Moore helped usher in the age of pitch black comics in the 80s. Now he's resurrected adventuring, the way a middle-class "lad" of Victorian England might read Henry Morton Stanley and stare at the blank space on the map of Africa (graci, Conrad; literature supplants my own memories). Only absent the imperial fuckery, you know. The idea that there are places worth discovering, that the getting there will be an adventure, that the destination will be sufficient apotheosis. And once there, you get to have an orgy, which somehow comes off the way we envision these things in our very few moments of optimism. So, yes. Made for me. Can't help but react as expected. There are mountains in Asia.
Samplings:
First page of a Tijuana Bible from Airstrip One.
Sick of this shit happening in stories, man. "tt" indeed.
The best greeting in literature. Alan Moore and I, prurient little fucks—we deserve each other.
