Saturday, June 16, 2012

Twitter Raffle! Daily and Weekly Prizes!

In order to help promote our Kickstarter campaign for Horsemen, we are going to be giving away daily and weekly raffle prizes! So here's the deal, for every tweet you make about Horsemen (including this link to the project - you will be entered in the daily, weekly and final raffle. You must also include both of our twitter handles so that we can validate your entry. They are @JLAJones and @PantherPitt.

Each daily winner will receive a PDF copy of Horsemen AND Mark's soon to be completed comic The Ascendant (sneak peek here:

The weekly winner will get a signed print copy of Horsemen AND a $25 Visa gift card!!!!

The grand prize winner receive a print copy of both comics AND a $50 Visa gift card!!!!


  1. No more than one tweet per hour, limit 24 per day.
  2. The Kickstarter campaign must be fully funded for prizes to be delivered. Exception: Should the Kickstarter campaign not be successful, all daily winners will still receive a free PDF copy of the Ascendant.
  3. By participating in this contest, you agree to the above terms.
All winners will be announced daily at 12:00 PM. This contest begins now (6/16/12) and shall continue until 12:00 PM July 13th, 2012. Happy tweeting!
-Mark and Josh

Wednesday, June 13, 2012

Diary of Joshua AKA @JLAJones Part 2

Hi, Hello, Hey and Howdy,

If you could spare a moment and look at Mark and my Kickstarter campaign for our project titled Horsemen, that'd be great. Instant rewards. Just look in the project description. Here's the link->

And so, here's part 2 to my limited journal from when I was but a nutter of a boy clouded by mystery, darkness, hormones and booze. Cheers!

Journal 2

Vacillations and vicissitudes going to places in my thoughts and
dismal daydreams of layered fabric into tapestries of time and a place
with no space, a perfect plenum.  Seeing seas and storms flowing, sitting
at tops of trees with the fragile mist chilling the organs and the blood. 
Surrounded by myths and obstructions and monoliths are signs of
realness at every edge of the realm on the crooked brick stairs in the back
of an ancient sullen house made of uneven stone cold as the mist,
but without greetings and sensation.  Droplets of reminders course down
my back, a tingle as recollections of the coarse experience in the depths
of a moonless night where proclamations of the one question and
supplications for help relayed the sonorous fright. Voices that are never
heard drown and fade away automatically and proceed backwards.
Sometimes I hate pathetic fallacy.
In the beginning we are alone but individuality is a test; the separateness
searching for a station in life or at least a place to sleep without
interruption.  No, there are no divine exams.  
Mostly these illuminations are never found in daydreams, no
radiance before the dawn.  It is the search that drives primal suggestion
to the pointed faculties of mind in the climax that there is
struggle, strain, strenuous suffrage, and to wear this is too much to bare.
Bombarded by blocking thoughts or meditations unnerved by anxious
hooks in the stomach reel us into physicality.  Uncertainty looms as a
weaver in the back of the mind  stringing the high strung, dangling
a statement, “It is a waste of time”.  Go on like the dreaming ocean of
ensuing devotion and to do all that others say is impossibility, in
the eventual outcome it is will or the lack of that will kill. 
Or are we all lying? 
Are we creations and creators?  Maybe just some infernal joke or
an excuse of some other?  Artists, we all
are!  Damnable polysyndetonic syntax.
We must take a step out of life as the snake out of its skin, oh no, sexual
symbolism, so to shed the opaque covering of the eyes, and see
the hive hunting its impervious prey in the forest of the twilight
as we are tinted a  King Cobra gray.  Sorry William!  No tiger. 
When you are on the safari yourself you never see anything but
the targeted, and everything is a target as you are and will be. 
To be an artist might be to document behavior, culture, social problems,
perceptions, deviations, and the vile as well as pitiful conditions. 
These are targets and artists are fundamental targets.  Maybe artists are
simply sociopaths with outlets besides human destruction medicated
with a
Naughty, naughty, don’t worry it is all bullshit made up as we go along
with the influence of the past astonishment and creation.  In all media
they trying not to overtly plagiarize.  Artists are just thieves stealing
from others’ lives as well as their own and other artist’s work, just
recombinant conditions.  Everything is communication through
symbolism and that is what people do so we let you do it and then modify
and regurgitate it back to you in a nice mix of acid and beauty.  Sometimes
we pretend that we know what we are doing.
Maybe it is about deliverance from insignificance and the token
realization that the metaphysical connotation of living may not be
anything but us fish swimming from danger and a flight into the open
sea’s light or no?  The insatiable calamity has no relief
as stars, designated constellations, or personal
It is just the universe mumbling and
self-esteem draws death, as said before life is a theft but death
is something life lives in.  I don’t want to be this mumble or this simple
Fraud is the most genuine thing we have.  Love, emotions, plastic
moldings of the face.  Truth, beauty continually erased but seldom ugly. 
Trite, banality never fugacious these things are to determined to exist
through comfort.  Once we are engaged, we are too blinded to redeem
identity.  Even the silly plastic moldings on my face find their ways to
violate the daydreams and rip the layered fabric. 
Targets are acquired but life never concludes while you are watching
as absolutes never existed anyway.  An artist’s creation?
Or a bullshit excuse?  A plagiarized science experiment forgotten to
its own devices? 
Creators and creations are developed myths of martyrs and
meeker manifestations.  And by the way,  
Beauty is not all we need to know ugliness is just as relevant. 
Everything once was and will be symbolism and if GOD exists and knows
all pain I am sorry it had to feel mine, but I didn’t want to be this way
it is too convoluted without prenatal talent displaying itself
so not to decide. 
The act of deciding is probably the point but how trite is that because
everyone must do it except……..
GENIUSES and trust fund babies. 
Nope, I wanted to be something else. 
I wanted to be Nietzsche, Jimi Hendrix and Bruce Lee. 
I wanted my ideas to manifest and spread for all to see. 
I want my will to be fulfilled and be an earthly guru. 
I want to be an evangelistic with philosophy and music
and to be feared so nobody will try to fight me. 
I want others to add to my images and progress in a radiant form
of talent of soul, mind and body.  My shadow would cast darkness
and doubt on deluded ambition and would create a resolute condition of
creativity.  Meeting the godhead and conversing having power
without corruption. 
Thoughts could be mutable flesh.
Once in a time before thoughts escaped and became. 
They fell to freedom on their own.  
We went on in different stratified existence and
they went on in an innocuous form independent from us.  As once they
were just ideas as we were just ideas and it could happen again. 
We might encounter a thought from GOD and the infinite choir as GOD
Maybe? or even something beyond comprehension.  But on a side note
I don’t want to die of syphilis or any remiss vomiting events. 
I don’t want to die from some death touch or allergic reactions. 
Hell’s fury can come from women but it is not the only scorn, I don’t want 
to die at all and maybe in the future of
and bio-engineering I won’t.  Probably not in my lifetime I want
to be delivered into my daydreams without plastic moldings
and cold stones.  It is just another stupid opinion on another earthly
            rotation in this mortal condition. I never thought I'd hate being human
                                   and I don't feel like one.

Saturday, June 9, 2012

Diary of Joshua from college

If you haven't already looked at Mark and my Kickstarter campaign, we humbly beseech that you do. Help support indy artists and writers.

And now for the diary entry I did when I was 21 and in college. I see the mania and remember the events that began to spiral out of control, which lead to this exercise. This is the first of three entries and the only time I wrote a journal in my life. Have fun.

Journal (plus or minus a day)

I want to crush happiness today and the hallucinations continue along
with the overwhelming over-developed sleep and circadian rhythms. 
I am never slightly rested and refreshed and reality seems to be slightly
out-of-phase-and-pace with the natural world.  I wish and supplicate
for forgiveness and ascendancy to another avatar or incarnation or
whatever the letters of the day say.
I am profound and profoundly sad with absconding bits of trivia
called happy thoughts and it needs to be a cognitive transcendence.
I in physical means, I mean nothing and must move to another state
and it is not California.
I mean, maybe, a sensual suicide to the instinct drive can take us
beyond Nirvana.
Happiness is relative and not a right as the
foolish, antiquated Constitution contends as it edges are foxed and brown. 
Emotions seem to have
evolved to be the causation of behavioral changes and controls to
create cohesion in the family and individual ties. 
Emotions are
too dangerous for this simplistic species or maybe that is why? 
They will destroy themselves with their own hands masturbating away
until the universe turns off the porn and sends them into a stammer with
a quick slap to the groin.  Auto-erotic chokers swing themselves
because they believe it will get just a little more.  A sensual suicide, I wish
not to indulge but they do it because they feel it might be their last so
they must get more, and more and eventual it will kill them but save
them from further fears.  Without elevated consciousness, species wide,
then this world is doomed, as a term for destiny, for homo-sapiens and            
I am not so hopeful for myself, but my own fears keep me from doing
what I should have done years ago.
I am afraid.  I am afraid of what I need to do to grow and become. 
I know what they are and I am being an irrational fucking hypocrite.
I need to hyper-hydrate and cleanse my frayed mind as the body has a
My temple is in shambles, the marble ruins melt in the acidic storm  
of the cerebral, cerebellum, pons, corpus callosum, and whatever   
lobes frontal or occipital but they all get inebriated, drunkard brain
Bullshit intoxication hypocrisy but I keep doing it again and over
along with another time.
I do it again and do it to forget that I did it before and will do it again. 
Guilt is oppressive but also can be impetus for great change.  There are
better reasons for that though.  If it wasn’t me I would probably think
myself a cock sure, arrogant plebe in the sense that I believe I can be more
than, even with the bibulous behavior.
Romantic LOVE is impossible for me now as one must trust their guts and
Betrayal is my tapeworm.
I don’t feel much of anything until I get sedated and intellectually abated.
Maybe that is why I get so wasted to not feel so wasted.
No EMOTION without coercion.  Numbness, Hate, Anger, Sorrow, Rage.
I can do that sometimes without it.  Hope, love, happiness, optimism,
compassion, empathy I need something for these things either to bring it
on or destroy because it may be better without them.
Live or die, I know what to do and it is up to me now. 
It is all right to be afraid.  It better be, but all things come to a divergence
or convergence.  It is up to me now.
I will or maybe I won’t?