Her Kiss.

Willst du bis der Tod euch scheidet
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amor jogo

krismukai:

blackblobyellowcone:

When the A.V. Club asked me to talk about what inspired me to get into comics, they meant for me to talk about a piece of media. Zara was that thing for me, when my brother bought it for me in New York in 2001. But I can’t talk about Zara without talking about the context in which I read Zara, as a tween suddenly on fire with the realization that my body was becoming a battleground. Since this comic was posted, I’ve been accused of basically lying in order to push an agenda, as if these experiences that make up my life are so unbelievable that I must have sensationalized them for some crass motive. I thought about juxtaposing the experiences of my white male schoolmates, to show how insulated and relatively uncomplicated their lives were at this time, as they related them to me. But I figured the bros in the comments would do justice enough to that, and they don’t disappoint.  

Predictably, when asked to imagine a world where men have no power and no human rights, some men get REALLY testy. Cue the accusations of misandry, cue the common-knowledge that women are too catty, bitchy, passive-aggressive, hysterical, and shrill to run the world, am I suggesting that women are somehow BETTER THAN MEN? Blah burp fart. 

HONEY is that world. And it’s a world full of horrors. But it’s a world lived on female terms. All I am asking is that you try to imagine it, and ask yourself if it is functionally any better or worse than the world we live in.  

HUGE thanks to my AD Oliver Sava for sticking up for me and getting this thing published. 

You can read the full thing here, or by clicking the gif above

You can read the (much safer for work) version on the AV Club here

You can read HONEY Issue 1 here for free

Or buy the print version in my shop here 


Celine wrote a beautiful thing 

krismukai:

blackblobyellowcone:

When the A.V. Club asked me to talk about what inspired me to get into comics, they meant for me to talk about a piece of media. Zara was that thing for me, when my brother bought it for me in New York in 2001. But I can’t talk about Zara without talking about the context in which I read Zara, as a tween suddenly on fire with the realization that my body was becoming a battleground. Since this comic was posted, I’ve been accused of basically lying in order to push an agenda, as if these experiences that make up my life are so unbelievable that I must have sensationalized them for some crass motive. I thought about juxtaposing the experiences of my white male schoolmates, to show how insulated and relatively uncomplicated their lives were at this time, as they related them to me. But I figured the bros in the comments would do justice enough to that, and they don’t disappoint.  

Predictably, when asked to imagine a world where men have no power and no human rights, some men get REALLY testy. Cue the accusations of misandry, cue the common-knowledge that women are too catty, bitchy, passive-aggressive, hysterical, and shrill to run the world, am I suggesting that women are somehow BETTER THAN MEN? Blah burp fart. 
HONEY is that world. And it’s a world full of horrors. But it’s a world lived on female terms. All I am asking is that you try to imagine it, and ask yourself if it is functionally any better or worse than the world we live in.  
HUGE thanks to my AD Oliver Sava for sticking up for me and getting this thing published. 

Celine wrote a beautiful thing 

Seu amor era tão grande que achou que roubar o coração dela lhe amaria.

Seu amor era tão profundo que ao bater no rosto dela era consequência do que sentia.

Seu amor era tão puro que ao matá-la se tornariam romeu e julieta.

Seu amor era tão visível que ela o notaria. Seja com agressão física ou psicológica, ela ficaria ao seu lado. Submissa, sem sorriso no rosto e sem vida.

Seu amor era natural que ela tinha medo de contato físico.

Seu amor é obsessão. Isso não é amor. Isso é possessão.

eu tinha uma história para começar, mas não sei por onde anda.

perdi aqui minha primeira palavra e não vou chegar no ponto final, nem mesmo na primeira vírgula.

por onde estará minha história?