Aug 7, 2017
Fukitor by Jason Karns
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Fukitor by Jason Karns
Fukitor by Jason Karns
Fukitor by Jason Karns
The Mystical Architectures of the Queen of Cosmos Comix Trilogy
Queen of Cosmos Comix Trilogy brings together five decades of cosmogony, autobiography, and Orthodox Jewish visual practice The nickname came from a musician. Barbara Mendes’ first husband, guitarist Rick Kunstler of Group Image, gave her the name “Willy” in honour of Latin jazz percussionist Willie Bobo — and it was under that name that she entered the East Village underground in the late…
Pocket Full of Rain and Other Stories by Jason
Here's a deluxe, expanded (224 pages) hardcover reissue of the seminal collection of the formative years (the 1990s) of the phenomenal, Norwegian comics creator, Jason. Pocket Full of Rain and Other Stories presents a thoroughly enjoyable collection of his comics, while simultaneously providing a fascinating look at the development of his singular talent.
Published by Fantagraphics Underground
HERE
Anna's Fantagraphics Underground Press staff pick: Recidivist Vol. IV by Zak Sally
"Zak Sally would like you to know that he’s not sorry for making a book that’s difficult to read, because it’s a part of the process. Tilting the book in certain angles to catch the right light is the only way to read some pieces of text that’s found within this zine/comic/object. It’s self-exploratory, probing, and seeking for answers that no one asked the questions to. Straight from brain to paper, the surreal experience of reading The Recidivist is also available to download straight to brain via the accompanying CD to help enlighten your journey. Beautiful, high quality art and printing service this tale of wandering thought, and make this a stand-out addition to any art collection." -Anna
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SANDY SAYS
I grabbed a random cobra and headed to the beach. Sheila was there, looking quite asparagus in a 1970's one-piece. I trip on a castle and taste earth, only it's not as tasty as usual. A cell phone rings x1000 and a dolphin burps cured meats. The wind blows the meats east.
I lay the cobra on a towel and it coils around some lotion.
"Get em'!" I'd say.
The cobra closes its eyes and goes into r.e.m. sleep. On the water ahead of us, two paunchy men discuss a pending divorce settlement via sailboat. Their fingers dusted with remnants of heavily flavored nacho asbestos. Sheila turns to me and smiles. It seems to extend all the way around her head and I become jealous.
"I thought we'd go out tonight and disco dance."
That's rather random. Hell, I haven't disco danced since 1980. I was five.
"Pencil me down for eight o' clock" I say.
I killed her smile with my surplus joke. What's wrong with this picture?
Three men with rusty rifles and worn out military gear tell us to evacuate the beach. My cobra wakes up.
"Why do we have to go?" Sheila asks.
"A hydrofoil washed up on the shore. It looks hurt. We're gonna nurse it back to health".
A fourth "soldier" saunters up carrying a cooler, wearing gaudy neon shades.
(Short story from I Can Count To Infinity, a work in progress. More stories like this via my current book Enough Astronaut Blood To Last The Winter