All of my published cartoons are now available for licensing on Cartoon Collections. You should check them out.
Learn more about Cartoon Collections here.
Here’s the cover of the Italian edition of Kabungo, which finally goes to press next week. The subtitle means “My Prehistoric Friend.” 🙂
There was a woman. There is always a woman. A beautiful woman.
The life of any man is a burning, then a standing over ashes. Stirring and stirring, with his cane. I was young. And burning.
I was young…
We walked, evenings. This woman and I. For the days were too warm. When the sun went down, and the wind rose, and the moon, we walked. Through the town. Across the lawn, the green lawn of the museum. Behind the museum, where we would make love. We could not pass by, without doing so.
We had been talking. I had been talking, and she had been listening. She listened attentively, but said nothing. There was a sadness about this woman that was no small part of her charm. She was never so sad, or so beautiful, as that evening.
I stopped. And I asked her … if there was something.
She did not answer. But asked me to keep walking. And speaking. Being in the mood for listening, but not speaking.
I continued, for a time. Then paused again.
The woman. In the moonlight, she was so beautiful. Yet … so melancholy.
I asked her again, if there was something.
She shook her head, only.
I wanted so badly for her to speak. To hear her. When you are in love, and young, only, it is a pleasure to listen. When you have forgotten about love, and so grown older, you cannot hear, and will not listen. You will talk a great deal, as before. But you will never again listen.
So I asked again. I took her by the shoulder, and turned her. For I knew there was something. There is always something.
I leaned in.
Then she said, “I am afraid … there is something.”
I listened. Watching her white teeth moving.
“There is something.”
We were walking home. We crossed the lawn, the dark lawn of the museum.
We kept walking.
I am a whale. An old whale. It’s difficult to estimate, age. When you’ve lived so long. But I feel, I’m certain… That I must no longer be young.
We seek something, all of us. I seek. What I dream of finding … is the place. That ultimate place. Where whales, who have grown old, go. Where others, grown old, have gone before me.
The Algaen Sea. The name itself is peace. The Algaen Sea.
It is the best of all waters. Warm. Serene. Full of living and green things. The instant you feel its green waters on your flesh… You’re happy, it’s said. Serene. In an instant. And forever.
The location of this sea. That is the supreme mystery. For the ocean, though we know so many of its rooms, is palatial.
There are murmurs. Clues. But there are only these. Wuurun, an elder whale, told us, The door, between stone and stone. A lattice of waters. Then he left us, singing.
He never returned.
We seek. I seek. I will know my destination only when I reach it. When I feel the waters, the green waters, on my flesh. And I am serene, at last.
Singing the ancient song… I will find it.
I have a short story and four cartoons in the new issue of Transition, out now.
This Is a Beautiful Lie
like all honesty
of a deaf assembly
This is poetry
I’m partnering with Cartoon Collections, the new company founded by former New Yorker cartoon editor Bob Mankoff. Cartoon Collections will now be handling all the licensing rights for my published cartoons. Read more about Cartoon Collections here, and check the site very soon to view my work.