Under the Aegis

New name and new site

2013-05-04T05:35:00.000-04:00

Aegis Creative Enterprises has become Wayward Raven Media after expanding its mission by venturing into children’s books, novelty books and a webcomic. You can visit the new site here: http://waywardraven.com/

Sneak Peek: Colors for the Ascendant, Issue 2

2012-12-27T12:11:00.000-05:00

Work on book 2 of The Ascendant is coming along very well! If we continue at this pace, we should have things complete well before our next appearance at Boston Comic Con in April. Here are the first three colored pages to feast your eyes on. Enjoy!
-Mark

SuperMegaFest Part 2

2012-11-29T12:15:00.001-05:00

I hope everyone had a Happy Thanksgiving and is now bracing themselves for the flurry that is the holiday season (get ready to see a million Mercedes commercials with Santa. Does anyone really give a car for Christmas? How do you fit it under the tree?). I thought I would post a few more of the SuperMegaFest pics while they are still relatively relevant. Hope you enjoy them, there are some more great costumes!
-Mark

SuperMegaFest Pics and Commentary

2012-11-20T12:51:00.000-05:00

As some of you may know, we were at SuperMegaFest in Framingham, MA this weekend. We had a great time meeting other comic book fans from the Boston area and seeing all the fantastic costumes people wore. I wish I had taken a picture of the hotel itself, which looked like a castle. What better place for a comic book convention?

I would like to also take a moment to say thanks to Rosita from TNA who was nice enough to stop by and pick our raffle winner. She even took a moment to snap a pic with the three of us.

Like any good con, we saw some fantastic cosplayers. Here is part one of some awesome costumes. One of my personal favorites was Cobra Commander in the Ascendant pose. He even had the voice modulator to go with the costume.

Kraven was spot on too, he had a growl that woke the room up. Scared the hell out of Alex.

There were some great Star Wars costumes too. When I couldn't remember the right term, CB reminded me it is Snowtrooper. Thanks CB!

We of course saw many lovely ladies, too many to take pictures of, not that I didn't try.

And what con would be complete without The Riddler?

And finally a quick pic of Alex. I swear the guy next to him was only five ten. Thanks to everyone for making this a fun and memorable experience!
-Mark

Work on The Ascendant issue two has begun!

2012-11-15T10:00:00.001-05:00

As some of you know, The Ascendant is a seven part limited series staring Cail, an escaped Duke of Hell who is sending other escaped demons and devils back to hell the only way he knows how, violently. We are now in the middle of producing book two. To whet your appetite for more, here are the first five pages of completed pencils that Chris Hanchey, hope you enjoy them!
-Mark

Video interview: #NYCC 2012 @PantherPitt

2012-11-07T10:07:00.002-05:00

And the long awaited interview. It was put on hold because Sandy the Super-Storm that was, and still is, a super pain in the ass. Never thought the protected shores of Connecticut would ever have been so devastated but things are changing. But that's not what this is about. Enjoy the video interview of Mark Frankel from the New York Comic-Con 2012 talking about our projects and Aegis Creative Enterprises. And some pictures of us: Mark, Josh and Alex.

NYCC Cosplay pics: Enjoy.

2012-10-23T12:24:00.001-04:00

Since the poem/photo post bombed, I'm just going to keep it simple and post some picture from the New York Comic-Con for your viewing pleasure.

Guess who?

Macho Man Randy Savage was a favorite and the dude had his mannerisms down.

The theme song to Super Mario bros. was going through my head all day.

This was an elegant costume and her makeup was perfect. The hair sold it though.

Back to the Future meets Beetlejuice as Marty McFly was right on time and we didn't even have to say Beetlejuice three times to get him to appear.

It's Grey Becker picking a winner of the t-shirt raffle. He looks so happy doesn't he? Why my face is squished up? I have no idea.

A bit of the old Red, White and Blue. I don't think that's regulation for Captain America but we'll let it slide. This time.

Her colored contacts were creepy but then again not many dudes were looking at her eyes.

Yes I know it's not at the con, but I'm proud of my dog Ziggy as he qualified for Westminster.

So thanks for taking a look and please feel free to check out the superhero spoof web-comic strip http://DamnHeroes.com and at the top right there's a box with links to the comics The Ascendant and Horsemen. Also have a look the YA paranormal novel The Cell as a link to that is up there also. It's about a 17 year old comic book artist who loses his way until a call comes from beyond the grave.

And if you happen to be on Facebook, you can "like" the pages for The Cell, The Ascendant and Horsemen.

Cheers!

#NYCC review: part 2. Poem style w/photos

2012-10-19T10:28:00.000-04:00

A con review poem and pictures of the New York Comic-Con included.

NYCC redux

The hoard of faces smiled, sneered and looked
away with purple eyes and lips dried by passion
They descended bearing gifts, donned in leather and lace
holstered guns gleaming soft lights dangled by their sides
ancient swords slung across backs weary with waiting
but they found the desired cut.

Orcs and Batman fought over the essence
called autographs as
Wolverine, The cast of Bleach, and Lex Luthor
texted to allies where Bruce Campbell and Stan Lee
were spotted roaming though the last bastion called
the V.I.P. lounge

Loki danced with Thor's friends
as the revelry of Asgard fell among mortals
the rainbow bridge Bifrost was
laid flat upon a stretch of New York City
that day.

Certainly Spider-Man crawled the walls
waiting in line for the bathroom but
few villains, even Dr. Evil, tried to sabotage
the celebration of individuation.

Hayao Miyazaki would have been proud
that Princess Mononoke protected
this forest of dreams as the play
and themes slipped out from the seams.

It was creation.
It was celebration.
It was pageantry.
It was mystery.
It was joy.

There were giveaways.

There were more.

And we, one and all, all and one
put on faces for the faces that we would meet
and through Artist Alley's transient streets
we gorged upon the delight of others who willingly
sacrificed time for our viewing pleasure.

With all good things, an ending is sure to come
but memories with such insolence will
not fade when burned so brightly
from the flash and awe of those
who risk to become gods
even if for only a day.

In the end, a beginning...

And never get between a chicken and his bounty.

Yes. I posted that photo before

but it

bears

repeating.

Cheers!

By Joshua

In the enda beginning

#NYCC review: from behind a table.

2012-10-16T11:39:00.003-04:00

This will be one part in a series of posts about the New York Comic-Con aka NYCC with a few choice photos of the event starting with a few Cosplayers. My favorite of these was the Boba Fett Chicken from Family Guy's homage to Star Wars.

So, here's the deal. This was the first time Mark and I had been behind the safety of "the table" at a convention. It allowed for sitting, which was nice, considering this show was more densely packed than Times Square on a Saturday night. Actually, think New Year's Eve in Times Square but mix it with Mardi Gras and Halloween. Nutty I tell you. Nutty. At one point, I think there were more people crammed inside the Javits Center in NYC than the entire population of West Virginia's second largest city Huntington. Why do I know that? Random bits of information tend to get lodged into my head but that's neither here nor there. Sorry. I digress. On to the show review from the other side.

I couldn't have been more impressed with the passion the fans brought. The costumes were for the most part original and well executed. Some people came all four days in four different get-ups. The pageant of joyful quirkiness and mirthful individuality was on full display. It honestly made this sour old dolt smile on more than one occasion. And that is a feat considering I am going through some rough times with family health issues. Plus I'm a jaded smirker who's normally unimpressed with just about everything but not this. I was utterly uplifted by the fans of all shapes, sizes and personality. Pure beauty. Were there a few people who scared me? Certainly, but not because of their costumes. In every large group, you are going to get a few unstable characters but the great thing about the crowds is that they tend to push those who lurk along. Over all. I was jazzed to be part of it.

As I said, Mark and I were behind a table for the first time in Artist Alley. Our neighbors were Mike S. Miller and Norman Lee. Two of the nicest artists you could ever meet. Both men are talented to the point of striking envy among us mortals. We mostly talked to Mike as he was directly next to us. He's done some killer work for DC Comics and some astounding pinups. He had one illustration titled "The Working Dead" of zombies at work in an office setting that basically had everyone who passed by remark in a flattering way. Followed by a chuckle of course. The dude has chops so look up his work on Deviantart and he's on Facebook. Norman is on Facebook and Deviantart too. He's a well known inker who does work for Marvel Comics among others. But he doesn't only do inks. His original work is just that, original. Buy their stuff.

The event staff was on the ball and kept the crowds moving. We didn't have the greatest of spots but we were located near great artists so that helped drive traffic. It was a wonderful learning experience and good times were had by all. We sold lots of comics: The Ascendant and Horsemen. Damned Heroes a web comic that we were promoting did exceptionally well and was received with praise. Couldn't have asked for a better time. I must also say that the bathrooms in Artist Alley were well maintained by the custodial staff. That must have been a Herculean task and they deserve much credit. Here's me with the novel The Cell.

And my favorite photo is this one of the DC comic book character Raven as it looks like a spell was cast and everything around her is going in a fast-forward blur.

Please check out the comics we took to NYCC by clicking the links in the top right box titled Comics, Novels and Web comic. You can see what The Ascendant, Horsemen, The Cell and Damn Heroes look like and if you wish please purchase them. The web comic is free btw.

Sorry if you didn't get to go NYCC. It was amazing, enthralling and plain fun. A special thanks to our buddy C.B. Cebulski for coming by and for also inviting us a party.

In the next few posts, either Mark or I will talk about setting up, travel, food, encounters and other miscellany involving the convention. Plus more wonderful photos.

Press Release. #NYCC and Aegis Creative Enterprises

2012-10-10T11:32:00.003-04:00

Aegis Creative Enterprises at New York ComicCon!

New York ComicCon (#NYCC) is finally here! For the better part of the last year, we have been preparing for NYCC. Everything from writing/editing scripts and working with our artists on the finished product to getting the comics printed and even setting up a mock table in Mark’s living room. And we couldn’t be more excited to see it all come to fruition!

You can find us in Artist Alley at table W16. We will be making the print debut of both The Ascendant and Horsemen. In addition to the comics themselves, we will have signed and limited edition artwork from both books!

Since we truly appreciate everything our fans have done to help get us to NYCC, we will be running an exclusive raffle for anyone who stops by and buys a comic. Every day there will be t-shirts for lucky winners, culminating in two one-of-a-kind pieces of original artwork done by our artist Christopher Hanchey!

Just in case you miss us at NYCC (either you can’t make it or just got too busy with panels and cosplay), here is link where you can pick up The Ascendant and Horsemen: http://tinyurl.com/cq9k2xw. Both print and digital copies are available. Josh's YA Paranormal Fantasy/Sci-Fi novel, the Cell, is available on Amazon: The Cell: Joshua Jones, Amazon.com: Kindle Store

In addition to launching the print version of the Ascendant and Horsemen at NYCC, we are also welcoming our new web comic, Damn Heroes, to the Aegis family. Limit edition prints of the first strips will be available at the con. You can see them online at www.damnheroes.com.

Can’t wait to see you there!

-Mark and Joshua

Happy pub day and #NYCC here we come.

2012-10-09T18:21:00.001-04:00

We here at Aegis Creative are pleased to announce the release of The Cell, a young adult fantasy.

Lives and dreams can be cut short by death, but the biggest tragedy for those who survive is not taking advantage of second chances.

In the paranormal YA novel The Cell, seventeen year old Les Logan is an aspiring comic book artist who begins to doubt himself after Aki Kubo, his friend and creative partner, dies in an accident in which Les is involved. From beyond the grave, Aki contacts Les through a cell phone and tells him there’s a problem. Aki can’t cross over because a girl named Rachel is wasting her second chance at life after receiving his donated liver. Les must help her so Aki can move on to the afterlife.

There are a few big problems: one, if Rachel doesn’t move on with her life soon Aki’s spirit will disintegrate. Two, there’s a limited amount of time and they can only communicate via cell phone. Three, Les hasn’t driven since Aki’s accident. And finally, a devious scientist named Professor Gluck finds out about Aki and wants to capture the ghost in the cell phone so to prove his theories about the paranormal. He gives Les a job so he can keep an eye on him and set a trap for Aki.

Les enlists the aid of his two off-beat friends and sets out to discover a way to save Rachel but encounters with Professor Gluck stand in his way. When these friends believe in each other, and do what they think is right, not even a mad scientist can stop them from saving the living as well as the dead. In essence, this is a rescue tale. Les must rescue Rachel but by doing so he also rescues Aki and his own dreams for the future.

Thank you for your precious time and we hope you pick up a copy as it just dropped.

Paperback on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Cell-Mr-Joshua-L-Jones/dp/0615709915/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1349574454&sr=1-1&keywords=The+Cell+by+Joshua+Jones

An ebook for Kindle: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B009MRBDBC

Happy reading and reviewers are welcome to query and possibly receive either a print, a pdf, or a Kindle (.mobi) copy. Please email us at aegispub <at> gmail <dot> com and we'll see what we can do.

PS: Come see us at NYCC aka the New York Comic-Con at table W16 for free goodies and other such wonderment. And we accept gifts. Especially money ;)

Stories of demons, horses & more. Contest.

2012-09-26T08:56:00.002-04:00

Here's a little video preview of the Horsemen comic that we are giving away through our Twitter contest. Sorry but we don't have a video for The Ascendant yet but please click the link to the right in the quick contact box to access the Facebook Page for previews art and such. Here's a re-post of the rules just in case you missed it.

Greetings,

Welcome to Aegis Creative Enterprises digital comic book giveaway contest for Twitter!!! We will be giving one digital comic book (either The Ascendant or Horsemen) of the winner's choice away per day.

Rules:

Tweet or RT the following: New digital #comicbooks Horsemen & The Ascendant available:http://tinyurl.com/cxgrua6 #ACEcontest #AegisCreative.

For every tweet or RT you will be entered to win one of our recently published digital comic books. You may tweet once per hour for a total of no more than 24 posts a day. Each winner will be notified via Twitter and asked for an email address to which the prize may be sent. Contestants are eligible to win twice during the length of the contest (once for each comic book). Contest ends 12:00 PM EST on October 2, 2012.

Winners will also receive a coupon code for Joshua L.A. Jones’ eBook The Excess Road.

Happy tweeting and good luck.

Cheers!

Joshua and Mark

Twitter Comic Book Giveaway

2012-09-25T11:52:00.000-04:00

Greetings,

Rules:

Tweet or RT the following: New digital #comicbooks Horsemen & The Ascendant available: http://tinyurl.com/cxgrua6 #ACEcontest #AegisCreative.

Winners will also receive a coupon code for Joshua L.A. Jones’ eBook The Excess Road.

Happy tweeting and good luck.

Cheers!

Joshua and Mark

Horsemen, The Ascendant, #NYCC & @DriveThruComics

2012-09-19T15:08:00.001-04:00

Aegis Creative Enterprises is pleased to announce that you can now purchase digital versions of The Ascendant #1 and Horsemen #1 on Drive Thru Comics for $.99

http://comics.drivethrustuff.com/product/105867/The-Ascendant

http://comics.drivethrustuff.com/product/105868/Horsemen

These are the books we are debuting in print at the New York ComicCon. Our table is W16 in Artist Alley so please stop by and say hello. We will have lots of goodies. Candy will be included.

Hopefully we will have a Young Adult/Paranormal novel titled The Cell launching at the con as well and we will have announcements about other projects too so stay tuned.

Cheers!

Joshua and Mark

Little dog's tongue and summer's end. #NYCC too

2012-09-08T15:22:00.001-04:00

Soon the dog days of summer will be plummeting off the seasonal cliff. Rejoice in the fall. revel in the change.

BTW, this puppy's name is Ziggy. He's going to be shown in the dog show circuit soon. He's a Havanese. Yes as in Havana. Once the breed was bred in Spain to be lapdogs but in Cuba they became chicken herders. And Ziggy is one hell herder though chickens haven't been encountered... yet.

Thus spake Zarathustra.

Also, two new comic books and possibly a YA paranormal novel will be debuted by Aegis Creative Enterprises at the New York ComicCon Oct. 11-14. We will post information soon.

Cheers!

Raising funds: here we come NY ComicCon 2012

2012-08-06T18:56:00.001-04:00

The time for Indiegogo has come. Here's a link to our new project profile on Indiegogo where grand and generous people go to aid their fellow man with their creative endeavours.

You will find a video of Mark and myself imploring the good folks out in the cyberlands to come and take a peek at The Ascendant and Horsemen, two limited series comic books. There are cool perks for pledges at reasonable amounts. Seriously. You can get some good stuff for $7 and under.

http://www.indiegogo.com/TheAscendant-Horsemen

The goal we have isn't even close to the costs accrued just for artists' fees, which is more than a few thousand dollars. We are glad to put our own money into the project but without support we won't be able to progress and bring the wonderful people of Earth the next issues.

Please have a look. There are links to additional resources and content as well as personal videos from both Mark and I. Give if you can. Even if it means a Facebook "like". We appreciate it all wholeheartedly.

Sincerely,

Joshua

PS: here's free porn for your reading pelasure. Did I write free porn? Sorry. I meant free poem ;)

Pathetic fallacy

Yellow ebbs and breaches the rounded edge

as potent whispers of magnesium white light

gasp and burn the mist of the greedy morning

New sprouts and shoots search

Among the vast verdant vistas

to view, a stronger sun shining

silently eating the splendor of another

revolution as the heat’s and hell’s

fury is called forth, invoked

to illuminate the path

the plow must follow the fold

of the soil as it releases its

eager moisture.

The sun at its longest hour

seethes and spasms

With reluctant annoyance

as reserved animosity rises

for the parched plants and animals

hiding in the shade.

The Road to NYCC 2012: Mark's project The Ascendant.

2012-07-31T12:35:00.000-04:00

Here is a video clip with Mark (@PantherPitt) talking about his limited series The Ascendant that will be debuting at the New York ComicCon in October. (Yup. We got a table.) If you'd like to see artwork from the project please go to the archive post "Demons befoul Trevi fountain" or https://www.facebook.com/TheAscendantComic and please throw down a "like" as it is a new page.

Cheers!

The Road to NYCC 2012. A video with Joshua.

2012-07-24T13:28:00.001-04:00

A tired and over-heated me expounding on the characters in Horsemen, a comic book we are debuting at NYCC (New York ComiCon). I squint a lot and say "actually" too many times actually but I never said oratory was my thing. Just another installment regarding Mark and my journey to NYCC in October.

Boy I look puffy. Ugh.

Feel free to check out artwork for Horsemen or The Ascendant here on Under the Aegis. Lots of stuff in the archives. Or go to https://www.facebook.com/Horsemencomicseries or https://www.facebook.com/TheAscendantComic & "Likes" are most appreciated.

Enjoy. Feel free to click ads on this blog too. It gives us capital for production. Didn't say buy anything.

Cheers!

Joshua
@JLAJones

Psychopomp, a novel. Passage 2. By Joshua Jones

2012-07-23T13:47:00.003-04:00

This is the final passage to chapter one of Psychopomp, a slipstream novel, by Joshua Lee Andrew Jones. The first passage is two posts down if you care to read that. More chapters will be posted.

…

In the downtown offices of Milton Communications, Blake Moxley scratches his scalp and thinks about what he’s going to say to his supervisor. The meeting he set up is at 10:00 AM sharp and the time on his computer screen reads 9:59 AM. He steps out of his cubicle and flattens the front of his pinstripe jacket as he heads down the aisle toward Mr. Chen’s office. To his left, rows of customer service operators type away on plastic keyboards and on his right account managers are burrowed behind low cubicle walls. On both sides, the phones never stop ringing.

The floor to ceiling window, right outside the corner office, draws Blake in and he stares down to the Manhattan streets. Forty stories below, yellow cabs zip through red lights, dots of humanity cluster at the intersections, and box trucks gush out diesel exhaust into the thin autumn air. Outside it is a city of windows, each window an eye to a new world, and the eyes are the window to the soul. Some call it the city that never sleeps but it is full of daydreams and sleepwalkers. The scent of coffee drifts by Blake’s nose.

“Moxley, get in here,” Mr. Chen says through the cracked door.

“One moment Mr. Chen,” Blake says and adjusts his tie. A small bottle of generic hand sanitizer is plucked from his pocket and he blasts a few streams of clear jelly on his palm. He rubs his hands together as if trying to start a fire with a stick. A splash of gel jumps to his lapel and soaks in.

Blake enters Mr. Chen’s office and stands before a steel desk.

“Mr. Moxley have a seat.”

“Thank you.”

Blake grabs the chair next to the door, a spare from one of the empty cubicles, and scoots it under him. The loose plastic wheels spin and squeak to a stop. Mr. Chen keeps his focus on the computer monitor as he watches the stock market plummet and the volatility index rise twenty percent.

“So Blake, why did you want to see me?”

“I wanted to inquire about potential openings and advancement.”

“You want a new job?”

“Don’t get me wrong, I like my current position but I’m ready to take on more responsibility.”

“Why should I do this for you?”

“I work late. I work Saturdays.”

“So does everyone else. But setting up this meeting shows ambition. I’ll let you know if anything suitable comes along. Like the proactive behavior, keep it up.”

“Is there anything I can do to stand out?”

“Do you want to?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, be here Sunday at ten. I’ll be here to get you started.”

“Yes Mr. Chen. I’ll be here.”

“You don’t sound so sure.”

“No I’m sure. I just wanted to go to a hockey game. That’s all.”

“Good, get back to work and by the way don’t drink on the job. Even if it’s a little.”

“But I don’t sir.”

“I can smell it. Now get out.”

“But…”

“Blake leave.”

“Yes sir.”

Blake nods and then exits while thinking I didn’t get a new job and now I’m working Sundays. Shit. What’s with the booze comment?

Mr. Chen lifts his cell phone, taps the touch screen twice and puts it to his ear.

“Mr. Garew, we have a new one. I sense a lot in this kid. The others must watch him,” Mr. Chen says and leans back while watching Blake walking away through his window.

Blake makes his way back down the aisle thinking if I didn’t owe the fucking bookie I wouldn’t have to grovel. If I make one good bet, I can clear my debt and never do it again. At his desk, he plops down into his chair and moves his mouse to activate the screen.

Out of the corner of his eye, just as he is about to input his password, Blake sees a bright indigo light. He turns to see a FedEx deliveryman standing by the break room door surrounded by a pulsing blue aura. A spike of heat stabs his neck and a hot flash burns his skin and muscles. He can’t move but his heart pounds so hard he can hear it.

No fucking way. No fucking way. No fucking way he thinks. I’m losing my mind. Going to end up like that old women. No, calm down Blake. Just your imagination.

Blake closes his eyes and shakes his head hoping to rattle the image from his mind. It worked before when he saw the flame yellow aura around Faun. His eyes open and the FedEx guy is gone. I’m not going crazy he thinks. He takes a deep breath and goes to the bathroom to wash his face with cool water.

In the afternoon, the office enlivens with activity as markets plummet to record lows for the quarter and bells toll for many of the company’s clients. Sweat pours down executive faces and furious phones calls are made. Blake avoids a couple account-executives running down the aisle and looks to his watch but a small discolored patch of gray on his lapel gets his attention. He lifts the lapel and takes a whiff. The blot smells like rotgut booze from the generic hand sanitizer.

“Shit, that’s why,” Blake says as his coworker Juli Cesare, who smells of jasmine year round, slips by. Her hair like woven honey glows under the over head lights.

“Excuse me?” she asks.

“Oh no, it’s nothing. Not about you,” he says, bites his lip and rushes away with his arms crossed.

Juli intimidates Blake. He knows she’s a city girl born in Brooklyn and raised in Manhattan. The fact that she was in a few print campaigns for Macys as a teenager, Blake saw some photos online, makes her seem one step out of reach to him. She never shared with her coworkers that she was rejected by every high powered modeling agency because they said she was only fit for bikini work so she left that world behind.

Blake picks up a piece of discarded paper from his wire trash can and plops into his office chair. He scribbles: Next, I get rid of debt, I move, and then I ask Juli out.

He crams the paper into his pocket and thinks I tried to get a promotion and now I’m working Sundays. Fuck. How am I going to pay the bookie?

The office continues to buzz with activity through the afternoon and the phones never stop ringing while outside the sun begins a slow creep over the city skyline. Blake finalizes his spreadsheet and hits save. Though unhappy about coming in on the weekend, he resigns to the task because it is the only path he can conjure that will allow him to move up the corporate ladder and then move out of his apartment. He can’t stand the smells of his apartment building anymore and thinks the chemicals in the old paint and carpets are giving him headaches.

Blake has part of it right. Something is giving him headaches but it’s not his sick building. A change deep in his cells is taking place. A dormant gene begins to express caused by exposure to an epigenetic compound. His brain, body and senses are transforming.

Blake yawns a yawn that has been building for years and checks his email. No messages from the bookie. He cracks his neck and then straightens his tie. The image of Faun surrounded by the yellow aura pops to the forefront of his thoughts. A hot flash burns under his skin and makes him sweat. A bead of perspiration runs from his swooping hairline and he wipes it away with his sleeve.

“Have to figure out what causes those auras. Don’t want to have a stroke,” he says to himself and logs out of his computer.

The plan to come in on the weekend is set and he hopes the bookie will give him time to find the money to pay up.

The Road to NYCC. Part 2. Mark & Mark

2012-07-19T12:15:00.000-04:00

The Road to NYCC, Part Two. Mark and Mark.

Hello Folks,

Welcome to our blog! This is the second in a series of videos that Josh and I will be doing centered around our trip to the New York City Comicon (NYCC) to debut our comic book Horsemen as well as my comic book, the Ascendant. Hopefully we capture our passion for our work as well as all the fun we've had putting it together.

In this video I'll tell you a little bit about both projects, hopefully whetting your appetite to check out some of the artwork we have already posted. And yes, those are the specs for the most famous of all Corellian Freighters. Bonus points if you can tell me how many parsecs it took to make the Kessel run.

If I have inspired you to check out some fantastic artwork, here are a few links you can follow to see the first six completed pages:

Horsemen - https://www.facebook.com/Horsemencomicseries

The Ascendant - http://www.facebook.com/TheAscendantComic

Please feel free to send us your comments here or reach out to us on Twitter. We look forward to hearing from you!

-Mark

@PantherPitt

PS: Josh is @JLAJones

The Road to NYCC. Part 1. Mark Twain & Joshua.

2012-07-16T12:18:00.000-04:00

Greetings from Joshua Lee Andrew Jones.

A fool and their folly seldom part but in this case, a fool imparted his folly with an ease only found in people with impacted bowels. This was the first time I have ever been recorded and it shows with my Bobby Brady like inflection. But, this is an introduction into coming events and what Mark Frankel and I have planned leading up to debuting his comic series The Ascendant and our Horsemen at the New York Comic Con in October.

Doing videos is a necessary evil I have been putting off for too long, but I promise I will get better at it. BTW, I was quite tired at the moment as the heat and humidity was draining my strength. It's no excuse for poor showmanship but factors are factors. Luckily I had Samuel Clemens AKA Mark Twain for support.

Also, to clear things up concerning my mumbling, you about can look at Horsemen and The Ascendant here in the blog but you can also visit the Facebook pages. Horsemen: https://www.facebook.com/Horsemencomicseries and The Ascendant: https://www.facebook.com/TheAscendant#!/TheAscendantComic Please like the pages if you would.

Cheers!

Joshua

AKA @JLAJones

PS: the novel I mentioned is The Excess Road and it is on Amazon here: http://www.amazon.com/The-Excess-Road-Volume-1/dp/1475079176/ref=sr_1_4?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1332547775&sr=1-4

PSS: any producers out there in NYC want to read some spec scripts of mine, give a shout. Got 5 up for grabs now.

Passage from Psychopomp, a novel.

2012-07-12T19:55:00.000-04:00

Psychopomp is a slipstream novel about the break down of perception and demons by Joshua L.A. Jones @JLAJones

This is a passage from the first chapter. Hooray Demons!

Book One: Trials. Chapter: 1

“God does not play dice.” Albert Einstein

Saving the world from the Masked Ones had not gone as he planned. The revelation failed and now Blake finds himself hauling a limp body out of a park where the media had gathered to cover the Senator’s rally. Three security guards with their guns drawn follow him onto the busy street and shout for him to freeze but he’d rather be dead than caught by the demons. Screeching tires and car horns tear though the air as Blake steps into the road. Laser sights pin to his forehead.

With a scant glance, he looks back and sees Juli’s ghost float out from behind a tree. She waves and dissolves into the surrounding yellow sunlight. Blake can’t help but smile.

The body of the female Masked One known as Senator Constantine begins to slip out from under Blake’s left arm so he tightens his grip. The youngest of the three guards with a face like a hawk makes a thrust forward so Blake lifts the knitting needle up to her throat. He knows the only way to escape is to keep them believing that she’s still alive and not dead weight. The scent of rose water drifts up to Blake’s nose from the corpse’s hair and his eyes tear up.

“How the fuck did this happen to me?” he whispers into a dead ear even though he knows when the metamorphosis began those months ago but at least now he knows what the old freak meant. Tears fall from the corners of his eyes and drip down to the cold crumbling pavement below.

…

Events that change the world start with small decisions and Blake Moxley makes one as he opens the door to his apartment building for a young Chinese-American delivery man carrying a stack of pizza boxes. A fake moustache clings to the delivery man’s lip and the vibrant red stripe of the Italian flag jacket, one size too large, leaves a trailing afterimage in Blake’s field of view as the man passes.

Blake blinks a slow blink as he lets the door slip from his fingertips and steps onto the sidewalk outside his apartment building in Lower Manhattan. With a sharp nod, he decides to just do it. He won’t get pushed around anymore. For most of his life, Blake had been a package wrapped in plain brown paper that got lost in the mail but eventually was Returned-to-Sender, unopened, corners bent. Not today though, today the package will reach its destination.

An autumn morning casts over Blake as he pulls the lapels of his black jacket together to keep the wind rolling off the East River from stealing his body heat. Distant car horns echo and roll by. With one continuous motion, Blake scans his block that swarms with pedestrians walking faster than necessary. Across the street in a shop window framed by sunlight, a jack-o-lantern with a twisted smile catches Blake’s attention through the passing traffic.

“Five days until Halloween. I need to get candy,” he says.

He pats his jacket pocket to make sure his phone is there and with a sigh the walk uptown to meet his bookie begins with short anxious steps. He heads towards the intersection of

Great Jones Street

and

Lafayette Avenue

at a casual pace as a clutch of fast walking, fast talking, hipster boys in black and pork pie hats sift around him. Blake checks his pocket again. The phone is still there.

The thought of collecting money in person, and not online, makes his palms sweat. He wipes them dry on his jeans while passing a parked cab and sees a woman wrapped in the coils of a blue wool scarf bearing down on him as she texts on her iPhone. Just before they collide, Blake steps out of the way. He turns back around, waves a sarcastic wave, and snickers a bit too loud but she doesn’t respond. She just keeps on walking and vanilla perfume trails behind her like thin ribbons on the autumn air. It tickles Blake’s nose with a sharp tingle.

“Some rumors are true,” he says and heads back towards the intersection.

Before Blake moved to New York, he heard some gossip from Bill Sawyer who went to NYU but was visiting home for the holidays. While they were Christmas shopping at Walmart outside of town, Bill spoke about secret societies of bicycle delivery men and the tribes of homeless who lived in the abandoned pneumatic subway tubes under the streets of Manhattan. Blake mostly forgot all the stories and dismissed them as Bill’s small town mind trying to absorb the vast elements of the raucous city but two rumors stuck out to him. The first was that pedestrians, especially pretty girls, don’t move out of the way for anyone. That turned out to be true. The second was that some bookies have their clients mugged after paying out so they can get their money back. Blake’s problem is that the sum of money he won can be easily tracked online by the IRS so the only way to get the full amount is face to face. His trek to Midtown continues at an even pace.

“Dues from the devil,” Blake says to himself.

Dangling like a gold pocket watch above the Manhattan skyline, the sun casts sheets of amber light over each lofty spire and low street corner. Traffic rumbles and diesel exhaust permeates the streets as a never ending battle of car-horns honk away in a war of attrition. The soles of Blake’s Italian loafers clack the pavement and he brushes back tufts of black hair with his fingertips while scanning the block. An obstacle stands in the middle of the sidewalk.

A man in his fifties, thick as an oak stump planted in concrete, is cocooned by a puffy lime green jacket and his checkered pants slip out underneath like two gnarled roots. The odd little man holds a cardboard sign that reads Open Your Eyes. Blake stops a few feet away, looks the man up and down, and thinks is this guy for real?

A yellow wool cap like the flame of a torch burns high on the man’s head and below a pair of oversized black sunglasses consume the daylight around the man’s face. A deep scar, scuffed with age, slithers from the man’s left cheek to the bridge of his tapered nose. Blake tries to side-step the man thinking there’s no way he can see me through those goggles. The man drops the sign and shoots out his arm to grab Blake’s shoulder as he tries to pass. Blake spins, knock the man’s hand off, and steps back.

“Hey buddy. Watch it,” Blake says.

“I’ve been looking for you for a long time,” the man says.

“You want a couple bucks? Here,” Blake says and reaches in his jacket pocket for his wallet.

“I don’t want your money. I want you to see,” he says and takes off his sunglasses to reveal sunken pits where eyes should be. Blake looks into the discolored sockets and steps back.

“Sorry man. My bad,” Blake says and the man steps into his path.

“Listen son, you can’t trust your eyes,” he says and puts on his sunglasses as he reaches inside his puffy jacket pocket with his other hand.

“I can get you some help if you want,” Blake says.

“I don’t need help. I’m here to help you,” he says and lifts a clenched hand. In one motion, the man opens his fist and blows a mighty breath across his palm that sprays a cloud of white powder onto Blake’s face. Instinct takes over, Blake shuts his eyes and turns away but the powder covers his face in a fine grit. He steps towards the curb, bends over, and wipes the substance off with his sleeve.

“What the hell? Blake asks.

“It’s the powder of Prometheus. It brings the fire of truth to your sight. Now you won’t have to pluck your eyes out.”

Blake grabs his collar and uses the inside of his shirt to dust off his brow. With a few spots of powder remaining on his strained face, Blake stands up straight and opens his eyes. The man is nowhere to be found.

“Fucking crazy bum,” Blake says, spits, “what is this shit? Smells like mothballs and Gold Bond.” He spins around and heads back to his apartment to change.

…

In Midtown on Madison Avenue between Thirty-ninth and Fortieth streets, Blake stops in front of a Chipotle Mexican Grill and looks at his reflection in the storefront window. With a decisive tug on the lapels of his blue sport jacket, never once used for sports, he straightens the collar and then a curiosity makes him tilt his head to investigate. The part in his hair has become uneven during his stroll and his Ray-Ban sunglasses are crooked.

“Need a trim,” he says to the reflection.

The errant hairs are brushed back as customers inside look at Blake with curious stares. He grabs the corners of the sunglasses and as he is about to straighten the frame a hazy halo appears around his head like a living mirage.

“What the..?” Blake asks and swipes off the sunglasses.

The halo is gone.

“Losing it kid. Must have been a reflection,” he says.

The sunglasses fit snug and Blake turns to walk back down the bustling sidewalk. After a few steps, horns flare on the street when a silver Mercedes cuts across traffic and Blake looks over in just enough time to see the Port Authority bus sideswipe the luxury car with a metallic crunch.

“Idiot,” Blake says and continues to the intersection where slick baristas smoke Virginia Slims, a man in a duck suit hands out fliers, two business men text clients even though it’s Saturday, and tourists with plastic I Love NY bags in tow head to the theatre district. A passing box truck farts diesel exhaust at the people waiting for the light to change.

The walk signal glows white and Blake crosses to the eastside of the avenue and reaches his destination, Shaughnessy’s Irish Pub. Inside his bookie waits. A small chalkboard leans on the outside wall like a tipsy patron and reads: Happy Hour 4-7. Domestic beers $3. He puts his hands in his jean pockets and heads inside. The narrow bar reaches back farther than Blake can see and a crowd of patrons from Holland wearing orange shirts are clustered together as they watch a World Cup qualifier soccer match on widescreen TVs. He steps to the bar and looks down to the far end where the Irish bartender flips his blond curls back while trying to chat up a woman from Amsterdam with a few words in Dutch.

“Blake, back here,” a low male voice says from behind.

Blake spins towards the front window and sees his bookie for the first time in real life sitting alone at a table sipping Pellegrino from the green bottle that looks like a baby’s toy in his hand. His tailored suit struggles to contain the man’s bulging arms and thick body that stretches the navy blue fabric at the seams. The bookie’s hair is plastered back with gel.

“Hey,” Blake says, steps over, and lifts his hand to shake. The bookie looks at his hand as if it were rotten fish.

“Sit. You know you look older on your Facebook profile,” he says and Blake slides onto a stool.

“Nice to meet you. So, how do we do this?” Blake asks.

“What’s the rush?”

“No rush. Mind if I ask your first name?”

“Yes and I’ll ask the questions.”

“Okay.”

“So Blake, you like living in Noho?”

“Yeah, but how’d you know that?”

“Hey, I ask the questions.”

“Sure.”

“Where you from? You’re obviously not from the city.”

“A town about an hour outside Pittsburgh.”

“Steelers, nice. They made me a lot of cash losing that Super Bowl. Come to think about it, you don’t bet on them,” the bookie says and sips from the tiny bottle.

“Bad luck to bet on your team.”

“Good enough. Here’s your take,” the bookie says and slips an envelope under the table to Blake.

Dutch fans erupt in cheers as the

Netherlands

’ top striker curls a ball into the back of the net and scores the game’s first goal. Blake flinches and the bookie sits, unmoved, staring straight into Blake’s eyes.

“That’s loud,” Blake says.

“Count it. It’s all there.”

“That’s all right. You never stiffed me through Paypal before.”

“So anything you want me to put down?” the bookie asks and rolls his shoulders back.

“Eight on the Rangers for Monday.”

“Eight? I just handed you four large. Listen, you seem like a good guy and I’d hate to lose you as a client but eight is a new level. If you lose and don’t pay on time, the collection agency is sent.”

“I know.”

“All right. Done.”

“Good,” Blake says, slips out a twenty from his pocket and puts it on the table, and continues, “that’s for your drink.” The bookie nods once and Blake slips out the door back onto the bustling city sidewalk. Sometimes Blake thinks living in the city is nothing more than living in a maze designed by a mad psychologist who wants to test the breaking point of human courtesy but not today.

…

Later that night, Blake locks the door to his apartment and heads down the hall. The scent of mold and what he thinks is ammonia rises from the worn green carpet. He reaches the vestibule by the entrance to his building and checks his mail. Nothing in his box so he steps outside and the scent of diesel fuel wafts over him from the passing box truck chugging down the street. A memory is conjured like a spell.

Blake remembers the time when is little sister Mercy, the oldest twin by twenty minutes, got her glasses taken by a group of punk boys down by the train tracks after school. He snuck up from behind and got the biggest boy in a head lock. Blake offered to not make them walk home naked if they gave the glasses back. They did and fled back to their elementary school lives on elementary school feet. He walked his sister home and they stopped to watch a freight train that seemed to go on forever haul coal towards Pittsburgh. Besides a fading rumble, the engine left behind a cloud of diesel exhaust as it pulled away into the hills and Blake swore to himself that one day he would leave his home town behind and make a mark on the world.

Blake’s first stop is the Rodeo Lounge and Tiki Bar a few blocks away. Sawdust covers the floor, crooked pictures of cowboys and celebrity patrons dot the walls, and a row of picnic benches lead to a pen where a broken mechanical bull rests. Outside the pen by the entrance to the Tiki Hut lounge, three college kids with NYU sweatshirts sit at a bench drinking a pitcher of beer. The only other person in the Rodeo section of the bar is the bartender Halston, a stallion of a man, who Blake met at a Beastie Boys concert at the Hammerstein Ballroom. Halston sees Blake scoot next to the Mega-Touch machine on the bar and points a finger as he walks up.

“Blake, hey brother, been a spell since I saw you here,” Halston says.

“Work. You know. Same old bullshit. Can I get a Sam Adams and have you seen any shows lately?” Blake asks and dishes a twenty on the bar.

“Sure and no. No shows for me. Just joined a new band and rehearsal takes up all my time besides here,” Halston says and extracts a frosty brown bottle from the cooler. He pops the top with the bottle opener attached to the bar and slides it down.

“Thanks man.”

“Not a problem. So what’s up?”

“Fucking veils of illusion. One news network says one thing and the other another. Puppet masters pulling the money strings and we all dance. Man, I just wish I could see through the bullshit. You know, see behind the curtain where the wonderful wizard mans the smoke machine with his cock in his hand,” Blake says and takes a swig of his beer. The cold bubbles burn as they pop and fizz.

“I see we’ve been stewing again. Relax brother. Relax. And as the old saying goes be careful what you wish for. It might just come true.

“Yeah, you’re right. Hey Halston, could I get singles for the Mega-touch?”

“Sure Blake. Waste of money though. Hate those touch screen games,” Halston says as he moves to the cash register and the till opens with a few taps.

“Just something to do while I relax,” Blake says as Halston hands him the cash.

“Right on. I have to go over the bar tabs from last night. Just yell if you want anything,” Halston says and heads to the far end of the bar by a stack of receipts.

Blake plays trivia games on the bar-top machine. As he inserts his last single, four credits add to his account and a wave of heat rolls over him. He looks up to see if he’s under a vent but there is no duct.

“They’re after you,” says a boy’s voice. Blake looks right and left and sees no one there.

“They’re coming,” the voice says. Blake spins around in his seat and there is no one behind him.

“Hey Halston, you hear that?” Blake asks.

“What?” he asks from the end of the bar.

“A kid’s voice,” Blake says.

“Dude, kids aren’t allowed in here.”

“Oh right. Never mind,” Blake says and thinks I’m losing it.

Inside Blake’s pocket, his phone vibrates indicating a text message. He wrangles the phone free and taps the screen. A message from Dan O’Leary comes up. The message reads Meet me at Jango’s in Midtown. Got girls.

He replies OK and notices that his battery is low. He shrugs and packs it away in his interior jacket pocket but the sound of crunching paper escapes from the pouch. Blake rolls his eyes as he realizes that four thousand dollars in cash sit in his pocket but it’s too late to go home.

“Hey Halston. Going now. Thanks for the beers,” Blake says.

“Right on. See you later.”

On the subway, stuck between an old man who smells of Old Spice and a young woman who smells of blueberry muffins and shame, Blake hold his knees as the train rumbles along. Zoning out, looking at the floor, Blake moves with the rocking of the subway car.

“They’re coming,” a little girl’s voice says and Blake looks up. No little girls are sitting by him. His hands and feet go cold as sweat drips from his armpits. He thinks it’s nothing. Just the booze. He takes a deep breath, slowly exhales, and looks back down at the floor.

“They’re after you,” the little girl’s voice says in Blake’s ear. He snaps a look to his right and examines the row of people. His heart races and spikes of heat prick down his back. He looks to his left and the only little girl on the train is at the other end of the car.

Calm down. It’s just my imagination he thinks and takes a deep breath.

Jango’s, a dark hole in wall club three blocks from Grand Central Terminal, is packed wall to wall with people in black watching a Jazz guitarist improvise up on a corner riser. He speed notes along the neck of a pale green Gretsch double cut-away as round tones deflect off the awed faces pushed flat by the cycle of fifths. A single cone light hangs overhead casting the guitar player half in shadow and half in light. Blake sifts through the standing crowd and sees Dan O’Leary in a corner booth where two women with black silk scarves knotted around their necks huddle close to him. The flicker of a candle melting down on a tin plate illuminates the obsidian black tabletop with wobbling light.

Blake flips an upward nod and Dan replies in kind. The women, both in black, scoot closer to Dan as Blake slips into the booth.

“You made it Moxley. Fantastic. Just in time for the festivities. Got a bottle of absinthe coming. If you want anything else, it’s on me,” Dan says.

“Cool. Why so generous?” Blake asks.

“Dude I’m leaving Silverstein, Bach and Vogel. Took up with a hedge fund,” Dan says.

“Wow, congrats. Which one?” Blake asks.

“The Alchemy fund.”

“Damn, big time holdings,” Blake says and thinks holy shit that’s one of Mr. Guilder’s funds.

“Oops. Sorry ladies, this is Blake Moxley. The only guy I met at my old office building who is worth a damn. Blake, to my right is Faun, and to my left Bijou,” Dan says and winks at Blake.

“Hi,” Blake says.

“Hi,” Faun says.

“Hello,” Bijou says.

“So did you two work together?” Faun asks.

“No, our offices are on the same floor. Blake works for Milton Communications right down the hall. Actually, I’m not down the hall anymore,” Dan says. A waiter cloaked in shadow puts four small glass goblets with gold rims on the table and then a tall bottle of absinthe, la fee verte, is placed down next to a small pitcher of ice water.

“Louche effect or straight up?” the waiter asks.

“Louche first then we’ll see,” Dan says.

“Thanks,” Blake says to the waiter who smirks as he brings out slotted spoon. The waiter lines up the goblets and then leaves for a moment. He returns with four sugar cubes in his hand and then pours the green spirit into the four glasses. The slotted spoon is placed on the rim of the first goblet and then a sugar cube. The group looks on as if they were children at a puppet show. The waiter picks up the pitcher and slowly pours the ice water over the ice cube. The cube doesn’t dissolve quickly at first as the cool water cascades down into the liquor and a transformation begins. The clear green liquor swirls and begins to become opaque, a thin milk. Faun and Bijou clap. The steps are repeated until each person has a proper drink in front of them. The waiter bows and steps back into the crowd dissolving like the sugar in the absinthe.

“People use to think absinthe made you hallucinate. That’s not true but with a little help it can,” Dan says and pulls out a little paper square from his shirt pocket. The women’s faces perk up.

“What is that? Coke?” Blake asks.

“No dude, Ecstasy. You in?”

“Sure, but only a little.”

After making sure the coast is clear, Dan doses the drinks with the fine powder and the girls sip first followed by Dan. Blake lifts his glass and swirls the spiked liquor. He smells the glass and hints of herbs, anise and licorice tickle his senses.

“Cheers and good luck at you new job O’Leary,” Blake says and swigs down the drink in one gulp.

The bottle gets low after a few rounds and the drug begins to take effect. Bijou and Dan begin to caress each other in the concealing darkness until the Jazz guitarist takes a break. Dan looks at Bijou and then to Blake.

“Be back in a bit,” Dan says and then gets up with Bijou. Faun and Blake follow them with their eyes as they walk through the crowd towards the bathrooms. Faun taps the rim of her glass.

“Didn’t think they’d go fuck so soon. Oh well. Blake tell me about yourself,” she says, puts her elbow on the table, and then rest her chin in her hand.

“Not much to tell. Small town kid. Went to college in New England. Moved to the city after few years of figuring out what I want to do,” Blake says and takes a small slug of absinthe from his glass. The taste of black licorice candy twinkles around his tongue and falls down his throat.

“Small town kid who moved to the big city. Are you Superman? Because you look like Clark

Kent

,” Faun says as her eyelids droop and her smile bows.

“Thanks, I think, but I’m hardly Superman. I mean would Superman do Ecstasy?”

“If he wanted to fuck me he would,” Faun says and the rhythm of Blake’s heart hits a hard upbeat.

“Oh, so tell me about yourself,” Blake says.

“No. This is your tryout. What do you want in life?” she asks as the Jazz guitar player tunes his guitar and the crowd noise crackles like static electricity.

“Freedom. I want to be free of all the people telling me to do dumb things at work. I want to be free to travel and not be stuck here because I have to work all the time. I want free time so I can share it with someone,” Blake says and lops back the rest of his absinthe.

“Good answer. You’re much more interesting than I thought one of Dan’s friends could be,” Faun says and slips closer to Blake.

A tremble courses through Blake’s hands and a spike of heat stabs his neck. Pressure from his kidneys hits the urgent signal in Blake’s brain. He has to urinate. Bad.

“Excuse me Faun. I’ll be right back,” Blake says. He slides out into the crowd and weaves through the standing bodies until he reaches the bathroom. He pushes the door expecting to see a line. There’s no one there. Only one stall and one urinal occupy the space. Fruits flies buzz by a corner trash can where the sink above drips city water into a city bathroom with ancient wall tiles stained with cigarette smoke from before the ban.

The dull light coming from above the sink’s mirror fizzles as Blake uses the urinal but as he finishes a flash of green light fills the room and a buzzing sound fills his ears. His breath quickens and his hair tingles as he thinks about the voice he heard earlier. A quick look to the right and left confirms no one else is there. Smoldering heat radiates from Blake’s skin as he shakes and then zips up.

“Hot in here,” he says and pushes the handle. The urinal doesn’t flush.

Blake wonders where Dan and Bijou went to have sex in a place like this and gets back to the booth. Faun runs her fingers along the edge of the black table and looks at Blake.

“This table top is really really smooth,” she says.

“Sure is,” he says and pours the last of the absinthe.

With slow backward tilt, Blake gulps down the liquor and the candle light penetrates the bottom of the rocks glass in scattered spots of cracked rainbow. He stares through the bottom of the glass for a second and then lowers it. Across the table, Faun is surrounded by a quivering aura of yellow light as if she were a candle wick and the aura the flame. Blake pushes back on the table and then freezes. The urge to run spins through his head.

What the fuck? Wait. Calm down. It’s just the drug. Calm down Blake thinks. He closes his eyes and shakes his head twice. Eyelids open to reveal nothing. Faun’s aura vanished and she runs her fingers along the rim of her glass.

“Smooth. Not like the table but smooth,” she says.

Sweat rolls down Blake’s arms and his hands tremble.

“Excuse me Faun, going to have a smoke,” Blake says. She looks up, eyelids sagging shut, and rolls a wave good bye with her fingers.

On the curb, Blake puffs a cloud of smoke that is dispersed by the wind funneled down to the street by the skyscrapers. Night bleeds down from where the spires stab the skyline above. He bounces on the balls of his feet as foot traffic and trailing conversations pass between him and the club’s entrance.

Calm down dude. Nothing to it. Just your imagination he thinks. The dead cigarette is flicked into the street where a cab runs it over sending sparks into the air. At that moment, the city noise gets sharp. Honking horns, the roll of tires, and the intelligible chatter from pedestrians gets louder in Blake’s ears. A spike of heat jams the back of his neck and a cascade of sharp pricks runs down his back to his legs.

“Got to call Carlton and get out of here,” he says and pulls out his phone.

Just then, across the street in a dark slit of an alley, an orb of light appears. Blake freezes. He doesn’t breath and doesn’t blink. He just stares. And then, it pops. Gone from existence in a flash.

I’m losing my mind. Can’t call Carlton. Got to call dad. He’ll know what to do Blake thinks. He pulls out his phone and sees the touch screen is black.

“Battery’s dead. You know? That’s good. That’s good. I can handle this. Better I didn’t call him,” Blake says and recalls the time when his father put him in the car after a Cub Scouts meeting and drove to Pittsburgh where they visited his father’s colleague in a mental health facility or as the called it back then an asylum. In a white hall, Blake and his father walked to the waiting room. An elderly woman in a dirty gown was being led down the hall by two orderlies when she saw the young Blake and broke free from her guards. She clung to Blake as her greasy hair draped over his elementary school boy face and he was too scared to scream or move. It took five minutes for the nurse to talk the woman into letting him go. Blake shakes his head to banish the memory.

“It’s just the drugs. Calm down,” he says and heads back into Jango’s.

Back at the table, Dan and Bijou sit rubbing each others arms and Faun caresses her cheeks in slow circles. Blake slips in.

“Having fun?” Dan asks.

“That shit is strong,” Blake says.

“Not really. I only gave you a quarter hit. So another bottle?” Dan asks.

“Definitely,” Bijou says and Dan lifts his hand. The waiter slinks over from the computerized cash register.

“Another bottle and Blake you want a beer?” Dan asks.

“Yeah, a Stella please,” Blake says and the waiter slips off into the thickening crowd.

Dan and Bijou lock eyes and are trapped by each other’s stare that begins at the back of their dilated pupils. Everyone else is shut out of their combined gaze. The flick of the tip of Faun’s scarf gets Blake’s attention as she amuses herself like a bored kitten with a string. She flicks the black scarf at Blake. She smiles a cute smile.

“Having fun?” Blake asks her. She nods and goes back to flicking the scarf below her chin. He folds his hands on the table and looks through the crowd to see if the waiter is coming with his beer.

The air around Blake begins to vibrate and hum as he sits watching the crowd that becomes a blur of motion, a stream of trailing bodies, around stalled columns of dim light. Minutes begin to pass between the blinks of Blake’s eyes. After one blink, his eyes open to see Bijou and Dan dancing, grinding, on the table to music being played at a high speed tempo like circus music in fast forward. After another blink, Blake notices that a stand up bass player joined the jam session with the jazz guitarist. Another blink and Faun is no longer around as Dan and Bijou make out next to him. With a slow and paused blink, the bar is almost empty, the others are gone, and the brown leather bill folder sits in front of him on the table stuffed with cash. Blake blinks again.

The next morning Blake wakes up in his bed and taps the rhythm of his heartbeat on the tip of his nose. Everything seems normal except that he is wearing the shirt from the night before and his loafers are on his feet.

“Fucking scary,” he says and looks to the floor where his jeans lay on top of a strange pork pie hat. He leans over and picks up the jeans and hat.

“This isn’t mine,” he says himself and then pulls out his wallet, keys and phone.

“Fuck!”

The envelope containing his winnings is gone. He would have been able to afford to pay the bookie four thousand if he lost the bet, but not a full eight.

Review: The Amazing Spiderman

2012-07-02T10:21:00.000-04:00

So tonight at midnight you can go grab yourself a bag of popcorn, a large Pepsi (no Coke, cheeseburger, cheeseburger), a box of jujyfruits (does anyone still eat those things? I think I still have one stuck in my teeth from E.T.) and a ticket to The Amazing Spiderman. Heck, buy one for your significant other too! As a guy who saw it on Thursday, I'm telling you to go see this movie.

I don't do spoilers. Sorry, I'd like to have the opportunity to be asked back next time Marvel makes a flick, but I will give you some generalities. I’ll spot you one small one though – yes there is an extra scene partway through the credits. And no, I won’t tell you what it is, please don’t ask.

Okay, so the movie. For starters, if you have a choice between 2D and 3D, go to the 3D! Yes, there was a time when you had to wear funny red and blue lenses and it was just a hackneyed gag, but that is no longer the case. You will notice a difference for a moment or two and then your subconscious brain takes over and allows you to enjoy the cinematic masterpiece at a level you can't on a flat screen. I promise it is seamless and visually stunning!

How about the acting you ask? Ok, fair question. Andrew Garfield did a solid job as Peter, really allowing some of the teen angst any kid in high school would feel after losing both parents as a child, being mutated into something he doesn't understand and then watching the only father figure he really knew die. He sold me on an edger version of the webslinger, one that I could actually picture a beautiful blond female classmate fall for.

So how about Gwen Stacy you ask? I have to admit, before I saw the movie, Emma Stone wasn't how I pictured Ms. Stacy. My perception, however, changed once I saw her take to the role of a young woman who is smart and strong, yet also awkward like we all are at that age.

I really wanted to start chanting "Ole, ole, ole, ole" when I saw Rhys Ifans, but The Lizard was a great villain. I know the first of Spidey's foes we all think about is the Green Goblin, although I must admit I've always been partial to folks like the Lizard who try to do good, but still end up doing wrong. The CGI was great and it was cool that he actually looked like a humanoid lizard rather than a guy in a lizard suit.

And the rest of the cast? Denis Leary was hysterical in his gruff disbelieving way, Martin Sheen made for a really good Uncle Ben and Sally Field was a great choice for Aunt May. I just wish they had died her hair silver rather than a salt and pepper. That didn't stop her from putting on a great performance as Peter's #1 cheerleader though.

The movie has everything. Good timing, fast fun pace, some great jokes and a solid cast. So go get your spot in line now and enjoy the movie!

-Mark

Twitter Raffle! Daily and Weekly Prizes!

2012-06-16T14:53:00.000-04:00

In order to help promote our Kickstarter campaign for Horsemen, we are going to be giving away daily and weekly raffle prizes! So here's the deal, for every tweet you make about Horsemen (including this link to the project - http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/1130379423/horsemen) you will be entered in the daily, weekly and final raffle. You must also include both of our twitter handles so that we can validate your entry. They are @JLAJones and @PantherPitt.

Each daily winner will receive a PDF copy of Horsemen AND Mark's soon to be completed comic The Ascendant (sneak peek here: http://aegispub.blogspot.com/2012/05/demons-befoul-trevi-fountain-ascendant.html).

The weekly winner will get a signed print copy of Horsemen AND a $25 Visa gift card!!!!

The grand prize winner receive a print copy of both comics AND a $50 Visa gift card!!!!

Terms:

No more than one tweet per hour, limit 24 per day.
The Kickstarter campaign must be fully funded for prizes to be delivered. Exception: Should the Kickstarter campaign not be successful, all daily winners will still receive a free PDF copy of the Ascendant.
By participating in this contest, you agree to the above terms.

All winners will be announced daily at 12:00 PM. This contest begins now (6/16/12) and shall continue until 12:00 PM July 13th, 2012. Happy tweeting!
-Mark and Josh

Diary of Joshua AKA @JLAJones Part 2

2012-06-13T18:36:00.000-04:00

Hi, Hello, Hey and Howdy,

If you could spare a moment and look at Mark and my Kickstarter campaign for our project titled Horsemen, that'd be great. Instant rewards. Just look in the project description. Here's the link-> http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/1130379423/horsemen

And so, here's part 2 to my limited journal from when I was but a nutter of a boy clouded by mystery, darkness, hormones and booze. Cheers!

Journal 2

Vacillations and vicissitudes going to places in my thoughts and

dismal daydreams of layered fabric into tapestries of time and a place

with no space, a perfect plenum. Seeing seas and storms flowing, sitting

at tops of trees with the fragile mist chilling the organs and the blood.

Surrounded by myths and obstructions and monoliths are signs of

realness at every edge of the realm on the crooked brick stairs in the back

of an ancient sullen house made of uneven stone cold as the mist,

but without greetings and sensation. Droplets of reminders course down

my back, a tingle as recollections of the coarse experience in the depths

of a moonless night where proclamations of the one question and

supplications for help relayed the sonorous fright. Voices that are never

heard drown and fade away automatically and proceed backwards.

Sometimes I hate pathetic fallacy.

In the beginning we are alone but individuality is a test; the separateness

searching for a station in life or at least a place to sleep without

interruption. No, there are no divine exams.

Mostly these illuminations are never found in daydreams, no

radiance before the dawn. It is the search that drives primal suggestion

to the pointed faculties of mind in the climax that there is

struggle, strain, strenuous suffrage, and to wear this is too much to bare.

Bombarded by blocking thoughts or meditations unnerved by anxious

hooks in the stomach reel us into physicality. Uncertainty looms as a

weaver in the back of the mind stringing the high strung, dangling

a statement, “It is a waste of time”. Go on like the dreaming ocean of

ensuing devotion and to do all that others say is impossibility, in

the eventual outcome it is will or the lack of that will kill.

Or are we all lying?

Are we creations and creators? Maybe just some infernal joke or

an excuse of some other? Artists, we all

are! Damnable polysyndetonic syntax.

We must take a step out of life as the snake out of its skin, oh no, sexual

symbolism, so to shed the opaque covering of the eyes, and see

the hive hunting its impervious prey in the forest of the twilight

as we are tinted a King Cobra gray. Sorry William! No tiger.

When you are on the safari yourself you never see anything but

the targeted, and everything is a target as you are and will be.

To be an artist might be to document behavior, culture, social problems,

perceptions, deviations, and the vile as well as pitiful conditions.

These are targets and artists are fundamental targets. Maybe artists are

simply sociopaths with outlets besides human destruction medicated

with a

placebo?

Naughty, naughty, don’t worry it is all bullshit made up as we go along

with the influence of the past astonishment and creation. In all media

they trying not to overtly plagiarize. Artists are just thieves stealing

from others’ lives as well as their own and other artist’s work, just

recombinant conditions. Everything is communication through

symbolism and that is what people do so we let you do it and then modify

and regurgitate it back to you in a nice mix of acid and beauty. Sometimes

we pretend that we know what we are doing.

Maybe it is about deliverance from insignificance and the token

realization that the metaphysical connotation of living may not be

anything but us fish swimming from danger and a flight into the open

sea’s light or no? The insatiable calamity has no relief

as stars, designated constellations, or personal

suns.

It is just the universe mumbling and

self-esteem draws death, as said before life is a theft but death

is something life lives in. I don’t want to be this mumble or this simple

horrible

mortality.

Fraud is the most genuine thing we have. Love, emotions, plastic

moldings of the face. Truth, beauty continually erased but seldom ugly.

Trite, banality never fugacious these things are to determined to exist

through comfort. Once we are engaged, we are too blinded to redeem

identity. Even the silly plastic moldings on my face find their ways to

violate the daydreams and rip the layered fabric.

Targets are acquired but life never concludes while you are watching

as absolutes never existed anyway. An artist’s creation?

Or a bullshit excuse? A plagiarized science experiment forgotten to

its own devices?

***

Creators and creations are developed myths of martyrs and

meeker manifestations. And by the way,

Beauty is not all we need to know ugliness is just as relevant.

Everything once was and will be symbolism and if GOD exists and knows

all pain I am sorry it had to feel mine, but I didn’t want to be this way

it is too convoluted without prenatal talent displaying itself

so not to decide.

The act of deciding is probably the point but how trite is that because

everyone must do it except……..

***

GENIUSES and trust fund babies.

***

Nope, I wanted to be something else.

I wanted to be Nietzsche, Jimi Hendrix and Bruce Lee.

I wanted my ideas to manifest and spread for all to see.

I want my will to be fulfilled and be an earthly guru.

I want to be an evangelistic with philosophy and music

and to be feared so nobody will try to fight me.

I want others to add to my images and progress in a radiant form

of talent of soul, mind and body. My shadow would cast darkness

and doubt on deluded ambition and would create a resolute condition of

creativity. Meeting the godhead and conversing having power

without corruption.

Thoughts could be mutable flesh.

***

Once in a time before thoughts escaped and became.

They fell to freedom on their own.

We went on in different stratified existence and

they went on in an innocuous form independent from us. As once they

were just ideas as we were just ideas and it could happen again.

We might encounter a thought from GOD and the infinite choir as GOD

Maybe? or even something beyond comprehension. But on a side note

I don’t want to die of syphilis or any remiss vomiting events.

I don’t want to die from some death touch or allergic reactions.

***

Hell’s fury can come from women but it is not the only scorn, I don’t want

to die at all and maybe in the future of

genetics

and bio-engineering I won’t. Probably not in my lifetime I want

to be delivered into my daydreams without plastic moldings

and cold stones. It is just another stupid opinion on another earthly

rotation in this mortal condition. I never thought I'd hate being human

and I don't feel like one.