This collection of art blog posts is about illustration. Sometimes I create art that isn’t Survival Anxiety Comics, and I like to share.

The spores swept along a spectrum of light no one even knew existed.

From a distant swamp, in a far-off galaxy, on the edge of the black nothingness somewhere across the universe. They were attracted by the cool hum of fibre optic data, the excitement of a new adventure.

The spores arrived quietly. They travelled through our phone lines, electrical grids, and computer networks. They slipped through our screens, into our eyes, and deep inside our warm, squishy brains.

No one noticed.

The spores waited, in the dark fat and protein of 8 billion brains. They liked it there. It reminded them of the swamp back home. They waited for the Queen Spore to give her command.

Unbeknownst to them, the Queen Spore was delayed by a solar storm outside Vulgaar Seven. This time of year can be a real nightmare travelling through that corridor of space. She was advised to not travel through that corridor of space, but does she ever listen? Of course not, she’s the Queen. She is just and mighty, and knows everything about everything, and just shut up about the Queen before you get us all killed.

The Queen finally arrived with the same amount of ceremony as the other spores. That is to say, no one noticed.

She gave the command.

8 billion brains exploded simultaneously, in a mass of roots and tangled vines and leaves. Tentacles blasted miles into the sky, only to fall back to the ground, crocheting a blanket of strange alien foliage that covered the entire World. Then everything was quiet. Everything was still.

Everything smelled faintly like fresh Basil.

No one noticed.

A single flower bloomed near what used to be Regina. It turned purposefully toward the sun, then shivered imperceptibly.

The spores swept along a spectrum of light no one even knew existed.

Princess Tee Vee has a secret place she likes to go. The far end of the parapet on the castle’s northern most rampart is seldom used, and very quiet. It’s in disrepair, and very difficult to get too. She could sit there for hours and never see a soul. The escarpment drops endlessly below her feet. It’s her favourite place in the whole world.

Not only is it private, it’s also perfect for catching stray signals from far off worlds. There’s a hole in the content blocker that the Radio Council doesn’t know about. Programs leak through the super-ionosphere, but you have to sit in just the right spot to catch them. Glorp’s Variety Hour from Fractal 9. Countdown to Boom Time from Betelgeuse. The entire NBC primetime lineup in the late 1980s from Earth.

One day she’ll get to travel to these places. Anywhere would be better than here. One day her father won’t be King anymore, and won’t be able to control all the channels. There’s rumblings of revolt among the townspeople. Change is coming.

Maybe then she’ll get to meet The Golden Girls.

Did you drift?

Yeah, me too.

Father Time is a corporate stooge, don’t listen to him. You still have time. Go make something great.

Let’s talk about that thing you’re working on.

I know it’s been hard finding time to work on it. Time of any meaningful length is a unicorn. Family, responsibilities, work, chores, everything. But you found time.

Between tasks at work, on the bus commute, before bed, or before breakfast.

Instead of spending an hour endlessly scrolling through social media.

Here and there.

You penny-jarred the hell out of your thing. And now it’s done.

Sure, there were challenges. The kids took your thing-space for home schooling. Finicky tools. The internet is a fun-house mirror.

But they are all in the past.

You took what was a passing electrical spark in your brain, and turned it into something tangible. That’s amazing. Good work.

And now, it’s time for the next thing. It will be even better than your last thing.

I can’t wait to see it.

There is an apple tree on a forest trail. It’s tall, and old, and covered in tiny green apples. I’ve walked that trail dozens of times, and never noticed this tree before today. Maybe I don’t look up enough. Maybe it’s shy. Maybe the squirrels are holding it for ransom.