lauantai 11. tammikuuta 2014

She wrote in her room.

She wrote about a jungle hero who saved a woman from savages. She made footnotes as she goed on. She finished the script in ten days.

It was dull.

Then she illustrated it.

She wrote ten more stories that had the same lenght, same lead character, same basic formula...They were all crap.

She self-published the book that contained them.

The comic collection wasn`t liked at all. Only a few liked it, and that was because of its camp value. There was more insane moments than you can count. Which wasn`t a good thing, necessarily. Not if you asked a wide audience.

She didn`t get much money of it, obviously.

She continued to publish collections like that. She also published well received stories, that she got a little bit more money out of. But mostly, she made awful ones.

39 collections. 3800 pages during 63 years.

She got a lot of snide remarks. She was bullied. She was obscure. She remained happy, nonetheless.

She died in the age of 83, to a fall from a bridge while intoxicated. She wasn`t an alcoholic, though.

Not that many really cared. Her works were regarded as cult classic. None of them had fancy or original plots. Most were drawn by her, and her artwork doesn`t look good.

Her stories were the exact kind of trash that comics had been expected to be, by too many. Either because of ignorance or stupidity.

38 years passed.

There was a few who read all the stories, for some damned reason. A few of THOSE few, noticed...queer things (and yes, some of the things were homosexual). Of course, they weren`t the first ones. But they were the first ones who were noticed by more than a few, when it came to this subject.

Her work was much more sophisticated, intelligent and professional than first thought.

All the loose stories were actually connected in amazingly unnoticeable ways.

All her one-dimensional characters (or one-dimensional characters that had fallen to public domain who she used) were unbelievably complex.

She had addressed things that others had been afraid to address. Things that not that many even knew that existed.

She created worlds of wonderfully fantastic visual splendor. Concepts that nobody had thought of. Scenarios, color palettes, styles...all of it was stunning.

Even her art seemed to be more than meets the eye. It was.

She was ahead of her so called time. In every possible way.

She seemed to know something that nobody else didn`t.

She had hidden it.

It`s impossible to hide that so well, especially in a time of interconnectiveness.

The world found out that she had created one of the ten greatest comics of all time.

And then her lost stories were found. 200 thousand pages. They were read. A conclusion was born of this reading experience.

She had created the greatest comic of all time. One of the greatest stories made on planet Earth. If not the greatest one.

Basically...The story of a fantastic universes life that spanned an infinite number of years, told in a hyper compressed form that felt decompressed.

Work of a god.

And a god she became, after her death. She was worshipped. Her believers warred against other religious types. Blood was spilled in her name. Hunreds of thousands of gallons.

She let it happen.

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