HE   WAS   A   BOISTEROUS ,     pallid ,    nimble ,    wide - awake ,    jeering ,    lad ,    with  a  vivacious  but  sickly  air .      he  went  and  came ,    sang ,    played  at  hopscotch ,    scraped  the  gutters ,    stole  a  little ,    but ,    like  cats  and  sparrows ,    gayly  laughed  when  he  was  called  a  rogue ,    and  got  angry  when  called  a  thief .      he  had  no  shelter ,    no  bread ,    no fire ,    no  love   ;   but  he  was  merry  because  he  was  free .

hi all!!! since this inktober i’ve found myself blissfully between one job ending and another beginning, i’m gonna have another crack at finishing a les mis comic. i’ll be doing a 1-2 page comic for each day and each prompt, then turning the whole thing into a little zine. so here’s a pile of amis to serve as cover art. see y'all october first!!


jean, javert and the great rebellion of 1832: prologue.

“It’s a complicated French novel
Everyone is dying or sad”

  • *classmate gets in trouble for talking when I was also talking*
  • me: who am I? Can I condemn this man to slavery pretend I do not feel his agony this innocent who bears my face who goes to judgment in my place. Who am I? Can I conceal myself forevermore pretend I'm not the man I was before and must my name until I die be no more than an alibi. Must I lie? How can I ever face my fellow men? How can I ever face myself again?