Thank YouSri Ramakrishna

Adam BaronSteve Bouchard

Carole D’InvernoBill FrisellBob Gore

Darren ShanThe Spirit of Glendale

The Terrible Madame W

Fantagraphics Books 7563 Lake City Way NE Seattle WA 98115

Edited and Designed by Jim Woodring Production by Paul Baresh Production Manager: Kim Thompson Published by Gary Groth and Kim Thompson

Contents copyright ©2007 by Jim Woodring, all rights reserved. About half of the images in this book were created for Mysterio Simpatico, a multimedia

collaboration with Bill Frisell commissioned by St. Ann’s Warehouse in 2002.

Permission to quote or reproduce material for reviews or notices must be obtained from the author or publisher.

First Fantagraphics Paperback Edition: January 2007

ISBN 978-1-56097-808-4 Printed in China

www.jimwoodring.com www.fantagraphics.com

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he one and only time I have ever experiencedprofound depression occurred over the fourth ofJuly weekend in 1984. In my fathomless igno-rance I petitioned the Supreme Altruist to putme in the way of some human misery so that Icould bring to bear upon it the amelioratingresources of my native optimism and extraphysi-cal strength.

Three days later my wish was granted. Iawoke with a sterile deadpan empathy thatforced me to perceive the ubiquitous sufferingwhich the Buddha called life. Every person I sawwas rotten with pain. A group of children playingin the park seemed to me to be despairinghomunculi, expelled from tainted wombs. Anapartment building appeared as a shudderinghoneycomb of woe, stuffed with sick old bodieslanguishing on reeking mattresses, self-abandonedaddicts with minds fit only to watch television,wives with tumors and black eyes, schizophren-ics laughing in hopeless terror, and more, more,more, endless and unstoppable, in illimitablecombinations of wretchedness and sorrow; and,most hideously, a hellish, agony-prolonging hope.

Of course, not all of this misery was occurringat the moment I perceived it, but it had occurred,or would, and I saw it all. I could not escape it. Icould not shift my attention to other subjects.Everywhere, all around me, all the time, I per-ceived pain and nothing else.

This enchantment lasted about twenty-fourhours and if it had gone on much longer I certain-ly would have committed suicide. I begged theSupreme Altruist to make it stop. When it didstop, I spent a day in solitude considering andrecovering; and then I was my usual, happy,whiny old self again.

That’s the way it goes! Nothing gets for verylong between me and my love of cool sheets andhot pastrami. The moments of awareness can bevery concentrated and sanity can depart, but likethe grinning oaf who picks up a picture book assoon as he gets back home from the drunk tank,I don’t seek; I pretend.

The neighbor lady across the street once hada very unusual head on her shoulders. It was a bigeggshell of gray lint with the front munched in.Down in the gullet area was a pink wad of some-thing. Chewed gum? Proud flesh? I didn’t takethe time to find out and I’m sure I missed a lot ofother details because I was too busy screaming.It didn’t last long. “Did I startle you?” she asked.Not exactly.

“Not exactly.” That’s my out. That’s whatgives me my competitive edge. I’ve glimpsedthe true landscape many times and I always sellthe memory cheap on the grounds that I’m notexactly sure what happened. I have seen the hillsmarching. I have seen men with eyes like melonballs eating stones dug from their own flanks. Ihave seen the monsters under my fingernails.I’ve never seen the monsters in my eyelashes;but I’ve seen photos.

How much can you bear to see? Don’t worry;there is nothing here that will corrupt you. Oh, Idrew some things, but I promised to spare youthose. I drew my father in bloody overalls,smashing babies on a workbench with a handsledge. I drew an old woman with...but thosedrawings are gone now. They existed once, butnot any more. I’ve replaced them with a few sto-ries in which the buzzer is buried very deep.Forget that nasty old drunk tank. Let’s havesome fun.

T

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