I keep wanting to draw, but I can't draw anything. I mean at the moment, but the reason I can't draw anything at the moment is because I'm starting to feel like I just can't draw anything at all. Ever. Like, I suck at it. You know? I know. You should know that I know. 

I keep wanting to write something but it just doesn't seem possible. I mean, I'm writing right now, but that's not what I mean, you know what I mean? I mean...like, I want to write SOMETHING. I guess the next great American novel or some bullshit like that, as if I even give a fuck about America or anything that has to do with making it great again. All of that business can just fuck right off forever. 

I keep wanting to be in love again except for that fact that I think that love part of me is broken permanently and I also don't really feel like I want to touch anyone or be intimate with anyone or have to tell anyone where I'm going or what I'm doing or what I'm doing that with or how long I'll be gone or that it's fucking over. 

I keep wanting to make something of myself but I know that it's not possible because I'm never the same person from one moment to the next and the lack of consistency makes me move so fucking slowly compared to the relative speed of the civilized world that I end up looking like I'm some sort of child, or retard, or retarded child...it's okay for me to say "retard" because my uncle has Downs-syndrome. It's okay for me to say "crazy" even though it's technically a fucking micro-aggression because I actually happen to be CRAZY. But that's it, those are the only words it's okay for me to say...the rest of the words that come out of my mouth come out like knifes and bullets and nuclear fucking weapons because my dad has always said that I bring nukes to a gun fight. 

That's his funny way of saying I'm fucking crazy, but it would also be okay for him to just say the word "crazy" because he has a crazy son. 

I keep thinking that one day I am going to compile some of my writing into a book of some sort and then people are going to read it and they will think "What a misunderstood and tortured genius this man was" because I will also probably be dead by the time anyone gives a fuck...which is actually just what I tell myself because it makes living through this life easier when I imagine how glorious my life will be when I'm dead. And the best part about this little fantasy is that when I'm dead it probably won't actually even matter all that much. 

I keep working jobs and getting money even though I have no need or use for money anymore beyond...well, I guess I just need it to exist, but lately I have been thinking about how nice it would be to be homeless again, except this time maybe forever. Just not have to fuck with anything or do anything or be anything or go anywhere or do anything or live anyway or be anything or do anything or be anything or do anything. 

I keep sleeping...a lot. Probably too much, like ten to twelve hours a "night", and I love it more than I love being awake, because I don't love being awake, I kind of hate it. In my dreams I can fly and I live with a woman and her daughter, but she's not my girlfriend and she's not my daughter, but they're nice to me sort of...and in my dreams I get to see my ex's, which actually isn't a pleasant experience because they're never nice to me, so I actually don't know why I brought that up. But I get to hang out with some of my other friends who don't live anywhere near me, and it's always nice to see them. My dreams are always in the same place, some run down city that's cold and dark and wet and I know that it's Utah even though I fucking hate Utah more than anything. 

I keep not killing myself. 

This one is tricky. 
This one is kind of weird...because I also keep not wanting to live. 
So why do I do it?
Or why don't I do it? 
I actually have no idea...I can't tell you anymore. I have no good reason for living other than it's just what I'm doing I guess...I don't want to hurt anyone, but that's only part of it. Morbid curiosity is maybe another part, I suppose...maybe a part of me just hates myself so much that I keep living so that I can go through the abuse? 

I have no idea. 

My mom's ex husbands youngest son is missing right now. 
He's been missing for about two weeks. 

War to start

I take a giant piece of off my dead animal, and as blood runs down my chin, I look at you and ask you what your fucking "problem is?" As if you have a problem, as if you're not alright, as if you've just been lazily picking at your piece of dead flesh for the last twenty minutes because you are god damn excited to be eating again. OH MY GOD EATING AGAIN! Finally! To put something in that disgusting stomach of yours. Full of acid and shit and bile and FUCK YEAH! I can't wait. 

Sometimes I don't eat for days just because I don't fucking have to. 
My body is a temple and there is strictly limited access. 
I am worlds apart from anything you know...think bigger than tentacles...think deeper than the ocean. 

Sometimes I eat for fucking days on end, everything I can get my hands on. 

My weight fluctuates anywhere from 140 - 220 and I don't give a single solid fuck about it. 

Sometimes I lay on myself at night and I can't sleep because my bones are grinding on my bones, I'm just that fucking skinny. My face is sallow and sunken in and my eyes look heavy and tired because there's no fat to keep them up, and all I can do is smile my receding gum-line smile, because I am starving from the outside in and I want everyone to see how fucking happy it makes me. 

Sometimes I fall asleep in a fat sweaty pile of human leather, just breathing and waxing and waning and waiting to be put out of my fucking misery so I can be turned into a couch or a jacket or something pretty...a fucking cowboy hat for christ sake, just anything but me. 

I'm a loser baby

When I was going to sleep last night, laying in bed and thinking about my life and all that I have done and all that maybe I might someday do if I feel like it, I came to the realization that I am kind of a loser. Seriously. It doesn't matter how much bad shit happened to me this last year, or that I'm Bi-polar, it seriously doesn't matter. I have been living with my parents for like ten months now, and I haven't been able to keep a god damn job, and I started drinking again, and I've basically just been floating around with my thumb up my ass just kind of staring wide eyed into the fucking headlights of the car that is life. I'm just standing there, waiting to be run over. 

And some people are saying I'm still doing it, you know "doing it", putting one foot in front of the other or some shit like that...but...I don't know, I really don't know. 

I've had a lot of people die...great, here I go with my pity party bullshit, right? But I've known death, fine whatever, that's all gravy baby, but murder? Fucking murder...man, that shit is hard to wrap your mind around. And then after I died myself and came back to life it's even more of a kind of mind fuck because my entire perspective on life and death went upside down and now I'm looking at life kind of like "Do any of you mother fuckers even know what you're doing?" and the answer is always and obviously "NO!" but everyone screams "YES OF COURSE! FUCK OFF!" as if they have any answers. 

Do you have any answers? Because I'll fucking pay for some. I don't mean memorizing some facts, I mean some of that real PURE un-cut knowledge. That's the good shit, that's what I want. I want to be fucking enlightened! I want my eyes to be forced opened and I want to be blinded by the light. SWEET BLACK BABY JESUS SAVE MY SOUL!

I remember one time in middle school this girl, Jill, she had some warm beers in her backpack and we drank those and then made out and she wanted to go further but I wasn't really attracted to her except for her boobs, so I turned it down and she got really butt hurt and then I spent the next couple of months regretting that decision, so later when her and I had to go to an alternative school were there was some security guard watching us all the time and we were stuck in a room with eight other kids all god damn fucking day and getting on each others nerves, I called her "Saggy tits" and she slugged me and I totally deserved it and then I had to apologize and I totally deserved that too. Her tits weren't saggy, I was just being an asshole. 

I feel like I am probably never going to have any real direction in my life and the only thing that makes me happy is knowing that I am going to die sooner than later because I really don't want to be some forty year old man waiting tables and talking about how my comicbooks are going to make it big or how I am going to sell a bunch of paintings or some scripts or something, haha. I'm not going to do jack shit and everyone knows it...I don't do jack shit, all I do is stand around with my god damn thumb up my ass like I already told you and just stare into the headlights of life. We already went over all of this, didn't we? 

I repeat myself too much to too many people because I have a horrible concept of time and chronology and it seems like everything in the past happened in 1996 even though I'm absolutely positive that I have lived more complete years than that. I can never remember what stories I've told or what news I've reported. It's actually kind of made me want to talk less these days...also, my circle of friends has shrunk considerably so I'm kind of always certain that everyone just kind of knows what's going on anyway...I mean, I post so god damn much on facebook that people kind of know my moves. The only place that no one checks is here...so I kind of just spill my guts here, so if you're reading this you're on of the secret few I suppose. 

Now that it's just the two of us I guess I can tell you about my plans to become a serial killer. I'm just gonna do it. 

JUST KIDDING, just seeing if you were paying attention. 

I'm actually going to start a cult though, and I'm in the process of brainwashing a few people as we speak and it is going quite well. 

Well, I guess that's pretty much all I had to say today. You've been a great listener and that's always such a fantastic thing because when you're crazy like I am, no one really listens to you...I mean, REALLY listens. Everyone is always just like "uh huh, okay Dane...you talk to interdimensional beings and have visions of saving the world but you are worth - $10,000 and you will probably never move out of your parents house because you're shit man...you're absolute shit." 

So is life. 

The River Princess

Outside of a club, it was a cold night, or a hot night...I can't even seem to remember...no, no it was cold, definitely cold because she was wearing a black jacket, I do remember that. And I was about to play a show. I remember that...I remember we were outside the club and we hadn't played yet, and I was taking Neurontin for fun; thousands of milligrams at a time. I used to call it floating. Every eight hundred milligrams was an inch of the ground...I used to float four or five inches of the ground. I think eight inches is the highest I ever went. 

I used to call myself the Demon Lorde Neurontin. Yeah...I remember that now, the way it made me feel was amazing. Literally like you were floating...that moment right before you get drunk and that moment right before the ecstasy hits, that's what it felt like. And that's what I was feeling, until I met her. Meeting her was like crashing into a fucking wave...a hard wave, a wall, a force, a train, a fucking avalanche. My god, she was beautiful, but that wasn't even it...it was her force of energy. It hit me like a sucker punch. Knocked me on my ass. I think I literally fell over and stumbled and forgot how to speak and I couldn't remember how to think and for a moment I couldn't even breathe, all I could do was just stare in disbelief at what I was seeing...and she shrunk back and hid her face a little bit under her hair and looked up at me with this big beautiful dark eyes, impossibly big and impossibly dark and so fucking beautiful...like a pool, I could have just fallen into them over and over again, like a million attempts to swim but secretly hoping I drown and die and exist in them forever and that's just how I'm remembered. 

I drove out to her house one night on acid...we sat in the back woods of her house, and it was October and everything was decorated with Halloween haunts and spooks and the woods were alive with magick and everything was moving and breathing and it never became too much because I was able to lay my head in her lap and she played with my hair and talked to me and her voice is smooth and comfortable and warm like silk sheets...her voice was everything I could ever want to hear...the most beautiful music. It was an anchor to the world when I was drifting into a savage land. 

She had a way of calming my mind. 

I always told her I wanted to lay her down...I would steal kisses from her when I could. It was a smoldering smitten...it was all encompassing and I burned and I still burn and I will probably always burn for her. 

But I am a monster. 

I can't poison her...

So instead I just keep a safe distance. Hundreds of miles between us because it's safer that way for both of us...and I will just always burn, and I will always smolder, and I will always feel incomplete like a part of my life could be better, like maybe gravity wouldn't be so strong and crushing if I had her with me because her energy is a shield and she is love and she is beauty and she is magick and she is glory and compassion and kindness and she is dark and a  little weird and her sense of humor is a little twisted and she can talk to animals...but...I am me. 

I have always been me and I will always be me and I am poison. 

I am deadly poison. 

I am darkness and decay and a black candle on a dark night...I am the flashing of claws and bloody teeth and moonshine and howling in the moonlight and the pull of the tides and I am the depths of ugliness that the entire world works so tirelessly to stomp out. 

I don't mean to be. 
I hate that I am this. 
I am also so many other things...I can be beautiful too. 
I can be a light and I can be love. I really can. 

But I am also all of that...that ugliness. 

sigh. 

I wish I wasn't. 

human guts

I am compelled to just write and to just spill all of my guts out onto the digital page in whatever manner or fashion that happens to appear in. I am at a crossroads in my life to the point that I feel truly and utterly lost. I have no idea where to go from here. I have no idea what to make. I am putting one foot in front of the other, but to what end? I have no destination. I desire nothing more of life than I have right now. I know it is too difficult to maintain anything more than what I have right now. I know the pain of loss too well and I can't bear it's cross again...is that too dramatic? Yeah, that's probably too dramatic, huh? I mean...it just so happens that I...oh, fuck it, never mind. I concede. It was too dramatic. Fuck me anyway. I am kind of over it. And if anyone read this blog this would register as some sort of a suicide note I suppose...but the real joke if it all is that no one does read this and I am going to wake up in the morning and still be alive because I've gone through these motions before over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over so many god damn times that I can't even stand to hear myself talk about it anymore, but I can't keep it all bottled up in my head anymore either so I just need to let it all spill out, you know? I don't think I will ever feel or know true love again, I don't think I will ever allow myself to be capable of it, I don't feel like I am human anymore, I don't feel like the people around me feel...even some of the other people who are like me, I don't feel as human as they seem to want to be or something...I don't even know what the fuck I'm talking about anymore, honestly. Does any of this make any sense? Of course it doesn't, but does it? I mean, I need some honest feedback here, because I'm kind of losing my god damn mind...I'm sick of only getting the straight word from the god damn psychic voices in my head and I call them angels because when I died I saw god but it wasn't any god that you know and they aren't any angels that you've heard of...it's something different completely but it's out there and it exists and I've seen all of it and I hear them and they speak to me and they move me in the right direction but I can't seem to get out of god damn bed anymore...seriously, it's the only place I want to be. I just want to fucking curl up into a ball and give up and surrender and just...fuckkkkkkkkkkk....FUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK....I agreed to all of this, and that's the fuck of it all, is that I agreed to all of this when I died. I looked god straight in the cloud and I told her...I have no idea what I told her, actually, I just remember she gave me a choice and then I woke up, so I must have agreed...so I'm here...I'm fucking here, I AM FUCKING HERE GOD DAMMIT OKAY? Just so we are clear on that, I'm fucking here, and I am staying here and I am going to save the GOD DAMN FUCKING WORLD, but it would be nice if I COULD JUST HAVE ONE GOD DAMN FUCKING NICE THING FOR CHRIST SAKES! JESUS CHRSIT GOD DAMNDSKFN:ALSKFSKLBF:LSKFJ

a;sdlkfj

FUCK

a'sldkfj;aslkdfjlskajf

It's cool, I'm cool. we're all cool..be cool. 

Yeah, it's perfect, it's the perfect night and I'm driving and she's sitting right next to me, and we're both 17 and her blonde hair is flowing in the wind and she's my first love and it was all so innocent but it was all so twisted and sick and corrupted by the cult that our parents were in...jesus...it's all so twisted. I can't even have nice memories, can I? I seriously can't. I seriously can't...it's fucking sick...I can't even look back on my first love and think of how wonderful that was without feeling like a pervert and a failure and a god damn pathetic loser. 

What is up with these human bodies? 

They must be defective...this one I'm in is for sure...I hate it...I feel so human sometimes and I god damn hate it. I hate more than anything when I feel human...it makes me feel weak and it makes me feel soft. It makes me feel...like a fucking parasite. I hate it so much. They stink and they are weak. 

Whatever. 

Fucking whatever. 

I agreed to this. 

I agreed to this. 

I agreed to this. 

I agreed to this. 

I agreed to this. 

I agreed to this. 

I agreed to this. 

I agreeed to this. 

I agreeeeed to his

I agredd teoifhasdofhvas'dfjladskjf sasd

fj

sa;lfads;l

jfdsk;ljgvsado

vjadfa

Howling

My brain is soggy from all of the booze lately and it's sad because it used to inspire me. 
I mean, at least for a couple of weeks there. 
I felt it light a fire in me and it made me want to move and talk and shake and walk and smoke and get my knife and take it with me everywhere I go, through homeless camps and the sunset strip...I wanted it all. 
But now I feel like I just can't think. I can't get collected, I can't get my head on straight...it's a mushy foggy marsh and I am the one who flooded the land with this poisonous viscous insanity. 
It makes my insides rot and stink and behind my eyes becomes dirty and bitter. 

I have come to the end of it for a while. I have come to take a break. I have come to rest and relax and find something akin to solace for a while. I need to think and be fierce. I need to be sharp again, like a weapon. 

I have been hiding behind my glasses, as a mild mannered man. 
I have been hiding behind my beard...hiding my true face...walking amongst the sheep dressed as one of you, acting as one of you, looking and smelling and speaking like one of you. 
baaaaah

I want another wolf to roam with. 
That's always what it comes down to, is that I am a pack animal who is almost always missing a pack because we are so spread out and far away and close, but far apart...as if time and distance are reality. 

I am sick of reality. 

I want to light fires in the field and send smoke signals across the great planes and climb mountains and scream and sink to the bottom of the ocean and flourish and feed of off the dead and blind things, and I want to walk on land and breathe air and emit smoke and eat raw flesh and sink my hands into the earth and dig it up with a primal scream "I AM THE DEVIL AND I HAVE COME TO DO THE DEVILS WORK" but I know that I am god and that it is the same sides, all three, of the same coin, like when it spins in the air and becomes an orb. 

You are god too. 

This is a call to the wolves of the world. 

Vapor

Bitter fortunes, bitter tongues, laid to waste among the entrails of dead birds who have now become maggots who will then become fly's and will fly once again. 
It takes a while for it all to move and shift, to become un-bitter. 

There's always a way to leave when you lie to yourself and lay on the ground, face down, in a puddle, with just enough air to breathe but mostly you're just water vapor now. 
The sun is hot and beating on you. Kicks you in the ribs and spits on you. 
You are vapor. 

Some needles come spinning in and out of your skin. They take from you. 

Red string and a wobbly violin line gently come cross hatching into the plane giving depth to places where there was none. Making some of it impossible to even travel to because the pressure would crush you before you got to the bottom. 

Have you ever felt that kind of pressure? It will literally destroy you so that there is nothing left to identify. 
You are vapor. 

The bottom holds a million variations of one simple flavor, and it is bitter. 
Until you die, your way down will be bitter. 
This is the way it is. 

Shit Baby #1 is FINALLY HERE

It seems like such a long road from the first time I drew a picture of a guy taking a screaming shit to the first publication of Shit Baby, and yet it feels like almost no time has passed at all. 

That could be because time is a dimension that we can travel through as quickly or slowly as we want to. 

Anyway...I wish I had more to write about right now, but I seem to be pretty emptied of words and energy at the moment. I seem to have gotten my ass kicked by the Long Beach Comic Expo, which was an absolute blast and we had one of the best times of our collected life's. Thank you to all of our new and old friends for making it a great and memorable experience. 

We printed a special variant cover for the Long Beach Comic Expo and we still have a few issues of those left that we are going to be selling on this website, signed and numbered of course. We are pretty much just going to run through these and then we will have the actual covers coming in time for a couple of signings we are trying to plan out at some local shops around Southern California. So definitely look out for those in the upcoming events section of the webpage. 

Anyway, I have a bunch of stuff I have to do because I keep seeing the spherical shapes of sacred geometry appear out of seemingly nowhere and trying to burst through my computer screen. 

- Dane G. Russ

I know nothing

Lengthy discussions with a dear friend tonight culminated in a greater understanding of the binary code that are the base mechanisms, the language, the code, of machine...of simple instruction, of logic...of base operation...of the simple tasks...and yet everything is simple. 

And complex. 

The language of the God's, the codex, the complex structures that exist within the holographic universe consist of Trinary language. 

In life there is always a variable. 

That variable is the base value of 2 

Yet that variable is the constant value of 3

because everything works in opposition, everything is odd, the language of the universe consists in threes. 

The holographic universe. 

Every star projects light that refracts from the electricity that is produced between every atom, and where electricity is present you get the presence of "matter" and where electricity is being pulled, you have the presence of "dark matter", yet you only have three components...matter (both dark and light), electricity, and sound. 

The three geometric components that build the holographic structures to the universe that we now live within, within this form, within these bio-mechanical structures we call human bodies. 

Yes...time is a recurrent structure. 
Yes, life is a recurrent structure. 
Consciousnesses is a recurrent structure.

Yes it all seems to be a closed circuit.

But history bends on the side of justice

Entropy is the constant, but justice is a construct.

We are the engineers of time, of history, of destiny.
We are the captains of our own ship, and our ship is shared because we are the subjective experience of ourselves deconstructed throughout the dimension of time.

We are ALL the architect.

But, to tell you the truth?

...I don't know anything, except nothing.
I know nothing. 
That's all I know.

But I believe.

And because of the subjective nature of reality, my belief is my truth, and if my truth is realized, it can become reality, and if it becomes reality than I can move it into fact.

And THAT, I know.

-Dane Gabriel Russ  

I know who I am.

There is a simple part of me that is utterly obsessed with the way that you can slowly slink and sink into the depths of my subterranean brain, as if suddenly I am the one who is a reptile. 
And I feel as if I am a reptile. 
I feel cold blooded. 
I feel as though my eyes can move all about me...yes, I see everything. 
I can match my colors to any surrounding. 
I realize I am reptile. 

And the more you whisper, the more I hear. 
I listen intensely to every sound that seethes from your lizard lips, and I am in full rapture. I am in a full collapse. I am a slow motion train wreck...violent and beautiful, letting the world around me study me intently so that they are sure to take it all in and carry it around with them so that maybe they might become so heavy that they can no longer swim and will have no choice but to feed, here, at the bottom, where the dead things and the monsters are. 

I have seen the billowing clouds of steam and smoke and sand and dirt and dust, and I have heard the bending of iron, the snapping of wood, the screams of death and for mercy. 
I know how it is done, and when I do it I execute it flawlessly...
It is not a form of art.
It is art. 
The whole of it.

As people lay naked all around me, I rise from my grave and put a sleeve over my left arm, for that is the arm I use to strike, to attack, to cut them down by their stock.
I am a shepherd, a reaper, a reaver, a vampire, not quite angel, not quite demon, I am the fear that creeps into your bones when you see your own death and I am the whisper that runs across the back of your neck when your soul becomes scared, I am here in bodily form to walk amongst the naked  and to cast shame upon them. 
You must see yourself before you can come with us. 
I am Demahsa. 

- Dane Gabriel Russ

The hoses.

It seems to be one the laws of nature that you cannot commit a single action without expecting repercussion of at least equal force...I mean...I say it SEEMS to be because we have all seen examples where the balance of power is greatly favored on one side or the other.

It seems these days that I cannot take a step into the quicksand without falling through the sky.

 But...then again, doesn't that all just seem like repeating? I mean..doesn't it all kind of seem misleading? 

And yes, this is the part where I break free from my own tethers...and I see now that I have placed restrictions upon even this writing...as if...what did I want to talk about? My own Bi-polar neurosis as if anyone wants to hear about the afflictions of the human vessel I inhabit? 

No...we want to hear of Shit Baby and we want to hear of Lionel and we want to hear of great news...that great things are coming. We want to be happy and joyous and beyond jubilation and just so god damn JUICY right? Because I needed another word that starts with J...right? 

I could have spelled it Jay

But we don't talk about that, do we? 

Hahahaha....no, not, no, know, now, knooooooooooo, no we don't. 

Not now, not ever. 

Maybe later. 

I will tell you one thing right now, and I will be as honest as I can with you...random fucking strangers that I have no reason to trust because you all turn on me eventually because you are truly cancer....aren't you? 

Ha. 

Yeah...

Well, here's what I will tell you. 
I will never promise you anything. 
I will never ask you to expect anything of me
I will never expect you to think I am delivering anything to you. 

However, I have inside of me - an unstoppable force of nature - a gift. 

I am not of Earth. 
I don't even fucking like this planet. 
But I'm here to...burn as brightly as I can. 

Because it is dark here. 

Hahahaha...now, let's try some word Jazz, shall we? 

p993

Hollow and drawn out and slithering through the spines of old books and dead leaf pages
they smelled like smoke
It reminded me of your old house that had burned down, but you rebuilt it, and it burned down again. 
It reminded me of your home that keeps burning, those dead leafs. 
You are just a reminder of those dead leafs. 
And a broken home built on ramshackle and crutches and the invisible man wrapped in tampons. 
Sometimes I feel like life is a jungle and I am just mowing you down. 
All of you, as if a rainforest had disolved into coffee...or tea...or maybe one lump or two...and maybe you had yourself in a pie...like cream...and it rises and it falls and it stirs down into a god damn pit...and you think it is despair but you have no idea what despair is yet...not yet...NOT YET...because you will...and if you hold on to me, I will take you to the bottom...I can drag you down...I can pull you down...I am the fucking devil and I have come to do the devils work and I will see your end

because I have seen my own

six years from now. 

And some change. 

I will die. 

1-30-17

I sat staring at waves
And endless systematic recycling
The power and the majesty of it
I remember when it stripped you naked, almost killed you, made you throw up. 
But I saved you. 
And all that memory does for me now is make me fatigued. 

I stand alone in a fairy circle
Crumbling mountains and star rocks scattered and strewn
The subtle humility of it all
The air is filthy but crisp. 
I remember you fucked me without question. 
Twice. 
But no woman has ever made me a man. 

I'm done standing and I sit in an empty hallway
The walls are hard and they echo every time I slam my head against the wall
I can hear the voices of hundreds
Each one a reminder that I am alien. 
I hear her crying because I am alien. 
And they all stare at me like I am alien. 

I sit in the back of a police cruiser as handcuffs cut into my wrists. 
I sit on cold concrete as handcuffs cut into my wrists
I am slammed on the hood of a police cruiser as handcuffs cut into my wrists
I sit lined up with friends on hot blacktop as handcuffs cut into our wrists. 

It all makes me tired so I am laying down
Almost everything makes me tired so I am almost always laying down. 
I lay on a fold out mat, cold sweats and hallucinations. 
I lay on a fold out mat and my nervous system stops working. 
I lay on a fold out mat and they tell me I can sleep on a bunk tonight. 
The spot next to wear I was laying...he had been drinking too much mouth wash and I would have woken up covered in minty fresh liquid shit. 

I curl into a ball...
you and I have been free-basing crack for a couple of days straight now and we are arguing but I can't follow it anymore. 
It doesn't make sense to me anymore. 
All of my friends are gone and I'm spun out and you're talking too fast and the yelling is hurting my ears and I can't understand  you maybe if you would talk softer or slower it would help or something or maybe more crack...or do we have black? Maybe some weed or some tequila...give me something anything, I just need something because I hear you but I don't understand and I can't make myself understand on my own so I need...a looking glass, a metaphor, a translator, something to let me know that everything you're talking about isn't as insane as I swear to god I know it is. 

...

I wish I could wrap this up nicely
I wish I could give you the ending that you've all been watching for. 
I wish I could tell you everything was going to be alright, but it's not. 

This is real life.

This is your will against the world, kid. 

Word Jazz

Petulance and pestilence and prejudice and pride.
Pedantic  and romantic and traumatic and tried...and true...ish

For a fellow to be mellow below the belt
Should he melt?
Is it like ice when he sat there...waiting with a hammer, shivering and cold and clambering in shambles like a pelt. 

well he fell.
Didn't he?

Yes he did and no one knew it before the end was below them and a figure had drained so far removed that everything looked placid and pale in comparison.
It felt like it moved through threads and pins and tiny little daggers falling like cloaks through the night.
Trees rush through snakes.
A fall through the fog as if a splash through the window is pain and I am dying now...for you...can't you see....for you?

I want to do something for me.

But a tiny race races through the run in your skirt as you stop and fetter, foolish...yes this is foolish.
Losing a feather or two is one thing but this is just undresseeing and seemingly unseen and obscene and obtuse and misused your trust...this is mistrust...this is us.

I was just a doodle on your face. A mark. A wash. Something of a flick if you will. A tiny little...mmphf. 
You know the sound.
Puffed air from between pursed lips like cheeks full of sand bags and baths for your hand bones you drenched them in something that stunk like old moaning...thralls of ecstasy isn't it? 
Tint on the tits...isn't it?
Something whispered and far removed because you said he was just a child I'm just a child I WAS BORN A GROWN MAN BUT YOU SAID I WAS JUST A CHILD and then you hurt me like a man anyway. 

The way music swings and laughs through your head like a cloudy day with rocks under the swing-set when you hit him and he bit you because you both deserved it. 
Bloody scabby knees...you licked and loved. 
Tasted liked batteries tasted like gum. 
Tasted like gun powder...

Yeah, that's right...he killed his dad just to make the sure the earth didn't stop spinning, didn't he? And I don't think I ever thanked him. 

It's like hiding under her bed when her father walks in and you're only a kid man you're only a kid BUT YOU ARE BOTH DOING THINGS THAT ADULTS TAUGHT YOU TO DO but you hide and you hide and you shake and it's all so dark in here, these memories...and when you finally see her again it's in the mental hospital, isn't it. FUCKING ISN'T IT? 

And that's what you remember love tasting like FOREVER because it was in the cafeteria and the cafeteria is the only time the kids who got their socks taken away got to come down and see the other kids ISN'T IT? 

isn't it? 

Ballerina's dance and float through music box and wind chimes broken doors stink bombs and bicycle rides through forests of dead leaves and fairy tale dreams that dominate everything as if one word was god and one god was the land. 
Salt and swamps and stench and foam and bile and vodka and toilets and reflections. 

Someone wants to play a game and you think to yourself that someone always wants to play a game.
Drinking games and charades it seems
A dark light a bright light a night light a dim light the darkest light and blackness with suffocation and strangers in your room so that you can't move and it's all a dream because everything is always a dream. 
I found a shirt that I still wear it has glass in it and it cuts me sometimes but I don't wash it because it smells like you.

cigarettes and narcissists and feminists and turns and twists the way the cream sinks to the bottom of my coffee before I stir it because even though you think it's cool to drink it black I don't think you're cool at all actually. 

waffle irons and regular irons are both for mornings and sometimes just sometimes just sometimes...just...sometimes...when I wake up I feel ready for the day and the sun doesn't feel like a curse upon my skin...like a constant reminder that the only warmth I can ever feel is an incomprehensible distance away from me and always will be. 

I want to speak to you but instead I only growl and when I go to hug you I end up tearing into your flesh because you look so good I could eat you and you told me you have always wanted to be eaten. 

fluttering upon fluttering, wings upon wings, taking flight through cloudy patches of silver and grey phosphorous and night glide through a stick of storm and bones and stoned to hail winds and trade songs through a galley or an alley to hang your head for the night...hang your head forever...try to sleep on the pavement or the gravel or the wet grass or the cold snow or the spikes. 

Shoelace dances like spring boards to bed time where all your bowels evacuated like Penicillin and oxymorons and mouthwash that has gone bad and then worse and then back again. 
Grown men out in the snow in nothing but nothing. 
Grown men out in the cold
Flutter flutter nothing but nothing. 

Crying...the sound of crying...more than one...the sound of cryings...in the dark

hues above all to be laid to rest or put before...turned on again...I put them down now, before you and for you...turned against...your batter is for you...I preserve the cook above all. 
Take and all that is asked of you shall be forgiven. 
Return and all that is asked of you shall be taken. 
Follow and Rest in the mud of the shallow water. 
Lead and find springs in the mud of the shallow water. 
Divine an ocean. 
Divine this land as if it were a snail to succumb to the garish succubus of the one and true beast of the divide. The great divide. The one and only. It is that it is. To meet with Zero and end it all. For once and only once, a true and meaningful ending. 

Something to hang your head in for the night. 
Something to hang your head in forever. 

-Dane G. Russ

Happy New Year.

It's finally 2017 and the whole world is a new and wonderful place now that the terrible 2016 is all behind us. Thank the gods! 

I don't really have anything else to say about it really. 
I was going to try to be smart or funny or something, but in reality I think this year is probably going to be a lot more of the same. 

I think that's why it's a good idea to laugh a lot at jokes. 

And we have jokes! 

So many jokes! 

We are rolling dice right now to figure out exactly what date we are going to be releasing Shit Baby, but it's a long process where we have to roll the dice x amount of times and then divide that number by the percentage of people that we think are going to be reading this comic in the first place, and then multiply that by the median age, and then just round the whole thing down, triple it, add sales tax, spin a globe and wherever we point our finger when it stops is when we will be releasing Shit Baby to the world. 

It's science from a different time, and possibly a different world, but math is the universal language and you can not tell me that it's not. 

Now then, let me tell you a story of love. 

She screamed and flailed about in a frenzy. "Don't leave me! Don't leave me!" And then she jumped on the windshield of his already moving vehicle. 

"Holy fuck...ARE YOU FUCKING CRAZY?!?! GET THE FUCK OFF OF MY CAR!" He screamed, but she wouldn't, so he ran and ran and ran, barefoot into the darkness while she screamed and cried after him. 

Finally he found himself in some sort of suburban wilderness, curled up in the fetal position by a pool of shitty stagnant water, teeming with mosquitos. He could hear her off in the distance, by the side of the road, what sounds like a truck of men have pulled over to find out why she was crying and they are now calling out warnings to him, letting him know they are searching for him and they are hear to kick his ass. 

He covers his ears and begins to cry himself. 

This entire thing is a living nightmare and he can hardly even believe it's happening...to tell you the truth, he can't even remember what the argument even started over. He's just confused and cold and scared. 

finally the men give up the search and it sounds like they take her home. 

He sits up and pulls a tinfoil pipe out of his hoodie pouch and smokes the rocks he took with him before he tried to drive off. 

You know...they might fight a lot, but she is his soul mate. 

She is his everything. 

She is beautiful and dark and fragile and strong and artistic and feral and domestic and a walking contradiction just like he is. 

He takes another pull on his pipe. 

This is the most in love he's ever been. 

- Dane 

So much news!

I am happy to report that the reason I have not been reporting in is because we have been working hard on so many super dope things to bring to planet earth that it's just going to blow your human minds! 

First of all, did everyone enjoy our Blackest Friday sale? I know I did. My arms are still tired from delivering all of those packages because I deliver them all personally, by arm, and it can really become quite the distance. 

Okay, well I'm glad that you're playing with your new things. 

Also, weren't there some holidays that just happened in this month? I hope that you all had those. I really do. 

Now then...I feel like I had something to tell you. 

Oh yes! 

Our very first SUPER DOPE COMIC is going to be coming out this month! How exciting is that? 
I know that I am very excited because the story of Shit Baby is one that has needed to be told for a long time now. It's a story as old as time, really, but every generation needs to hear it again in a new fresh light. 

It's like the bible, really. 

Shit baby will die for your sins, I'm sure. 

The real fun of it all is that I have given a few people some previews and everyone has seemed to be disgusted and delighted at the same time, and I just think that's perfect. 

Also on the good news list is that I - Dane G. Russ - am going to be representing Super Dope Comix, along with Danny - MyMainMan - Livingston  at the Long Beach Comicon February 18 & 19 in Long Beach California...which just so happens to be our base of operations. OH SHIT! It's going to be crazy...we are just going to walk there. We won't have to get a hotel or anything! We can stay in the same dark, dingy holes that we always stay in...and we can eat the same cheap, garbage food we always eat! 

This is truly a blessed event! 

We are going to have a lot of fun and hopefully sell you all a bunch of super dope stuff. We will have T-shirts and original prints of comicbook heroes getting stoned, and then I am also going to be doing some acrylic paintings of comicbook heroes and heroins. 

I will also do a painting of heroin. 

So...yeah. 

I guess that's about it for right now. 

We are also still working on updating the site and bringing you the best most exclusive content available. So sit tight for that, we are not even a year old yet. 

Can you believe that? We are not even a year old yet. 

Holy shit. 

He's getting so big. 

-Dane G. Russ

Shit Baby/Cyber Monday

I know for a while there it seemed like we all died, and I know that I've probably said that more than a few times, but the truth of the matter is that we're not used to the atmosphere on this planet and it is starting to get to our heads...well, that and the cannabis. We don't have cannabis on our planet and it is the bees knees. 

Anyway. 

Cyber Monday was awesome and as far as we can tell, nobody got hurt! 
If you did get hurt, we'd like to know about it...
But seriously, it was very fun giving our stuff away to you for damn near free because, as we've stated so many many times before...we just think you're sexy so we keep giving you gifts to butter you up in the hopes that all 7 billion of you will bear our children! 

And yes, I said BEAR.

anyway...

Work comes slow on our comix because we are supposed to be on "earth" doing a stupid "important mission" and sometimes it's hard to find the time to get away to do the thing that we really love...which is telling stories about humans to humans for humans. 

So...here's a little preview for what's going on with Shit baby. 

thanks for staying with us while we work on this stuff...you are all dope. 

-Dane 

Big things are coming all over this country.

As the winds of change blow through this country there is a palpable uncertainty that hangs in the air, looming over all of us...thick and dense...suffocating. It's like being waterboarded all the time, isn't it? 

December 5th is going to bring catastrophic death...just wait. I was told it will be so, and so it shall be so. Brahma speaks to me sometimes through that with which can only be felt. 

I sit with Danny right now, in an illegal gambling den, deep in the heart of the Grove. 
They have great coffee. 
We sit and we smoke and we work on bringing something to the world...parables...we want to entertain you, but we also want to send messages of truth. 

We can change the world if we get up and try. 

So much is coming. 

Shit baby is coming. 

Lionel Buttwater is coming

Dead On Arrival is coming. 

Black Magick Pirates is coming. 

Tony and Lamont is coming

We will bring humor and horror and truth. 

We will bring darkness and light and peace and chaos and noise and silence and pink and black and red and blue and white and green and yellow and purple and hazle and turqoise and teal and forest green and perrywinkle and slate grey and sea foam green...fuuuuuck that's so many colors. 

Can you even imagine a world like that? 

-Dane 

You Win Some, You Lose Some.

If anyone out there has been paying attention to what has been happening here, you may have noticed that there was a moment of silence from our end. We do apologize for that. 

We took a brief moment to go back to our home planet to re-evaluate the strategy, to see if it was worth coming back and trying to save the world...and ultimately we decided that it was, indeed, worth it...for you, people of earth. 

Unfortunately, when we got back to our home planet, one of the crew decided to stay...so right now it is only Dave, Danny, and myself; Dane. 

We are back on earth, as humans of earth, living out our life in earth time, much faster than the time we are used to...in a reality much more crushing and cruel than what we have ever had to endure before...but we see something in you. I just learned the word for it...Esperanza, I believe. That's what we see in you. 

So, let us laugh again at all of the terrible things that life has to offer, because there are so so many of them...and I promise that I will begin blogging more in the future. 

Also, we are really going to try to acclimate more to a human society now that DRUMPF is in command, so we will be trying to act more human, and talk less about being from another planet from now on...at least until things die down. 

-Dane 

This is the place.

Hello people of earth. 

I am writing to you some odd 700 miles away from my home, and in the rush of it all I seem to have forgotten my art tablet. Of course I brought two sketch pads and a plastic baggy full of pens and markers and a ring of loose paper...but not the one tool I actually need to be productive. 

"It's like my hobby to keep chewing on the painful things" 

But that's okay because I was still able to create a Totally Human for you this week. 

I am in Salt Lake City, Utah and I have mixed feelings about the trip. 
It truly is beautiful here, the mountains and the trees and the thin air. 
But there is a strange underlying energy that runs like a current throughout this valley. It is unmistakable and impossible to ignore...and at the end of the night it rests heavy on my soul, keeping me from reaching the fifth dimension via the astral plane. 

But that is okay...I am trying my best to take the positives out of everything in life. I don't always do a great job, but I do try. 

So far everything I have eaten has been delicious, so that's nice. 
And it's also nice to be able to drink water out of the tap.

I don't know...I am consumed right now, and it makes it difficult to see the good in things that are objectively good, let alone situations that are slightly uncomfortable. 

I feel like I am usually uncomfortable. If not emotionally and mentally, than physically. 

Today has been wonderful so far if nothing else but for the simple fact that I got to see my dear friend, Christ Overstreet. He is the son of an elder god, making him a demi-god himself, but he roams the world, as I, in this human vessel, the perfect vessel for navigating this treacherous planet. 

Well...I have more people to see
More places to be
More things to think about
And a world to save. 

- Dane

Why is the onion such a perfect food?

Because it is THE allegory for life. 

Not THE Al Gore of life...which is very very VERY similar, but if we are going to be completely honest with each other right now, I would not eat Al Gore, even if I cooked him myself and was sure that the meat was handled properly. 

No, the onion is perfect because it is round. 

That's it. 

You might be saying to yourself "The onion is not round, it is roundish maybe, but it is not a perfectly rounded shape, in fact it has a very specific shape. It's shaped like an onion." 

But you see, now we have already sparked a debate about the nature of reality haven't we? 
Who are you to tell me what round is?
You have no idea who I am, where I have been, the kind of life I have lived, and the sorts of round things I have seen. 

Okay, so fine we can agree that the onion is round...ish...and we can agree that I live in a world of hard angles and you live in a bubble so the onion meets somewhere in the middle, fine...but what does this have to do with life? 

Well a lot of deep thinkers, much deeper than I, have waxed poetically about the many layers of the onion and how when you peel the many layers away you get down to the true center of it all...which only makes sense to me because an onion makes you cry as you peel the layers off of it and every time I have seen someones life fall apart layer by layer, they also usually cry a lot. 

But then there are much deeper thinkers than those deep thinkers who believe that the onion is a better metaphor for string theory, such in that it is a prime example of the stacked dimensions that we live inside of, and on top of, and outside of, and around, and maybe even a few dimensions that we actually embody. Who knows, right? I mean...there are people who say they know, and I have seen their math equations, but I am not very impressed by people who can prove things mathematically because I personally can't understand math on such an advanced level so it actually kind of negates the whole idea of "proof" if 98% of the global population can't even fucking comprehend what you're talking about. 

That's not proving anything...that's kind of like when the Catholic church refused to translate the bible into anything but Latin and then wouldn't teach anyone how to speak or read in Latin and then they were like "Trust us, string theory is real, look at this onion and some math." 

The thing that I actually find fascinating about that little sentence that I just wrote is how angry I am sure people will become by pointing out how similar the new world of science is to the old world of god. 

I'm sure science is different...an intangible explanation of an incomprehensible existence. 

Science is clearly better because we know so much more now...I am not in disagreement with that, but it sure is interesting how "science" has become "the word" and you do not argue with "the word". 

Anyway...all of this was bullshit today. 

The real reason why an Onion is the perfect allegory for life is because it burns, it makes you cry, it stinks, it makes you stink, and yet it's super healthy for you and kind of delicious. 

I don't know who started cooking up all of this bullshit about what life "should" be, because they started cooking it up long before I got to this planet, but it needs to stop. Humanity is such a self absorbed mess that they truly believe life "SHOULD" be anything. Who the fuck are you to look at this life, and demand anything of it? It's so egotistical. 

You are one tiny insignificant spec in one frame of one scene of an inconceivable amount of film and you think you have what it takes to be the director? 

Would you like to know what life is? Because I can tell you. 

Life is everything. 

Every single fucking thing that you can possibly imagine, that is what life is, and it is all of those things, happening simultaneously, all around you and YOU HAVE ABSOLUTELY NO CONTROL OVER IT. 

Life is ugly and beautiful, and it doesn't need to take turns being one or the other, it's both at the same fucking time and it's not going to ask permission or forgiveness. 

I've seen it on other planets, so I know that it is possible...I don't know what the fuck your problem is here on Earth, we have been trying to help you understand this since before you even started recording history (This time around), and we are going to keep trying but I swear to god I am running out of patience. 

If you were to walk in to your friends house, and it was clearly a mess, but your friend was being super cool and invited you over for dinner (not to clean their house) but instead of dinner you just walked around pointing out how filthy their house was, and then you didn't offer to clean anything, and then you ate the dinner that they cooked and before you left you were like "Man, that dinner was a gift, but your house is a giant pile of shit and I outlined very clearly in detail where your main problems are so that you can clean that shit up." 

You wouldn't have that friend anymore. 

So why do all of you pretend that life is a gift but then go around pointing out how shitty and messy things are? Or worse, make giant fucking messes yourself? 

If life is a gift...CLEAN YOUR FUCKING HOUSE AND SHOW SOME FUCKING APPRECIATION THAT SOMEBODY COOKED YOU DINNER YOU UNGRATEfUL WHINEY PIECES OF SHIT. 

Jesus Christ. 

You don't need to put up with these lying abusive politicians and you don't need to keep scraping and clawing at other people for money that is worthless, and you don't need name brands and fossil fuel designer cars and radiation filled sushi. 

But what do I know? 

I'm just the asshole with a box of onions. 

-Dane