All entries for January 2012

January 26, 2012

Because everyone loves Gordon Brown in a short skirt.

Because everyone loves Gordon Brown in a short skirt, they need to check out this comic:

Yay for mental scarring.

Pantoum or just pants?

On the roof of the world the bears are waiting

On the roof of the world the bears are waiting,

for when the ice sheets shudder like a wind-shot tablecloth across the land

and we part ice-torn mouths, hungry for the surf, lash dogs to makeshift sleds

and scatter like marbles, rotund with fox fur and whale skin, a feast for sweaty paws.

The ice sheets sweep a loving shroud over lonely cities,

We bind up our children, our treasures, our dead, tote them across continents,

scatter like marbles, glut our frozen skin with fox fur and whale skin, and feast

on the eyeless carcasses of vulture-torn cattle. The birds wheel endlessly in the frozen sky.

We bind up our children, hoist the dead over our shoulders, and hunt

an eider for our bellies, our fingers fumble rosaries over the bones of a narwhal.

The eyeless carcasses watch us toil, endlessly beseeching the frozen sky:

the sea sings a sweetness to the ears of hungry fishermen.

Fingers fumble rosaries over the bones of a narwhal. Wind-bit and bound

the dead call us to the sea; their voices ring hollowly across the lowlands.

The sea sings a sweetness to the wave-licked bones of the wicked.

As the ocean hugs the lonesome earth, the fishes leap at the edge of the world.

Falcons drove us to the sea; their wings squeaked hollowly across the lowlands

and we parted ice-torn mouths, hungry for the surf, as the dogs loped and the wind sang.

Where the ocean hugs the aching earth, our dead kissed the bitter waves; and sank.

On the roof of the world the bears are waiting.

Kirsty Judge

January 24, 2012

Adventures in Anti–Narrative

After a traumatic period of block, block, and more block, I'm finally starting to get things done rather than moping around looking at my brain and wishing it would do things, huzzah. The anti-narrative fun times expected this term are very appealing, particularly for someone still hobbling around on baby deer legs when in comes to pen and paper. So here's a few stories in imitation of a writer whose name I have forgotten but who is rather excellent (will update this entry once I replace my course pack, which dissolved in a recent downpour). Pantoums and yet another Boar comic to come. Enjoy!


Once upon a time there was an old man whose legs were on backwards. Try as he might, he could never walk forwards; his legs would inevitably drag him off in the opposite direction. The harder he tried, the stronger they’d pull, until eventually they never stopped at all and he was swept off, never quite sure where his legs were taking him. He walked through cities and towns, past palaces and hovels, past men and women and children and dogs, over bridges and underground, past rats and cats and snakes and pigs. And then his legs broke.


There once was a girl who was more beautiful than all the other women in the world. Her eyes glittered and gleamed a deep sapphire, her mouth was flush like coral, her skin as smooth as rose petals. When the girl sang, her voice was so sweet that all the birds in the land fell silent, and her song, nurtured by the wind, swept to strange countries. I had her in my pocket for a while, but I lost her.


I met a man on the way to the market who was carrying seven pigs. I heard that he died a few days later.

January 11, 2012

Confusing Uploading Issues

I wished to upload a comic I did for the boar onto this page, but for some reason (possibly due to some new and rather exciting drawing software I've been using) it refuses to upload in a readable size or with any degree of image quality; rather, I seem to be posting an pixelated mess.

SO to get around this, please follow this link:

and then this one to read a fancy article I did on North Korea:

Thank you and goodnight.

January 2012

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