away of always of restoring a natural order, it was only a matter of time before something gave. I couldn’t hide from what was in my heart, somethings are just such a deep rooted part of you that you cant deny their existence. Just like a dam ready to burst, creativity was building up in my core with nowhere to go.

            I wish I could claim responsibility for snapping out of it, but it always seems like its an outside source that knocks down that first domino. An inspirational  speech from kevin smith I heard years ago, seeing my friend start up his podcast, things that seemed to slap me across the face when i needed it.

            Stepping back and looking at the big picture it seems even more ridiculous that I gave up on art from the stand point; I cant remember my life with out it. Whether it was drawing super-heros as a kid, or writing short stories, poems or my own ideas for movies. I was filled with creative drive, and I had the support. One of my fondest memories being, riding BART with my grandmother to The Academy Of Arts in San Francisco. A young wide eyed kid with dreams of drawing for marvel and my wonderful grandma right their cheering me on.

              It makes me want to punch my self In the face.

             I owe it to her to be honest to my self. If she could see me picking the reins again, she would smile as hard as her face would allow. I owe to my self don’t get me wrong, you get one life to live and one thumb print to leave behind on this world. I also owe it to my family to give 100% of the fire that burns inside me, because that’s the only way I can repay all the support and words of encouragement.

                 It’s Ironic, as I’m sitting here writing this I keep thinking that I am wasting time blogging when i could be producing some work. Motivation is an abundant commodity right now so I’m going to ride this train until it runs off the tracks. I am done going through the motions, Im going to stoke the flames inside me. I WILL see this dream through.

                 I’m pushing all my chips in.

               It’s a sad day when we lose a creative legend such as Joe Kubert. He passed away on Sunday august the 12th. It’s times like this that tend to give you that feeling that a great void is left in the loss of somebody that contributed so much to comics and art.

                Personally, I remember seeing ads for Joe’s school in the back of diffrent comics i read growing up. I always thought what an awesome thing it would be to attend a school for comic book artists, which was at the time.. the only thing I wanted to be. While i never attended his school, living on the west coast and not having the funds, I drew hope from the fact that comics were a legitimate art form if a whole school was devoted to craft of creating them.

                 The biggest gift an artist has is often misunderstood, its the gift to touch peoples lives. Whether or not its a story that touches somebody deeply or a murial that inspires a young child to want to paint. Joe reached more young artists than i can fathom, both through his gritty ground breaking art and through his school that gave guidance to young artists.

                  It can be confusing to try and pick up the pieces after a loss like this, but if you look at the blue print Joe left it becomes clear. He would want every single artist, writer, ect out their to keep on pushing forward. For the established artists to pass on the knowledge they have, share your gifts. It’s the best way to pay tribute to a man who gave so much to an industry and asked so little back.

                 I hope some day I can touch one persons life the way he touched thousands. In the meantime I will stay inspired and motivated.

          Thanks for everything Joe.

          -Wes

             I picked this comic up the other day after passing it over a few times before. The title and premise alone peaked my interest, but what got me to make a special trip just to snatch it up before It disappeared was the writing.

          Axe Cop was the creation of artist Ethan Nicolle ( 31 years old ) and writer Malachai Nicolle ( 8 years old ). Don’t get me wrong Ethan is a gifted artist who’s work is very polished, but Malachai is what makes this book truly special.

           In a world crafted by a 8 year old boy its no holds barred as far as imagination goes, ands its great fun. Super-heros, aliens and talking animals all co-exisit engaging in an adventure to help Axe cop defend the world from ‘Bad Guys’.

             Some people may avoid giving this title a shot for the same reason that makes it fun, a kid wrote it. If you can get past those hang-ups you’ll be well rewarded. Even the most pretentious readers couldn’t help but crack a smile at some the dialogue .

               Apparently the creative sibling team has been at it for a while, starting with an Axe Cop web comic when Malachai was only 5. It was hugely popular garnering attention from Dark Horse.

               Things really come full circle, comics are often looked at as inspiration for children and with Axe Cop we have a child inspiring comics. A dream come true for most 9 year old boys turns out to be an entertaining read.

-Wes

Here is my old time boxer version of D-man. 

          Words that did not fall on on def ears tonight.

          I have been tormented about some hard choices lately. when i was reminded of a simple and somewhat cliche grouping of words. It does not change the validity of the fact that we should ever for get to not only dream big but to reach for those dreams.

          From the moment i picked up a comic from a drugstore news rack as a young kid, i knew I wanted to do something like what i saw on those pages. I felt like my imagination could lead me somewhere, when I had perviously felt it would bring me nothing but ridicule.

           Everyone thats been told they couldn’t accomplish what was in heart knows that feeling. Its doubt, it creeps in.. days, weeks years after you told you will fail.

           Im begging anyone that has that creative fire let it burn, you can believe you will burn to nothing more ash or rise like a pheonix from it.

-Wes