Volume 2 Ish...

So, been preoccupado with volume 2 (that and my usual philandering) and was getting anxious to share what i was working on, so here's an excerpt from Book VI (untitled).

In Volume 1, the images enhanced the stories (like in a magazine). For Volume 2, the stories are told through both the image and the word; there are sections where there is no text and the story is told in pictures.

Book VI begins with text, but the closing scenes are a black and white comic book. I think I'll stop babbling now.

Enjoy.
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Stokely would have liked this turn out. He was the kind of kid everyone expected to be celebrated one day. They just knew his face would someday be in newspapers for changing the world. He certainly believed it and led his life with urgency and determination to make use of his gifts.
This church might be the warmest place in the City this morning. Certainly, the people trapped outside, with the cold tickling the skin under their jackets. Steaming like tea kettles as their teeth chatter during the ceremony.
Dr. Simmons was never one for grand ceremonies and public displays of affection though; he sits stoic in the front row. A right arm—his sole moving body part—comforts Mrs. Simmons as she sobs. Her black veil, sunglasses and hat unable to constrain her pain.
Were the circumstances different, she would have felt honored that her baby’s name was in the newspapers that announced the victory of our first black President. But, life has a cruel way of actualizing our dreams. His story was one of a young campaign volunteer, college senior, activist.
Murdered.
Stabbed to death while giving food to Central Park residents. Things like that shouldn’t happen to good young people, friends and associates would say. But they do far too often. When the news breaks as it eventually must, one’s actions and associations become mythologized:
Stokely was the only noble person I’ve met since coming here
He was caring, he had a really big heart
Would have trusted him with my wife… naked
He was a hero
Noble? Yes. Honest? Yes. But a hero Stockely Simmons was not. Like most 20-year olds, he was searching for himself. He was the hope of the family. In his success, Kim would be absolved of her failings as a young mother. In his integrity and selflessness, Alan would be washed of his adult arrogance and misogyny.
He unquestioningly followed the path they laid before him:
Alan read passages from Wright, Morrison and especially Baldwin to him before bed; he would sit with Kim while she and her friends discussed the days’ politics and government. As an adult, he majored in literature and political science. He grew up around the homeless when he and Alan volunteered during the holidays. As an adult, he collected unsold food from bakeries and dinners and delivered it to churches. Kim always kept the house open for visitors and friends who came upon hard times. He grew to develop a familial bond among his closest friends, with whom he would organize for the indigent.
He thought he would make his mark following the path Kim had walked before him. He fancied himself and his friends from the Students for Progress as the evolution of the Civil Rights era.
The battle lines had shifted from racial to class equality.
It was no surprise then, that he was enchanted by the half-Kenyan black, half American white senator from Illinois who grew up in Hawaii. He listened with interest as he eloquently and rationally explained the flaws in America’s execution. He became a believer when he saw the candidate speak at the rally in Washington Square. It was hardly shocking then, that he volunteered for the campaign that night.
It wasn’t even alarming that after celebrating election night with the volunteers, he went to the park before heading home. That was just Stokely, a female staffer was quoted as saying in one of the articles.
What is unheard of in the story of Stokely Israel Ralph Simmons, is the underlying danger of walking among those who life has smiled les s broadly upon.
No one saw.
No one heard.
No one said.
All that’s left is the strife of the living.
Stokely certainly wasn’t the only corpse election night though. Not that anyone noticed, with history and good will warming the hearts of the coldest critics, tears and sobs; hugs and kisses; looks and smiles all exchanged as the country breathed a collective sigh.
Truth be told, even if there was no election, no one would have noticed to mourn this john doe.
Bought some bad heroin, the rest is elementary. Even Barney curses his lifestyle and self inflicted homicide this morning. Staring at the two foot hole he has dug, he glares his supervisor who is giving him a hard time. If it wasn’t for this motherfucker, Barney would already be done, would be out celebrating should be the best morning of his life. But this asshole chose this morning to die;
“You’re killin’ me, a fuckin’ rock?”
“Not a rock, bedrock or something. We gotta get the caterpillar up here. Until then, we not using these plots.”
“He the last one, you telling me I gotta dig a whole other grave before I get out? Ain’t nobody else in here you can harass today?”

--End Transmission--