Ode to Crumb...and Gym Teachers

copyright Robert Sayre II

The Weak in News

copyright 2012 Robert Sayre II

Reboot Robot

Commune Grounds sketch

So I've always had this idealized notion

(even now, after being aware of the folly

of such things in the face of the way of

the world) about making a project that

would be progressive in all regards.

This project would commence after winning the Lottery, naturally.

Just some brief concept layouts for

this compound that would allow multiple families to

share land, expenses, work, and product

just like it used to be when communities worked

together for a common good.

Everyone owns their own stuff; you don't

forego ownership or have shared property.

It's a co-op of living resources.

Basically the goal is to be as efficient and as

self-sustaining as possible; eco-friendly,

wind and solar powered as much as possible,

grow most of your own foods pesticide free,

have a workable Recycle-Refuse-Repurpose-Restrict

policy in play, and time-saving efforts like

shared meals/work/purchases.

More sketches to come, like floor plans and

greenhouse layouts!

***

Raise Your Hands in the Air

...and wave 'em like you just don't care!

***

"Lesbian Confidential"

Big Rob's Dating Tips

'Castaways' cartoon strip

Big Grrrl

Insides/Outsides

"The Holidaze Song" (not for chirruns!)

"Oh, the Holidays...
dear Holi-dazed...
put a bullet in my head...
no, not just a graze...

No, not really...
now I feel silly..
cuz I have a better plan
in mind instead....
(One in which it's others--
not me--that wind up dead!)

See, I favor homicide
over suicide;
Why should I be the only one
who's cried and had nerves fried?

If you kill yourself this year,
assholes will still be filled with cheer,
and if you kill yourself my dear
there's just no way to get revenge.

But if you simply must decide
best to go with mass homicide;
when will you get that many douches
in one place again?!?

Cuz suicide is too much
like they killed you twice;
I'd prefer to stay around
and fight the fight.

Besides... why would I hurt myself
on the word of a filthy drunken elf,
whose clues are dusty on a shelf..
they condemn me but they're in hell.

But after I have vented here,
I'll probably just expose my rear,
and tell everyone to be a dear
and kiss it where the hole is near.

Oh Holidays,
dear Holidaze...
Thank goodness this thankful shit
comes only once a year!

**************************

c. 2012 Robert Lee Sayre II

Queen Bitch of the Universe

lA pIETA aU nATURALE

The Cath-Hole-Licks

(For more info on the origin of this cartoon--dating

back to the early 1990's, mind you--just google

'Father Balthazar, Tampa church')

***

Belle Pepper gets philisophical

Ione (from "The Daring Alliance")

Watercolor design for

the character 'Ione' from my series,

"The Daring Alliance"

(copyright 2012 Robert Sayre/Arelis Publications)

***

A Paler Shade

Love Sucks

Ghosts of Montreal

Patience

Charmer Boys

Those unfortunate (bastard) wild boys,

trained too early

and too easily

that their goods were in demand

that they could barter through life

on looks and loving

 

Charm is their first line of defense

Permanently on offense

(still not in control)

taking from others

as was done to them

The original biological weapon.

  

This talent for assessing need

and weakness

This dark discernment

working towards neither's good,



A call to charms


Playing that designated role

imprinted too young

too mightily

Be what they need

Swallow yourself whole

Manipulation is power

or a passable facsimile thereof



You exert bravado

so we would never imagine

the rift within

The Path to Island Living (It's Cheaper Than You Think)

Friendship
was once plentiful
and capricious
and effortlessly-obtained.
More easily-maintained,
not readily-destroyed.
Sturdy and assumed,
monolithic in proportion,

Now disappeared.

How fickle we became,
somewhat automatically,
it would seem,
by age 30;
jaded,
old promises faded,
the delicate tickle
of time
now furiously gripping
and strangling.

Brutal recognition
demanded,
naivete stranded,
all the tiny things
become giant
in the land of
what-was-promised-to-be
older and wiser.

Perspective works in reverse
of what I'd imagined
(Why should that deceit
be any different 
from all other beliefs
turned on their ears?)

Awareness finds me
much too late;
the party is ended.
(but it will still serve
to find me home.)

It takes a season
(or three)
to respect your own
understanding,
to stop selling out
for a few laughs
and to fill your nights
with other-than-moderate
common bonds
(or, typically, none at all.)

To determine that duplicity shown
in front of you
can also be anticipated
once you depart, as well.

That gossip snakes around your name--
that those pangs in your back
are caused by more than exes' voodoo.

To no longer need
'somebody'
or
'any body'
to take you through
the night's isolation...
to make you feel complete,
belonged to,
part of,
acclaimed,
consistent,
valiant,
worthwhile,
important,
potent,
loveable,
desirable,
relevant.

Instead, to forge your own happiness,
and encourage your own brilliance;
no need for half-hearted
undercuts and overlooked slights,
bland tolerance, or hearty indifference.

Strive and perform and provide,
and the more you do,
it's expected of you;
not appreciated,
not accepted,
not approved,
not reciprocated,
not considered.
Merely bilked.

I reached a point
where my capacity
for bullshit
and my tolerance
for abuse
was all used up.
Something about 'looking
in all the wrong places.'

I needed more...
I found it.

Say My Name



(Slave Angel by Mariano7724)



I'm wishing there were

something more to see

cuz it seems

all inbred fucks

with no clue

and all luck,

and all the wrong people

are breeding

and all the wrong people

are dying


 
Nostalgia's a crying shame;

was it that good

or just a good game?

The skew of reflection

or the passage of time

Either way you slice it

it's all the same

Nothing left for me

in the here and now




I call my own name

No one else

does it quite the same

There's an onerous task

in going it alone

yet the alternative

cuts to the bone

When other folks try to

send me shame

I call my own name

Stephanie

***

One of my favorite portraits,

capturing her pure, beautiful essence!

***

Wreck-collect

Kenneth sat quietly on his hardwood deck and took in the beautiful,
crisp spring smells. Dusk was his favorite time of day, and he
performed his typical daily ritual of enjoying the nearly disappeared
sun by doing some reading and sipping a homemade smoothie.
But it wasn't the taste of kelp and apples that lingered on his lips.


A passage in his book had triggered something far sweeter, that he
had not thought on for many years. Touching on it had brought the
reading to a pause, lifted him erect in the chair, and now he sat gazing
doe-eyed and transfixed out onto the horizon.


Kenneth had never told anyone about the experience that filled him
with such warmth. To do so would have seemed trite, forced. It
wasn't that he felt ashamed, necessarily. It's just that the privacy
of such a thing was part of the wonderment, and to share it would
expose it to the mundaneness of this bleak world.


Besides, all memory is best savored from a distance. Rewatching
old favorite movies and attending high school reunions had been the
death of more than a few sacredly held beliefs. He didn't want a
revisiting to destroy this precious memory.


He found himself in a very contemplative mood as a result of his
memory stroll, which was a rather unorthodox mindset for this
accomplished and driven man. At 45, he had done pretty much
everything imaginable, but you wouldn't know it to look at him.
Average looks, unassuming, not significant according to the social
registry or the financial big whigs, he still was able to carry his own.


Although a loner in the truest sense of the word, he was affable
with all he met, bringing a smile and a flutter to the most stone-faced
of women and even a few men. He was not a party person, but he had
no judgment of others' vices. He had never been heard to utter a
single political or religious view in anyone's company. He was pretty
much a ghost of a man, never needing attention or causing controversy.
There had been enough of that as a kid.


And contentment had been his. Just as he had no real need for people--he
was alone but not lonely--he had no real need for any thing, either. He
was well off from decades of frugal spending and good investments,
and was comfortable in his modest surroundings. But tonight, for the
first time in so long, something was triggered in him that was a foreign
concept; longing.


He could remember vividly what it had felt like to be the object of
someone's desire; to know that their deeds and wishes were
centered around you. The power that it had given him, and the
utterly delicious awakening of enticing someone who was 'above'
you in every other way. It had been a drug that nearly devoured
him, but ultimately, it was precious experience.


That first night, all those years ago, staying in the hotel room...

(to be continued..)

Unmade

Sometimes I just want to leave that bed unmade all the time.

When I get up from a wondrously restful sleep,

ever-and-ever more rare, I think

"Don't change a thing! Don't get up...don't move...

don't move a sheet."

As if leaving things untouched

will preserve the greatness of the occurrence.

I walk through the house,

walk through the store,

walk through my mind

reflecting on what was.

More and more perfect it becomes,

 like spun gold from hay,

or the wonders of a night of drinking

 that becomes more impressive and fascinating

with every retelling,

ever-more regardless of the thing's true nature.

It can't be prepared for; there was no special planning

that went into the night when the bed was most

accommodating. Nothing extra done for the providing

of such nourishing nocturnal healthfulness. Probably

nothing extraordinary about the bed, the night,

my ass laid out there, the weather, or any other factor.

 It just happened. And upon happening,

my mind created a magical quality to it, and the

moment was preserved in

amber for eternity.

What is the point of a made bed, anyway?

To promote an idea of...what exactly?

Orderliness? Tidiness? Sophistication?

Blow chunks, Zelda; my give a rat's busted.

Preservation is a young man's game.

***

Let Them Eat Designer--and Naughty--Cake!

My Most-Excellent Partner in Crime,

cake decorator extraordinaire,

Miss Lynn Johnson!

She can make any idea you can conceive

(trust me--no matter HOW crazy!)

materialize in front of you!

Here are a few of our collaborations

through the years!

***

First up it's the "Two Fey Cowboys" with matching

outfits for my gay friends (who are a couple)

who also happened to have back-to-back birthdays!

The writing?
"Happy Birthday to Two Fine Cow-Pokes!"

***

Next up, an unfortunately less-than-ideal

faraway shot of the cake made for my

comic shop (The Legion Outpost) having

a Halloween Party.

The theme; Death of Barney.

Pictured:

Barney the Dinosaur's torso sticking out of

a grave (crushed Oreo cookies) with his

eyes 'X-ed' out, gummy worms crawling

out of his grave, and assorted other

ghouls haunting the graveyard.

Written:
"Die, Barney, Die!"

(Don't worry; it wasn't a comic book shop

for children!)

Lots of fun memories, and it's always

great to have an artist who can help you

manifest your expressiveness and vision!

(If you live in the Tampa/Brandon area

and need a specialty cake done,

e-mail me at robertsayre2@hotmail.com

for contact info on Lynn.

And yes, gents, she's single, too!)

***

Strike a Pose

One of my models,

a worker at Tampa AIDS Network,

who did a fantastic job!

He was utilized on the cover of

FREE P.R.E.S.S. # 3

***

Husk

(Art by Bodstart3 from www.deviantart.com )



Columbus was fraud;
this world's sure enough flat
Every day'll put you
down on the mat...
It ain't even tit-for-tat.

Ain't nothing new to see
or anywhere left to be,
everything's been discovered
(and done at least thrice)
don't waste time with envy.

I'm not seeking sympathy,
sure as hell don't want advice...
 the one who pretends to assist
is the one whose knife will twist.

It's a ruptured life support hose,
no one cares for your woes,
do your best to make do
they're always gunning for you.

Devoid of expectation
the blinders removed
we stumble the darkness
no more spark in our groove.

This is it.
Embrace the insanity.

***

hurt

Cling to the illusion of control
when you know that chaos reigns


Darkness is in our DNA;
humanity is only a shell
for the beast


Man can no more stop warring,
hunting,
hating,
devouring
than a lion can cease feeding
on warm, bloody carcass


It is in us;


Cellular
Consumptive
Predetermined
Deep-seated
Intrinsic
All-consuming

We are by nature

Damaged
Animalistic
Raging 
Warring
Insatiable
Negative


We are filled with horrors, not hopefulness

Conflicted
Tortured
Empty
Driven

Yet we pray to a fiction
envision a mirage
and stand on wishes...
avoiding the newspapers
or a mirror


The notion of chaos rules us,
like lunar pull
or roadside carnageChange or enlightenment?
It's cruelty, denial, a joke


To be lulled into a sickness of passivity
or benevolence
or complacency
is to fall prey to the predators--
their trap so insidiously based on
convincing the world that there is no trap


(Convince us there is goodness
wait to see how things play out
trust in the ether
don't lower yourself by fighting back;)
and from the shadows they pounce and destroy


The most beguiling and convincing of smiles
hide the sharpest claws and deadliest fangs


Woundedness is not
necessary to habituate.

Stop expecting
Stop needing
Stop believing
Stop wanting
Stop trusting

and hurt will quickly vanish.

*****************************

Adventure Squad

Germany