MIKE (not the same MIKE from the previous strip, but another MIKE, a very different MIKE indeed): Raymond, can I ask you something...personal?
About myself?
RAYMOND: Sure, Mike. SHOOT.
MIKE: Am I...
Am I a GHOST?
RAYMOND: HA HA HA!
Are you a GHOST. Why would you even ASK something like that?
MIKE: Because whenever I touch wood, or leather, or anything that used to have LIFE I feel a sharp nail of misery drive deep behind both eyes.
Because the night has started SPEAKING to me, using the voice of moonlight to whisper ancient secrets.
Because everything I remember of HAPPINESS has the fading character of a dream startled awake from.
RAYMOND: Does the sound of young laughter fill your throat with the ashy pitch of a great tree burning since the days of Noah?
MIKE: N-not REALLY.
RAYMOND: Then you're fine. It's probably just gas.
{{Header: run screaming to WONDERMARK.COM}}
{{Alt-text: Now come along, I have a hundred bottles for you to fill with luminous psychoplasma from your fingertips.}}
Now come along, I have a hundred bottles for you to fill with luminous psychoplasma from your fingertips.
The computers tell me it was 20 years ago, June 9, 2006, that I arrived in New York for my first-ever comic convention as an exhibitor, MoCCA.
It was an important trip for me, a milestone in what would go on to become my career.
I wrote a little reminiscence on Patreon (free/unlocked) — including a first-since-then reprint of the photocomics I made at the time, documenting the trip!
Read the rest here: [ 20 Years Ago (In Photocomic Form) ]
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