Category: Visual Arts

Yes, but I, I’m a boy…A small story which always happens–I said “ouch! This really hurts!” This could well be, but this has
been practiced for millions of years. Therefore we are–Yes, but, you’re a girl…I lie in my bed, totally still; my eyes wide open; I’m enraptured.

I want summer’s sad songs behind me. I want a laugh a minute, without fail; want to be Paul Le Mat in 1980. Looking to forget tomorrow, looking everyday.

You come creepin’, actin’ like a friend. But I’ve been warned, your deceit knows no end…It upset me to learn you act this way. Poor thing, it must be hard to be yourself each day.

I laughed and shook his hand and made my way back home. I searched for Sunday Comics for years and years I roamed. I gazed a gazeless stare, we walked a million hills. I must have died alone a long, long time ago.

He’s the man with a plan, got a counterfeit dollar in his hand! He’s Misstra Know-It-All! Take my word, please beware of a man that just don’t give a care! He’s Misstra Know-It-All!

Cubs make fires on the edge of the golf course, but…there’s more of them than us now and they have come to settle scores.
So there’s bound to be some Sunday Comics on the B-road where they don’t fly the Stars and Stripes.

Why do you try to cheat and trample people under your feet? Don’t ya’ know it is wrong to cheat the tryin’ man? You better stop! It is the wrong ’em, boyo!

Put your hands over your eyes. Jump out of the plane. There is no pilot. You are not alone. Standby. This is the Comics. And this is the Sunday of the Comics. This is the time. And this is the record of the time.

I follow Victor to the sacred place. This ain’t a dream, I can’t escape. Molars and fangs, the clicking of bones — spirits moaning among the tombstones.
“I don’t want to be buried in a pet cemetery, I don’t want to live my life again.”

How do you say delicious? How do you say delovely? How do you say delectable? How do you say divine? How do you say deSunday? DeComics? How do you say Deee-Lite?