The Lost and Found Season of The Most Pope Joey
Chaper One - Thanks and Love Letters from Joey Fool
V1 No1 - Page 8 - Intoduction
V1 No1 - Page 9 - PopeJoey

Page 8 - (Introducing Toc DaDa) Introduction
Dear Friends. I was an American painter who died in nineteen eighty-nine. Then in the spring of ninety six, having finally and surprisingly stumbled back to where life was, I could no longer pretend I owned "my" awareness. Early in my death I fought-for and quickly lost control of reality, with big thanks out to my pals horror and death (thanks guys - see ya soon), which is to say I was finally too weak to dominate my selves and make everyone speak by way of The-One-Voice. Huge interior parades, and paybacks, and parties the size of small wars, celebrated my downfall. My egotheistic art was pulled down by those jeering crowds and danced on. I was stripped of my voice, beaten and raped by clean knives and left wearing the eyes of a snaked horse. My left hand told me I was dead. "Play dead," he said. So wordless, I wandered the dark lands under the careful light of listening. Eventually I gathered a "close and holy" company of friends and returned to talking.
So I've told you all of this not only because I find words fascinating but having come all the way back to life I just couldn't return to the monotheism of painting and that old and tired evil empire of art. And besides my most "familiar" voice, who is always as ready as red to cut to the bone, said to me, "Brother, if you can't print it you're on the wrong side."
I guess it's a kind of spiritual socialism, which I believe is the impetus genius for comics. Comics ... are true… to proletariat utopianism (imagine saying such a silly thing).So here we are - a lost and found season - Pope Joey is a spoof (you might think but not me) on the pontificating voice of a soul and the laughter of wolves - a wolf - (backed by the menagerie of the grand circus psyche). PopeJoey is like a side-show barker for the strange and spooky talents inside the scarred and filthy blue tent of my soul . PopeJoey could be a curious observation of voices, a disavowed poetry, a thing that opens from the middle, prophetic waste, the perfect excrement, a quirky delight, a workable psychosis of schizotypic philosophy, summed up sightings (rarefied by heart) of a place called Self. Or Pope Joet could be the actual shape of my private perishable, actually unshareable, and finally unknowable self. PopeJoey might be simply, a multiple personality cabala like a shamanic familiar collector posing as a fermented allegorist; like a shanachie remembering a possible future that never happened, you-know like a true story. It is a story built of found fragments, fractured glimpses, and inductive hints, looking for something that can not be found.
And I - Toc Fetch (the double) - I am PopeJoey's biographer pulling out pics of his life (and the odd word) to maybe explain why he did what he finally did.

Page 9 - PopeJoey (like …there is no place to hide from yourself)