Better Luck Next Time © comics and kisses by Chamomile Demure 

Better Luck Next Time © comics and kisses by Chamomile Demure 

Haunt Me Hard by Chamomile Demure is a rich series of texts about and dedicated to the artist, musician and cartoonist CF, who’s fascinated many for many years. This book probes the depths of CF’s genius and acts as a kind of love letter to the multifaceted talent. A thoroughly disheveled collection of poems, essays, and fragments of renegade prose, Haunt Me Hard gives CF’s work the attention it deserves.

Haunt Me Hard by Chamomile Demure is a rich series of texts about and dedicated to the artist, musician and cartoonist CF, who’s fascinated many for many years. This book probes the depths of CF’s genius and acts as a kind of love letter to the multifaceted talent. A thoroughly disheveled collection of poems, essays, and fragments of renegade prose, Haunt Me Hard gives CF’s work the attention it deserves.

From my new collection of texts, Haunt Me Hard, a collection inspired by and dedicated to Christopher Forgues

          […] We are brought back to CF and the death of the kind of thinking about comics that preceded his most glorious arrival on The Scene. The advance CF makes happen (a movement from the sausage-fest of comics in the direction of a post-postmodern and neo-Derridean dialogue) is larger in terms of impact and import, I think, than the further step taken in that direction by Blaise Larmee. It is even arguable that CF’s interest is more purely philosophical than Larmee’s, given Larmee’s more intense concern with the multifoliate oceans of aesthetic, presentational investment. Larmee can be seen, I think, as the Gabriel García Márquez to CF’s Juan Rulfo (more cosmopolitan than extraterrestrial, more self-aware than instinctive, but not as near as CF is to the viscous ink-as-blood that pumps through the Living Body of Avant-garde Comics. […]

From my new collection of texts, Haunt Me Hard, a collection inspired by and dedicated to Christopher Forgues

“Untitled” (Love Letter From the War Front)* by Chamomile Demure

Dear CF,
Let me get you off on the chance-
Based change of the language (the suicide). See the ways
From that dead self-discovery. You twist much inside it.
Here I am, realizing some, your mutations corresponding.
Here I am, am long, am thin, am
Recently fearing a decider’s willy-nilly, baseless verdict.
I should hold your favorite ditch’s darkness in my hands.
Dear CF, on your axes’ handles;
It was from you I inherited
Mad devotion to an old nail sliding into a wall.
In sung words from the young lungs of Conor Oberst:
        “And if you swear that there’s
No truth and who cares
How come you say it like you’re right?”

*This poem’s title is also the title of an artwork by Félix González-Torres

theblackbook:

untitled by KevinLezzoche on Flickr.
altcomics:

Jaakko Pallasvuo

altcomics:

Jaakko Pallasvuo

From my new collection of texts, Haunt Me Hard, a collection inspired by and dedicated to Christopher Forgues

          When we hunt for the subliminal nests of our enjoyment when it comes to the comics of the recent past and present, we come to a fork in the road. It is deep in the body, in the blood. Aidan Koch is sitting quietly, mesmerized by what we might call the Play of the Frames; Dane Martin dances in the plasma, resuscitating supposedly long-gone impulses in a thoroughly post-postmodern way; in the blood, of the blood, are a father and son, made one, made The System, comics’ lifeblood, Christopher Forgues.
          1) Any facet of comics can be used in many ways, including opposed ways. Thus, concentrating on technique can be used to conceal content (again and again by cartoonists who are afraid of what they’ll feel, of what they’ll learn about themselves). Nevertheless, technique can facilitate authentic inspiration. 2) When a cartoonist says she’s doing “east,” always check to see she isn’t really doing “west.” Chances are, her bent is so entirely “north” she must swear utter allegiance to “south” in order to encompass the world. 3) Charge comes with dissonance. Without dissonance, no charge.
          Investigating the process of making a comic isn’t only an act of inquisitiveness, but an attempt to grasp the spirit of cartooning.

          That sad man’s nights were wasted in a fake-grape-purple abstract statue radiating baby-boy-blanket-blue, his days wasted in an existing structural feature highlighted by the sharp angle of the morning sun, until (that is) he heard of a canceled soap opera about the ghost of Charles Pierre Baudelaire. Another adult, his assistant and friend, was walking into a little twin set of payphones in the hallway off the Holiday Inn restaurant. He might’ve won fortune (so sensitive was his squeeze-when-in-stress heart). Now they’re utterly transformed.

CF suggests that the world of the comic is growing less enclosed: “There are some who cannot age, and cannot die, no matter how they try. For these ones, to be old and nearing death is a party, an altered state, an unattainable fantasy. This is why we sometimes wear a beard…” (Powr Mastrs Vol. 1). CF’s comics document a transition from a comics world of bipartisan narrowness and rigidity to one increasingly full of possibilities. Potentials are opened; boundaries between self and art dissolve.
          In Mere, CF becomes in his work the spokesperson for a refreshing kind of comics minimalism as well as for transformation. What is, in Powr Mastrs, primarily projected outward on the (super-)natural world and secondarily social, is, in Mere, internalized, as CF faces today’s social realities and the ways they relate to the recent past and an idea of the near future. This shift of focus is demonstrated in where CF seems to locate his art and his role in the comics community. The reader, isolated, wanders in these worlds, which is littered with symbols CF uses to image alternative internal states:
          “All of the machines in the city use gravity or other forms of power, electrical technology has been outlawed.”

From the fence from Home Improvement between
            The protagonist’s house and Wilson’s, I’ve seen
Pillows packed with Rapunzel’s hair, in pillowcases made of Samson’s.
            (They can now be seen right here, in The Hamptons.)