B O N D P H O N E.
Words and pictures by Chris Lamb.

Mates of State at the edge of audible from exhausted car speakers, Shout-sung lyrics like arrows shot at the heart of God. "I can't tell what kind of life I've lived today;" vocals grab each other and harmonize against all odds, action star lovers in desperate free fall. Nobody cares like pop music. The Mates of State are the shabby indie kid of our arthouse theatre dreams, wide-eyed staring at the stars with hands to their chest holding their heart together. Love as the progress of stumbling stretched over miles.

The pop song opening to oh-four broke apart during the stomp circle of February. Lots of stalling and noise, the sort of bullshit excavations that lead to panicky thoughts of running instead of work getting done. Nothing worth talking about, nothing worth dwelling on. The year moves on with boundaries defined, and knowing what you can't do only opens what you can. This isn't a pop year. March opens needing something with a little more meat and kick to it. Springtime written by The Pixies, still-life with knives.

Right, so...comics.

I'm writing a graphic novel. Slowly. Finally. Nailing down words around work weak bastard need for sleep, putting together something radically different than the idea of nearly a year ago. After wrestling with the didn't-really-work title and looking around for something really shiny and clever, I went with what fit best.

I'm writing a comic called RAIN DOGS. This blog isn't so much how-to as it is just...um, how.

More later, as things happen.

posted by chris  # 10:08 PM