Pointless Man

Yesterday, I was riding the bus with my son when an urban camper climbed aboard with what I assumed was the sum total of his worldly possessions. "Telling stories to teach lessons about Jedi powers. It's about goddamn time," he was saying as he strode past. After mumbling to himself for awhile, he began regaling various passengers with his dogma. I couldn't quite make out what he was saying until he took his gospel to someone in front of me. "What do you think about my flag?" he asked the cornered passenger, pulling at his hand drawn t-shirt. "What do you think about my cross? Seven stars for the seven continents." He sat down. "See, it's not just about Jesus. I'm the second coming, but I'm beyond Jesus. I'm the resurrection of Luke Skywalker. "I finally cracked the Bible!" he happily declared. "I'm not crazy anymore!"

As a child, I had several drawing instructors.  I had a huge crush on one of them.  She was a talented cartoonist with fine arts training. Smart, cute, a no-harness and no help kind of rock climber before it was cool to go off and break your leg, she listened to early eighties metal and let me draw whatever I wanted to. I still have the sketchbook and card she made me for my birthday one year.  I pretty much hated my other art teachers. They had no interest in helping me realize my comicbook dreams. Still, I guess I did okay under them.  In 1990, a pastel of mine sold for $125. After agent and gallery fees, this netted me $75 (which, at age nine, was still a lot).  My mom reinvested the cash into my classes. I was dismayed. A few years later, I received some some of the most serendipitous advice I have ever been given. A family friend, who worked as an editor at DC Comics, looked over my sketches and suggested I avoid taking any art classes.  I was so p...

Night always came quickly to Sherman Forest. With heavy shadows suddenly about her, Robin, who could fight almost as well with a blindfold as with her eyes peeled, knew she could all but assure her victory if she only stalled for a few minutes. ROBIN-- But that wouldn't be any fun. [advancing from her end of the log towards a rather still Inego] Don't just stand there. The game frees you from your silly scruples. [she feints high, but attacks low; Inego pivots away and flips his left fist at Robin's head; as she ducks, he flicks his staff, crooked in his right arm, at her feet; Rpbin rolls backwards, coming out in a crouch, sweeping her staff around in a defensive swing, but Inego has not taken a step forward] See? [she springs toward her opponent; the Espagnard counters with a dual handed thrust, just missing Robin's head as she drops down to perform a spinning leg sweep; though the maneuver fails to dislodge Inego's footing, it momentarily locks his forward-most...

Robin , Chapter 10 Previous Chapter Over the months, Robin's band established a reputation, either as a bloodthirsty bunch or as a professional and exceedingly fair group of thieves, depending on whether you read the sheriff's signs or talked to the locals. From what I've heard, they never took more than their quarry might afford, nor kept more than necessary, reserving any excess for those most in need. As had long been the tradition of Sherman's thieves, all who resisted were treated to a heady buffet of blows, but most no longer had to seek a doctor afterwards. Having learned their lesson from their meal with the sheriff (or at least from the subsequent posters featuring their names, their faces, and a list of imagined crimes far worse than robbery) the thieves made a point of hosting weekly dinners for any who asked, and many who didn't. Being few in number, they found it quickest and most effective to split up in their quest for guests. Each carried how...

Robin , Chapter 9 Previous Chapter Whatever faults he had, the sheriff of Notsburry was a dedicated fellow.  He never called in sick, often worked late, and rarely took a day off--even then, you might find him in his office, going over unpaid traffic tickets or searching some septuagenarian's deed for actionable flaws.  Wulf's hard work had its rewards. Quarter-over-quarter profits through property seizures and auctions were up year after year, which meant bigger bonuses and better Christmas parties. Still, Harold didn't want to push himself too much.  To relax, he made a point of taking a strolling patrol twice a week along the outskirts of town, never handing out more than two frivolous citations on his way to the charming Boor's Head.  This was one such day. [As the Sheriff enters the pub, Robin's party is already seated, their plates cleaned, the men quaffing their beers and arguing animatedly.] ROBIN-- [noticing Wulf] Ho, Sheriff! You are a jus...

Robin , Chapter 8 Previous Chapter Few of Lance's fellows stayed on with Robin.  There was general agreement amongst the deserters that bear attacks, little girls, and fires were ill omens in a forest.  Those who remained were loyal, if not to their new leader then at least to their hunting grounds.  They were further united by their somewhat conflicting emotions of love for Robin's theatrical displays and fear of her long sword. Down from a high of thirty scoundrels, Sherman now held six thieves, Robin; the three Wills: Will Scathelocke, (a wrestler of some repute), Will Scarlet (Robin's wayward cousin, it turned out), and Will Stutely (a former derivatives trader who had decided he should be more honest with himself), none of whom would agree to go by 'William'; the one Bill, Bill Mayer, who guarded his singular given name with wit and a tongue as sharp as his knife; and John Jack Johnson, whip quick, just as thin, and the last person anyone would have expec...

ROBIN , Chapter 7 Previous Chapter The next morning, in the false dawn, while the majority of the thieves slept and their sentries continued to drink, Robin snuck into their camp.  First, she found her pet pony.  Then, dropping a glazed ham in front of Bucskin's tent, she opened up a jar of honey, and let it drizzle on the ground as she and the pony made their way back into the forest.  Soon, a bear traced her path into the bandit's midst.  Just as the beast settled down to enjoy its breakfast, a flaming shaft flew past its ear and embedded itself in a tent.  This deserved little of the bear's attention, but when more such arrows were loosed and the fire began to spread, that was a concern.  The camp's sentries thought so too. Of course, no one likes to be roused from drunken slumber into hungover-reality, still less to be so awoken by roars, cries, and the clanking of pots and pans, but that was the thieves' alarm system--whatever else might be sai...

Robin , chapter 6 Previous Chapter That afternoon, Robin fulfilled her childhood dream of buying a pony.  In short order, she also purchased a cart and several barrels filled with liquor for her pet to pull.  Before the sun set, Robin and her acquisitions were well along a road Bucskin's men liked to patrol. As Robin travelled, suspicious figures dressed in green began to filter out of the forest, falling in a ways behind the cart.  In all, there might have been a baker's dozen.  They tried their best to appear harmless, though none would mistake them for anything but bandits as they hungrily sized up the girl and her cargo.  When the robbers felt certain of their quarry, they unsheathed their daggers with a shout, and drew around the cart.  Robin let herself be surrounded before making a brief show of trying to run. ROBIN-- Scurrilous thieves!  Scoundrels!  Scum! LANCE-- [slipping away his dagger and stepping forth from among his cohor...

Robin , chapter 5  Previous Chapter Robin kept herself busy through her unemployment doing chores and practising martial arts, but mostly she spent time playing in the woods.  The bears avoided her, and she kept out of the thieves' way, as much as she could.  This was no easy task, for Sherman's Forest had its share of scoundrels. Chief of these was Lance Bucskin, infamous for scamming old ladies and still more renowned for his hatred of puppies, which he would kick whenever the chance arose.  Even his own men found his proclivities distasteful, but he had a way with weapons and highway robbery which held his fellows in awe. LANCE-- [clad in all green with a pointed cap; has a devil may care attitude; close cropped blond hair with a well waxed van dyke beard; 28 and in peak condition, he loves exhibiting his physical prowess as much as he enjoys booting little dogs; he is holding up a family as his rapt minions stand by] They're really not all that hard to im...

Previous Chapter Robin , chapter 4 The constable recalled what he could of his pride, did his best to tidy the clothes he had left, brought himself upright, and knocked on the quaint cabin door. ROBIN-- [answering the door; innocence personified]  Ah, Sheriff.  What a pleasant surprise. [the sheriff himself is too distraught to respond] Come in.  Come in!  Grandma's out fetching water for tea, but she'll be back in a moment.  We've some excellent scones and jam you have to try, and nothing goes with them like hot tea. SHERIFF-- [recovering his wits; coldly]  No. [holding up the foreclosure and eviction notices] No, I just came to deliver these. ROBIN-- Those?  Why, Sheriff, after all I've done for you today, you'd have me homeless? SHERIFF-- After all you've done for me today, I'd lock you in jail, if I weren't already serving these. GRANDMA-- [appears behind the sheriff, whom she is slightly taller than; snatches the papers from his h...

Previous Chapter   Robin , chapter 3 Robin had sold her entire load of vegetables before lunch. After winning an impromptu cudgel bout (and a number of bets upon it), she was returning by her usual route [carrying her sword, staff, bow, and quiver of arrows, and a small purse with the day's earnings] when she spotted Sheriff Wulf ambling through the woods. ROBIN-- [after tucking away her purse] Ho, Sheriff! Whither goest thou so merrily a this fine day? SHERIFF-- [uncomprehending] What? ROBIN-- Where are you headed? SHERIFF-- [stiffening] And what business is that of yours, little girl? ROBIN-- Oh, the forest wends and winds. We wouldn't want you to get lost. SHERIFF-- [checking his compass] And who are you to care if I lose my way? ROBIN-- Just as you say, only a little girl. SHERIFF-- [pointing] And why would someone like you carry weapons like those? ROBIN-- Do you always start sentences with conjunctions? SHERIFF-- An d --no. What are you doing...

...before you read the previous chapter linked right here . Robin , chapter 2 Young Robin lived with her grandmother in a cabin in the wilderness of Sherman's forest.  There, they tended a lush garden, and kept several hens.  Whatsoever they had in excess, Robin sold at the nearby market in Notsburry. Robin-- [14 years old, not overly short (and still growing, she would add), happy, and slightly reckless; clad in simple trousers and a loose shirt; fair skinned, red headed, lightly freckled; lithe and spring heeled; she is a born athlete] When there was nothing to sell, I would perform at the market. GRANDMA-- [a friendly, sturdy presence; tall and muscular with impeccable posture; dressed similarly to Robin; she has greying hair and a well worn smile] She's famous, you know. ROBIN-- [never flustered] Not really.  I do tricks with a bow, staff, or sword, and when I get tired, I play music. GRANDMA-- She can pry pennies from the most miserly of merchants.  ...

Many years ago, in the proud nation of Murka, good King Richard found it wise to retire after embarrassing photos came to light. [We see pictures of wise King Richard (could be a middle aged cousin of Harrison Ford) in enlightenment era royal garb, messily eating a chocolate cake, his face covered in frosting.] KING RICHARD-- [looking at the photos]  I don't see why I should put up with this!  Screw 'em all, anyway. [Newspaper headline: DICK TO RETIRE, SPEND TIME WITH FAMILY] KING RICHARD-- [boarding a plane, carrying a suitcase, wearing sunglasses, cargo shorts, and a Hawaiian shirt] Have fun, Johnny! And so the king's frivolous brother, John, ascended the throne. KING JOHN-- [dressed in designer jeans and an overpriced polo; a young dandy with affectations of being an everyday guy; looks like a young Harrison Ford; slouching on throne, tipping crown to a jaunt] This hat is ostentatious.  Bring me a baseball cap, some coke, and a cheap beer.  Does this p...

The background is much darker (and so more readily apparent) and a little more homogenous than in the original. Other than that, what you see is a good approximation of a quick sketch: one of the first I made using Pentel brush pens for inking. As such, it could be worse. The dude in this reminds me (faintly) of a scene I witnessed years ago while on my way to deliver some furniture. First, some set up. The neighborhood of Ballard used to be composed of working class folks and Norwegian retirees. There are still a number of retirement homes, fabrication shops, and small ship yards in certain parts of Ballard, but it is now considered trendy. It is filling up with condos, bars, and hip eateries where houses, dives (mostly pubs), and specialty shops used to exist. If you wander off from some of the major thoroughfares, you'll run into micro-breweries and more popular restaurants, but you'll also see old warehouses, a couple scrap yards, and decrepit roads running alongside disuse...

Shelly had spent 20 years in Second City. Almost her whole life. She loved her hometown without reservations, but she absolutely had to get away and only return for brief--very brief--visits. There were plenty of places to go: Cities with pleasurable summers, liveable winters, fewer corrupt officials, less brutal cops, a dearth of gangs, a sense that toughness wasn't the only important human characteristic. Towns that didn't remind her of her childhood. States her parents didn't live in. Vast expanses of land she'd yet to see. Like another world altogether. And that's what Sammy offered. A near total break from her past. Her man.

In the beginning, there was no beginning. Instead, there was nothing. How much time might have passed, had there been time while this state persisted, cannot be said. Anything might have been birthed into this void. Probably, a number of real and imaginary objects came into and out of existence, there being no laws to stop such occurrences, and nothing to sustain them. Indeed, in the absence of physical and logical laws, something could come from nothing--and that is exactly how God came to be. Noticing nothing else in existence, God fashioned the universe, an orderly mess, in clear counterpoint to the neat chaos of the void. Being, as an author once put it, "unstuck in time", God saw everything that ever was or would be in its creations, all at once. God also watched the universe as it unfolded, seeing each act only as it transpired. And, then, God did not see any of it at all. Yes, God did and did not do all of this at the same time. For although it had made logical and ph...

"Her eyes are a little too alive," he said in an overly stealthy voice. I tried to warn him, but it was too late. "You're being too quiet," I told him. "You're drawing attention to yourself." He wouldn't listen. "I'm right, though, aren't I?" he intoned. It was barely above a whisper. He was right--I had to change the subject. "That's not the point," I breathed. "You're too--" I could hardly hear myself. I had fallen into his beguiling attempt at fading into the woodwork, and now we both stood out more than if we had been shouting. I could feel their eyes on us. No one knew what we had been talking about, they only knew we didn't wish to be heard. Most of all, I could feel her eyes, glistening with something I knew not. 'Too alive.' I knew that.

When the night is gone let us paint it back up with its hanging moon and stars drawing glances toward the darkened sky behind, near to empty ‘til filled up, brimming with brushed on clouds, in grey light dimming, fading not into tomorrow, lingering on. Speechless, thoughtless, moving, they fall down into twin glasses of wine, and shimmer on velvet waves, a dim reflection of yesterday.