Ravings of a Mad Creator

Conversations with Critter

2011-12-24T12:52:00.001-08:00

A few days ago, I pulled up to a gas station to fill up the MCP mobile. I've taught myself to use cash for most transactions these days. It's a little way to get out from the control of capitalism and corporate banks. The problem with using cash transactions in this ever evolving cyborg world is that you need to have an interaction with a human to do so. I question the direction we are heading as a society and more specifically in America. We are replacing tellers and cashiers with self checkout computers. This diminishes the demand for employees and we wonder why unemployment is on the rise in America.

I approached the quiosque. As luck would have it, the "CLOSED: BE BACK IN 15 MINUTES" sign was up. I'm a patient guy, so I decided to wait. I peered inside to discover a clerk counting cigarette packs. This can't take too long. I watched as people came and went, swiping plastic through greedy machines. I questioned what information is on those cards and how much of that information is being channeled to a database. Everything we buy, everywhere we go as well as our personal data is transmitted through that little piece of plastic.

Shortly, I noticed a homeless man approaching the quiosque. He offered me a drag off his smoke as he drew near. I refused. I gave up the cancer sticks almost two years now and don't need to relapse. As he approached the glass doors, I told him it's closed. He was wearing a trucker cap and his bearded jaw flapped loosely from it's hinges. He peered inside and made some half insane crack about the two attendants involving homosexual activity. I laughed and made some comment back which was probably not nearly as humorous. He decided to wait with me. As people approached and left as quickly as they read the sign, I realized that I am a rare breed and obviously have a schedule so incredibly dull that it pairs nicely with that of the homeless. Maybe it's not that my life isn't hectic, but that I can stop and smell the roses now and then. Even if it's the smell of stale cigarettes and hooch.

The homeless man turned to me and asked how my holidays were going. It was at this point that I noticed a "Y" shaped incision running vertically down his throat and up to his ear, held together with staples. I told him it was going alright and I couldn't complaint. "How about you?"

He sucked his bottom jaw halfway down his throat which sort of resembled a grin and responded with mediocre favor. After a pause he said, "Except for this" and pointed out the gnarly wound in case I missed it.

I responded with "Yeah. What happened there?"

He told me that he was asleep Monday night when a man off his meds came up and knifed him. Luckily a patrol car was there. The assailant was arrested for attempted murder and the victim received medical treatment.

"But I don't hate him"

What? This was hard to buy. Some guy took I shank to his throat and he had no animosity towards him?

"He didn't hate me. He didn't want to kill me. He just ran out of his meds. "

I was amazed at his unconditional humanity and love for another being. I see people hate other people all the time for simple things like getting cut off on the freeway. He then explained to me that the only reason he survived was because the man did it wrong. The incision should have ran horizontally.

I'm pretty blunt and say what's on my mind. Sometimes that gets me into trouble. I asked him if he wished he had died. He didn't really have a straight answer. But to sum up his Ghandi diatribe, he doesn't want to die but he doesn't want to live this life. Rather, he's ready to move onto the next life. He wont kill himself. "I'm not a coward" he explained. He just wishes someone would come and put a bullet in his head and do him off right.

I told him maybe it wasn't his time to go yet. This baffled the bum. He's been told this many times, but he doesn't know what his purpose is. He's had the cars, the house, the career. He doesn't want any of that. The system doesn't work for us. You can either fight to survive by being a part of it. Or you can fight to survive as an individual. He clarified that he would rather survive on the streets then look like a fool. I liked this guy.

It became apparent after a half hour chat, that the gas station wasn't going to open any time soon. I asked him what his name was. He said Critter and I shook his hand. He headed on his journey of freedom. Halfway across the parking lot, he looked back at me and waved his hand flashing the Hawaiian "Shaka" symbol. In Hawaii it is the call of the Aloha Spirit, a gesture of friendship and understanding between various ethnic cultures. In surfer language, it means "Everything's cool".

I really liked Critter. I'm not sure why the gas station was closed and the two of us got a chance to meet. But I can't help thinking of him this holiday as a constant reminder of what's important in life.

THE TROUBLE WITH FEMALES

2011-11-08T11:54:00.001-08:00

I'm a HUGE John Waters fan and have an appreciation for his trashy films. So when I was asked to be a part of a group show centered around Waters drag queen muse, Divine, there was no hesitation in my acceptance.

My favorite Waters films are his earliest films: Pink Flamingos, Desperate Living, Polyester and Female Trouble. Although I really enjoy A Dirty Shame as a comeback and my guilty pleasure is Cry Baby. Instantly, I knew the theme of my painting was going to be Female Trouble. It is a story about the life of an ungrateful degenerate woman, from her delinquent youth, to her maladjusted family and her fame obsessed downward spiral.

So I began by slopping on paint.

In the film Female Trouble, Divine wears a pretty iconic outfit that is made of purple leopard print material. I thought that would be a good background. As the paint drips, I found my image materializing in the acrylic mess.

The painting is pretty much a montage of imagery from the film and a personal commentary that I added to the piece. The central attention is focused on a full body representation of Divine's character, Dawn Davenport, during the height of her self-obsessed fame and a three-quarters view of her head during her demise on death row.

In the painting above, you will notice a slight difference in the three-quarter view portrait and the one in the previous image. I had actually finished up the portrait and was so unhappy with the outcome, that I took an electric sander to it and started over. This version accomplishes the image I had in my head, whereas the other was slightly off. Sometimes you can't quite put your finger on it, but it just doesn't work.

Bloody babies were added floating in space.

An unforgettable moment in the film is when Dawn gives birth to her baby on a filthy couch. In a bloody mess, she bites through the umbilical chord. Most woman are obsessed with babies and when they have babies on the brain, logic goes out the window.

I'm not a street artist. Other than some delinquent graffiti I did as a kid, I've never used spray paint as an artistic medium. Visually, I thought it would look good to have Dawn's prison number from the film stenciled on the board.

Sometimes I choose to do things for a stylistic reasons opposed to remaining faithful to perception. This portrait of Dawn is one of those times.

When Divine's character is apprehended by the police, she is still in her stark make-up and pre-punk mohawk. She is tried like this, only dressed in prison garb. But when she is electrocuted, Her head is shaved and she is absent of makeup. The image I had in my head was a cross between the two. The grimace and make-up definitely comes from the trial, but the shaved head comes from the execution. What the hell.

I added a mass of dripping black goo to the background. This is not only for esthetic purposes but also to capture addiction and compulsion. Divine's character experiments with a new drug which is liquid eyeliner injected intravenously. This is the source for Dawn's narcissism and vanity.

During a performance art exhibition, Dawn pulls out a gun and shouts to the audience "Who wants to die for art?" before firing off homicidal bullets. Again, emphasizing a self absorbed attitude, the word "Art" is crossed out and replaced with "Me".

This was done in the same style as the title board for the film. This change being made in lipstick adds a feminist approach to rewriting history.

In the end, the piece speaks volumes to me. I hope that others will find their own messages in it as well. Feminism, reproduction, glamor and violence. I think Divine would approve. I even glued crystals to Dawn's outfit to match the one in her performance art exhibition (which I'm surprised there were no references for online). I will never use crystals again in another painting, but instinctually, it is quite appropriate for this piece.

"The Trouble with Females" consumed the greater part of two months. I'm very passionate about it's theme and subject matter and found myself completely absorbed in the process. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do. "Pretty? Pretty?" The Divine Art Show will be on exhibition throughout the month of November at the Melt Gallery in Hollywood California. The opening reception is on Friday night November 11th from 8pm-11pm. Come see this piece and others in person. I will be there at some point.

If you are interested in purchasing this piece, contact the meltdown staff at 323-851-7223 or staff@meltdown.com.

PRETTY? PRETTY?
The Melt Gallery @ Meltdown Comics

7522 Sunset Boulevard

Los Angeles, CA 90046

Halloween with Gris Grimly

2011-10-24T17:05:00.000-07:00

Greetings Society of Grave Robbers,

The smell of death is in the air. Its crisp-dry winds knock yellow and orange leaves from gnarled trees. A genocide of fauna, as they fall to their resting place among the frosted ground. Samhain, (known for mischief, costumes and candy) is our benediction and Dia de los Muertos is around the corner. I love the month of October. We are so psychically joined together that I was birthed during these cold haunting days so many years ago.

There is much curiosity to how Father Grim spends his Halloween season. I am a purist and find much pleasure in experiencing Halloween the way my ancestors did, a tradition which is sadly fading away. I still decorate with orange and black streamers, play Bob Apple and Duck Apple and run around the fire pit on a broomstick.

It is a tradition for me to make my own costume. The craftsmanship is essential to the power and strength one acquires when they wear their costume. The strength of magic on Halloween is directly linked to this act. I prefer to dress as traditional characters such as a skeleton, ghost, devil, warlock...etc.

It is a tradition for me to carve Jack-O-Lanterns. The importance of carving Jack-O-Lanterns is in home protection. A creative (not necessarily well crafted) carving lit by candle at night will keep evil spirits away. This includes boogeymen, devils, demons, spooks and haunts who are all present and on the prowl during these dark hours. This magical protection lies in a creative rendition of a scary face. Forget your Martha Stuart concepts, vomiting Jack-O-Lanterns, manufactured stencils and other mockeries of the ritual.

Music is important to me at all times. I listen to music from the moment I awake to the moment I go to sleep. The perfect playlist is essential during the month of October for preparation. Everybody has their own taste in music. You may not agree with my eardrums, but that is irrelevant. My playlist consists mostly of Halloween records from the 50s and 60s.
This includes Bobby "Boris" Pickett and the Crypt-Kickers, Frankie Stein, Milton Delugg, Screaming Lord Sutch, Screaming Jay Hawkins and Vic Mizzy. There are also some amazing compilations that contain classic Rock 'n' Roll Hits like "Spooksville", "Vampira", "Wombie Zombie", "Dead Man's Stroll", "Haunted House", "The Blob", "Woke Up Screaming", "Dry Bone Twist" and more. You can't go wrong with Elvira who has a few compilations out on CD and Vinyl. Some modern albums that get me in the spirit are The Cramps, The Misfits, Bauhaus and Alien Sex Fiend.

October is the month for viewing horror movies. I'm actually a musical kind of guy, but I find myself leaving my comfort zone during the Halloween season. With The Rocky Horror Picture Show you can kill two crows with one stone. October and Universal Classic Horror films go hand in hand. This is when I visit my old fiends of the silver screen: Frankenstein, Wolfman, Dracula and the Creature From the Black Lagoon. I also make sure to watch the first Halloween by John Carpenter and Halloween III: Season of the Witch. And if I have time I will squeeze in some of the others in the series. A new favorite of mine is Trick 'R' Treat. I will also visit some of the children's films like Mad Monster Party, It's The Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown and Monster Squad.

It is a tradition to give out candy for Halloween. Whether you partake in other season rituals or not, you most likely partake in delivering candy to costumed children when they knock and chant "Trick or Treat". The reason for this is (whether you are aware or not) if you fail to deliver a treat to those who chant at your doorstep, you will inevitably encounter a mischievous trick. Some are more malevolent than others.

My favorite candy is black licorice. But that is not very festive. My second favorite candy are the Mary Jane peanut butter blobs that are wrapped in orange and black wrappers. I used to give out popcorn balls and caramel apples. But I had to stop due to some neighborhood scare where sharp objects were found in these very same treats.

It is traditional for me to sit on my porch at sundown and wait for the children to come by. There is nothing more magical during this golden hour on October 31st. There is a haze in the sepia sky as the blood red sun runs to hide from the evil coming up over the horizon. This is when the Spirit of Halloween comes alive.

I prepare a few pieces of candy with special tricks. Won't they be surprised.

Then, as night shows it's ugly head, I creep out to partake in the festivities. I lurk in the shadows and watch from behind bushes. I sneak through the streets on a night when I don't appear unusual. I love Halloween! It is the one night when I am like everybody else.

Happy Halloween from Gris Grimly and the MCP Crew.

Be Grim!

Images by Riley Kern

October Shadows

2011-10-11T12:01:00.000-07:00

Welcome to October of 2011. In the thirty six years that I have walked this earth, I can say with out a doubt that three years made me who I am, inspire my every thought, and gives me something to look forward to. Those three years are the thirty six months of October I have experienced. Okay...Thirty five and half months of October. I was born in October. Halloween is in October. The beginning of Autumn is in October. Everything dies, the air is brisk and spooks run rampant. I LOVE THIS MONTH!

For the past four years, there has been an art show celebrating Halloween in art called October Shadows. It includes a strong and hefty list of artists from around the world in fine art, comics, film, television and animation. I have been involved every year with many other artists that I admire. This year, I did three acrylic paintings on wood inspired by Halloween, familiar emotions and social problems.

I roughed out a few ideas in my sketchbook involving werewolves, devils, witches, jack-o-lanterns, ghosts and the usual Halloween suspects. When I narrowed it down to three I wanted to proceed with as paintings I had...

A WITCH

A JACK-O-LANTERNA GHOST

I started by painting a checkered pattern on the boards using oranges, blacks and browns. Than I added my figures and proceeded with the details.

"WHICH WITCH"
When you think traditional Halloween, you think ghosts, skeletons, devils, Jack-o-lanterns and witches. We've grown up with two types of witches- the hag and the succubus.

"Which Witch" is a portrayal of these two types of witches. There is the ugly hag and there is the beautiful temptress. But no matter which witch you choose...she is still a witch.

"THE HORROR INSIDE"
Who in America hasn't grown up carving a Jack-O-Lantern? I'm sorry if I've offended any deprived individual who has not partaken in this traditional act of Americana. But I think I can safely say that most people have in one form or another. Jack-O-Lanterns go hand in hand with Halloween like a corpse to a coffin. Traditional depictions of gourds with haunting faces haunt Halloween paraphernalia of the Victorian era. I've always been drawn to these tricksters.

In "The Horror Inside" I've depicted a more morose gourd spirit whose cavity is opened up and spilling with confetti, bats, candy and bones. It represents the importance of expelling the dark things that build up inside us because they can and will destroy our spirits.

"UNVEILING THE HEART BENEATH THE SHEET"
I'm obsessed with Halloween. I collect vintage Halloween decorations and costumes. I love the old Ben Cooper vacuform masks. But even more so, I love the netting masks of the turn of the century. They are much more creepy. I find myself drawn more to traditional costumes than modern. My favorite costume of all time would have to be the skeleton jumpsuit and skull mask. Another favorite is the traditional sheet ghost.

"Unveiling the Heart Beneath the Sheet" is about acceptance and a social commentary about judging individual's characters by their appearance. A sheet ghost is thought to be empty, apathetic and cold. In this piece, the little girl is lifting up her sheet to expose a golden heart that is the absolute opposite.

Overall, I was really happy with these three paintings. I had started a fourth one depicting a devil holding a Jack-O-Lantern. But I was unable to finish it in time for the show.

These pieces are on display and for sale at the October Shadows art show in Altadena California. This free event opened on Sunday, October 2nd at the art gallery inside of the Mountain View Mausoleum, 2300 N. Marengo Avenue in Altadena, CA 91001 and will run each Saturday from 11am to 5pm and Sunday from 11am – 3pm through the entire month of October.

Any artwork purchased must remain on display for the first two weeks of the show’s run, but will be available for pick-up on or after Sunday, October 16th.

For more information:

OCTOBER SHADOWS
Mountain View Mausoleum
2300 N Marengo Ave
Altadena, CA 91001
Phone: (626) 355-9100
octobershadows@creaturefeatures.com

Aliens are Dodger fans

2011-08-29T10:49:00.000-07:00

On August 26th 2011, I attended my first LA Dodgers baseball game. My girlfriend and I started a bucket list and on occasion we are able to cross off our accomplished goals. Sunday was baking in 100 degree weather with friends watching the Dodgers play the Rockies. We had great seats that kept us in the shade and the $10 bud lights were some of the best tasting beer I have ever had. I was a bit disappointed that the peanuts were the same bag you can buy at your local grocery store (only 5x the price) and they stopped serving Dodger Dogs in the seventh inning. But it was a great first game to have attended and after 11 innings, the Dodgers won. Go Blue!

But what made this game a memorable experience is the unexplainable activity we witnessed in the sky. The Dodgers weren't doing too well in the first four innings and I found myself zoning out and looking at details around the stadium. That was when I spotted the white orb set against the clear blue sky. It was bright and would pulsate slowly, dimming and illuminating like the butt of a light bug. Then I noticed another one close by, but not as bright. Without thinking much, I said "I think I see a UFO".

Now, at this point I didn't really believe it was a UFO. But it slipped out like sarcasm. My friends looked up as I pointed out the orbs. The biggest skeptic in the group passed them off as balloons. I had my doubts. About this time, the dimmer of the two started making it's way south. We discussed the possibility of them being planes, but as an actually plane soared by we realized how absurd that was.

The lonely, pulsating orb was now joined by six other orbs all lined up to form an upside down L. The skeptic was the first to notice this behavior and pointed it out. I looked around and noticed that everyone else had lost interest in the game and was fixated on the sky talking about UFOs and government aircraft. It was like a scene straight out of a Michael Bay movie.

We were still trying to rationalize what hell we were looking at. I mentioned it could be stars, despite the one light traveling southbound in the clear blue sky at approximately 4PM. sometimes the stars come out in daylight, right? I was reaching for some sort of sensical explanation. Then one of the "stars" zoomed southbound and the other five just disappeared, leaving the bright pulsating orb alone, again. Throughout the next half hour, it too, faded into the distance.

The next day I searched youtube for other sightings. It looks like there were others who saw UFOs on August 26th in their neighborhood, including New York.

AUGUST 26TH FOOTAGE 1

AUGUST 26TH FOOTAGE 2

AUGUST 26TH FOOTAGE 3

AUGUST 26TH FOOTAGE 4

I'm not saying I believe that what I saw were spaceships transporting aliens from another galaxy. But I can say that it defied any publicly known identity. UFO, as we all know, means Unexplained Flying Object. And that is exactly what it was.

Although I believe that anything is possible, I am a die-hard skeptic. I only come to conclusions when I have collected all the information I can which results in an overall fact. But even then, I'm the kind of person who questions everything. Even if the government and the Vatican came out and informed the people of earth that we have been visited by life on other planets, I would question it. After all, when have they ever told us the truth before.

This experience got my mind thinking and I conceived of three basic plots for Sci-Fi stories. Which is your favorite?

1) All ideas of man's origin are a lie. There is no God. We did not evolve from apes. We were genetically created by Aliens and placed on this earth like a child's sea monkey collection. Only, we don't get to swim around all day, eating and pooping in an underwater kingdom. Our main purpose is to harvest precious gold materials for the Alien race who are dependent on this element. It has always been this way. Discoveries of past fallen civilizations are proof of this. Artifacts of mummy remains left in the streets tell of an aerial attack. Hype is released to buy up gold, trade in gold for money and mine for gold. Which is exactly what the humans do. Every 2000 years, the Aliens come for their gold. That time is now.

2) There is a spiritual battle going on, unbeknownst to humans. What we believe to be Aliens from another Galaxy are actually demons and angels. The Angels come down from the heavens in aircraft to give us hope and watch over us. Where as the demons, a reptile like species, live underground and travel through tunnels. The demons too have aircraft, but they come up from the ground through volcanoes and oceans. We are nothing more than pawns in the game between good and evil. If the demons can strip the soul away from the game piece, they win that soul. How do the demons strip the soul? By eventually transforming the human into a mindless, apathetic, loveless robot.

3) In an attempt to gain control over the entire planet, the powers-that-be have been strategically maneuvering into a single world government. This government will be a giant dictatorship enforcing one religion, one race, one view over the entirety of planet earth. Slow steps have been made by destroying the value of paper money and converting to a single world currency made of gold and by removing the boarders between landlocked countries. But a tricky procedure is to attain one government. How is this possible without upsetting other countries unwilling to go along with the plan or evoking a citizen's riot? Fear. Presidents begin to speak about the possibility of life on other planets. If there is an attack, our only chance of victory is to retaliate as a single planet rather than separate countries. With advancing technology, it becomes possible to project holograms (so incredibly lifelike) to fool eyewitnesses. UFO sightings happen all over the world, conditioning people to believe in life on other planets. Then, a carefully planned mock attack stirs a panic among all earthlings. They relinquish control and the dictatorship is formed.

These are all fun ideas. Possible? I don't know. I'm just exercising my creative brain muscle.

West Memphis Three on the cucking stool

2011-08-21T17:00:00.000-07:00

Medieval times, England- A seemingly foolproof technique for identifying witches was with a cucking or ducking stool. The cucking stool derives from wyuen pine which means "women's punishment". It is basically a wooden stool fastened to a giant lever. The supposed witch was tied to the stool and dunked repeatedly into a large vat of water, pond or stream. This form of interrogation was later accomplished absent of the chair by binding the victim's right thumb to the left toe. A rope was tied around the waist of the accused who was then thrown into a river or deep pond. In either method, the verdict was the same. If the accused drowned, she was deemed innocent. If the accused survived, she was deemed a witch and burned at the stake.

August 19th 2011, America (land of the free)- A surprise hearing was held in Jonesboro Arkansas regarding the release of three men known as the West Memphis Three. For almost 18 years, the WM3 have been imprisoned for the murder of three boys. Although there was no evidence to have put them there in the first place, the WM3 have spent two decades trying to prove their innocence. The judge offered a deal with the prosecutors; The three men would be released from prison if they change their plea from not guilty to guilty. Tired and worn down from fighting, the WM3 agreed.

These two methods of judicature seem equally asinine. It is hard to believe in the American Judicial system with numerous cases like this. While it is written in ink that we are innocent until proven guilty, it is clear that we are all screwed unless we can prove otherwise.

I've been involved with the WM3 for about five years now. I don't know the accused men or their families but have been drawn to their situation; growing up an outcast in hicksville. I grew up on a farm in the sticks outside of a town with a population of 3000. Not only was I the same age as the accused Damien Echols, I had long dyed hair and wore black. But more than feeling a bloodline among the freaks, I gravitated towards the cancer in our judicial system made apparent by this case. That is what I fight for...to have a fair and just America.

Martin Luther King Jr said, "Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere." That quote has been tattooed in my memory. I feel that we need to choose cases of injustice in our communities or that are close to us and fight to make them accountable.

I was away on a trip when this surprise hearing for the WM3 happened. All weekend my phone blew up with emails, tweets and facebook comments from fiends that are familiar with my involvement. I often question my efforts being unaware of what kind of an impact I'm making. Is any of this getting through? Am I handling things to my full potential? Does my little contribution make a difference? It was at this moment that I knew it had. I left writings on the walls and they had been read.

When I was finally able to soak in all the information I was ecstatic, confused and frustrated. As happy as I am that the WM3 are finally free, what I've been trying to fight and bring awareness to (which is injustice) still infects this case. The supreme court ruling that the WM3 are guilty and set free with time served is not justice. Again, victim's are being charged for a crime with no evidence against them. The case is being closed with the murderer(s) still in question. Individuals in power are not being held accountable for misrepresenting their position of authority.

I'm uncertain where I go from here. I will stay in contact with the WM3 organization and see where I can help. I still have a few sizes left in the two WM3 shirts that I created to raise money and awareness for the cause. They can be purchased through www.madcreator.com. I will continue to pass on all proceeds to the organization as they will continue to have use for donations.

Wherever my path leads, I believe the WM3 are on it and I would like to take you with me.

Be Grim!
Gris Grimly

I quit this publishing business!

2011-08-11T12:12:00.000-07:00

It looks like my last post on ebooks generated emotions for many of you readers. In addition to the few comments to the blog posting, I received tweets, comments on facebook and personal emails. Those responses were broken up into two groups: Those who oppose digital books and those who support digital books. The general consensus of those who support this new technology use the same bases for their argument. The ebook allows one to obtain and carry an extensive library of literature that was never possible before. Also, the ebook allows more authors to be circulated without the stoic bouncing of editors and publishing houses.

These are all very valid opinions and they are neither right nor wrong but suitable for those making them. As is my opinion. The only factual point that I can make against ebooks is my love for the printed material opposed to the digital age. But there are a few arguments I would like to make against the ebook supporters that I chose not to bring up in the last posting.

First of all, I can't argue with the fact that the ebook allows for an individual to acquire and store more volumes of literature...to a fault. I compare this to the music industry and the same demise will follow. In 2009, a study followed 900 popular books. Of those books, each title was illegally downloaded around 10,000 times. This does not include all the other titles that were downloaded for free. If I did some more digging, I'm sure that 2010 would prove to have greater numbers. I can see why people approve of the ebook because you can own more than you can afford. It's the American way. I look at my book shelf as I write. I may only own half (or even much less) as many books in the physical form next to someone and their ebook collection. But each and every book means so much to me. I paid for it. If there were three books I wanted and could only afford one, that book means more to me because I chose it over the others.

Let's face it. Ebooks make it all too easy. Too easy to own. Too easy to steal. It will all trickle down (it's already begun). Book stores are going out of business. Publishers will publish less. Authors will lose jobs. Even those that will still publish independently will do so in less volume because they will have to have a day job to pay the bills. Digital music killed the music scene and digital books will kill the publishing scene.

Secondly, the ebook does allow for more authors to get their work seen. This is both good and bad. I understand the difficulty in getting published. I submitted my work to comic companies for almost a decade before I received my first publishing gig. And I still haven't been hired to illustrate a comic book. But it should be difficult.

Look at digital film and youtube. It is so extremely easy for anyone to get their hands on a digital camera, make a film and have it seen by millions of people. It doesn't even have to be good. Now, talent scouts will pick up individuals based on their youtube views. Does the amount of views equal quality? Absolutely not. This technology unleashed a beast of mediocrity.

The same is true for publishing. It shouldn't be easy to get published. And if you can't get a big publisher to believe in your work, then maybe you should have some ordeal that signifies your own confidence in your abilities. Take the risk and drop a few thousand dollars to get your book published and distributed. Rewards come to the deserving. Maybe I feel like the pot of gold should require some talent, effort and/or gamble. Maybe I think it is all too easy and we live in a society that expects entitlement.

Now playing devil's advocate, are there talented-hardworking authors out there that are not getting published? Of course. Be it bad luck, faulty charisma, censorship or that their work is never looked at and instead tossed in the garbage, they just can't get a break. Will the ebook rectify this unfortunate situation. Possibly, with an equally negative side effect.

Now here's where I may loose some of you. It appears that the ebook makes it easy for alternative literature to bypass censoring government. Hurray for the revolution, right? What will happen when the government owns the computers and the internet you rely on for this distribution. I'm going to give you the puzzle pieces and you can put it together however you like.

In 2001, George W Bush passed a law called the Patriot Act allowing government access to your computer and web activity without warrant. Nothing is being done to stop monopolization. Time/Warner/Aol are talking about merging with AT&T. AT&T are talking about merging with Verizon. Verizon is predicted to merge with sprint. We are close to one company owning and running the internet and phone service. In 2009, Barrack Obama increased and established a cybersecurity facility in the white house with an executive order to centralize all cyberactivity to be monitored and controlled by any one country. The government is attempting to take control of the internet as a whole with the “Protecting Cyberspace as a National Asset Act” (“PCNAA”). Amazon, the largest online retailer, is the creator of the best selling ebook reader Kindle.

In July 2009, The New York Times reported that amazon.com deleted all customer copies of certain books published by MobileReference, including the books 1984 and Animal Farm from users' Kindles. This action was taken with neither prior notification nor specific permission of individual users.

If Amazon can do this, do you think alternative literature will exist in the future with the ebook? The government will control the one company that operates our internet service, which circulates literature, which we put on a computer device that is accessible to all of the above. It's a lot easier to delete a digital file with the push of a button, then to form a book burning mob and hunt down books. We as a society are making it easier for the government to control what we read, release disinformation and rewrite history.

This is just a theory of course. But my old man always taught me to look under the hood before I buy a car. Excuse the biblical analogy, but if the apple didn't look so ripe and delicious, do you think Eve would have taken it?

I'm not really going to quit in the publishing world. I just figured a tragic title like that would generate more attention. But there are many independent publishers, bookstores and authors who can't lick it. I'd rather see them stick around than obtain this technology. Zeitgeist. The sign of the times. Like Pee Wee once said, "I'm a fighter, Dotty. A rebel". No matter what happens, I'll role with the punches. If I have to, I'll release my books digitally. Although I don't know how that will help when a book that has not been coded into an ebook sells more copies as a whole than those that have been digitized.

I'll restate that so that you don't misconstrue me and focus on how much more ebooks sell than hardcover books. A book that is in the physical form ONLY has a larger percentage of purchased sales than a book that has been digitized because you can't access that book for free (without shoplifting of course). Get it?

And who has the balls to actually go into a store and shoplift any more?

Preserving life on the shelf

2011-08-03T11:20:00.000-07:00

#%$! the whales! Save the books!

You could call me a purist. Maybe a fundamentalist...An individualism fundamentalist. I have a strict and literal adherence to the existence of individuality in all things. I could write a 500 page thesis on this belief going into music, film, human liberties...etc. But I will focus briefly on books.

It is in everyday I breath that I am convinced that I was born into the wrong era. The things that I adore and make me happy are slowly becoming extinct. And it troubles me. In my lifetime, I believe the manufacturing of books in the physical form will be extinct. I strongly oppose this movement. There is nothing like the touch of a hardback book. I've removed the dust cover on every book I own, to run my finger senses across it's skin discovering a sensation of slick, cloth, leather or embossed textures. This is the individual personality of the book. And as the book lives on, it's physical characteristics do too. Abrasions tattoo the surface telling the history of every accident, fall and scrape. Years and hard life can be identified by the fragility of the spine like the eyes of a dope fiend. Pages get brittle and yellow. They start to crack and fall out. Some books have inscriptions from the buyer like a birth certificate as a reminder when and why this individual came into the world. Books are individual lives. The Kindle is not.

The Kindle is a slick hard device that digital clones of books are loaded onto. You are not reading a book on a Kindle anymore than you can touch a hologram. Your defiled reproduction of Chuck Palahniuk feels the same as your reproduction of Charles Baudelaire. This is because their soulless essence is imprisoned in the same body along with any number of other faux books (a concentration camp for literature). A gift from a loved one in the form of digital literature is made up of zeros and ones, the same as every other meaningless and forgotten gift. The only thing that differentiates one from another is the difference of words and their arrangement, as they appear to the reader on the screen.

What does this have to do with individualism? Although greatly flawed, I like who I am. I am the result of 35 years of experience that is not identical to another human out there. Yet, I am no more superior or inferior to anyone else. Nor do I feel like my existence is significant when compared to the size of the cosmos I'm lost in. But it is my god given right to be an individual and it is that liberty that I fight for. Every book I've read (along with all my other experiences) make up who I am.

When there are no more books being printed and the only way to receive literature is through digital mutations of the glorious form, our selection will become chosen. The printed word cannot be controlled, no matter how many mobs instigate burnings. A copy will get out, someone will reprint, and through the power of the black market the book will live again. This will not happen with the Kindle. I can't make a zine and sell it through the underground with a Kindle. The books that will be released for this device will be heavily controlled and censored. Many books will not be cloned and their physical form will be buried among garbage.

Some, if not all, of you are questioning this thought process. We have already given away too many of our rights. With the Patriot Act we've allowed government into our lives. Not only can they crack into our computers, but also into our smart phones and Kindles. There are attempts to control the internet. Alternative news sources are already being shutdown if not framed for lunacy or corruption. Say goodbye to our freedom of speech. If we are that close to the decay of the first amendment, we are closer than we know to controlled censorship. That is why the Kindle is an attack on everyone to exist as an individual.

So when I received an email today from a 14 year-old who loves books and adventures to the library, I smiled a bit knowing that there is hope for the future. He writes:

Dear Gris Grimly,
My name is Daniel ******. I am 14 years old born ******, 19**. I live in ******. I love to go to the ****** city Library. Its very interesting to hear from most of the librarians that they rarely see kids my age being so interested in books. I love books. They're amazing. You have to really seek in a book. Some people think,"hey, this is just a book". But for me a book is a wonderful adventure! When i grow up i want to be a director. I love movies. Your books are great. I love them. I read most of them but I'm trying to read them all. Too bad my library doesn't carry all your books. I wish they did. I especially wish they had pinocchio! I heard there is going to be a movie based on the book pinocchio. Is that true? I love your art work. It is really nice and well done. Are there any new books coming up? You are an amazing illustrator and what you have is truly a gift.
Sincerely,
Daniel ******

Unfortunately, I have to keep up with the Joneses. That mean if all of you out there continue to buy Kindles and digital want-to-be books, I will have to produce to meet the demand. I say it again...UNFORTUNATELY.

Buy books. Support individualism.

Be Grim!
Gris Grimly

Kickin' Back at the Con

2011-07-26T14:34:00.000-07:00

I first attended San Diego Comic Con to promote my work in 2000. I walked around with the tour of fiends promoting the release of my first book Monster Museum and passed out postcards and stickers. I had my first booth in 2001 and grew from there. I feel proud to look at my humble beginnings (10x10 booth with one book and one shirt) to the MCP mega store that I ended on in 2009 (10x20 booth with 40 shirts, 18 books, prints, buckles, stickers, DVDs, CDs, and more). It was a fun and memorial decade at the con.

In 2010, I decided to not come back to SDCC for a number of reasons. The main reason was that I was working as Director on the development stage of my animated film Pinocchio. But it was more than that. The person I was throughout that past decade was no longer me and I didn't feel like I could do SDCC as I had in the past.

Fast forward one year. I was asked by the publisher of Baby Tattoo Books to be a guest at SDCC to promote the release of my new sketchbook Atrum Secretum (you can order the book here: MCP STORE).

We worked out the details and I announced my return in 2011 to the geekfest (drawing in way over 150,000 attendees). So how did it go?

I had two signings scheduled both Friday and Saturday. The grim buzz this year was the pre-sale of Atrum Secretum. AND...if you were the first 100 to purchase a book, you received a coupon to be redeemed for a sketch among the pages of the sketchbook.

I want to thank everyone for supporting independent publishers and the arts by picking up a copy of this book. At every signing, I was welcomed by a line of fiends. It's good to see that even without my own booth and relocated on the other side of the convention hall, the loyalty remains. I enjoyed meeting you all, drawing in each and every one of your books, and hearing your stories.

I was blown away by a specific tattoo shown to me by John. Why does this tattoo mean so much? About two years ago I went to see one of my favorite artists perform on my birthday. That artist is William Elliott Whitmore. After the show, a few of the attendees found themselves at a saloon across the street. I was identified by John (then a stranger) who found himself emotionally moved. It being his birthday as well, he saw his favorite musician perform and met his favorite artist. We spent the night drinking whiskey and celebrating our birthdays. This tattoo commemorates that evening with Whitmore's logo of the crow clinching a bottle of booze and a piece of my art. Now, wasn't that a sweet story?

John- I'm honored.

Other than my signings at the SDCC, I stayed as far as possible from the gaslamp where the event is held. A place where I can focus on work, peace of mind and focus on my friends who matter the most. The last couple years I attended SDCC, I felt a yearning to stay in a hotel secluded from the hustle and flow. But servicing and managing a booth made it problematic for me or the crew to stay at any distance. This year, I had the luxury of achieving this goal and resided at a little Polynesian paradise I like to frequent in the San Diego area. My girlfriend discovered this hotel which I quickly found an adoration for.

2010 marked the year of the Tiki for me. The MCP crew and I found ourselves searching out Tiki bars and Polynesian architecture all over. I even resurrected a Voodoo Island in my backyard with a Tiki bar, thatch huts, shrunken heads and Tiki sculptures. Although I can't fully relate to the tiki culture, I've fully embraced the darker side of Tiki...Grimly-fied. With that said, there is no other place i would rather stay in San Diego than this paradise. Many hours were spent in the pool or hot tub, sipping Caribbean drinks or just wondering around amongst the tropical plants and Tiki sculptures.

I ate a burrito the size of a baby!

Mornings were spent walking along the shore where we witnessed fish being caught, dogs defecating and pelicans defending their turf against unwelcome foul.

A couple of my MCP brothers joined up with us. We visited one of my favorite spots in San Diego, the Turf Club, for drinks and grilled steaks.

We had a Polynesian feast at Bali Hai. Afterwards, we jumped in the hot tub and listened to the Fab Four (who were performing at our hotel) covering the Beatles. A Martin Denny or Dick Dale cover band would have been more appropriate. But nothing beats witnessing my MCP brother, The Preacher, get sentimental over John Lennon songs.

When all was said and done, SDCC was productive and relaxing. We sold through most of the pre-sale copies of Atrum Secretum. It felt good not being completely tore up from the trip. We even swung by Tiki Highway at Don the Beachcombers on our way back for a kustom car/tiki art show.

I hope I continue to be a guest at SDCC from time to time. I feel like there is a family there, the Society of Grave Robbers, that will always welcome me no matter where my life takes me. I look forward to the day I am on a panel joined by Guillermo Del Toro, co-director Mark Gustafson, Producer Allison Abatte and musicians Nick Cave and Warren Ellis talking about Pinocchio.

Be Grim!
Gris Grimly

Thanks to photographer Mark Berry for supplying event photos

THE DEATH OF...ME

2011-05-17T17:16:00.000-07:00

Last year I was hired to illustrate a picture book titled "The Death of Yorik Mortwell". How could I pass up a job with a title like that. When publishers think of me, they think of death. Or visa versa. Regardless of which way you look at it, I'm the "go to" guy for all things grim. The book, written by Stephen Messer, is a very fantastical and ghastly little gem. It was full of visual nuggets that inspired my grey matter to erupt in a fury of imagination. I enjoyed illustrating this book immensely. It is full of dead children, monsters from another dimension, tree and earth spirits and the macabre. The little correspondence I had with Stephen Messer was pleasant and we seemed to share a common goal for the look of the book. After all, Edward Gorey was a huge influence for us both. The art director on the project was also amazing and fought for me and my ideas.

So how is it that I am so completely irate with this book?

Just earlier today, I was looking up the release date for one of my books on Amazon. While scrolling through the cover icons, I came across a vertical rectangle that looked like a sample of Rainbow Brite's vomit. I clicked on the image to find out it was the cover of "The Death of Yorik Mortwell" to be released later this fall. My heart dropped. This is not my cover, nor is it a cover that I approved.

There were other illustrations in the book that I had to change because my vision was different than that of the author. I'll be honest. I'm stubborn like a mule and I fight to get my way. But I don't throw a tantrum when things don't work in my favor as long as what is compromised on is successful. This on the other hand is appalling. My name is on the book and it looks like it was part of a grocery store coloring contest. That makes me look completely unprofessional. I don't want this representing my resume.

Maybe I'm missing something. It happens from time to time. Maybe there's an upcoming hippie trend on the rise with teenagers. When you hear "The Death of Yorik Mortwell" do you think of woodstock? I sure don't.

So here is my classic cover, the way I envisioned it to be printed, for you to enjoy digitally. And if you disagree and find the Skittles inspired color palette a more appealing, commercial or artistic approach...then please...put me in my place.

These things will be the death of me.

Jaw Dropping

2011-04-08T11:49:00.000-07:00

You know those moments that knock you back, relaxes the depressor anguli oris and unhinges the mandible, leaving it to hang like soggy pantyhose? That momentary lapse of time where, briefly, chemical synapses in your brain go into shock. What seems to last for eternity, but probably lasts for a fraction of a second (or what seems to last for a fraction of a second, but probably lasts for eternity). And when the static in your grey matter finally ceases, you blink and close your mouth which has been hanging open for god knows how long. That, my friend, is a jaw dropping experience, like the one I'm about to tell.

Jonelle and I had been together for 5 years. After 5 years, a couple knows each other pretty well. When past stories come up, you laugh together because you've heard it before. You finish each others sentences and speak less because you've become telepathically linked. Hell. After 5 years, you've cried in front of each other, farted on each other and probably urinated by each other. The problem with a long term relationship is that you become comfortable around each other and life becomes insipid.

One of the things that kept our life exciting was a 2 year old terrier named Toby. In the words of my mother: He's a pistol. Even though mornings didn't awaken with warm flesh and malodorous kisses anymore, they jolted with 20 pounds of pouncing fur and slobber. Weekends would become lethargic with the routine of pjs and a movie. But with the thrill of Toby, a game of cops and robbers would usually break out when the remote control was stolen and a chase ensued until someone dropped from exhaustion. Silent dinners became a rousing game of tug-of-war with a napkin, tablecloth or a piece of steak.

One day I was home alone with Toby. I was doing research on Goggle while Toby was trying to instigate a game of fetch with a dried up pig ear. I'd become really good at appeasing the dog into thinking I was engaging in a game with him, when in fact, I was engaged in something else entirely different. I could play fetch with him without ever having to look away from my work. He brought the fetch to me, I grabbed what was in his mouth and threw it behind my back. Simple.

Google is an amazing tool that has replaced research books entirely. At the touch of a keyboard, you have a dictionary, thesaurus, encyclopedia, maps, phone directory and more. The problem is, it is almost impossible to avoid the porn racket no matter what angle you take. You could be looking up "vintage cartoons" and come across an image of Minnie Mouse in a very flexible position exposing anatomy parts that look like black inky versions of a female human. It is not a good time to be a parent. Tik tik tik went little paws as Toby brought me the pig ear. I wrestled it from his mouth and tossed it behind my back.

I was googling images for a fox. I was looking for furry mammals of the Canidae family, which are only 1:3 ratio for every image of Megan Fox which, although a furry mammal, is not part of the Canidae family whatsoever. Tik tik tik went little paws as Toby brought me the pig ear. I wrestled it from his mouth and tossed it behind my back.

I scanned through image after image. Megan Fox hosing herself down. Megan Fox in her underwear. Red fox chasing a mouse. Megan Fox half naked in bed. Megan Fox showing off her mid-drift. Artic Fox curled up in the snow. Tik tik tik went little paws as Toby brought me the pig ear. I wrestled it from his mouth and tossed it behind my back.

I continued my search through the few images of Canidae species and the vast images of Megan Fox. I got deeper and deeper into the bowels of google. Megan Fox. Megan Fox. Red Fox. Gray Fox. Tik tik tik went little paws as Toby brought me the pig ear. I wrestled it from his mouth and tossed it behind my back.

One Fish. Two Fish. Red Fish. Blue Fish. Tik tik tik went little paws as Toby brought me the pig ear. I wrestled it from his mouth and tossed it behind my back.

Then I saw it: An image that looked curiously identical to Jonelle...in her underwear. Tik tik tik went little paws as Toby brought me the pig ear. I wrestled it from his mouth and tossed it behind my back.

I clicked on the image which opened up the site that I wished never existed. It was Jonelle. The image of her dressed in lingerie was the least scandalous in the photo album. Tik tik tik went little paws as Toby brought me the pig ear. This time he didn't let go of the pig ear.

I continued to scroll through the images of my girlfriend's secret life like one of those animation books that come to life with a flip of the pages. Enter scantly clad female number 2. I continued to wrestle away the pig ear from Toby while glued to the screen.

Toby got more aggressive. Or maybe I was getting more aggressive as my blood continued to boil. Image after image flashed by to the increasing beat of my heart. It escalated to Jonelle getting naked with another woman and doing things I didn't even know were possible. Snap.

The freed object in my hand didn't feel too much like a pig ear. It was warm and wet. The static in my grey matter ceased. I blinked and closed my mouth. I turned to see Toby looking up at me with sad eyes. The furry skin on the bottom part of his mouth hanged down like soggy pantyhose, dripping with crimson red. I raised my hand to find his bloody jaw, firmly in my fist.

That is my jaw dropping experience. Stay tuned to hear my hair raising one.

Copyright © 2011 Gris Grimly

Casting Out Evil

2011-04-06T16:13:00.000-07:00

A few months back, I was asked to be part of a really fun group show called Hunters and Collectors: Shrunken Heads and other Oddities. Unfortunately, due to some contractual issues I had on my part, I had to decline. But before this all came about, I had already envisioned a painting and started it. I'm not the kind of person who leaves things unfinished, so I proceeded to finish the painting and I'm really glad I did.

The piece started out as a sketch on a slab of wood. There is no secret here. I don't use anything fancy. In fact, I usually use wood that was once a prop from one of my film projects. I don't like to waste and I'm anally resourceful like that.

By the way, did you know that a person's anal retentive personalities are developed during the anal stage of infancy (which is toilet training). Supposedly, children develop this trait (or the opposite which is anal expulsive) depending on how the parents act and discipline during the toilet training period.

I went in and did my usual wash of color, blocking in shapes and building up from there. I wanted to focus on a subconscious narrative in this painting. In researching the shrunken head more thoroughly, I discovered a bit of the ritual behind shrunken heads that interested me. The Shuar people of the Amazon rain forest would make shrunken heads from victims in their battles to keep the victim's evil spirit (Muisak) at bay. The skull's would be removed and tossed into the river as an offering to the god Pani. Which is really just a big stupid snake we know as the anaconda.

I wanted to add influences from other cultures and regions to give the piece a universal islander feel. I added some influence from pop and car kulture by incorporating some pinstriping into the face painting influences from the Shuar and Papua New Guinea tribes. Some Polynesian influence is reflected with the addition of the plumeria flower. In Hawaiian culture, the plumeria represents life and beauty. A theme that has always been in my art is contrasts and duality between life and death/beauty and ugly.

At first, I wanted to go with white plumeria, but overall, they became a distraction to the narrative of the story. They should accent the painting, not become the painting. So I experimented with other colors until I came up with a nice purple that worked well with the composition. I also added beads and shells that pull the painting together.

There you have it..."Casting Out Evil"

Cardiomegaly

2011-03-14T09:30:00.000-07:00

Nancy had visited the hospital multiple times describing the same tightness in the chest. She felt suffocated. She felt like a tube of Pillsbury crescent dough was packed into her ribcage and with the twist of her torso, she might burst open oozing flaky goodness.

Being only twenty-five years old, the doctors didn't take her very seriously in the cardiology department. She tested in prime health and showed no signs of heart disease. So they would just give her a children's Tylenol, tell her it was stress, and send her on her way.

But Nancy didn't have a stressful life. In fact, her life was perfect. Her job was sufficient but enjoyable. She worked as a receptionist for a booming internet search engine, Whaazow; The sister company to the multi-billion dollar person search engine, Whoozow. It was a calm environment that practically ran itself. Even though work started at 10, she was often fifteen minutes to a half hour late and that was tolerated. Every Friday was luau day where everyone would wear Hawaiian shirts and tropical drinks were served at four.

She had a college degree from tech school and planned on moving up at Whaazow once she received her masters degree. But she really wasn't fueled by career or money.

She had a hairless cat that she loved very much. She named him Groucho Marx due to the patterns that blackened his pink skin below the nose and on the eye brows in the perfect resemblance to Groucho's characteristics.

She lived with her boyfriend, Randell, whom she loved in extreme amounts and he loved her equally. In fact, they were one of those couples who are sickening to be around because they loved each other so much. And it seemed like the more time passed, the more in love they grew.

One Saturday night, they were watching an 80s love comedy (their favorite film genre) when Nancy started to feel an awkward pain in her stomach. Randell was unaware. Other than pausing for a short moment, she ignored the sharp prodding feeling and continued to eat popcorn and laugh, hoping that it would go away.

The feeling went away momentarily and the 80s "getting ready for the dance" montage continued. But shortly after, the pain came back. This time, she clinched at the gnawing in her intestines. Randell noticed her uncomfortability, and turned away from the climatic moment at the dance (will she go with the nerd that she loves or the hunky jock that she's always fantasized about). "Are you okay?"

Nancy couldn't respond. The pain was too much. Holding her chest, she rolled off the couch onto the floor amongst the popcorn victims of suicide leaps. She tightened up into a vomiting ball like a potato bug diseased with insecticide. Green pea soup poured out of her mouth with chewed up popcorn kernels riding out on the rapids.

She rolled over onto her back and all was silent. Randell yelled for a response "Nancy!" Her lifeless body stared up at the ceiling with empty eyes. The only thing that came out of her mouth was a final green drop, sliding down the side of her cheek. Randell stood up and stared at the lifeless carcass of his sweetheart. What to do. What to do.

Then, with a burst of blood, her stomach popped open as a bloody muscular mass raised it's head out of the cavity. The mouth of the superior vena cava lashed for air with sharp pointy teeth of bone. The throbbing beast, the size of a mature badger, tumbled out of the empty shell and onto the floor. It had devoured everything inside her torso. It crawled towards Randell using aortas and arteries in movements resembling an octopus on the ocean floor.

Everything turned out okay in the 80s. The nerd got the girl, the girl discovered that beauty is on the inside, and the jock was extremely embarrassed to be rejected. Randell stumbled back against the wall, but he too would soon meet his fate to a monster that was created by the power of love.

Copyright © 2011 Gris Grimly

STICK AROUND

2011-02-28T15:05:00.000-08:00

I don't frequent theaters like I should. Throughout the entire 12 months of 2010, I experienced three movies on the big screen. They were "Avatar", "Crazy Heart" and "Best Worst Movie". So far, this year I have seen one (Rare Exports). I can make assumptions why this is. Most films I don't care to see and definitely don't think they are worth the price of a theater ticket. But there are many films that I find to be an amazing experience. I guess the excuse for me missing these have more to do with my own quirky personality traits. I prefer to not go out. I don't like being among large numbers of strangers. I forget things. It usually hits me at once to see a pile of films that I missed in the theater. That time is now.

"I'm Still Around" was among the many great, good and mediocre pictures that I brought home from the video store (Yes. I still rent movies from a local independent video store and have not succumbed to the world of Netflix. Nor will I ever). I'm not surprised at the mixed reviews and reactions it has received. But I think it's brilliant.

A film by Casey Affleck, I'm Still Around is a mockumentary that takes jabs at our many societal inadequacies. If you haven't heard of it, you must recall the controversy involved with it. At the end of 2008, Joaquin Phoenix made a stunning announcement to the press. After a huge award winning career as an actor, the bearded Joaquin mentioned that he was retiring from film to pursue a career as a hip hop artist.

We then watched him self destruct for two years in media appearances from The Late Show, TMZ and every news station in between. He became overweight and unkempt in his appearance. He grew out his hair and beard, which became a tangled mess, and dressed in sloppy rags. The few glimpses we saw of his hip hop career were a train wreck reflecting an incoherent and amateur lout.

Then, in 2010, after the release of the film I'm Still Here, Joaquin made another appearance on The Late Show, to disclose that his behaviorism was due to a role he was portraying in the film. It was all a hoax. Why do people hate the film so much? Because the film shows a dark side of our society that we are all a part of. And when people leave a movie, they don't like feeling like shit.

That being said, I don't think it is a great film. But the genius behind it lies in the originality of it's approach and not it's perfection as a whole. Far beyond Sacha Baron Cohen, Jackass or Tom Green, Joaquin played a role for the entire world that lasted two years and endured much scrutiny to prove a point. What was the point? It says many things. I'm not a film critic and have no intentions on telling you what the film was about, why it was successful or why it failed. But I came out of it with two thoughts that really stuck with me.

First, is American's delusion of reality. This is not anything new, but our bases of comparison has become so convoluted. We live in an entertainment world where the majority of television is either reality shows or shows imitating reality. We've been completely duped by filmmakers and networks to accept these shows as absolute. But they are as scripted and thought out as The Cosby Show. The ghost hunters take smoke breaks during peaking supernatural activity. Survivors out in the wild are well taken care of by craft services. Talent competitions are navigated by scouts and agencies. The president finds himself in office regardless of the popular vote. Oh wait...that last one actually is reality. It is only because this garbage is shoved down our throats around the clock, that a filmmaker could actually achieve such a grand hoax and get away with it. We don't know what's real and what's fake. That is why America sat and watched with apathetic expressions as the twin towers collapsed. It all looks the same.

Comedians Sacha Baron Cohen, Tom Green and Johnny Knoxville will develop a character unknown to the world to capture unprepared audiences in a candid camera trick. But between takes, they can take off the mask and go back to their lives. Joaquin didn't create a character. He put himself and his reputation on the line for two years. Some of us suspected tomfoolery afoot and questioned whether it was a hoax. Most of us bought it completely. But all of us where taken for the ride.

Secondly, and similarly to the first, was that we as a society applaud mediocrity. This shocks the hell out of me. We see this in the film when Joaquin has his hip hop performances. The audience is packed with Sycophants nodding their heads to the beat, snapping pictures with their phones and braying like sheep. We will applaud poor music, incoherent films and bad acting if they are created by a star. Average becomes the accepted.

Now that mediocrity becomes a subject of praise, it opens the arena for more clutter. We've brought talented stars down with interactive networks like twitter and in their place, we have risen the youtube discoveries. Little boys who smear make-up on their face and cry over celebrity drama are getting record deals. Commercials are being handed to individuals who perform parlor tricks (that in the past would only receive an applaud by friends and family during the holidays). Parents are noticing these crass opportunities and have risen up to exploit their own children on the web.

Where will it all lead?
"I'm Still Here" was produced by "They Are Going to Kill Us Productions". This brings to mind a blog I posted a couple years ago during the hype of Michael Jackson's death called KILL THE POP STAR. The theme here isn't so much that "they" (the media, the sycophants, the public) are killing the celebrities, but that we as a society must kill or abolish what we have created the celebrity to be. Let them be an inspiration and a source to aspire to be. Just let them be.

THE STORY OF PINOCCHIO

2011-02-22T11:08:00.000-08:00

Less than a week ago, Guillermo Del Toro announced to Deadline that we are taking Pinocchio out to the studios. If you haven't been exposed to this announcement, you can read it here:

DEADLINE LINK

Since then, this news has begun to unwind like a jiving mummy on the dance floor. Film sites including horror, geek and general Hollywood enthusiast websites have done spin-offs from the original article. The problem is that much of the information is becoming misleading, confusing and misconstrued.

It's not possible to clear things up at this time and I understand that this is common in the press. When the film gets a greenlight, Co-Director Mark Gustafson and I will have the opportunity to tell our stories (which will most likely turn out misleading, confusing and misconstrued). I just want to make things clear to my fans that are just finding this out or have been following the story all along.

I came up with the idea to make Pinocchio into a stop motion film about seven or eight years ago. A group of friends and I started to put together a little development to present the idea to studios. At the time I had no interest in directing and one of my choices was to ask Guillermo Del Toro if he would be interested.

As fate would have it, I received a call from a gallery that was selling artwork from my Pinocchio book. They relayed to me that Guillermo Del Toro was just in the gallery and purchased a piece of Pinocchio art. I said "You have to be kidding me! Can you set up a lunch with him?" They did. And in a couple days I was eating giant shrimp the size of rats (heads and all) across from GDT while presenting him my film.

This was before the first Hellboy movie came out (so a long time ago). I told him I wanted to make Pinocchio into a crude stop motion film much like my eastern European influences. Jan Svankmajer is one of my favorite filmmakers. If you are familiar with his work or that of the Quay Brothers, you can somewhat see how I envision Pinocchio. I told him about the color palette, tone and texture the film would have. Then I asked him if he would direct it. But due to my enthusiasm and vision for the film, he could see that i didn't need a director...I needed a producer.

He said he would produce it. Shortly after that, I was called into the Jim Henson company to meet with a producer there, only to find out that they were interested in turning my Pinocchio book into a film as well. I said, "That's funny. I just met with Guillermo Del Toro about the same thing and he's interested in producing it.

Things moved slowly for years, but moved nonetheless. I was working with another animation Director, Adam Parish King and a few writers at the time. But it was about two years ago that things really moved along. Guillermo wasn't happy with the treatments that he read. He didn't feel that they captured the true nature of the book. And after meeting with him, I agreed. He brought on a writer, Matthew Robbins, whom he has worked with before. This ended up being the wedge that got us back on track.

In the spring of 2010, three things happened. First, I went to New Zealand to work with GDT and Matthew on the treatment. This was a rough week, but through a couple arguments, we created a springboard for the script. Secondly, I was teamed up with an experienced animation director, who would direct along side with me. This was Mark Gustafson who worked on Fantastic Mr. Fox. The two of us got along great (for a couple of cynical old bats) and shared a cohesive vision. Third (and most importantly) we received a development deal from French Studio, Pathe.

This development money was used to build a team of artists and place them on the Jim Henson Company lot. With Mark and my direction, they developed the look of the film during three months of the summer. I was not (nor am I) the ART DIRECTOR.

Art directors are extremely informative and particular people. I had the pleasure of working with an amazing one on Pinocchio, Eliza Chaikin Kenan, who was always bringing me reference material for wardrobe and sets fitting the period of the film. She was always challenging my vision. I didn't always come to agree with her, but she was always pushing me to think outside my box and try new things. She was amazing and helped make Pinocchio visually better than Mark or I could have alone.

Although the look of the film is based on my artwork, I am not working in the design department. I can modestly say I am not talented enough. I had the pleasure to work with 6 or so young conceptual designers who never ceased to blow me away by their abilities. Also, I have complete trust in my lead character designer, Huy Vu, who has the ability to think like I do. I would do the occasional sketch or two to present to the team to get an idea or style across. But so would Mark. Even though I am not on the development team, when it is all complete, the film will look like a Gris Grimly book come to life.

In Guillermo's defense...don't worry about him taking on too many projects. He is not directing this film. He has mentioned to me plenty of times that he is wearing the producer hat on this project and will participate as much or little as I need him. When Pinocchio gets greenlit, Mark and I will go to Europe to direct it and Guillermo will work on his own projects (Haunted Mansion, Mountains of Madness...etc). Pinocchio is not waiting for anything and will go into production immediately. We are thinking this could happen this summer.

I knew, going into this, that working with a big name like GDT would be challenging. I am a hard worker who came from nothing. My achievements and diligent work have won me the credit that I've earned. I know that I'm going to have to shine extra bright and work extra hard to maintain this praise. But I would rather be a small fish in a big pond with room to grow than where I was. I'm fully ready for the challenge.

GDT has been like a big brother and mentor on this project. None of this would be happening if it weren't for him. Many young filmmakers would kill for the opportunity that I've been granted. Maybe they deserve it more. I never went to film school. I haven't worked my way up from the mail room. I haven't invested a lot of time and money into film projects and festivals in hopes to be discovered. I am just a man with a vision and the work ethics to make it happen. Fate has been on my side and in the interest of Pinocchio. I threw the die...and they landed in my favor.

That's showbiz...I guess.

FROM THE DEPTHS OF THE GRAVEYARD...

2011-02-21T21:24:00.000-08:00

I was asked to design a poster for burlesque performer/producer Victoria Vengeance, to sell as a limited edition silkscreen print. The only instruction was that it should be themed around a recent photo shoot Victoria had with the Munster Koach. If those two words don't immediately ring familiarity, you either don't know the name or have not been exposed to television for the past 50 years.

The Munster Koach was the family car that was used in the old 60s television sitcom, The Munsters. Awww...now you know what I'm talking about. The infamous hot rod (cut from a Model T frame) was designed and built by famed Hollywood customizer George Barris.

I'm known for illustrating many things (mostly monsters) but hot rods are not one of them. I'm a car enthusiast. I love old classic cars, hot rods, dragsters, rat rods, choppers and bobbers. I would be a happy man if I opened the garage and saw a 60s Lincoln Continental with suicide doors, a Cadillac Hearse and a custom bobber inviting me for a joyride. It just hasn't been a theme in my artwork.

When it comes to car culture, I gravitate towards the monster hot rod scene (Ed Roth, Odd Rods, Weird-Ohs and Nutty Mads). When I am given a job to illustrate a vehicle, I give it the same warped abstraction I give my characters. I finished up the piece, inspired by Ed Roth and the Monster Hot Rod scene as well as vintage racing ads and exploitation posters like Faster Pussycat! Kill! Kill!, The Mini Skirt Mob and Drag Strip Riot. Here's the concoction that spewed out:

Copyright 2011, Gris Grimly

INLE PAINTING PROGRESS PART 2

2011-02-12T12:25:00.000-08:00

In my previous posting "INLE PAINTING PROGRESS PART 1", I explained how I work when it comes to painting with watercolor. In this posting, not only will I go into detail with how I work when it comes to inking a painting, you will also get a sneak peak at the final art piece I did for Greg "CRAOLA" Simkins' INLE show.

After I mopped up the bloody mess I made painting the piece, I sat back and watched some horror films on VHS. It's a good way to unwind and clear the brain for the night so I can start fresh the next morning. In this case, I only made it through 20 minutes of a horrid 1988 film called Blue Monkey. I'm not sure where they got the name from because there isn't even a monkey in the film - Just men in giant rubber insect suits running through the halls waving their arms around. Usually these types of parlor tricks highly entertain me. But this just put me to sleep.

Freshly rested, I rose from my crypt to finish up my Inle painting. I sat at my desk with a cup of black coffee to observed the chaos presented to me on the canvas. I asked myself, "What was I thinking". I often feel this way looking at my work the next day with a new pair of eyes. This is never cause for alarm because the painting is never finished until it is inked.

First, I approach inking with a brush and black Indian ink. I have found a liking for a Windsor Newton brand that has a spider on the packaging. But that is my personal preference and to each their own. All ink brands react differently to the surfaces they are painted on. I use a brush and a variety of wet and dry brushing effects to place the ink down where my instincts guide me.

Secondly, I go in and capture all the line work. I start out with quill pens and nubs. Quill pens can be used for other reasons then just stabbing people in the neck. I have discovered that they work great for getting a variety of line widths with an organic feel. Once I lay down the thicker lines with a common homicidal weapon, I go in and capture tighter chaotic scribbles with a mechanical pen. I get asked what kind of mechanic pens I use all the time. Take note so I don't have to repeat myself - I USE RAPIDOGRAPH. These allow me to exercise my OCD impulses on the finishing touches of the piece. After I'm done scribbling all over my art, I step back and come to find that it looks nothing like what I had set out to accomplish.

Eureka!

Okay, so it's not the best picture of my Inle painting. It's a little off center and my desk lamp got in the way. I guess you will have to come out to the show to actually see what the final piece looks like.

The INLE show will be March 12, 2011 at Gallery 1988 located on 7020 Melrose Avenue, Los Angeles, CA 90038.

Copyright 2011, Gris Grimly

INLE PAINTING PROGRESS PART 1

2011-02-11T09:46:00.000-08:00

This blog was set up as a fitness gym to exercise the gray muscle in my skull with creative writing in forms of short stories, opinions and criticisms. But as an artist, I feel that occasionally it should be used as an informative or instructional column in regards to my illustrative work.

Almost a year ago, I was asked to partake in a group show curated by artist Greg "CRAOLA" Simkins. I've known of Greg's work for a decade now, through my friendship with Alex Pardee. I remember our early career days of zines and little back alley art shows in San Fransisco. Every comic convention was like a reunion. When I finally met Greg, I really took to his genuine demeanor. There are people I like to see reach success and others I would rather see fed through a corpse grinder and made into cat food. It's been nice to see these two deserving artists move forward in their accomplishments.

Here are some selections from Greg's letter of invitation:

When I was 12, my Grandfather bought me the book Watership Down to read on a road trip we took together. Since then, I have read this book and its' sequel numerous times. The characters and the struggles in this book were more about society and conflict than the rabbits used to portray these things. The story sparked my imagination and it was this book that fueled my obsession with using rabbits as a tool of art. One rabbit in particular stood out...the Black Rabbit of Inle.

I am inviting you to take part in a group exhibition that I am curating because I really admire your work and would love to see your take on something that has been such a big part of my artistic journey. I am asking for one piece that is your interpretation of the Black Rabbit of Inle, which can be literal or loose. Also, feel free to paint from our own memories of Watership Down if that grabs you. I appreciate your consideration and would be honored by your participation.

Yours truly,
Greg "Craola" Simkins

So naturally, I agreed to be a part of the show, even though I have not agreed to any other gallery commitments for the past year due to my involvement in the production of Pinocchio. I've ventured away from my illustrative comfort zone, painting with acrylics on wood opposed to my usual medium of choice - Watercolor and ink. But for this piece, I thought I would bring it back to my roots and express this piece the way I am best known and comfortable.

I started with a rough sketch of my interpretation of Inle on watercolor paper. I get asked this question all the time, so please take note so I don't have to repeat myself. I USE MECHANICAL PENCILS. No special brand. I like the precision I can get with a diameter of lead that never seems to get dull.

After that I will throw down an overall tone. This is usually a nicotine wash that I like and prefer to use on almost all my watercolors. It gives the painting that dingy smokers feel that I remember my uncle's house having or a seedy bar. Then I'll go in and paint in other shapes, usually starting with my darkest color which is a black coffee soot.

Once that's done you can really see the negative and positive shapes pop out. Then I'll throw in some other colors - Like blood red. I like blood. It cuts the sweetness of my coffee in the morning. People ask what I use for watercolors. I usually find myself painting with Windsor Newton.

One of the last things I do in the form of painting is add little touches of splatter. Sometimes this is an accident when a cut to a victim's throat too close to the painting ends up spraying everywhere. But I usually look at the piece and say to myself "That works lovely."

At this point, the painting is complete. It is time for me to move onto the inking stage. This is the stage that I have not yet started on with my INLE painting. So you will have to check back with INLE PAINTING PROGRESS PART 2 to see how that all turns out. I'm curious myself.

Mark your calendars. The INLE show will be March 12, 2011 at Gallery 1988 located on 7020 Melrose Avenue, Los Angeles, CA 90038.

Copyright 2011, Gris Grimly

THE PIGS TOOK MY BROTHER!

2011-02-06T18:30:00.000-08:00

The sun crawled away from us behind the black Nevada mountains as we drove towards an alcoholic sky mixed with Grapefruit, mandarin and Hpnotiq. Although the 3 of us were poker faced, I knew we were all shitting bricks. I've made many trips to Vegas, but only 1 of those trips made me an outlaw.

Jared was doing good. He drove the 20-year-old Honda steady and always 2 miles an hour below the speed limit. Both hands on the steering wheel-10 and 2. "Slow and steady wins the race" they say. But not too slow. You don't want to look suspicious or draw attention to yourself. His pink lucky rabbit's foot swung from the ignition. I'm not sure how lucky a rabbit's foot really is. It didn't bring the rabbit too much luck.

No one said a word. I wasn't wondering what Jared and Nick were thinking. My mind was recalling our drive to Vegas 2 days ago. That's when this bad beat story all began.

- - -

"We're all made up of energy," continued Nick as we passed Whiskey Petes on the 15 north, "which gives off heat. Call it energy or a soul or whatever. But it is what makes us alive."

The 3 of us were on our way to the neon oasis with pocket cash to burn. I needed to get away for a while. My brother died a few months ago and the days of mourning were hard on me. It beat me down like I'd been dusted off at the tables. I needed an escape and there's no better escape then the city of sin.

The thrill of arriving in Vegas helps the 4 hour drive from Los Angeles go by faster than chips at the roulette table. Somewhere around Barstow California our conversations started getting deep, talking about life's great meaning, God and the afterlife. Somewhere around crossing the state line it got weird with talks of psychics and reincarnation.

"When we die," Nick carried on, "our energy leaves our body and rises up to the skies. There it intermingles with other energy before being placed into another body. So when we meet someone that seems familiar to us, it's because that person is made up of some of your previous life's energy."

I thought about this for a minute and then replied, "How does that work with the world's population ever growing. There's not enough souls to recycle into all the new babies being born."

Jared and Nick were stumped so I continued my thought.

"Maybe that's why kids today are so apathetic and uninspired. After generations and generations, the strength of a soul becomes diluted in order to spread throughout the growing population. It's like cutting blow with adulterants so you have twice as much to sell."

Nick replies, "I never thought about that."

"So what you're saying," chimed Jared, "is that kids today don't have a complete soul. That their souls are laced to fill the human shells. What are they laced with?"

"Air," I said naturally.

As we weaved our way throughout the dark Nevada landscape, we came to see a glorious beacon shooting out into the starry skies. No, this was not a UFO drawing up subjects for anal probing. Nor was it a soul leaving an empty shell to join up with the many other souls floating around in space, get "stepped on" with air and recycled into a newly born baby. It was the Luxor - That grand 20th century pyramid saying welcome to Las Vegas. This is the last warning you get to turn around while you still have money.

I'm not going to go into the details of what went on in Las Vegas. It's not any different than all the other stories you've read - The ups, the downs, the debauchery, the flowing alcohol and the waking up and saying "What happened". But there is one incident that holds relevance to my story. Unfortunately, my "What happened" scenario didn't involve intoxication to hold as an excuse.

It was Saturday, our coming home day. We never come home on Sunday because every other looser comes home on Sunday and the drive takes twice as long. We packed our bags and scanned our hotel room 1 last time, making sure that there were no cell phone cables or other important items lost amidst the rocky landscape of empty booze bottles.

With our hazy-throbbing eyes behind dark lenses, we moseyed through the casino to the check-out. That is when it happened. If we had left straight away then, all the debauchery that occurred wouldn't have amounted to anything more than every other visit to Vegas. But I had to see her...and him.

Jared was taking care of our room, arguing about some charges that were made that nobody recalls it's whereabouts because we were all probably so blackout drunk we don't remember. When it comes to nights of drinking, I was on the downswing. The probing in my brain was a constant reminder of all the drinks I forgot I consumed. I found myself in a zone, scanning the casino for any last opportunities. The cruel city left me with a single green chip. I was most likely going to lose it on a bet before making it to the cage.

That's when I saw her. That blond bombshell singer - You know the one. She was walking through the casino with a pot belly pig on a pink rhinestone leash. The triangle shaped shades concealed most of her face. But her tight leopard print dress drew all eyes from their playing tables. I don't really give a lick about the diva. I could care less about celebrities. It was the pig that fascinated me. There was something familiar about him.

I made my way through the casino and stood at the cage. There wasn't a line. But when is there ever that many people who have money to collect from a casino. Nobody ever notices but if you stand and observe the cashier long enough, more money comes in then they ever pay out. I was distracted by the pig only feet away. He sat next to the poker table as his master was firing bullets left and right. It was then, that I saw in his eyes, the soul of my brother.

I know. You're thinking I'm crazy. But I was certain it was my brother. We were inseparable. I knew that look. And using the theory of reincarnation it could be possible. This small pig couldn't be more than a few months old. My brother died just over 4 months ago. Could it be?

"Can I help you!" croaked the cashier probably for the 4th or 5th time. I snapped alert. But when players' eyes, including the blond bombshell, turned to look at me I panicked. I said something like no and hurried away.

We hit the casino buffet for brunch before the long trip back. Nick went on about a psychic he met who worked as a parking attendant in his office building.

"One day, I took his offer to meet up for coffee. He told me that he travels the world, taking on odd jobs here and there. After he meets the person he was destined to enlighten, and feels his purpose is complete and moves on to the next place. I was that person."

I couldn't stop thinking about how my brother was somehow now reincarnated into a pot belly pig owned by the Billboard chart-topping pop star. And now with talks about destiny and purpose and serendipity, I couldn't help but feel that I was here for a reason.

I don't know why events played out like they did. I guess it was just meant to be. But after brunch, I had to take a major dump. Jared and Nick decided to take the luggage to the car and pick me up at the front of the casino. As I waited for them, dissolving a stick of tobacco into my lungs, I watched the valets do their business. They ran about like rabbits, swiftly getting the new Saturday victims into the casino to lose their cash as quickly as possible. That is efficiency.

In complete synchronicity, Jared pulled up with the Honda, I put my cigarette out on the desert scorched concrete and that woman walked up to my side with my brother. I slowly scanned up to see her distracted at removing a cigarette from her Gucci bag. Jared and Nick waited with the engine running. I glanced over at my brother sitting there with a bulging belly. I swear he winked at me with a burlesque dancer's eyelash. PING

It all happened so quickly. I pulled the trigger. I grabbed my brother, knocking her Gucci bag out on the ground, and jumped into the car like I was throwing pocket rockets. I yelled "Go!" and, as if planned, Jared reacted. Hands on the steel wheel, he flipped a bitch and we were on the 15 south before she even noticed her purse wasn't the only thing that slipped out of her hands.

- - -

The sun ran away from us, showing disdain. Either it was evading our company or helping our getaway by concealing us in the dark. Nick turned off the radio because the consistent news alerts involving pig robbers was putting us on edge. He then broke the silence.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"This is my brother."

Everyone looked over at the content pig, concealed under my jacket grunting up a storm.

"What are you talking about?"

"I realized in that moment that the reason I came to Las Vegas was to rescue my brother who was reincarnated into this pig."

Jared was obviously not okay with this. "Do you no how stupid that sounds?"

It doesn't matter how stupid it sounded, because we were quickly approaching the agricultural check point. The thing about leaving Las Vegas is you are always so hung over you never remember that you have to go through an agricultural check point to get back home. This usually doesn't effect you if you are in a car. They only stop trucks and larger vehicles. But due to the recent events of wanted criminals escaping southbound on the 15, the searches applied to everyone.

We quickly got stuck in a gridlock moving at the pace of a slot club member. I realized the stakes were high and there was no turning back. Arguments having to do with "accessory to a crime" came to a climax and then settled down as we inched closer to the guard stand. Can you blame them. I was the fish at the table and they got a raw deal.

We all calmed down and concluded that it was a "no win" situation, but if we played it cool we could possibly hold our own. I put the pig under my feet and covered him with a jacket. These weren't the usual minimum wagers at the check point. They brought in the state troopers. And they were mean.

The car ahead of us was getting their trunk checked as an overweight overfed desert pig approached our Honda. Jared rolled down the window, and poker faced asked. "What's the problem officer."

The pig wasn't being friendly. He asked us to pop the trunk as he shined his flashlight around in the car. My black denim jacket surprisingly concealed our loot. The bumping of the car was clearly an intense anal search of the '91 Honda Civic. With nothing but smoke-soiled alcohol-soaked clothes to convict us of having a good time, the pig slammed down the trunk.

This was the moment that they walk by and say, "You are free to go." Only, as the pig was passing by the window, my brother broke his cover by asking me if it was clear to come out in Vietnamese Pig.

That was the final hand. Sometimes you know when to fold em and sometimes the dealer gets you down to the felt. The pigs took my brother, no doubt, back to that horrid pop artist. What the hell. He always did have a thing for floozies. Me and my friends? We got pinched. That doesn't mean it's all over. Maybe I'll get out based on insanity. My brother is still out there and I'll find him one day.

Besides, I still walked away from Vegas with a $25 green chip in my pocket.

Copyright 2011, Gris Grimly

DREAM CAPTURE APP FOR IPHONE

2011-01-22T11:27:00.000-08:00

I went to sleep last night riddled with fever and doped up on pharmaceuticals. I rarely take drugs. I wont even take an aspirin. But when I get deathly ill and work is piled up, I do what I need to do to get back on my feet. Mostly I consume natural and herbal antidotes and I feel pretty good about that.

In my dream I was presented with a combination of numbers that, arranged in a specific order, appeared as 311 and 44. My girlfriend and I are convinced that these numbers have some significant meaning in our lives. 311 has been a number that she sees all the time and 44 is a number I see all the time. Together, we see both of these numbers. In my half sleep I was deciphering the meaning behind it all. I had it all figured out and was looking for my Iphone on the nightstand so I could take a picture of the combination in my dream (which was on a license plate). Then I came to the realization that this was ludicrous. As utilitarian as the Iphone may be, it CAN NOT capture images in our dreams.

Copyright 2011, Gris Grimly

GUTTED LIKE A PIG

2011-01-20T10:33:00.000-08:00

Jared was fat. He's always been fat. He didn't look like a muffin top so much as a flowing lava cake. Life throws some pretty mean punches without being an object of ridicule. For people like Jared, every day was an emotional beat down.

He thought things would be better after High School. When children are developing, they feel awkward and insecure. They don't know who they are and fear not having a place in their social system. They choose and distinguish inferiors in a way to establish themselves as superiors. Although savage, it's logical. But this is just a developing stage they grow out of. This trite struggle to establish ranking in the social class doesn't exist beyond High School, does it?

It most certainly does.

Jared enrolled in a community college and moved into a dorm on campus. The social structure was the same. Only now the students had a naive arrogance developed from the delusion that they had now transcended into adulthood. Jared also noticed the technique in which superiors treated the inferiors was different. It was more subtle and secretive, but stung just as bad. Nothing had changed, and Jared still went home feeling the shit kicked out of him.

The general ed classes Jared took were just a way to move forward. But he had no idea what he wanted to do for a living and the future terrified him. Outside of classes, Jared's world existed in his solitary dorm. A virgin geek palace. He'd listen to songs by "Weezer" about not fitting in while starting flame wars on movie blogs. His alias: SuaveJabba. To everyone on the other end of the fiber-optics, SuaveJabba was a god.

One day he was sitting in a Starbucks sipping down a Mocha while chatting on his favorite blog. He was debating why "Green Hornet" is the worst comic book adaptation to come out since "Daredevil". A few guys from a nearby office came in for a fuel up. Dressed in Armani suits and rogaine'd hair, this was success. He observed their behavior from behind his Ibook and noticed a familiarity. Although ten to fifteen years older than Jared's circle of peers, they acted very much the same. They still punched each other in the shoulder while laughing about last night's basketball game. They still bit their fists and gawked at a sexy blond that walked by. They even played cruel games like "Hey Chris. Until you get laid, you're buying the coffee rounds". Hiiiii-laaar-ious. "You better get out there and work your mojo".

Jared took a sip from his mocha, slurping up the whip cream sludge at the bottom. Flowing text from incoming comments reflected in shimmering blue on his glasses. A large flash of color became a distraction in the corner of his eye. He looked over to see a portly woman in a red dress enter the coffee house. If her size didn't announce her arrival, the jangle of the door bell did. The three suited men turned and noticed. It was Claire from the office.

It was like WILD KINGDOM for Jared studying the behaviors of these mysterious animals. Marlin Perkins out in the savage lands of man...STARBUCKS. Curiously, Jared watched on. The tall guy in the pink shirt welcomed her, "You needed a pick up too".

Claire slouched in melodramatic exhaustion. "I just can't stay awake. Monday slumps".

All three of the choir boys chimed in, "I hear that".

Interesting. Could it be that somewhere between the ages of 20 and 30 humans give up this game of social hierarchy? Jared watched on as the four of them chatted away appearing to be unbounded by any set of social limits. Three latte's arrived and the men left Claire smiling. As they passed by, Jared heard "Pinky" tell Chris, "You know, if it gets bad enough, you can always pork Claire." Out the window, Jared watched them as they silently laughed and made humping motions on their way back to the office. He looked over at Claire. Glowing with apple bliss cheeks she retrieved her mocha and followed. Nothing changes.

Jared entered his dorm. His video games, World of Warcraft and SuaveJabba no longer brought him happiness. He scrolled through his itunes until he found Elliott Smith (music to be depressed to). He started the playlist with "Pretty (Ugly Before)". The modern shaving razor doesn't serve any other purpose than hygienic upkeep. Maybe the current design is the result of safety evolution. Regardless, everyone has a kitchen knife.

Stripped down to his silky skin, Jared sat in his ergonomic computer chair. It was the top of the line in office furnishing to ensure utmost comfortability in order to endure long hours on your ass. Mr. Smith sang:

Sunshine been keeping me up for days
There is no nighttime, it's only a passing phase
And I feel pretty, pretty enough for you
I felt so ugly before
I didn't know what to do

Jared looked down on his belly that hung over his legs. His knees poked out like two mounds on the horizon. He couldn't remember the last time he saw his own penis. It has been a constant struggle being fat. It's not that Jared was comfortable being that way. It was just so hard to change his behavior. The worse he felt about himself, the more he ate. The more he ate, the worse he looked. It was a malevolent cycle.

Sunshine been keeping me up for days
There is no nighttime, only a passing phase
And I'll feel pretty another hour or two
I felt so ugly before
I didn't know what to do

Jared took the butcher knife in his hand and pointed it down towards his Xiphoid process. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He plunged the knife deep into his bowels and slowly slit his belly open from sternum to pelvis. Out poured everything that made him fat; everything that made him a buffoon; everything that made him ashamed. For the last moments of his life, he was thin.

I felt so ugly before
I didn't know what to do
I felt so ugly before
I didn't know what to do

Before he died, Jared exerted enough strength to post his last comment in blood on his chest. IF IT DOESN'T GET ANY BETTER...WHAT'S THE POINT IN LIVING?

signed SUAVEJABBA.

Copyright 2011, Gris Grimly

FINGER-STRIPPING GOOD

2011-01-18T11:37:00.000-08:00

"Get your fingers out of there!"

Her mother snapped as she spanked Lyndsee's hand away from the cookie dough. The seven-year-old fair-headed child sprung back, rubbing the loose skin on her hand. Her face shriveled up like silly putty into a pout. Her lower lip swelled pink and juicy while her brow furrowed like a melting candle.

Lyndsee has the ability to mold and push her face into the most abstract cartoonish expressions. She suffers from Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome (EDS) also known as Cutis Hyperelastica. This rare genetic disease results in the defective production of collagen which breaks down the ability to hold the skin together. Because of this, she has become the class clown. She gets the kids rolling with her "bat wings" impression where she clasps her checks and spans them out like wings on the side of her face. This is only one of her many infamous impressions including "choking crane" "bloated frog" and "smiling anteater".

Lyndsee's mouth pools with drool as she watches her mother mixing a chocolate chip chocolate cookie mix. Mmm mmm mmm! Finger licking good! Now if only she could get her fingers in there to try it. Her mother dumps in a tablespoon of vanilla extract. The aroma of cookie dough stings the hot kitchen air from the preheating oven.

Cookies are amazing when they are cooked. The warm crunch on the outside holds in the hot buttery chew. For this short fifteen minute period, the solid state of a chocolate chip defies the laws of physics and becomes a steaming dripping mess of goodness. This is decadence. But on the flip side, bliss is the taste of raw cookie dough. Cool, textural folds of pleasure, swelling with ingredients in their purest form. The billows of sugar-filled fluff wrap around solid clumps of tangy chocolate. Both experiences demand indulgence. Hell and Heaven.

Lyndsee watches as her mother dumps in a bag of chocolate chips. The little black babies plunge in cheering with joy. Lyndsee licks her face with the extra elasticity of her tongue. Her mother sets the mixer on high; A tempting carousal of chocolate temptation.

DLING. DLING. The phone rings in the other room.

Lyndsee is warned, "Leave it alone," just before her mother exits the kitchen.

The yakity-yak of her mother's gossip becomes muffled as the sound of the mixer grows louder in Lyndsee's head. The glass bowl whirls around, displaying every glistening chocolate chip with each rotation. At this point, the lure has Lyndsee's eyeballs pulsating. If she really was a cartoon, this would be the point she blows her smokestack. Her jaw would drop, unraveling a five-foot tongue, as horns blare A-OOGA!!!

From the living room a sound is heard similar to a car driving over a wooden bridge with open gaps and uneven planks. Quickly, a wet Shammy is ripped off the sucking hose of a vacuum. This is jammed up quickly releasing the sound of a frustrated motor unable to turn. The grunt becomes tiresome, slowing to a barely audible exasperation.

Lyndsee's mother drops the phone and runs into the kitchen. The mixer has given up, bundled up in bloody skin as if it were a scarf. On the kitchen floor lays the meaty remains of Lyndsee. Her right arm still raised in the air with her bony index finger extended. On the tip is a dollop of chocolate chip chocolate cookie dough.

Copyright 2011, Gris Grimly

MAKE LIFE AMUSING-SUBSCRIBE TO HATE...

2011-01-17T11:29:00.000-08:00

I'm not one to judge when it comes to being a hater. I hate many things myself. I don't necessarily hate people, but I hate many of the actions that represent people.

I hate when people talk on cell phones at inappropriate times. Maybe not so much, because what is the difference between talking on the cell phone and talking to your present company. Maybe I just hate the type of people who do so and the crap that spills out of their mouth. While we're on the subject, I hate those little ear pieces. Maybe it's not the ear pieces that I hate because I understand that they serve a hands-free purpose. Maybe I just hate the type of people who wear them all the time because they look like cyborgs. I hate when people bring their little dogs into public buildings and cafes. Maybe it doesn't bother me so much because there isn't much of an option for dog owners when they're out with their dog. Maybe I just hate the type of people who do so proudly exercising their privilege.

As you can see, who am I to judge. I have these little negative thoughts myself that get me all fired up and end up becoming a long debate with the person I'm with.

When does hate become a positive thing? Usually hate is NEVER positive, especially when it becomes an act of violence towards an individual or a group. This usually just spreads like cancer to cause more hate and violence towards a group. Interesting how this theme is emerging on Martin Luther King day. But my focus is not about racial discrimination or violence. It is about when hate brings much amusement and humor into an individuals life.

My girlfriend and I drove up to Santa Barbara wine country to get away for the weekend. Her car has a burnt out headlamp (which I've been meaning to fix. But due to the construction of the car I have to remove the front bumper and this daunting task is easily becoming the source of much procrastination). So we've been driving at night with the high beams on. I understand that this is a slight annoyance...but it can be easily ignored...right?

So you can imagine my amusement when someone completely flips their lid. We're heading up the 101 (somewhere around Calabasas) when a pickup truck ahead of us slows down, let's us pass, merges into our lane and turns on his high beams. Okay. That's a bit proactive. Usually you'll get flashed which most likely is a courtesy to say "Hey. Your brights are on" but this was a bit ridiculous.

After a couple miles I was wondering if this was helping him therapeutically and what is the subscribed mileage (or time) length needed for the cure. Eventually, he turned off his high beams, passed us and went on his raging way.

Did the act help him? Probably not. He probably went home and spent the next hour bitching to his wife about what happened on his way home from work.

Or maybe he went on his merrily way (Having forgotten the incident altogether), kissed his wife when he walked in the door and made love to her for hours.

How should I know. Maybe I'm just as bad for focusing on this event for as long as I have, allowing it to consume so much of my thoughts and time. I mean shit...I just spent the last hour writing a blog about it.

You have to love humans.

Copyright 2011, Gris Grimly

THE BITCH SHOT A RATTLESNAKE...

2011-01-13T10:12:00.000-08:00

Our safety became uncertain when we ceased to see signs of civilization for miles. The desert canyon road weaved deeper and deeper into the mountains. Maybe movies get the best of me. I need to remember that "The Hills Have Eyes" is fiction. It's a story that someone made up to scare people. That shit doesn't really happen.

Dad doesn't seem concerned, driving the olive green with wooden panel station wagon deeper into the valley. But then again, when does he ever show emotion. My two younger brothers, Mike and Ike, are in the back bouncing off each other when they should be sitting quietly playing one of the 20 different car games that were purchased for them. My sister, Tish, is obliviously transmitting pop serum into her brain with Justin Bieber and Lady Gaga on her Ipod. My mom seems to be the only one concerned with our impeding doom. She shifts in her seat and fills the silence with irrelevant conversations. She has that nervous laughter she gets when something isn't right. It's the kind of laughter that never follows a humorous moment and isn't very uplifting. But then again, I could be speculating ALL of this. I've been known to do that now and then.

My mom breaks the silence. "Hector,..." That's my name "...look at those silly little sculptures." Yeah mom. Silly.

I have an issue with rusty metal sculptures. I keep picturing a burly man whose beard and head hair runs all the way down to his toes. Under the black-stained overalls he glistens from what looks like Crisco rubbed all over his flesh. But I don't think about it long enough to make any conclusions. He has a shop full of sharp and dangerous tools including mallets, jigsaws, hole punches and axes. Let's not forget table saws, drills, vice grips and oscillating tools. I don't even know what an oscillating tool is, but the name alone evokes images of pain. He's good with tools, especially wielding metal, and needs a creative outlet. These two things don't go well together.

"Hector. Look at that. How creative."

They slightly resemble deer if their anatomy was re-imagined in hubcaps and pipes, modeled after the mutated wildlife in "Prophecy". No mom. That is not silly what-so-ever.

Tish releases a twinkie from it's polyurethane wrapper and lifts it slowly to her face. Somewhere between Bieber's "Never Let You Go" and Miley Cyrus's "Can't Be Tamed", she nibbles off the head and sucks out the innards. I don't know how she can eat that shit. There's nothing edible to it. Hostess has more in common with Exxon than any food group.

We pass a rusty lawnmower abandoned off the side of the road, grazing in a patch of prairie grass. Or maybe it's a buffalo. At this point, it's becoming unclear what is metal sculpture and what is neglected scrap. A thicket of mailboxes becomes confusing considering there are only a couple trailers in sight. Then it dawns on me. THIS IS THE POINT OF NO RETURN. These twenty-some mailboxes sprouting out of the same mound mark the furthest point the mailman ventures. Inhabitants from miles around come here to get their mail. Twenty-some red metal flags stand up as a warning: PROCEED WITH CAUTION. ABANDON HOPE ALL YE WHO ENTER. THE STATE SHALL NOT BE HELD RESPONSIBLE TO INJURY OR DEATH RESULTING TO PERSONS TRESPASSING BEYOND THIS POINT.

We proceed. My family, the station wagon and the trailer we pull are now in the hands of the desert cannibals. Tish hasn't seen a bar on her cell phone for miles. May god have mercy on our prying souls.

The map tells us we are close. Good. We've voyaged far beyond the safety of civilization. Even the rusty metal sculptures know better than to venture into these parts. The crack house up ahead on the right is imprisoned inside a cage. It could be the remains of a nuclear fall out. Large black carnivores pace the yard with crazed restlessness. From this distance they could be Argentine Dogo or maybe genetically bred grizzly bears crossed with tigers. Dear god, I hope that's not our destination.

Nope. The trailer on the left matches the address. We turn up the driveway, passing a sign that reads PUPPIES OF LOVE. The craters and ruts that decorate the lane is a good indication that few travel this path. The trailer rocks back and forth shaking the station wagon on it's axles. Tish checks her phone for bars. It's an amusing addiction she has. Her impulse defies her own logic.

My dad pulls the station wagon onto a platform of gravel that surrounds the trailer like a mote. Gear in Park. Key turns off. All is quiet.

What now? Do we call? Do we knock? The suspense attempts murder.

A tense aluminum spring draws all of our heads forward to an opening screen door. A seventy-some year old crotchety woman comes out of the trailer holding a shotgun. Gray stringy hair hangs from her balding scalp like spiderwebs. A breeze blows through carrying a few strands off into the clouds. She hobbles towards the station wagon. Her rat tits, supported by no bra, swing back and forth. She doesn't have any teeth on her lower jaw which allows her to make turtle faces with no effort. This is Debbie, the woman we came to see.

"You here for the puppies?" She mouths.

My dad gets out of the station wagon and closes the door behind him. All the world outside this beat-up Chevy Caprice is silent. My mom starts up conversation with Tish about whether or not they have Applebees out here. I remain alert to the deal making at hand. My dad and Debbie mouth words but I can't make out what they are saying. I felt a dodge ball to the gut when my dad turns to me and fingers me to come. I lift the door handle until it screams "click". I don't remember these doors being so heavy. The hinges lurch. Even with a slight swing, the door slams shut.

The wind blows warm and with no breaks out here. My dad and this gun totting hag are frozen in their stares as I approach. The distance seems to be the same with every step I take. All of a sudden, I am beside them as my dad says, "Do you want to see them?" I can't take my eyes off the 12-gauge in her hands. I never thought this could be dangerous.

Debbie leads us with her mesmerizing swagger. "You have to watch out for rattlesnakes here," she says in witch dialect. "They'll jump out and get you."

The hair on her chin glistens with sunlight as the wind wiggles it.

"I had one jump out at me today."

We approach the tail end of a rusted old Ford pickup. "I shot him," she assures me staring into the bed of the truck. I slowly look over to find the bloody mangled mess that was once a rattlesnake opened up like a dissected worm in biology class. "It had more rattles than that. But I blew some off when I shot him".

This was one mean bitch. This is the kind of grit that no women and very few men have these days. Yessiree. This here is a rare artifact that stands before me.

But we didn't come for the dead rattlesnake. We came for what was in the 18-wheeler. She leads us up a desert hill to a parked flatbed. By the time dad and I breathlessly reach the top, she is already jiggling a key in the lock. Lock disabled. Latch unhinged. Door swings open.

Before us bubbles a furry sea of one hundred-some scrappy-fluffy puppies. To reference geek culture, this 18-wheeler has been infested by Tribbles. Everything from Cocker Spaniels, Pomeranians, Yorkies, Shih Tzus, Malteses (and every small breed in-between) happily bounce off each other yapping like a choir. The sound is glorious.

The shotgun echoes as we drive away with a trailer full of puppies. I look back to see Debbie in the distance aiming the shotgun at the ground. The bitch shot a rattlesnake. The station wagon runs over something which springs us bouncing on the hot vinyl seats. It was probably a rusty metal cat in the road. Was it scary? At times. Were our lives in danger? Most likely not. But we are going to eat like KINGS.

The End

Copyright 2011 Gris Grimly

UNCONDITIONAL LOVE...

2011-01-12T10:57:00.000-08:00

I'm an asshole.

That's what I told my girlfriend when we started dating. Maybe asshole isn't the correct word. I'm a curmudgeon. I'm cynical. I'm stubborn as a mule. And I'm set in my ways. I'm not easily moved emotionally (Or maybe I just don't express it). Excitement is just a half a notch up from bored for me. I don't like change. And I HATE pets and small children.

So you could imagine the reaction I got from friends and family when I bought a 2-month-old Boston Terrier in the spring of 2010. This cataclysmic change happened for a number of reasons. First of all, my MCP brother Pete and I had been discussing getting a dog for about a year previous. It seemed like an alright thing to do at the time. And if I set my mind to doing something I sure as hell make it happen. Another reason was at the time I needed a buddy that would stand by me and remain as true blue as I.

The actual act of getting the dog came to me by fate more than anything. I knew I wanted a male Boston Terrier. I wanted to buy from a breeder rather than rescue one from a shelter. I wanted to raise the dog from a pup so that I could experience all the trials and tribulations that came along with it. I want to know that the final result (negative or positive) has to do with the choices I made as a "father".

Some time had passed and my MCP sister Christy asked when I was going to get a dog. I told her I wasn't ready yet. Her wise words are the same words you hear when people talk about having children- "If you are waiting for the right time, it will never be the right time. You just have to do it." I'm sure I completely butchered the saying in my paraphrase, but you get the idea.

Shortly after, I was at a BBQ celebrating the matrimony between two of my closest friends. A discussion broke out pertaining to dogs and I mentioned wanting to buy a Boston Terrier. Someone in the group chimed in saying "My boss is going to pick up one on Thursday". In further discussions, I found out that the breeder was only a couple hours away (which is much closer than the breeder I was looking at 13 hours away), the price was right and the dog fit my specifications to a "T". Out of the liter, they had ONE Boston left and it was a male.

Short story long, I drove up and picked up Cash (named after the "man in black" not the "notes in green"). Not only was he what I wanted, but he was healthy and had perfect Boston markings. We've been side by side now for almost a year. Even though he has his "puppy" moments, he is a good kid. Surprisingly, I've grown to love him more than anything or anyone else in my life.

That may be harsh to say having siblings, two living parents, the MCP crew and my selfless girlfriend who never ceases to amaze me. But there is a love that grows from raising a living creature. Cash is alive because I feed him and take care of him. Now I know what unconditional love is. So last night, when I dreamt that Cash got his throat ripped out by a mountain lion and I held him in a pool of blood, you can understand why I cried.

I still hate dogs and small children. But damn it, my dog is the best.

Copyright 2011 Gris Grimly

KICK IN THE ASS

2011-01-11T12:30:00.000-08:00

I'll be the first to admit my shortcomings (if I accept them as shortcomings). I'll also be the first to defend myself if I feel that my actions are being misconstrued as shortcomings when actually they are my personal eccentricities. As much as I romanticize about keeping a personal blog I've been completely incompetent at being faithful to this task. The convenience of social networks like Facebook and Twitter allow an easy way to sign on, jot down, get off. This format has become a preference of mine. Although I have to say I am fazing out Myspace due to my intolerance towards failing interfaces. If anyone cares to defend this recent makeover, please do.

As you can see, 2010 brought in two posts. TWO POSTS! Not only did I fail to contribute on a regular bases, the two posts that I did accomplish were copy/paste from my fan Nooseletter. I didn't even bother to log in and write anything specific. This cannot stand!

Here is my 2011 resolution: I will put forth my best efforts at logging into my personal account to write specifically for this Blog, if time allows, not to be held accountable for the possible lack of posts due to personal obligations. I will focus on original content pertaining to daily rants, the occasional tirades, and creative writing. This will not be a platform to copy/paste monthly newsletters or postings from subsidiary blogs (www.grisgrimlysfrankenstein.com). This shall endure to the best of my abilities as long as convenient circumstances allow.

In other words, I'm kicking myself in the ass to deliver a new and better Gris Grimly blog.

Copyright 2011 Gris Grimly

Gris Grimly's July Nooseletter

2010-07-02T11:50:00.000-07:00

Greetings Society of Graverobbers,

If you have been following me since the beginning of the year, you will recall that in January I announced that I would not be doing conventions in 2010. This was so that I could focus on other projects, mainly my first feature film Pinocchio. My theory was that by removing tasks from my plate, my focused attention on getting Pinocchio made would help it become a reality.

Well, it is working. About a month ago, Pinocchio received a development deal from the French studio, Pathe'. This budget goes to a small team for the next 10 to 12 weeks to develop a pitch for the film. Last week, we moved into a bungalow on the Jim Henson lot. I am working with a Co-Director (who's name I cannot announce at this point) leading a group of artists and designers into my imagined world of Pinocchio. We will also complete the screenplay and have two characters sculpted by the Manchester based team Mackinnon and Saunders (Corpse Bride, Fantastic Mr. Fox). We also have an amazing score composer on board and a voice talent that I am really excited about. But I can't announce these details yet. Produced by Guillermo Del Toro (Hellboy, Pan's Labyrinth, Devil's Backbone) and The Jim Henson company, this film is going to kick crypts.

As exciting as this is, it is still not 100%. After the development is completed in the fall, we have to pitch the film to studios to fund the production of the movie. If we blow their minds and the film gets greenlit, then we can celebrate! Hope for the best fiends.

SAN DIEGO COMIC CON

Needless to say, now that I am working full time as the director during this development stage I will not be at SAN DIEGO COMIC CON. But the Van Eaton Galleries will set up a section in their booth (509) dedicated to my merchandise. So even though I will not be there, you can still get your claws on the remaining Gris Grimly merchandise.

http://www.comic-con.org/cci/

San Diego Comic Con
July 21-25 2010

San Diego Convention Center
111 W. Harbor Dr.
San Diego, CA 92101

MCP ONLINE SALE!

To make up for not being at SDCC, this month i am running a sale on my webstore. Most merchandise is 30% to 50% off. Some shirts are only $5. I'm trying to clean out my inventory so that I can put aside the retailing of Gris Grimly merchandise. This is the remaining Gris Grimly merchandise (unless I get a licensing deal or start merchandising again) and shirts are selling out. Now is your only opportunity to get these items. Once they sell out, they are gone for good. So head over to http:www.madcreator.com/store to complete your collection during this sale.

http://www.madcreator.com/store

HOOTENANNY!

The one place I will be selling my goods is the SoCal rockabilly/car festival THE HOOTENANNY. If you are attending, look for the MCP booth to get merchandise for a super low price. We will be selling t-shirts for $5 and $10. If you wear a Gris Grimly shirt to the festival, we will give you free stuff. All other merchandise will be on sale as well. Help me clean out my inventory by taking advantage of my generosity...my gift to the loyal fiends. heh heh.

http://thehootenanny.com/

The Hootenanny
Saturday, July 3rd 2010

Oak Canyon Ranch
4700 Santiago Canyon Road
Silverado Canyon, CA

That is all for now. I need to get back to work solving story issues and working on designs for Pinocchio. I hope to see some of you at the Hootenanny as I will miss seeing you at Comic Con. Have a grim summer.

Be Grim!
Gris Grimly

Happy New Year SOGs!

2010-01-01T14:25:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year Society of Graverobbers!

Not only is there a change in year and decade, but there is a huge change in the MCP. First off, I will be putting my focus towards working and producing art and less in running a business. This is the year to make my animated feature Pinocchio happen. During the last year, there have been many exciting additions to the team and positive advancements towards this actually being a reality. But I have to make it my focus and give it all my energy.

What does this mean? I am fazing out a few elements of Mad Creator Productions. First, I will be taking a break from working conventions. This also means that I am going to put a hold on production and merchandising. I will miss seeing all of your grim faces, but it is just something I have to do right now.

I am fazing out the MCP online store as well. So take advantage of the many sales and deals that I will be offering you throughout the next few months in an effort to deplete stock. Who better deserves this offer than the loyal Society of Graverobbers. Currently, most of our t-shirts are anywhere from $5 to $10 throughout the month of January. Crazy...I know. Get your shirts now, because sizes are running out and I will not be reprinting or offering anything new any time soon. Go to www.madcreator.com.

Change can be scary, and sometimes a little sad saying goodbye to old habits. But this is something that I, Gris Grimly, need to do.

Here's to a blessed, prosperous and successful 2010 to us all!

Be Grim!
Gris Grimly

THE ITTY BITTY PARTS

2009-12-21T17:28:00.000-08:00

New posting on the Frankenstein blog. Check it out:

Gris Grimly's Frankenstein Blog

CATCH UP ON FRANKENSTEIN

2009-12-14T19:23:00.000-08:00

I've made a few more posts on the Frankenstein Blog revealing new finished illustrations for the book. But i've neglected to come over here and blog about it. So head over to the Gris Grimly's Frankenstein blog to catch up on THIS IMAGE SAYS IT ALL, WILDEST DREAMS and MAPPING OUT THE JOURNEY.

GRIS GRIMLY'S FRANKENSTEIN BLOG

COMPARISON EYE TO EYE

2009-11-28T05:14:00.000-08:00

For my new book Frankenstein, I've completed two versions of the same illustration using two different techniques. Comparing the two side by side, you can see the positive and negative aspects of each. I deconstruct the styles and explain why I've chosen to go with the one and not the other. Read about it on my Frankenstein blog:

GRIS GRIMLY'S FRANKENSTEIN BLOG

Be Grim!
Gris Grimly

MILE HIGH ETIQUETTE

2009-11-26T05:53:00.000-08:00

The man's naked foot rubbed against my leg. The frost came early this year and spread an icy blanket across my spine. What the hell is wrong with people today that they can't uphold some etiquette for the short span of time they are subjected to public transportation?

I saw an episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm where Larry David finds his plane seat to be next to a man wearing shorts. Larry, being the confrontational person he is, reprimands his elbow-knocking neighbor for being so inconsiderate to wear shorts on a plane. I think this is an overreaction to the circumstance. Granted, the artifact of clothing was short enough to be called briefs and with the lack of elasticity around the thighs, there is a risk of junk spillage. But a situation like this really depends on the individual wearing the shorts. Do you think Larry would mind if the individual sitting next to him was a slender 25-year-old vixen with velvet-soft thighs? Of course not. But it made for a great uncomfortably humorous scene that the show is known for.

In all my travels, there is a growing lack of respect for human subjection. Surprisingly, the majority of these occurrences happen on one of the most expensive forms of travel; the aeroplane. And it seems that out of the entire class system, individuals in Business class are the worse. No more than 60 years ago, it was common courtesy for a man to wear a suit and tie for most occasions. Even a ball game would draw the poorest individual to the game wearing his Sunday best and a fedora. Today, you're lucky enough if some of these Neanderthals have enough body paint to cover their birthday suit.

Why do people feel it's okay to get undressed on plane? I don't care how much a ticket costs; you are still on public transportation. You don't see people removing their shoes and socks while traveling on the great steel Greyhound bus. Yet when traveling the mile high expressway, you're in danger of a flight neighbor stripping naked short of removing his capris and wife-beater. There are a few points of etiquette that if every individual could uphold, it would make traveling a little more bearable for the rest.

The first of these is REFRAIN FROM WEARING PAJAMAS. This rule should apply anytime/anywhere you are out of the house or in the presence of anyone other than family members. Whether you are on a plane, going for brunch or having guests over to watch a movie, put some freakin' cloths on! This also applies to sweats, workout cloths and swimwear. These items were made for athletic activities and despite what you think, plopping into a jet seat is NOT exercise. Just because your stretchy pants have a word printed across the ass doesn't make it appropriate designer clothing to get on a plane.

The second rule is KEEP YOUR SHOES AND SOCKS ON. Seriously, you're not at home and no one on the plane wants to smell or look at your feet. It's true, the plane gets cleaned between flights, but no little old Brazilian woman comes in and scrubs everything with disinfectant. I cringe when thinking of the possible organisms that are left behind from feet sweat wiped across the back of seats, against the footrest and across the floor carpet.

The third rule is WASH YOUR HANDS AFTER USING THE BATHROOM. Due to energy and water conservative attempts, the mechanics in the bathroom of a plane are more complicated than other bathrooms. The water faucet releases short bursts of water for each time you press the spring-loaded handle. I know this is a bit of a pain having to press this handle over and over just to get your hands properly cleaned. But this is no excuse for avoiding the process all together. I don't have the ability to monitor everybody’s bathroom hygienic, but it's safe to say that there is a large majority that are transferring germs with their fecal fingers on the door, door handle and back to their seat. This makes it really difficult for me to exit the restroom without touching anything.

The fourth rule is BE HYGIENICALLY CONSCIOUS AT YOUR SEAT. This is a simple rule and means be considerate of the individual sitting next to you. Don't pick your nose, remove scabs, scratch your dandruff, chew your nails, file your nails, pick at hangnails, suck on blisters, lick your palms, finger your bellybutton or massage your naked feet (which shouldn't be naked in the first place). Refrain from attending to these callings until you get home or at least take care of it in the restroom. But you should also not attend to your hygiene in public. Do not apply deodorant, clean your ears, brush your teeth or shave in your seat. That's what they make bathrooms for.

The fifth rule is DO NOT GET WASTED ON THE PLANE OR BOARD A PLANE WASTED. For alcohol drinkers out there, I know it is fun to get drunk. But leave this activity to areas equipped to handle drunks. As funny as you think you are when you're pile-drived, no one except your drunken friends think you are anything but loud and annoying. At least in bars, people can move away from you or leave the establishment. But on a plane we are stuck with you...for hours. On a plane 99% of the passengers are not in the same headspace as you. You are loud and obnoxious; you stink to high-heaven and consistently knock over drinks or into people. If you reach a state of intoxication that you vomit, you will most likely initiate a barf brigade. Then as you pass out for the remaining hours of the flight, you've left all the other passengers to endure the stench of your ass-rank insides.

If we can all follow these rules, it would make a long flight easier to endure for everyone. After all, the plane is just another form of public transportation like a bus, train or boat. No matter where you are seated or how long the flight is, it is not your personal living space. Show your neighbor a little respect.

Be Grim!
Gris Grimly

Copyright 2009 Gris Grimly

LEAVE THOSE SNAKES ALONE!

2009-11-12T13:55:00.000-08:00

Hedley retracted his arm from the burrowed hole with a yowl. His red face bit down on his lip to cease the quivering. He tried not to cry, but the tear in his eye got pushed out. It glistened a slow race down his red cheek.

Hedley’s mother ran up to the rock pile where he was playing. “What is it?” she asked.

Hedley had his arm chicken winged and his hand tucked into his shirt. His mother extended this awkward position for inspection. “Let me see it”.

The meaty part of the hand was swollen red with two small puncture wounds. This was no midget vampire bite though.

“I told you to leave those snakes alone!”

Hedley looked at his mother with a sorrowful expression, yet statuesque. He could have been in shock. Or, like the hundreds of times he’s heard his mother say LEAVE THOSE SNAKES ALONE, his brain did not absorb it.

“Come on,” She consoled, “Let’s get you cleaned up for dinner”.

Hedley and his mother walked back to the house. She put her hand on his shoulder and pulled him to her, barely reaching the protruding part of her hip.

Dinner was the usual fare; Meat, potatoes and greens decorated the plate. “Come on Hedley. Eat your meat,” his mother commanded.

Hedley looked at his plate with disgust. The meat and potato stared back at him saying, “Yeah Hedley. Come eat us. It will be fun!”

He has no problems eating his greens. Hedley loved vegetables. Brussel sprouts. Green beans. Broccoli. Peas. Spinach. You name it and he would eat it up. He loved vegetables, especially if they were green.

“You know,” his father said, while potato skins did suicide jumps from his lip, “You keep chasing those snakes, one of these days you're goin' to piss off the wrong type of snake. Your mother and I may not be around to save you. What do you think about that?”

Hedley picked his meat apart. At this point, it looked more like road kill.

The next day Hedley was in the backyard swinging a stick around. There are many things in the backyard that need a good beating. Tree trunks. Dirt. Metal pipes. Air. They all ask for it and when a kid runs outside to play, you can see the exhilarating rage in his eyes; I MUST BEAT THINGS WITH A STICK! Even pansy bushes are not safe from a child’s need to beat things with a stick.

After giving the juniper bush a good 2-3 whops, Hedley caught a glimpse of bright color rush from under the bush. Startled at first, he was quickly overcome with awe. This slinky friend was different than the usual green and brown encounters. This one was striped with colors of gold, ebony and rust.

The panicked reptile blundered in the moment and found a trapping within the nook of a tree trunk. Hedley’s eyes swelled beyond the sheaths of his eyelids. He waved his stick in the air and galloped over to the woody plant remains.

The cowering creature wound herself into a pile of soft-served chicken shit. Hedley knew what he could beat with a stick and what he couldn’t. Trees are okay. The swing set is okay. The house is not okay. The ground is okay. But you never…never never ever…beat a living thing with a stick. But it IS okay to poke it.

Hedley slowly pushed his wooden weapon into the mound of quivering scales. Poke.

Curious. The snake moved a bit, but she seemed docile. Maybe this is a friendly snake.

Hedley reached in slowly. In a quick-swift motion, he caught the snake around the neck. He stood up, rotating the snake's head towards his sternum. For a moment, Hedley stared at the snake and the snake stared at him. No words needed to be said as they communicated on a higher plane.

The snake slipped Hedley the tongue a few times, tasting the smell of her intruder. Hedley could see his reflection in the black beady eyes that were sizing him up.

“We’re friends, right?” Hedley asked.

The snake felt the clasp around her neck loosen. She lunged and latched onto Hedley’s heart.

As quickly as it happened, Hedley ripped the snake off and threw her to the ground. The snake hurried back to her juniper bush. Hedley stood there shocked. He looked about the world around him. Everything seemed calm. The wind blew. Birds flew above him, tweeting as they kissed the sun. Besides, it didn’t even hurt much.

This time, Hedley knew better than to cry and bring his mother running. He pulled down his shirt for inspection. The bite marks weren’t even that big and it wasn’t any more red than usual. This was reassuring.

Hedley decided it best to continue to play. He picked up his stick and continued to wallop unsuspecting dirt piles.

The sun crept behind the tree line. Although it was still many more stick swings away from dinner, Hedley was exhausted. He must have really been relentless in his beatings because he has never been this breathless.

He sat against the withered tree trunk to catch his breath. Taking himself away from all the action and excitement of object abuse, he listened to his heart. It was beating hard and fast within his confined and swollen chest. His mouth started to water and his eyes felt like nighttime.

I don’t feel good.

Hedley couldn’t muster the energy to run back to the house, so he resorted to crawling on his hands and knees. But even that took effort.

One hand in front of the other, he slowly made it as far as the juniper bush before collapsing to the ground. He rolled over on his back and stared up at the sky. Everything was calm. There were no more birds and no more sun. The sky swirled with purples, reds and oranges. It was a good day to die.

When Hedley didn’t come when called for dinner, his mother went out looking for him. She found him lying next to the juniper bush with a smile of blue lips. A dozen baby snakes with gold, ebony and rust stripes played among his body.

The End.

Copyright 2009 Gris Grimly

FIRST SIGNS OF LIFE

2009-11-11T00:59:00.000-08:00

I feel so accomplished. I finished my first painting for my new book, Frankenstein and posted it for everyone to enjoy. Let us all celebrate the beginning of a long journey ahead.

Gris Grimly's Frankenstein Blog

Be Grim!
Gris Grimly

CABARET MACABRE HALLOWEEN WEEKEND!

2009-10-19T11:59:00.000-07:00

Greetings Society of Graverobbers,

With only a couple weeks away from spooky Halloween weekend, we at Mad Creator Productions, The Magic Castle and VE Publishing are starting to get a few of our vultures in a row- enough to at least taunt and tantalize your senses with what's to come Nov. 1st 2009 at the Cabaret Macabre.

Here's the skinned cat...

I will be hosting Gris Grimly's Cabaret Macabre Halloween Weekend, October 30, 31 and November 1. Although Friday and Saturday are only open to the Magic Castle members, you have all been granted the option to attend as my guest on Sunday November 1st. Tickets go on sale this Monday, October 19th. More information on that below.

Tickets are thirty dollars to get all fiends over the age of 21 in the door. All Cabaret Macabre attendees will receive a momentous Cabaret Macabre 2009 button (Hint: These will become extremely collectible as years pass by). Once in the doors, you have access to the world famous Magic Castle. You can make reservations for dinner, attend the magic shows, drink at the bars and most importantly attend the Cabaret Macabre in the Inner Circle!

Much like a traditional Cabaret, Cabaret Macabre will feature comedy, music, theatre, burlesque and art among a drinking audience. Here's what you can expect...

A GHASTLY GALLERIA BY THE MAD CREATOR!

I will have a gallery of artwork on display featuring monsters, madmen and everything spooky. There will be some brand new, never before seen or released pieces on display and available for sale including the release of a few new prints. We have created an extremely limited edition print based on my watercolor painting "Lure" to premiere at the show. When you come to the show, you can find out the time when you can get your skeletal hands on this print. This print will sell out fast. We will also be premiering the third Freakatorium set which includes three quaint sideshow freaks; Monkeybrain, Patchwork Girl and Trout Bone Head. We will also have the first two Freakatorium sets and other popular prints for sale.

LIVE BAND PERFORMANCES BY CREATURE FEATURE!

Comprised of the vicious vampiric vocalist Curtis RX and the ghoulishly fiendish organ master Erik X, the California native horror attraction Creature feature is set to take the underworld by storm. Creating a haunting mix of vintage horror visuals, old school beats, a carnival feel and a strangely rebellious approach to the modern ideals, the two monstrous musicians weave tales of the macabre, creating anthems for the horror minded and horror born alike. I'm happy to have Creature Feature a part of Cabaret Macabre as the (haunted)house band. They are sure to carry us through the night. If they wont have us feeling safe in wonderland, they will be scaring us into a new pair of trousers.

LIVE BAND PERFORMANCES BY THE VOODOO ORGANIST!

For the past seven years, the Voodoo Organist has been spreading his gospel of salvation through sin all over the country. Hard to categorize, yet instantly recognizable, he plays everything from industrial waltzes to drunken mambos; garage punk gospel rave ups to swinging exotic demonic blues. The Voodoo Organist will steer your conga line straight to hell, and you'll be dancing like the devil the whole way down.

OPERATIC SOUNDS BY ASHLEY KNIGHT!

Soprano Ashley Knight has earned distinction in wildly varied contexts, from the traditional opera stage to the underground music scene. Ms. Knight is passionately devoted to dusting the cobwebs off of the operatic art form and making it compelling to the opera fan and the uninitiated alike. Supported by highly imaginative visual elements, skilled acting, and a taste for the unexpected, she is creating a world of great beauty and surprising depth.

BURLESQUE BY VICTORIA VENGEANCE!

Known for stealing hearts and eating brains, Victoria Vengeance is sure to lure you in with her over-the-top set pieces and performances-a fusion of traditional striptease and dynamic theatrical-style. Victoria has given the burlesque community something to rave about. For this show, she brings us her penny arcade fortune telling madam act, which I promise will unhinge your jawbone and knock it off your skull. Not for the squeamish or the lovesick.

Your host Mistress Avalon will guide you through a time warp where ghouls are the hired hands and marionettes come to life. Have a howling good time, but try to avoid running into the dangerous hornswoggling ghouls, Gorp and Malick. In between changing sets and beating the crypt out of each other, they are known to hoodwink guests out of money, jewelry and even their pants. Spooky music will go bump in the night thanks to DJ Josh Schneider (Friday) and DJ Dave Bats (Saturday-Sunday).

We will be premiering many exclusive/new merchandise items at the show. We will have an event poster print. Get your skeletal hands on this 11 x 17 limited edition serigraph of the event poster. All prints are signed (by Gris Grimly) and numbered in a limited edition of 100. We will have a couple new shirts premiering at the show. We will have a limited edition event t-shirt with an image of Victoria Vengeance on the front and a new Cabaret Macabre shirt, both available in men's t-shirts and women's fitted tees. We will have crypt-kicking Cabaret Macabre vinyl stickers for cheap. Or get one for free with your purchase of any Cabaret Macabre merchandise at the MCP booth.

I am also thrilled to announce that after over a year, the brand(baby)spankin' new Ghoultown Mistress of the Dark Ultra Single will premiere at the show just in time for Halloween. This limited edition CD/DVD set contains an EP of music by Ghoultown, including the single Mistress of the Dark. The DVD contains the GG directed music video starring Elvira, behind-the-scenes documentary, video to storyboard comparison, episode of The Har Har Show and many awesome easter eggs. Be one of the first to pick this killer item up at the show.

HERE'S THE IMPORTANT INFO FOR YOUR EAR HOLE!

We have a better ticket system this year, allowing you to reserve tickets on The Magic Castle website. This should rectify the hideously long line issue we had last year. Tickets go on sale Monday, October 19th at 2pm. You will use member number A19522 as your log-in to make your ticket purchases. Tickets are on a first come first serve bases and will sell out quickly. So if you plan on attending, don't delay and get your tickets when they are available.

HERE IS THE LINK TO PURCHASE TICKETS ON MONDAY OCTOBER 19TH AT 2PM:

www.magiccastle.com/eventtickets

Sunday November 1st is open to all Society of Graverobbers members over the age of 21. I will be celebrating my birthday that night, so I hope a lot of you can make it out. Costumes are required (formal wear is acceptable).

That is all for now.
Be Grim!
Gris Grimly and Mad Creator Productions

THE MAD CREATOR IN RICHMOND VIRGINIA?

2009-09-10T17:35:00.000-07:00

Greetings,
You've read correctly. I will be doing a signing at the Edgar Allan Poe Museum in Richmond Virginia on September 24th. This isn't just a signing. The Edgar Allan Poe Museum is having me as a guest during their "Unhappy Hour" this month to sign my new book, Tales of Death and Dementia. We will also have other Poe affiliated merchandise available including Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab scented oils, event poster prints and t-shirts. We will be displaying and selling artwork from the new book as well as Tales of Mystery and Madness and Sleepy Hollow. We will also be screening my first short film Cannibal Flesh Riot!.

The event begins at 6pm and goes until 9pm. Later on that night, they will be screening a film in the garden for a measly $5. I will be there for the entire event and look forward to meeting some new fiends. As much as I wanted to do a more extensive East Coast tour, this is the only appearance that worked out. So I hope some of you are willing to travel out for this and join me for a drink at this East Coast book launch.

Sounds like a Cryptload of fun to me. See you there.
Be Grim!
Gris Grimly

FREAKITORIUM SET 3

2009-08-27T16:37:00.000-07:00

Just completed the third set of Freakitorium paintings!

If you are unfamiliar with My Freakitorium project, here is a brief history and insight. Gris Grimly's Freakitoriums is a print series I am doing with VE Publishing. We are releasing a set of sideshow freak prints every yearly quarter (or approximately thereof). Each set consists of three mini prints with a G.G. freak, with 4 sets total in the series. If you do the math correctly, that makes 12 really cool and collectible freak prints. You can purchase the prints individually. But if you buy the entire series, you get a really cool wooden box to keep them in. Think of it like Garbage Pail Kids cards.

The first set consisted of "Black Elephant Head of Death", "Mooney the Cheese Head Man" and "The Triplets of Salem". The second set consisted of "Muleface Beatrice", "Crab Face Man" and "Nina Esqueleto". Now, I have three more freaks to add to the roster: "Trout Bone Head", "Needles the Patchwork Girl" and "Monkeybrain".

There are three more paintings left for me to create to complete the print series. When they are all finished, I plan to do a huge art show exhibiting all 12 paintings and unveiling a 13 freak painting at the opening.

If you are interested in purchasing any prints from the Freakitorium series, visit the VE Publishing website to inquire about a purchase. We will also be selling these prints on our webstore once we get it back up and running (www.madcreator.com).

Be Grim!
Gris Grimly

FROM THE WRETCHEDNESS...

2009-08-26T13:08:00.000-07:00

New Frankenstein post. FROM THE WRETCHEDNESS...sketch of Victor Frankenstein exposed:

GRIS GRIMLY'S FRANKENSTEIN

BUILDING STRUCTURE OUT OF MADNESS...

2009-08-22T14:34:00.000-07:00

Head over to the Gris Grimly Frankenstein Blog to see my latest post. As promised, I've revealed a vital and personal stage in the way I compose the structure of my books. Attached are three pages from the script that expose omissions, page breakdowns, thumbnails and sketches. Enjoy!

Gris Grimly's Frankenstein

DETAILS ARE IN THE DECAYED...

2009-08-17T17:58:00.000-07:00

New Frankenstein sketch posted IN COLOR!
Check out the Gris Grimly Frankenstein blog

THE JOURNEY INTO THE UNKOWN HAS BEGUN...

2009-08-12T09:25:00.000-07:00

Latest update on my work for the new book, Mary Shelley's Frankenstein including a new sketch of the monster. Check it out: GRIS GRIMLY'S FRANKENSTEIN

Tales of Death and Dementa Book Launch and Signing!

2009-08-04T19:37:00.000-07:00

Greetings Society of Graverobbers,
Are all you lil' aspiring fiends sitting still with your spades ready to dig this news? The long awaited release of my new book, "TALES OF DEATH AND DEMENTIA" is here!

Commemorating the 200th Anniversary of Edgar Allan Poe, we are planning a huge Los Angeles book launch and signing. Join me, Gris Grimly, and Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab on Sunday August 23rd for the festivities. We will have the new book featuring these classic EAP tales: The Tell-Tale Heart, The System of Dr. Tarr and Professor Fether, The Oblong Box and The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar. Not only can you pick this book up and get it signed, we will also be premiering a limited edition silk screen event poster and event t-shirt. If that isn't enough to make your maws drool, we will also be exhibiting and selling original artwork from the book. Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab (BPAL) will be premiering 4 new scented oils, each representing a smell associated with the stories in the book.When you purchase the book, one t-shirt or print, and one oil, you will get a limited edition Poe scent.

This event all takes place at DARK DELICACIES located at 4213 Burbank Blvd. Burbank California 91505. Welcome to the Home of Horror, Dark Delicacies is a one of a kind store, considered to be the best horror store in the nation, known for their selection of books, gifts and collectibles. Doors open at 2pm.

Hope to see you there.
Be Grim!
Gris Grimly

LOVESICK ON THE MIND

2009-07-29T17:37:00.000-07:00

No. I’m not going to divulge intimate details of my personal life, nor those of my friends or family. Although I am lovesick for a certain special lady I’ve been with for almost 10 years now (which causes me to act unnatural and impulsive at times), this is about my work.

It is horrible to be lovesick for my work. Sometimes, I lay awake for hours because I can’t get a project out of my head. When I am away for long periods at a time, I go through withdrawals. Often I daydream for long periods of time when I should be focusing on something else. It is a torturous state to be in.

With that said, I will leave you with this:

The teaser to my new short film project WOUNDED EMBARK OF THE LOVESICK MIND.

That is my rant.

Be Grim!
Gris Grimly

DISSECTING THE SCRIPT

2009-07-07T19:02:00.000-07:00

New blog posting explaining the process of abridging the manuscript for Mary Shelley's Frankenstein. Go to the official Gris Grimly's Frankenstein blog to check it out:

http://grisgrimlysfrankenstein.blogspot.com/2009/07/dissecting-script.html

IT'S ALIVE!...

2009-07-05T15:18:00.000-07:00

...At least my blog dedicated to the process and development of my new illustration project FRANKENSTEIN. Wish I could just post it here for you, but then you would just be lazy and never visit the official Gris Grimly's Frankenstein Blog. Go to the blog and check it out. Sneak peak at a preliminary sketch of the monster EXPOSED!

http://grisgrimlysfrankenstein.blogspot.com/

KILL THE POP STARS

2009-06-26T22:08:00.000-07:00

I’ve been stewing about this rotten topic all day, but couldn’t sit down to a computer until now. I wont be shocking anyone by saying Michael Jackson is dead. This is over 24 hours old from being news. But at the crawling span of 24 hours, I’m over it.

Here is a little bit of information about me, Gris Grimly. I haven’t owned a TV for around 7 years now. I don’t like TV. I think it is an evil tool (At worst, to brainwash us. At best, to make us dumb). I could go into many other reasons why I don’t like TV, but you might think I’m a paranoid freak. So I wont. This morning while I was at the gym (don’t comment) I was occasionally distracted by one of the many Television sets on a wall that make up an image straight from Orwell’s 1984. The broadcast selection is slim varying between news, sports, cop dramas and The View. I always have a book with me to read, but will nevertheless find my eyes being yanked up toward the blue glow for a news update. Can you guess what garbage they were hyping all day today? Of course it was Michael Jackson’s death.

Now I might have some pretty morbid thoughts when it comes to my artwork and fictional stories, but when it comes to real life I try to be respectful of deceased parties. Regardless if it’s a gangster or TV evangelist, I feel I should respect the bereaved. No matter who the corpse is, there is always family or loved ones mourning over the dearly departed. I respect that. But seriously…Michael Jackson?

It was only a couple years ago everyone was talking shit about the guy for being a pervert. Even outside of the accusations of playing naked hot potato with young boys, he has committed so many bizarre acts to be shoved among other sociopaths. No celebs were speaking up for ol’ MJ last year when he was being tried for distributing Jesus juice. No matter how many people came out to pin him as a pedophile, money always bought him justice. Elizabeth Taylor (a deranged product of our society as well) backed up Michael Jackson’s innocence to his sleepovers. There is nothing wrong with a grown man in bed with a child if there is no “touchy-feely” going on, right? Despite everything that makes Michael Jackson a sick individual, there are still many of you out there that worship him and are mourning his death. There is nothing I can do about that. I mean there are people out there who worship Charles Manson. Is there really a difference?

But this really isn’t about Michael Jackson. This is about Pop Stars. Yesterday, the tube was projecting fear of North Korea’s access to nuclear weapons. Today, it’s Michael Jackson’s death. Now seriously, there is something really wrong here. It could mean any of the following: 1) the death of a Pop Star is more important to Americans than the threat of a nuclear holocaust. 2) The death of a Pop Star is headlining to deter the attention of Americans toward something superficial while something more vital to our future is taking place. 3) Everything the news is presenting us is fabricated in order to manipulate us into aiding the conduct of a master plan. No matter what option is truth, the media is completely corrupt and Americans are dumb.

What is going on right now? What will Americans remember from the summer of 2009? Last week while I was at the gym, two news stations were broadcasting similar events on TVs next to each other. On the one tube, CNN was covering a parade for peace taking place in Tehran. On the other, FOX was covering a parade for the Lakers’ Championship in Los Angeles. The lady on the exercise bike next to me looked over strangely as I blurted out maniacal laughter to myself. What was going on when Anna Nicole Smith was all over the news? What was going on when the Clinton/Lewinsky affair was all over the news?

Here is a thought: Pop Stars are created to manipulate, distract and send messages to the public that is willing to take it all in. This could be as simple as an opinion on war, their petty dramas that fill the tabloids or a message to “Drink Coke”. They tell us how to dress, what to drive, what to eat and how to talk. I’m not saying a mad scientist created Madonna in a test tube. What do you think I am, some Coo Coo? These Pop Stars are nurtured at an early age before they can even think for themselves. They never experience the years and freedom needed to develop as an individual. By the time they are in their twenties and thirties, they show signs of mental collapse from lack of identity. Look at Britney Spears’s most recent rebellion by shaving her head. From there they crack, break and fall into pieces. All the King’s horses and all the King’s men sweep the pieces to the side and rise up another Pop Star.

Sure, we can blame the parents, talent scouts, agents or Walt Disney TV. But no matter how we look at it, if you participate in the game, you have a hand in the outcome. We take away their childhood, we make them our gods, and then we kill them. Who’s next? Britney Spears? The Olsen Twins? Miley Cyrus? If we don’t kill the pop star, we will continue to kill the people who wear the crown.

That is my rant.

Be Grim!

Gris Grimly

BEAUTY IS IN THE EYE OF THE BEHEADED

2009-06-17T18:11:00.000-07:00

This is something that has been on my mind lately. The idea is old and used up like a rotten corpse. It’s nothing profound, but it is written here nonetheless. I’ve noticed more and more how easily humans are rounded up and shoved down one-thought troughs. Specifically, at this point I’m thinking of beauty in both men and women. Health is one thing. It is important for us to get enough exercise and eat the right foods at the right proportions to maintain healthy bodies. But I’m talking about beauty beyond that.

We all have a personal ideal of what is beautiful (or at least we did at one point in our lives). That is what makes us all unique and paints our environment with individuality. It goes beyond the constant brainwashing of the Calvin Klein billboards. But when there is one world ideal of beauty that passes among the masses and it’s absorbed into their grey matter, this colorful world turns black and white. What we have is a bunch of beautiful people who all look the same and a bunch of not-so-beautiful people who all look the same.

Women and Men have both been victims of this control. Women, for decades have been encouraged to shave their legs and their pits. Now, a well-maintained yard goes beyond just those regions. The same is true now for men. The idea of beauty in a man is pre-pubescent bald from the neck down. There is one body shape that is beautiful, one preference for hair that is beautiful, one type of skin, one tone in muscle and one style of wardrobe. In order to be beautiful we must all squeeze into the same mold. There are the few that fight this control and hold onto individuality.

I pretty much have three turn-ons in women. 1) I love stockings. Not necessarily nylons (although I don’t oppose them) but my Tex Avery wolf is aroused over striped, argyle, skeletal print, wool, fishnet…pretty much any type of expressive stocking. 2) Glasses. I love a woman in glasses. Maybe, not all glasses. My smokestack doesn’t blow for the old 70s Owl eyed spectacles. But a woman in attractive frames will get a double take. Whether it is true or not, glasses reflect a since of maturity and intellect as well as independent thought. 3) Hair pulled back or up is always hot. I’m not saying I have a thing for Amish women, but the sophistication of pulled up hair revs my motor.

Okay enough about my fetishes. But I do have a point. Pretty much two of these things are constantly hammered into the not-so-attractive plank of wood. In the 1946 adaptation of Raymond Chandler’s The Big Sleep, Humphrey Bogart’s character insinuates to a librarian to remove her glasses. It isn’t until she does so and drops her hair that he finds her as an object of attraction. This is an age-old perspective that gave rise to the eye contact and hair straightener corporations that are now taking over the world. I hold Bogey in high regards, but as for me I’ll take the librarian over the bimbo.

I know it’s a clichéd saying, but true beauty is on the inside. Love is evidence of this. If someone has the capacity to love, they find beauty beyond physical flaws. For those of you who are incapable of love…well, I guess I don’t envy you. We are all on this world for a very short time. Within that time, there is a shorter amount of time that we are mature enough yet young enough to be attractive. Then what? Breast augmentations? Face lifts? Tummy tucks? Rogaine? Viagra? They’ve created things for us to spend our money on to buy the false security we place in being attractive. But it all leaves us empty. The path to happiness heads the other direction! What should we be spending our energy on…fitting into a mold (some will never fit into), or giving something to the world? Create art, paint, dance, sing, tell stories, cook, love, help the needy, start a revolution…anything but fall into this shallow grave of distraction. Women, love your cuddly bears. Men, hold your skinny “A” cup sweethearts close. And seniors, grab that wrinkled face and kiss it long, because very few people will achieve the depths of love you share with each other. Fly your colors proud (you are beautiful as you are) and lets stick it to the man who is trying to paint this world drab.

That is my rant.

Be grim!

Gris Grimly

2009-06-11T18:36:00.000-07:00

WELCOME TO THE FIRST OFFICIAL GRIS GRIMLY BLOG POSTING

Actually, this is just a test. But I hope to be able to update this regularly and get a link to it on my website.

Until next time.
Be Grim!
Gris Grimly