Available for Sale at my store.

Drawn in black ink on a chipboard from the back of a pad of paper. Listen, you can tell what this is. I have no explanation. It just IS.

I have several superheroes who live in my head that I’ll 99% probably never get around to making a comic about, but he’s the closest to the 1% that keeps edging out. I dunno. Still working VERY VERY VERY VERY VERY SLOWLY on my zombie comic over on my Patreon.

I want to make 2025 a year where I do more original works than I do Fan-Arts. I mean, it’s not like I have any kind of a following anyway, so no matter how many times I draw Spider-Man or Batman, I am still an invisible entity on the internet and in the world. Might as well try to find what creativity I have left inside myself and milk it til I die – possibly soon? I dunno. I have plans. I always have plans. Just need to find the follow-through. Working nearly 7 days a week with a fucked-up schedule and still attempting to maintain the 3 social relationships I have with a mighty death-grip is exhausting, especially as I inch closer toward 50. My near-death experience in 2022 kinda fucked me up way more and deeper than I think I expected. My ability to make art or any kind of lasting personal legacy is waning, and I a) don’t know how much longer I have and b) know that whatever I do will be forever ignored. It’s frustrating and it’s hard to let that go.

2024 was rough. Parts of 2025 seem to be looking up, but as my personal life adjusts, the world, particularly the country in which I live, is backward sliding into a fiery, slow, dumb-as-fuck fascism. It’s hard to be optimistic.

All I can do is control my own life (to a very minor degree) and my own actions. Part of that will be to make things that I can point to and say “I made this, this is mine, this is me.” Even if it’s just stupid shit that makes me giggle.

Happy New Year, fuckheads (with love).