Yes, I read comics. Of course I do, it fits in nicely with the rest of my emotionally stunted man/child life. And I know that there are thousands of people more qualified (if that’s the correct word) to review them. The only time I wrote reviews was for a “zine” called The Ugly American about a million years ago. My reviews were were about music and they were short and snarky. So bear with me, I’m sure the payoff will be small.
A couple of years ago, Walt from the comic book store, turned me onto a weird little comic called The Bulletproof Coffin. It was a strange little self contained universe that included the writer and artist, (David Hine/Shaky Kane) as characters and an editor named Destroyovski, which is one of my favorite names ever. It had everything; vague conspiracy, zombies, extremely damaged golden age type super heros, all mixed together in a fucked up dream logic of a story. The art by “Shaky Kane” reminded me of a simpler Geof Darrow (Hard Boiled), (that may be a wildly inaccurate reference, but that’s how it hit me). Gleefully crazy shit, that almost made sense. It was one of the best things I’d read in a long time.
I have just finished the second series of Bulletproof Coffin, called Disinterred. Now there are times when I’ll start a comic, for example Spaceman (by Azzarello/Risso) and I can’t follow it, I bought two issues, couldn’t figure out what was going on and really didn’t give a shit, so I stopped. Disinterred is different, it takes it to a new level of “what the fuck?” Each issue seems like a disjointed stand alone but then parts of early issues are told differently in later issues. Issue four is “non-linear”, told in a Burroughs like cut-up style, and in fact is dedicated to William Burroughs, Brion Gyson and other members of the beat generation. Issue five is about zombies in the Viet-Nam war told in a series of cards reminiscent of Mars Attacks. The whole thing is a colossal mind fuck, I really don’t know what is going on and I want more.