Damn, I miss Eightball
I’m not sure what I’m going to write tonight, so I won’t waste your time. There is a couple sitting at three o’clock to me, and he’s reading a comic book, and he’s wearing a wife-beater and he’s got a huge Baphomet tattooed on his left shoulder. His girpfriend is kinda cute, and she has short hair and tats, and she’s typing into one of those little notebook computers. No Lunchables anywhere, though.
I miss my old comic book collection. Especially my sets of Dan Clowes’ Eightball, and Jim Woodring’s Frank, and the Hernandez Brothers’ Love & Rockets, and Adrian Tomine’s Optic Nerve, and a bunch of others: Justin Green, Robert Crumb, Bob Armstrong, Peter Bagge (Hate!), Mary Fleener, tons of others I can’t remember right now. Wayno, Mack White. Comics are great. I could waste lots of time reading comic books. When I worked at Tower Records’ Pulse! magazine, I wrote a column called “Spins” and, via my fellow editor and writer, the great Marc Weidenbaum, I learned that some of these fine artists would do spot illustrations. Once, over the phone, Dan Clowes told me that he’d design the cover of a 7-inch record for me if I ever made one. Of course, I never did. Stupid me.
Fuck it. I’m tired. I should go home and get an early night’s sleep. —Jackson Griffith