Imagine a new Confederacy of States.
Imagine Sarah Palin as the President.
Imagine Dick Cheney as the Minister of Defense, and Tony Perkins as the Watchdog of Family Matters.
Dick Cheney will operate without restraint or impunity and use Blackwater as his own secret police, detaining anyone who might be suspected of having liberal, progressive, or left leaning beliefs. Or anyone who might know of such persons or associate with such persons. Or anyone he might personally feel is a threat to the Confederacy. Of course if there are any doubts about a citizen's patriotism, a water boarding session is sure to bring out the truth quickly, thus assuring that Cheney and his secret police will be able to keep the New Confederacy free from any potential treats.
Tony Perkins will be in charge creating a "morally righteous" society in this New Confederacy, making sure that his interpretation of the bible and only the strictest Christian Fundamental beliefs are taught by all schools, espoused in all entertainment venues, and re-enforced in any and all media outlets. Of course if anyone engages in any immoral behavior, espouses any believe in the Satanic Sciences of evolution, astronomy, quantum physics, or climate change, or any person who participates in a creative project of fiction, music, or art that may hold such heretic beliefs...well, then the matter will be turned over to Minister of Defense and those who can be salvaged will be re-educated. Those who cannot will be executed.
Sarah Palin will be able shoot wolves from a helicopter, rape Alaska, sell even more books, spout the talking points of her core beliefs (as long as they are written on her hand so she can remember them) relish in the demise of the Polar Bear, and make even more money so she continue to be idolized by all the struggling Walmart mothers who see her as "one of them".
All those who lives in the New Confederacy will walk around with a Luger sidearm displayed at all times. There will be no local or state police since armed people can take care of themselves. There will be no public roads or transportation. There will be no banks. Gold, land, and weapons will be the currency of choice. If you have your own great. If not, use the arsenal you have and go out and take someone elses.
And there will be no taxes...except those Dick Cheney deems necessary for his secret police and national security...and those that Tony Perkins sees as vital to spreading the word of God and running the re-education camps...and those that Sarah Paling must have for her book tours, and her speaking engagements, and her wardrobe...and her tanning bed in the President's mansion.
Welcome to the revolution people.
Welcome to the New Confederacy.
Welcome to the world of Teabaggers, Palin lovers, and secessionists.
Welcome to the human race.
Friday, February 19, 2010
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Gods of Illustration
I first experienced it on a humid morning in late June of 1978.
Walking into the sprawling National Record Mart on Forbes Avenue just off of Market Square in downtown Pittsburgh, I relished the sudden blast of arctic air from the AC vent above. I could feel the sweat instantly drying of my damp skin, cooling me off from the long trek I had just endured from the Southside. As was my customary routine, I made my way to the back of the store where rows of glorious paperback books surrounded a super-sized magazine rack housing Starlog, Cinefastique, Creepy, Mad, and all the other magazines that I could not live without. I glanced over at the paperback rack to my left marked "used", and that is when I saw it.
It was just a small 5 by 7 inch mass market paperback, but what I saw on the cover was larger than life indeed. Underneath the bold red font that read Conan The Adventurer was a cover illustration...a painting...so bold, so primal, so real....I could not stop staring. I needed to possess that book. I needed to feel more of what that cover made me feel.
I needed to somehow become Conan the Barbarian.
The was my first experience of Four Color Crack.
That was my first experience of a Frank Frazetta Conan cover.
That was my first experience with a God of Illustration.
Over the years, I came to know and love the work of so many great illustrators. Through the Muscle Magazines I read, I came to know the master of human form Boris and later his wife Julie Bell. In the 1980's I became mesmerized by the one sheet movie posters of Drew Struzan that lined up the lobby of the local cinema. My addiction to noir and pulp lead me to the bask in the sensual cover paintings of Robert McGinnis, Paul Radar, and Robert Bonfils.
So when I finally was in a position to choose a cover artist for my own books, I knew I needed to find someone who could create that same kind of magic. Some gifted illustrator who possessed the ability to sum up the emotion, the feeling, and even the philosophy of a novel with one stunning image. Someone who could capture the erotic drenched noir of She, and the riveting over the top desperation of Action Figure. And finally, I found that cover artist in Erin Gibson. For both books now possess covers that not only speak of what is inside the pages, but it is artwork that takes on a life of its own as well.
Four Color Crack.
That was the term I heard that best described that feeling I get from a piece of illustration that leaps off the page, or the canvas, or the movie poster, or the book cover.
Artwork that creates emotion and mood.
Artwork that tells a story.
Artwork that somehow seems to jump across the blood brain barrier and infiltrate the cerebral cortex, saturate the pleasure receptors of the frontal lobe, and create an intense feeling of addictive euphoria.
Four Color Crack.
Walking into the sprawling National Record Mart on Forbes Avenue just off of Market Square in downtown Pittsburgh, I relished the sudden blast of arctic air from the AC vent above. I could feel the sweat instantly drying of my damp skin, cooling me off from the long trek I had just endured from the Southside. As was my customary routine, I made my way to the back of the store where rows of glorious paperback books surrounded a super-sized magazine rack housing Starlog, Cinefastique, Creepy, Mad, and all the other magazines that I could not live without. I glanced over at the paperback rack to my left marked "used", and that is when I saw it.
It was just a small 5 by 7 inch mass market paperback, but what I saw on the cover was larger than life indeed. Underneath the bold red font that read Conan The Adventurer was a cover illustration...a painting...so bold, so primal, so real....I could not stop staring. I needed to possess that book. I needed to feel more of what that cover made me feel.
I needed to somehow become Conan the Barbarian.
The was my first experience of Four Color Crack.
That was my first experience of a Frank Frazetta Conan cover.
That was my first experience with a God of Illustration.
Over the years, I came to know and love the work of so many great illustrators. Through the Muscle Magazines I read, I came to know the master of human form Boris and later his wife Julie Bell. In the 1980's I became mesmerized by the one sheet movie posters of Drew Struzan that lined up the lobby of the local cinema. My addiction to noir and pulp lead me to the bask in the sensual cover paintings of Robert McGinnis, Paul Radar, and Robert Bonfils.
So when I finally was in a position to choose a cover artist for my own books, I knew I needed to find someone who could create that same kind of magic. Some gifted illustrator who possessed the ability to sum up the emotion, the feeling, and even the philosophy of a novel with one stunning image. Someone who could capture the erotic drenched noir of She, and the riveting over the top desperation of Action Figure. And finally, I found that cover artist in Erin Gibson. For both books now possess covers that not only speak of what is inside the pages, but it is artwork that takes on a life of its own as well.
Four Color Crack.
That was the term I heard that best described that feeling I get from a piece of illustration that leaps off the page, or the canvas, or the movie poster, or the book cover.
Artwork that creates emotion and mood.
Artwork that tells a story.
Artwork that somehow seems to jump across the blood brain barrier and infiltrate the cerebral cortex, saturate the pleasure receptors of the frontal lobe, and create an intense feeling of addictive euphoria.
Four Color Crack.
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