A black cat investigates six absinthe glasses, in an illustration for my translation of No Bile!, by Alphonse Allais, to be published soon by Black Scat Books. Most of the stories were originally published in Le Chat Noir, Allais often mentions absinthe, and I’ve included six extra stories.

Here’s a little catalogue of what I showed at the Mothership:

1. ????: Non-narrative detective action, from my book The Unknown Adjective.

2. ALPHONSE ALLAIS MOCKS THE SPIRIT OF SCHOPENHAUER: The frontispiece for my translation of Allais’s book Long Live Life!

3. ASTERISKS: Chat Noir endnotes, for Double Over, another Allais translation.

4. BACK YARD: Spring is here.

5. BUGS, NOT DRUGS!: From a cut-paper animatic video for my old band, White Knuckle Sandwich. It was filmed by Anney Bonney for an early streaming site, Pseudo.com.

6. CAPTAIN CAP EXPLAINS THE POTATO: From my illustrated translation of Captain Cap: His Adventures, His Ideas, His Drinks, by Alphonse Allais.

7. CHONCHON: A scary figure from Chilean folklore. This one doesn’t look so bad.

8. COCKROACH: Ew.

9. A CURIOUS PHYSIOLOGICAL INDUSTRY: A broadside from Black Scat Books. Design by the inimitable Norman Conquest.

10: EASY PUZZLE: Much easier than most jigsaw puzzles.

11. EVELYN, BEVERLY, CAROLYN, AND DORIS: From a picture story about four women trying to get somewhere, in The Unknown Adjective.

12: THE FLYING SAUCER SUBCULTURE: The pencil rough for the cover of a booklet by John Keel — now, of course, a rare collectors’ item.

13: GIDEON BIBLE CARD: I like to replace Gideon Bibles with other books. I leave this card.

14: HOW UNUSUAL: A comic strip about things falling from the sky, for Nickelodeon Magazine.

15 & 16: INDEX CARDS: I make thousands of these. They help with insomnia.

17: LIMERICKSHAW: A broadside from Black Scat Books. Design by Norman Conquest.

18: THE MOON HOWLING AT A DOG: For a slide show by my old band, White Knuckle Sandwich, at the Kitchen in NYC.

19: MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS: Once a regular feature in the online journal Le Scat Noir, which is now, alas, no more.

20: NO EVIL: Done for a group show at the Mary Anthony Gallery in NYC, way back when.

21: NOT FUNNY: My contribution to that fine magazine, Weirdo.

22 & 23: THE PASSING CLOUDS MOCK THE SKY’S STASIS AND PURITY: A score for an imaginary instrument.

24: RUBBER STAMP STEREOSCOPY: Cross your eyes to see the pictures in stereo. If it doesn’t work for you, look at something else.

25: SEA SERPENT: There’s always an explanation.

26: TRAVEL SKETCHES: When I travel, I prefer a pen to a camera.

27: VIOLINIST: It’s often difficult to play to the room.

28: WALTER & BENNY HUNT THE ELUSIVE BATWORM: A color version, done for the anthology Typhon, edited by Danny Hellman.

I also read “The Royal Touch,” from The Snowman Three Doors Down, and joined Paul McMahon on his song “Life Isn’t Fair.”

POSTSCRIPT: You can hear the original recording of the song, with me on melodica, here.

There will be a show of my artwork at the Mothership, the multi-purpose space in Woodstock run by Paul McMahon. It will be small but lively: cartoons, illustrations, travel sketches, scores, index card assemblages, rubber stamp stereoscopy, broadsides, and other works on paper. And it will be up for only a few days: the opening is Thursday, May 17, 6-8; and the closing is Tuesday, May 22, 6-8. Come feast your eyes!

The Mothership is at 6 Hillcrest Avenue; there’s more info on Paul’s site.

My horror story, “The Werechurch,” will appear in the next issue of Dagger Magazine. It tells the terrifying tale of a man who turns into a church, and then meets a gruesome end. To make it more gothic, it’s told in sonnets. Here’s the first one:

The night was dark, although the sky was starry,
As Di and Dave strolled homeward after dining.
They’d stuffed themselves on wine and calamari,
And now were looking forward to reclining.
The gibbous moon above was just a sliver,
The wind that whistled past them, keen and lashing;
The road they took led downward, by a river,
Where they were startled by the sound of splashing.
A church heaved onto shore, alive and dripping,
A church with steeple, portals, sanctuary,
And stained-glass windows caulked with weather stripping.
The building seemed so sinister, so scary,
And when it shook itself, so diabolical,
Their hair stood up on end, down to the follicle.

Here’s another excerpt from my collection The Snowman Three Doors Down. In this story, the eagles discover that Prometheus is open for business. (For the rest, please buy a copy of the book.)

LUNCH ON MOUNT KAZBEK

Zeus looked on with satisfaction as Kratos, Bia, and Hephaestus chained Prometheus to the face of Mount Kazbek. Prometheus protested that the punishment was unjust, but Zeus was inexorable. Zeus reminded him that he’d stolen fire from the gods, and given it to vile mortals. Prometheus reminded Zeus that the burnt offerings so prized on Olympus needed fire to be burnt. That only made Zeus angrier, since Prometheus had tricked him out of the best offerings, back in Mecone.

Prometheus adamantly refused to show his pain, even as Hephaestus drove in the iron stake that fixed him to the rock. Then, Zeus and the others flew back to Olympus, leaving Prometheus to his torment.

For the first few days, Prometheus lay alone on the barren peak, scorched by the sun by day and chilled by winds at night. He never slept, because Titans never do, and could see nothing but the blank sky and the bleak expanse of the Caucasus stretching to the horizon. He suffered atrociously.

One day, he spotted two specks high above him. Gradually, they grew larger, and he saw that they were golden eagles (Aquila chrysaetos). They fluttered down beside him, and perched on an outcropping, furling their wings.

“Good morning,” said one. “I’m Saba, and this is my wife Tamar.”

“Good morning,” said Tamar.

“We hear there’s some mighty good eating around here,” said Saba.

“We’re told the liver can’t be beat,” said Tamar.

Prometheus said nothing, since he didn’t speak Georgian.

“Must be shy,” said Saba.

“I guess we just dig in,” said Tamar.

“Bon appétit!” said Saba. “Or, in our good native tongue, gaamot!”

“Gaamot!” echoed Tamar.

Le Scat Noir, the online journal published by Black Scat Books, has suspended publication. With it, so has my regular page of musical instruments. This is the last one I drew, the 18th. That means I’ve come up with 162 instruments, which is quite an orchestra. Well, I’ll keep drawing them, and try to make a book of them…

(You can, of course, enlarge it by clicking on it.)

The Snowman Three Doors Down is now available from Black Scat Books! It has 24 stories! It’s 246 pages! Hapless characters slog through tangled plots and formal constraints in this bracing collection. Will the Chromatologist find the shade of green that identifies the adulterous cosplayer? Will a group of tipsy scholars discover the secret to Ben Jonson and Thomas Nashe’s suppressed play? Will Gumball Gaffigan make it safely to Georgeville? And will Chicky and Chalky finish that snowman? Laughs and bewilderment await you! It can be found on Amazon, or from Black Scat Books.

Here’s a keyboard reduction of the 8th string quartet (see last post). Oh, those spheres!