Mister Scribbles

Alan drew a dirk, which he held in his left hand in case they should run in under his sword. I, on my part, clambered up into the berth with an armful of pistols and something of a heavy heart, and set open the window where I was to watch. It was a small part of the deck that I could overlook, but enough for our purpose. The sea had gone down, and the wind was steady and kept the sails quiet; so that there was a great stillness in the ship, in which I made sure I heard the sound of muttering voices. A little after, and there came a clash of steel upon the deck, by which I knew they were dealing out the cutlasses and one had been let fall; and after that, silence again.  I do not know if I was what you call afraid; but my heart beat like a bird’s, both quick and little; and there was a dimness came before my eyes which I continually rubbed away, and which continually returned. As for hope, I had none; but only a darkness of despair and a sort of anger against all the ...

  Kim Deitch, Raw Magazine, Volume Two, Issue One.  1989. https://misterscribbles.blogspot.com/2020/11/felix-and-otto-and-waldo-and-kim-and-ted.html   Communists and talking animals are just degenerate.

  The rain lifted before dawn, leaving the cold and barren hill muddy and slick.  The sun was somewhere behind the low dark grey clouds, yet the air was crisp and washed clean.  Tom sat on the porch that ran around the small stone house and sipped his coffee.  He missed being able to work in his garden, something that would be a welcome distraction from the pain of his fractured skull.  The village doctor had pronounced him fit for limited duties, such as cleaning his house or short walks.  He was forbidden to smoke, and probably to drink as well but the doctor either forgot that admonition or knew a waste of time when he saw it.  Tom lit another cigarette off the old one and drew in down the acrid, delicious smoke.  The wind bit into his fur and he could feel the outline of his stitches in the cold air.  There were no birds this morning for the cat to watch, a disappointment but it was wintertime after all.  The news on the ...

 Fourth of July in Dreamcity. 

Matthew Stanford Robinson - Sept. 23, 1988 - Feb. 29, 1999. When Matthew Stanford Robison was born in 1988, his parents Ernest and Anneke were told he only had hours to live. Due to lack of oxygen and complications at birth, Matthew was born with severe disabilities. He was mostly blind, paralyzed, and spoke few words. Still, he defied the odds and lived for almost 11 years, passing in his sleep in 1999.  In 2000, in order to transform Matthew's grave into a place of happiness, Ernest and his cousin Susan Cornish fabricated a touching statue that stands in memorial of the young boy's courage.  “Matthew was a joy and inspiration to all who were privileged to know him. He was a testament to the supreme divinity of the soul and an embodiment of the completeness our spirits yearn for. The godliness of his soul inspired, influenced and blessed all who knew him. He came into this world as a miracle and left this world as a miracle.” After seeing this I realize that I ha...

 But at my back I always hear  Time’s wingèd chariot hurrying near;  And yonder all before us lie  Deserts of vast eternity.  Andrew Marvell, To His Coy Mistress    The ocean is a desert with it's life underground and a perfect disguise above  I've Been Through The Desert On A Horse With No Name , Dewey Bunnell.