A Psalm Concerning Nasty Ol’ Brian


Once upon a time there was a guy called Brian.  He was always mad and usually cryin’.  People were always in his way, he never had anything good to say until a light bulb lit up above his head, and he saw things really weren’t that bad.  He did everything he could do.  He lost weight and polished his shoes.  Afterward, he even made his bed, but the very next day Brian fell down and broke his head.  Out of everyone that heard the news, no one cried, or sang the blues. they all rejoiced instead.  They rejoiced because nasty ol’ Brian was finally dead.


Until next time, have a great week!




The Son Of GRID


Mister Miracle

Enjoy the new series Apoko-Lips as well as my earlier works


⊕  Δ  ckirkart.com ∇  ⊕



The Tale Of Moby Dickhead: A heart warming story of life finding a way despite evolution

The Tale Of Moby Dickhead

A heart warming story of life finding a way despite evolution

Story & art by Ckirk


The reader should imagine the story read by acclaimed English Actor and narrator John Hurt.

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If the reader doesn’t like Selection John Hurt or simply prefers an american accent, the reader may substitute acclaimed American actor and narrator Morgan Freeman

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If the reader dislikes both Selection Morgan Freeman and Selection John Hurt, feel free to substitute who you will.
Peter Cushing, Jeremy Brett, Tony Clifton or Jim Henson’s muppet, Super Grover, could all be excellent selections.

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 If the reader’s dislikes all options due to being too patriotic or conservative (See above group) due to heavily imprinted domestic/territorial reality tunnels , then he or she should not bother reading the story as sentiment, theme, and moral will not register.



There was once a magnificent sperm whale that propelled through the oceans of the world, mouth agape and fat from ingesting an immeasurable genocide of miniscule plankton.  In fact this whale was by far the fattest, most magnificent of whale’s and  he mated annually with an untold magnitude of sea cows.  Where aquatic copulation was concerned, this deity-like mammal didn’t even bother to stay within the bounds of his own species and frequently mounted any thing that he happened upon in the current.  In fact, contrary to popular belief, on April 15, 1912, the Titanic did not collide with an iceberg prior to sinking.  No, the “Unsinkable Ship” simply charted the wrong course then unfortunately, met and was dwarfed by the behemoth’s lust.

Yes, life was good for the god of whale’s, too good one might say.  After racking up an untold surplus of time, gluttony and excess, the whale became ungrateful for his gifts and the daily bounty  he effortlessly vacuumed down to sustain his girth.  The whale cared nothing for his scores of lesser sons that permeated the seven seas, wouldn’t remember the cows who birthed them, nor was he bothered by the occasional vessel he sunk during the age of man.  After centuries of care-free reign, the gods, nature, the universe, or maybe a coalition of the great forces had a cruel joke in store for this mighty beast.


It was a day like any other and as usual, the hefty mammoth plowed through the currents weightless and hungry.  The whale was just coming up to full speed when his body began to jerk and periodic tugs pulled him backward, only for a moment at first, but the violent tug o’ war motion soon brought the god of whale’s to a halt.  The beast panicked as he quickly began to sink.  He then felt a burning sensation deep in the upper and lower areas of his body.  Two pairs of cystic abscesses rose and then began to pulsate all while the whale sunk deeper and deeper toward the ocean floor.  Suddenly four small appendages burst forth from the swollen boils and the pounding pressure exploded outward into the ocean creating a scarlet aura that soon surrounded the sperm whales massive body.

The whale was sated with a temporary relief after the eruptions ceased and the cysts were emptied.  He had not yet discovered his four new un proportionate appendages and the disadvantage they foreshadowed.  Mustering all his remaining strength, the whale pulled himself upward to air which was an element the god of whale’s rarely needed to partake in.  Just then, the beast found he was quickly being submerged once again.  It was as if an even mightier beast such as Jormungandr pulled with powerful jaws clamped tightly around his wide fluke.  The whale felt twenty tiny digits wiggling frantically.  The small chorus of movement surprisingly was composed of ten tiny fingers and ten tiny toes on two tiny hands and two tiny feet divided between two tiny arms and two tiny legs.  Could this be the whale’s defeat?  Most likely so but hang on, we’ll see, you never know.


Suddenly it sounded as if thunder was brewing, slowly at first it rumbled and then rolled until the roll became louder and louder.  After a few seconds the ominous grumble met the end of its line and fired forth a name that was less than divine.  “MOBY DICKHEAD” exploded throughout the whales mind!  It flashed electric time after time.  The name boomed and cracked again and again.  It was mighty as if Thor Odinson himself had sent his hammer flying.  “MOBY DICKHEAD” echoed on loop all while the whale blurred, doubled and drooped.  .

The whale felt the thing in his head swell up larger in front.  Panicked, he tried to remember the movement that would carry him up.  His fins and fluke were no longer enough so he wiggled his twenty tiny digits and waved his four new appendages.  By then his exhaustion was far too great and his senses overloaded by the new sensations that threw themselves upon him.  In spite of the whale’s best effort to hold fast his underwater world grew black

Something familiar and wet, lapped his fluke.  the whale’s eyes opened slowly centered in their fat surroundings.  Perception was blinding and black dots danced around his vision.  He saw  small feathered things flapping about. A grainy, itchy substance irritated his pale underparts. Just then the forsaken whale became aware of a sense of small movements.  It was his newly formed appendages finding their way underneath his marooned body and his twenty tiny digits scratching away at the reachable irritant.  Despite this small achievement, the whale found his body was dry and he could hardly move.


The fire traveled slowly across the great blue overhead until it was hidden by the waves and the pale rock that governed the tides appeared in light’s absence.  This pattern took place many times before the whale’s deep hunger set his new big brain into action.  The small feathered things still flapped about and were never far from sight.  Moby Dickhead raised his jaw and let it hang agape and motionless.  After a while the feathery things flocked inside and used the whale’s great teeth as posts to rest upon.  It was only a few at first and despite the annoyance of their pecking and pooping, Moby knew he had to be patient.  After a short while, more and more congregated inside the whale’s open mouth.

Finally there were enough for a meal and after realizing this Moby Dickhead let his upper jaw drop and lock! Feathers were flung and floated about the ivory cage.  The things flew circles in panic!  Their screeches added to the pandemonium.  With much effort the whale flopped his heavy pink tongue up and down, resting each time in between the range of motion.  Eventually, all the feathery things were either knocked about, crushed to pulp, or hurled down the wide tunnel of the whale’s throat.  The newly acquired big brain was of some use finally and his life was sustained for a bit.  The waves still systematically splashed his fluke and throughout the day washed more and more of his depleted body.  During the drier parts of passing, the new appendages moved where they could and his twenty tiny digits brushed and scratched away his irritants.

The newly acquired big brain could also be a curse.  Now a static creature, Moby Dickhead was often troubled by boredom and his new understanding of the events that had occurred.  He wasn’t above longing for his former glory either.  He concocted many theories that would’ve explained what brought about his down fall and almost daily he would find himself prey to dark moods.  Feeding in the manner mentioned above would help with these negative brain storms and afterward Moby Dickhead would be grateful that he had at least found a way to eek out an existence.  The stupid feathery things he consumed daily would have to do until the gods, nature, the universe, or a coalition of the great forces found him humbled and deserving enough to grant growth to his tiny appendages.  When these thoughts found their way into the light, Moby Dickhead would dream of a day when he could walk the earth and search out more suitable sustenance.


The End!

1 hope you enjoyed reading The Tale Of Moby Dickhead as much as 1 enjoyed writing it.  Feel free to leave comments.  Also, be sure to tune in Wednesday, July 1st because next week’s blog post, Follow The Purple Cube,  focuses on the first Apoko – Lips piece (Detail image below) created in over two months and offers you some of my favorite ebooks by different authors for free.


Until next time,



He Was Some Type Of Security Guard & Sort Of Looked Like Dr. Johnny Fever

Hello again dear readers,

Today is Thanksgiving.  This blog post has nothing to do with Thanksgiving really.  I mean, the post is about a dream that took place between the hours of one and five a.m. on Thanksgiving, but that’s it.  I suppose I could tie it to the holiday by saying that I’m grateful that I’m not incarcerated in a mental institution or prison.  Anyway, read on if you’re interested in seeing where this goes.

The story begins.  I have had a Flu virus and have spent much of the last couple of days organizing my porn collection and not eating much.  Yesterday I finally began to feel better and decided to commence my nightly reading sessions instead of passing out.  I had forgotten to take my ginseng and ginko biloba that day and swallowed the pills late in the evening.  I also took a dose of melatonin as I sometimes do.  Anyway, I picked up my reading where I left off on Robert Anton Wilson’s “Email To The Universe”.  About an hour later, I decided to turn in.

The dream began and for some reason, I was with group of students in a retail store I had worked in while I was a student myself years ago. We lined the large, long, dingy couches while day-to-day activities went on.  A lady, who strangely looked like my second 2nd grade teacher, came out to address our group.  She was my former boss who had either fired me or that I had walked out on.  Thankfully, I was much older and she didn’t recognize me.

The dream moved forward and passed through some conversations with a young homely looking girl dressed in loose cloths and an old army jacket.  She’s wasn’t ugly but dressed like a slob.  A little later I’m in her shinny orange muscle car and we’re driving somewhere.  There was a minor problem with something inside the car.  It could have just been the push-in lighter.  I explained how I coud fix it and she seemed impressed.  We arrived at her destination.  It was a high school.  I believed I asked her how old she was, but I can’t remember.  She exited the vehicle with no explanation.

After a while, I get bored with setting in the bright orange muscle car and pushed open the heavy door.  I went inside the school and looked for my new, young friend.  It was chaos inside.  People were everywhere.  There was a lot lot of noise and traffic but no common direction.  A bully type stomped down the hall chanting some annoying school motto and being a jerk.  I thought about attacking him in front of the other kids but decide that would be a bad idea.  I’d either wind up in jail or maybe I’d even lose and be embarrassed.  I suddenly picked up on a “Resort in Chaos” theme.  There were games of all types going on.  There was a restaurant/pool outback.  I made my way toward it when, someone stopped me.  It was my new friend; except she wasn’t a cute little homely girl anymore, she was a little chubby boy.

He explained who he was and that he had to change back into a boy because he had to return to school and his father would be picking him up later.  I suppose the orange muscle car was stolen and the kid was out on some wild outing.  Anyway, I thought discovering she was in high school was bad enough.  Despite the mind fuck above, I took the news from my new friend with a grain of salt, said a kind good-bye and moved on toward the pool.

I passed along the rough concreted area.  The heat rose from up from the water.  I went inside a narrow yellow and red plastic hut that was sort of built over the pool.  The plastic pool covering looked like an oversized child’s play house.  You know, one like many of our sisters may have had as a toddler.  There were two men inside, a fairly attractive women a few tables down and a photographer down a bit further.  I took a seat between the first two men and the bikini clad women.  The two men were discussing something intensely.  Apparently the bikini clad women was a sister to one of them.  The photographer, who apparently may have been a con artist, took a bunch of shitty photos and had robbed the gullible young women of her money.  Or maybe that was just how the two men perceived the situation.  The photographer might have taken marvelous photos.  Either way I got the feeling the two men were about to really give the photographer a beating.  Just as I exited, my new friend was passing by with a group of other kids and stopped to talk with me.  He was a she again and dressed better, a little more feminine I mean.  We talked for a moment and she gave me her number.

I received a phone call just after the two men commenced to beating the photographers ass, meeting my friend again and  I hopped a fence and moved down into a parking lot.  The phone call was my parents who suddenly, I was supposed to be meeting on the other side of the school.  I talked with them for a moment, assured them I would be there shortly and hung up.  When I looked up I was no longer walking across a flat parking lot, I was in a garbage strown path lined with gravel, concrete and a heavily wooded area was on both sides of me.  I looked up and noticed the back of the school was on my left, so I pushed on and followed the new path toward my folks.

I arrived at a high chain link fence with no opening.  A type of camper trailer set elevated on the left just in front of the fence that separated the school from the woods.  I saw the top of someones head through the window of the camper.  There was movement inside.  I thought about how to exit the enclosure for a moment and decided to throw my backpack over the fence.  Unfortunately it hung on some barbed wire toward the top.  All my stuff was inside.  A few minutes later a man exited the camper looking disheveled.  He glanced up and around hurriedly.  The man spotted me and then my backpack that hung from the wire.  He began walking down the long wooden stairs toward me.

Johnny Fever

He was very upset and insisted that I follow him to the camper.  He was some type of security guard and sort of looked like Dr. Johnny Fever from the old television show WKRP In Cincinnati.  There was a young brunette women under a comforter on the couch.  She was attractive and watched television with the sound off.   I realized it was her dancing in a  hot pink thong on the small screen.  It reminded me of a rap video or the intro to a home-made sex movie.  The inside of the camper was a mess.  I suppose Dr. Johnny Fever used it as an office as well as living quarters and sex shack.


Doctor Johnny Fever explained that what I did was illegal.  The lecture went on for a while.  My parents showed up in the office somehow.  I remembered that I was supposed to be meeting them before getting busted.  About the same time my friend Todd walked through the camper door with a new girlfriend he wanted me to meet.  Apparently I was supposed to be hanging out with them also.  Todd and his girlfriend moved on and said they’d catch up with me later.  I guess they were going to explore the school.  The ominous conversation with Dr, Johnny Fever continued.  My father entered the conversation and became angry as usual.  Dr. Fever for some reason wanted to help but protocol had to be followed.  He would have to take me to jail but it could be a great opportunity for me he assured.

He outlined some plan of how going to jail for tossing my backpack into the barbed wire in a restricted area could really make me seem desirable to his employers and if I worked the situation just right, I would no doubt land a high paying, respectable job with his company.  There was much more to Fever’s plan, but I can’t remember the details now.  He informed me I’d be seeing the judge at 12:00 noon the next day.  He corrected him self directly afterward and said I’d be arraigned at 2:30pm.  My father protested and while they were conversing about the situation, the attractive brunette women who had been under the comforter approached me.  Apparently she had gotten up from the couch and exited the room earlier without anyone noticing.  Anyway, as she spoke I watched her shake her tanned, oiled up, shinny ass on the small television.  I can’t remember exactly what she said, but the gist was for me not to elevate my voice or action while resisting.  It never turns out well.  She insisted that if I stay calm and think, everything will work out.  Afterward, she walked out of the room but her digital image still danced on the small television screen in the corner of the dimly lit camper.

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About that time Dr. Johnny Fever threw his hands up in the air and suddenly changed his tune.  “Oh well,” he said, ” I guess we’ll just blame it on Peavey.”  He flipped a heavy, oversized Frankenstein switch in the corner of the camper and an ear bursting alarm rang out.  It was enough to split your head into.  He told us to move orderly out of the camper and to the nearest exit.  Once outside, there were tons of people hurrying to the other end of the school where I had came from.  The pace was fast and there was a mild fear of being trampled but it wasn’t too overpowering and soon faded.  Despite the ominous, trumpeting alarm that seemed like it was straight out of ol’ time religion’s revelations, I knew it was a false alarm and the situation kind of became like play time instead of a panic party. We were leaving and there was nothing to worry about.  I never did get my backpack back though.  Oh well, Dr. Johnny Fever had let me off the hook and I was still a free man.

I won’t bore you with what I think this dream means but I did analyze it and shortly after waking at five a.m., left my warm bed to record it here.  I’ve been trying to document my dreams lately.  I don’t remember them very often.  For instance, in the last month, I have only had two dreams that I could recall after waking.  That being said, the dream was a real experience and I’m thankful I had it.  

Happy Thanksgiving to you if you celebrate.

Until next time,





How Ronald BlackFoot Found His True Talent


There was a young man who we’ll call “Ronald” to make this story a little more amusing.  In fact, I think we’ll call him “Ronald Blackfoot” because he probably needs a last name to be a believable character.  Anyway, Ronald was no George Clooney but he wasn’t a bad-looking young man.  Well, it wouldn’t hurt his looks if he’d shave off the pencil thin mustache that teetered above his upper lip.  You see, Ronald was an aspiring artist and idolized Salvador Dali like so many fledging artists seem to do.  He wasn’t a very good artist..well, he had a natural talent for drawing, but Ronald had never fine tuned this ability, so his sketches were only slightly better than Rob Liefeld’s malformed, misproportioned comic book characters.


Because Ronald couldn’t draw very well and probably would never even attempt to sell a work of art, his nights were filled with drinking after work in dark, steal smelling bars.   Ronald worked in a profession that so many other alcoholics, drug addicts, and sex fiends find themselves in…he waited tables. Anyway, one night after walking miles under the roof of a restaurant owned by two fat, abusive Greek brothers, our young hero drug himself to the bar next door. At closing time  Ronald stumbled home. Upon reaching the apartment complex where he lived Ronald came across a sweaty dirty looking guy who appeared to be dancing in place. Yes, he was a crack head but it didn’t register with Ronald at the time.


After a brief conversation, Ronald entrusted the crackhead (Foolishly) with 20 dollars for a bag of weed that of course had to be retrieved from another location. I’m sure anyone reading this will not be surprised that the crackhead did not return with our hero’s pot.   After a while, Ronald marched home to fetch some large kitchen knives and he somehow managed to conceal them in  his slacks. Ronald steamed back to the area where the crackhead had left him and he knocked on the door of an apartment where the his adversary had stepped into for a moment during their earlier conversation. The scruffy young fellow who answered the door surprisingly let Ronald inside, after all, our hero looked like a nice enough fellow.  Soon after, with kitchen knives in hand, Ronald persuaded the three young men inside to tell him everything they knew about the crackhead. They obliged him promptly and didn’t hesitate to be helpful.  Ronald even asked one of the young men to record the information in a notepad so he wouldn’t have to put down his knives and the kid began writing.  Ronald felt empowered.  Not only was he armed with two large, sharp kitchen knives, but also with information.   Ronald had the crackhead’s name, which was Patrick, and knew where he lived.  Ronald had Patrick’s phone number, and if that wasn’t enough, the three frightened young men had also given Ronald Patrick’s  job information.


Ronald waited in the apartment with the three frightened youths, but as you can probably imagine reader, the crackhead Patrick never returned to the apartment, so around 7 a.m our young hero walked to a pay phone and dialed the # of the crackhead’s employer. Someone answered. It was a man. It was Patrick’s boss. Instinct kicked in.  Ronald spoke into the dirty, scratched up mouthpiece of the phone and  introduced himself as Charlie Contreras, and went on to claim that he was in fact, Patrick the crackhead’s bail bondsman. Ronald then explained that Patrick had missed his court date that morning and that he, or rather Charlie Contreras, was trying to locate Patrick due to his bond being forfeit.

The employer asked, “What did he do?” “Well, I can’t tell you that sir, but let me ask you…do you have kids,” Ronald asked the man on the other end of the phone. “Yes, two little girls,” the man answered. He then said, “Why do you ask Mr. Contreras?” Ronald paused for a moment and then said sternly, “Well, if I were you…I’d keep Patrick the hell away from those girls of yours sir.”

Ronald and the man on the other end of the line, spoke for a little longer and then they hung up. Ronald walked home in the early hours of the morning. The sun was rising and the sky turned blue and pink.  Birds chirped.  Traffic was starting to hum as people made their way to work. Ronald felt satisfied that he’d really fucked Patrick the crackhead over for stealing his 20 dollars. His employer who happened to be a father of two little angels believed Patrick to be a pedophile and would of course fire him immediately.  It was really all too easy.  Retrieving the information to strike had been much simpler than he had thought.  Also, Ronald remembered nothing of concocting the “Bail bondsman” story earlier, during his hurried blitz to the pay phone.  The story just popped in his head out of nowhere.  The threat of violence against the youths  seemed like reflex.  It all came so natural.  By the time he realized all of this, Ronald found himself standing in front of his apartment.  He unlocked his door and instantly collapsed on his old worn out couch.  The exhilaration had already begun to leave his body and Ronald quickly drifted off to sleep.


Later that morning our young hero gradually came to.  The headache quickly started and he could feel his heart beat inside his head.  It sounded like a bass drum.  He felt like someone had poured sand down his throat while he slept.  The dehydration was awful.  His body felt like a shriveled husk of a prune.  Ever so slowly memories of his actions on the previous evening began to creep up on him and then they stopped their slow seep and hit like a sledge-hammer.  The hideously hung over young man remembered everything that took place.  There had been no blackout to conceal his deeds.  Ronald had done a horrible handful of horrendous things and he shrunk in terror as he half expected the police to kick down his door at any minute.  He spun his head toward the scuffed up-end table, covered in cigarette ashes and beer bottle caps, and then he looked at the red fragmented numbers on his crappy digital clock.  He had one hour to shake off his hangover, get dressed and arrive at the Greek’s Restaurant for his 8 hour shift.  Panic set in but then something strange happened.


The young man’s heart slowed as he remembered the previous night’s events.  The memories that initially set off his anxiety suddenly seemed to sedate him.  Ronald said quietly to himself, “Fuck it..I quit” and he did.  Our young hero didn’t even bother to pick up the phone and call to inform his former employers of his decision.     After the previous night, Ronald realized that he was wasting his life drawing malformed figures unintentionally and working at shitty dinners serving food to the elderly and overweight for 2 dollars and hour plus shitty tips.  Our young hero would seek out a profession that allowed no – encouraged him to excel at his new-found talent for fucking people over!  Ronald Blackfoot would become a banker,  a doctor, or lawyer, maybe even a politician!

Until next time,