Monthly Archives: February 2012

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The Boys I Mean

A very refined boy.

fifteen

And a poem by ee cummings

the boys i mean are not refined
they go with girls who buck and bite
they do not give a fuck for luck
they hump them thirteen times a night
 
one hangs a hat upon her tit
one carves a cross on her behind
they do not give a shit for wit
the boys i mean are not refined
 
they come with girls who bite and buck
who cannot read and cannot write
who laugh like they would fall apart
and masturbate with dynamite
 
the boys i mean are not refined
they cannot chat of that and this
they do not give a fart for art
they kill like you would take a piss
 
they speak whatever’s on their mind
they do whatever’s in their pants
the boys i mean are not refined
they shake the mountains when they dance

—-

THEY SHAKE THE MOUNTAINS WHEN THEY DANCE!!!!!! <3

I have always loved that poem… but I think we might mean different boys… :D
Have a good week, moofies… scandal and intrigue in the next post. And mourning. : (

NSFW– Lesbians in Space

or Y U No Draw the Dick, Moof?

A while ago, I had gotten an interesting question from one of my readers. She said to me, you know moof, you’re always drawing these pretty boys, or boys kissing… but where is the dick? Why do you never draw their dicks, moof? For that dearest reader, I present to you……

I drew it, but you are spared. Another for the tentacle lovers. (Work in progress)

Why did I never draw the dick? HAVE I even drawn a dick, ever? I realized with a start that my dick-drawing experience was limited entirely to scribbling unsophisticated cocknballs in the margins of my school work in days of yore. This conversation with this friend happened months ago and in its wake, I did make a few half assed attempts to pin the tail on the donkey so to speak, but whenever I got to the crotch area, my pencil would get shy. Wither. Performance anxiety. And you know I’m not such a shy moof, but it seemed dirty somehow.

Well, not last night. Last night, at two in the morning with a Nazgul sleeping hard in the next room, I decided I was going to Draw the Dick. And I did! And it was so pretty and veiny and triumphant that I wanted to share it with you and this particular reader, but something tells me I’d get in trouble with WordPress and that many of you …. don’t really care to see it, so you guys are just going to have to take my word for it that under that rage face is an EXTREMELY handsome specimen of a penis.

Yay! ^^b

In other news. I’m kind of in a fight with my mom. : ( Is it in bad taste to bitch about your mom on the internet? (Probably about as bad taste as posting a picture of a penis covered by a rage face…) Oh well, you know how much I like my mom, so it’s nothing personal, and I’ve bitched about my mother in law on this blog, so maybe it’s only fair :D And then, this fight is a little bit unique:

It’s about lesbians in space.

I have to go back to set up the story a bit. I have to go back about two years ago when I was trying to sell my first book to a small press called Manic D. One of their submission requirements was that you read at least one book they had released and explain why you thought your work was compatible with their material. At that time, I was trying to sell them a story about an astrophysicist who finds a tear in the fabric of space-time that allows him to go back in time and alter the…

Wait a minute.

No, I was trying to sell them a story about sexxxxxx so I perused their online offerings, trying to find the sexiest cover that might be sandwiching contents relevant to my writings. I didn’t have to look far. A few rows down their virtual bookshelf, I found a cover featuring a dog-collared, hairless, smooth twinktorso against a faux-jaguar background. Beads of sweat and sparkles may or may not have been added via Phoshop. The cover to a story of a happy-go-lucky 19 year old boy who falls into a mind-altering obsession with a dropdead gorgeous older hustler named Colin (hottest hustler name ever?!?)–I knew right away that ‘Gutterboys’ by Alvin Orloff was my boy. Only problem was that Manic D didn’t ship overseas. No prob–I entered my mom’s address back home in the states and went on with my life.

A few weeks later my mom tartly informed me on the phone that a book had arrived for me in the mail. ‘Oh, for me? Are you sure?’

“I’m sure. It’s called,” the temp of her voice dropped 20 degrees. “Gutterboys.”

She said ‘gutterboys’ like other people says ‘he’s in the last stages of syphilis’.

I tried to keep my tone bright.

“Oh yeah! Gutterboys! I forgot I had ordered that… Can you send it to me? They didn’t ship to Europe…”

“Why do you have to read a book called ‘Gutterboys’ so much that you had to have it shipped to me?”

“Oh, don’t worry.” I reassured her. “It’s research!”

That was a good four years ago, but I recognized that tone instantly again in my mom’s skype font last week in 2012. Deja vu?

“Did you order some book for yourself and have it shipped to me?”

I had ordered in fact several books in the last few weeks, and I was wondering which one she could mean.

“It’s small…” She went on slyly. I wondered why she didn’t just tell me the title.

“I ordered a zombie horror novella. Maybe you’re talking about that. It’s called ‘Eat Your Heart Out.’ Is that it? I’ve been wanting to read it for a while. It was another book released this year by my press.. It’s got zombies.”

“And lesbians!” She typed accusingly. I blinked. Yes, the book did have lesbians as well as zombies.

“And lesbians.” I added. . “It’s about a lesbian couple fighting zombies….”

Her font jabbed at me.

“You know… I can understand a book like yours… but this? THIS? What, so… they [they are the gays] they just write books now about anything to stick lesbians in our faces?? What’s next? Lesbians in space? Lesbians solving crimes? It’s just like all those black shows on TV!!”

I didn’t want to tell her that I was 100 percent certain that niche fiction did exist for lesbian sci-fi and the like… maybe I was too busy fuming.

I like my mom, no scratch that, I love my mom, which is why it’s so frustrating to talk to her sometimes. It’s like.. how can I like someone this much who never sits down and thinks: Hey. As a white, North American straight woman, I relate most to white, North American straight women. Maybe… just maybe.. a lesbian relates more to lesbians sometimes… or maybe black people also like to see shows with characters that relate to them.

Not to ‘stick it in our face.’ A phrase I fucking hate.  It’s just so presumptuous, this ‘sticking it in our face.’ Yes, I wanted to tell her. Lesbians and blacks and minorities in general should only create shows, literature and art that explains to YOU, the majority, why you shouldn’t lynch them. They have NO RIGHT to create these things simply as entertainment for their own community. In fact, any time a lesbian puts her nib to the paper, she is probably only doing so to try to turn you, the straight person, into a carpetmuncher!

Our argument took a definitive turn for the worse when Victor Hugo was once again evoked. Mr. Hugo, who wrote such wonderful literature without a single swear or lesbian in sight.

Well, I’m sorry. I wanted to yell. As much as you can yell while texting on Skype. I am NOT Victor Hugo, and neither is this young woman who wrote this lesbian zombie thriller, but what can I say? I create stuff I like about subjects I find moving/sexy/weird in the hopes that other people with like minds will like them too and NOT to convince closed minded people otherwise. Because frankly, I don’t care. If you like what I like, cool. And if you don’t, then a big, wet, juicy, tentacled

pgfffftttttgggggbbbbbbbbbb <3 <3 <3

The Infernal Bridegroom

I'm not sure what's going on in this picture.... but it looks like fun ... (moleskine)

detail o' the groom...

Hey moofs. It’s been a while.

Enough of a while that I actually got a text from a fan (I have a fan. yes. One.) telling me to either 1. Make a post. 2. Post a pic of my tits.

I wish I had really killer tits, because that would mean less work for me and more fun for you, but I decided to go with ‘post’ for the happiness of all.

This picture is called ‘Wedding Night – The Infernal Bridegroom.’ Honey on the right is a really sweet guy who contacted me (!) and sent me a few photos (!) I can use for drawings when I have time. (When do I not have time to draw a pretty man? Two hours of sleep a day is enough, right?)

In the meantime, my publisher is reading my book. I’m so nervous, I could puke. This is the closest I’ve gotten to this book getting published, this moment right now. And I’m so scared to get the “Sorry, but… well yeah, not what I’m looking for…” email >< that will then drag me away from this moment.

But I’m staying it positive  ^^

Nazgul News: Parkour (–) has started his parkour career in earnest. We now keep the kitchen window closed, because he did indeed parkour into the kitchen from the dining room. I knew he was by the window (he usually is, molesting the printer) and I thought nothing of it. His dad was washing dishes and then next thing I know, a spectacular clatter and a shriek that would have stopped Sauron himself, the Great Burning Vagina of Evil in the Sky, dead in his tracks… There’s a ledge directly under the window, so he didn’t fall very far at all, just startled the hell out of himself–and us. So now the window is closed (if this story makes no sense to you, there is a really strange window that opens into our kitchen from the dining room… the window is by the floor. I know. Hard to visually… but easy to parkour through : O)

Wishing you guys a nice week ~__~

Post or GTFO!!!

'She Said Nothing' -- A picture of SNRN <3

There are certain hands in mah-jong (japanese tile game) where if you win them, you have to watch out. Winning them is so rare that to do so, you are considered to have exhausted your luck for a year and are now liable to get flattened by the first car, right out of the blue.

That about sums up how I feel right now. Like I have used up all my luck and now I’ve gotta look HARD when I cross the street…

I am officially invited to speak at ALAN (Assembly on Literature for Adolescents of the National Council of Teachers of English, whoo boy, a mouthful!) next November in Las Vegas. The moof! Will be there! In suit and tie! I’m going to meet this lady I’ve been corresponding with for the last few weeks and I am so excited and nervous, I could just… poop!

I wrote my publisher and told him the turn of events…. I got a one line email back from him:

What’s your number? I need to talk to you.

I was like “shit!!!” Of course I gave him my number, but I was biting my nails. (Why is my first instinct always that I’m in trouble?) He called me right away, said he was happy I had written her back and that all’s well that ends well.

Then he asked me if I was thinking of making another graphic novel:

Me: 0_0. No. I actually have two other books I’ve written and I’d like to take this time now to focus on trying to get them published. One is finished, one is almost finished. But they’re not graphic novels and they’re not young adult novels either.
Him: Well, what’s the finished one about?
Me: Well.. [insert here the plot of 'H'.]
Him: Sounds great. I want to publish it.
Me: 0_0. …but you haven’t even read it.
Him: I’m sure it’s good.
Me: But… it’s not gay.
Him: I don’t care. I’ve published not gay before.

[Yes, yes, because my shwulemacht (gay powers) are so strong, I really struggled to not make V gay. Or bi. Or make out with a guy.  It was hard, because I think a V on boy scene would be beyond hot, but hey, maybe someone will write that fanfic for me if I'm ever famous. How amazing would that be??]

But yeah, with that, my poor first book that I loved so much about a girlcrazy boy called V, exquisitely formatted by Paintblotch and rotting on my computer for close to four years now… has found a home =) Of course, I don’t consider it a sealed deal yet. I have to add some copy-edit changes and then my publisher will have to read it. Who knows, maybe he’ll think it’s shit and then game over.

Restart.

But maybe not?
This mofo is over the moon! (Mofo is an anagram for moof. So is foom…. I’m done now.)

I promise my next blog post will not be about how fucking wonderful my life is, but something about my constipation, or a medical problem, or how much it sucks to wake up to a baby Nazgul chewing off your face. But I had to tell you guys.

<3 love, moof

Ask

And you shall receive?

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Peeps, I feel like this <3

Let this be a lesson to me to always speak up… It’s so nice to find that someone will listen.

I wanted to say thanks to everyone who’s been coming by and commenting and leaving your support. =) And to anyone following my letter agony, I heard back from the lady today <3 I’ll be honest, I was shitting bricks when I opened her email–but my gut instinct was right, to write to her. She was so kind and understanding.

In the hubbub of the last few weeks, I’ve been in a few situations that have made me question my faith in humanity (again!) but this woman has given me some of that faith back. She seems real. I don’t know if we will have a chance to work with each other at this event, but I am glad I wrote to her and glad to hear back from her.

Everything feels clean again. =)

Losing My Religion

The boy I draw when I'm feeling down. N.L.

I probably did something I shouldn’t have. To set it up, I heard back from the lady for the __________ convention. The answer is: Rejection. : ( She could not see my book fitting into a school library. I have no idea if she was merely being diplomatic, but she cited one particular scene as placing the proverbial straw…

I could accept rejection, but the reason for the rejection was so unsatisfying for me, that I could barely sleep that night after her letter.

I kept tossing this way and that.

I realized that while I did not want to argue with her, I would be thinking about this issue for literally months if I did not tell her my opinion. So I wrote her a long letter. My mom advised me not too–the boys said I should, so long as I remained respectful. I was respectful, if somewhat, I afraid, emotional. Maybe she’ll tell me to fuck off–maybe it will make sense to her. I don’t know. It’s too bad–I would have liked to work with her. She sounds like a no-nonsense, cool lady and I believe this project of hers is doing a good thing.

The situ made me low enough to fall back on an old drawing favorite. If my Nagel fan comes around again, there you go. =)

No Surprises, Please – Illu Frito

Yes, you are such a pretty boy.

We discussed this in an earlier post about ‘Eraserhead.’ I don’t like surprises. I’ve got a week constitution–for months, nay years, after I saw ‘The Ring’, I couldn’t even begin to approach the bathroom in the dark. The theme of this week’s ‘Illu Frito’ is ‘Suspense,’ exactly that which I don’t like. Not suspense on the screen and not suspense in my life.

But suspense has my fucking phone number! (Don’t know how he got it, even I don’t know my phone number!) This has been a very suspenseful week or two.

Right now, my book is being reviewed and considered for possible material at a teaching conference. (Is it okay to talk about this stuff in a public place? Gee, I hope so.) Well, I’m not saying anything bad or particularly revealing and even if I am not picked, I am already honored at being considered, no hard feelings, but to be perfectly honest, the suspense is starting to kill me. If I’m picked, I get to go to Las Vegas this fall. =) Every day that I don’t hear back from the lady who probably has a billion other concerns on her plate, I tell myself: God, your book is too (insert a May shower of disparaging adjectives here).

I’m doing a telephone interview with another lady next week. (!!) I get three minutes to talk about why I wrote about what I wrote about and why I picked my media. It’s being recorded and I hope I don’t screw up. They sent me a sample audio, so I have an idea of what and how to talk. It was the lady who wrote Persepolis (the graphic novel.) I was like Holy Shit, I’m doing an interview and being put into the same data base as the lady who wrote Persepolis!!!

Is this real life? (No, this is the internet :D)

I got into an argument with my mom today because some distributor, after ordering a fuckton of my book, decided to actually crack it open and LOOK at the damn thing and they decided it was too profane. So they want to send the whole shipment back to my publisher. (Again, don’t want to give TMI on the internets, so that’s all I’ll say.)  I told my mom that was ridiculous–she said if I don’t want to be censured, I should start writing about ‘nice’ things. Her argument:

‘Victor Hugo didn’t need all that foul language to write his wonderful books.’

‘Victor HUGO,’ I shot back. “Was probably also lambasted for writing about child prostitutes, hunch-backs, beggars, sewers, poverty, riffraff and jailbait when there were all these society ladies sitting around in their parlors in white gloves, aching to be immortalized!”

Then we got into an argument (sort of) about being gay, which was also a lose-lose situation.

“If you have the right to write your controversial opinion,’ she says, ‘others have the right to try to stop you from expressing it.’

‘But I am not FORCING anybody to read what I have written. I am simply making it available. They, however, are trying to force people to NOT read it, by making it less readily available. Doesn’t that make them wrong?”

Not in the eyes of my mum.

Am I wrong?
Am I the asshole?
Sometimes, talking to my mom makes me feel like a really big asshole.

::sigh::

 

 

Vicarious

Vicarious - 'I need to watch things die. From a safe distance.'

You know, I love, but I think I don’t get Tool’s music. Whenever I listen to one of their songs, I end up drawing something like above– their songs make me feel floaty and sad, but if you look at a ‘Tool’ video, it’s always these little humanoid creatures getting tortured and raped etc. etc, almost reminding me of fucked up Claymation. Their videos are much more brutal and in a way, more silly, than their music… they never quite fit for me, but since they fit for the band, it must be me…

Anyway, sort of a low key weekend. I’m looking for something to throw things up.

Another ‘Tool’ video I randomly watched while drawing this weekend was synced to the David Lynch movie ‘Eraserhead’ and now I’m a little intrigued by wanting to see it though a friend recently most distinctly said DO NOT WATCH ERASERHEAD. (Because it would freak me out.)

(Important bit of random information about me: The Moof is a spectacular coward.]

Any Eraserhead fans out there? What’s your take? Can a pussy handle it? Or should I let this one go?

A Shout to All My Lost Boys

I’m too tired to write. So I’m just going to throw some pictures at you, moofies.
Hope you like them ^^

Boy Kiss. Only with the power of Skrillex can the Moof draw so. Much. Hair. (A picture for a friend.)

[Oh, and just to clarify, all these pictures are of males. Just so you know...]

A shout to all my lost boys. Go easy on those wrists, kids. : /

Snot. [This picture grosses my mom out so much, she can't look at it. ... is it that bad?

A little sketch of the painting I'm working on.

All right, lost boys. Nothing more to see here.
This moof… is off to bed.

TGIF!!!!
And if you have no energy: Skrillex. Bangarang. It’s like coffee for the ears…
‘Yo… I’m eatin’ fundip right now… not givin’ a fuuuuuuuck…..’
~_~