Introduction

What can I say. It's half past one (a.m.) (I wish I could write two instead of half past one but the fuckin' clock goes on his way) and I'm writing the prologue of a magazine that even hasn't got name.
Hell, I don't even know if it will be sold or it'll be read by more than 15 people.

But I'm proud. Fucking proud. Proud of drawing and inking, sticking, etc.
I wish I'd do this my whole life. And I want you to enjoy that. If not, menace me on the comments. (I haven't even made some blog so I think here I'll put a web adress)

-Vieko, 7th of August, 1:37, on a sofa-bed. On my right, the "Revolution can't be packed" drawing drying (those rymes, those COMPLETELY CASUAL AND NOT CHANGED DAYS LATER rymes). In my left, the cover in its childhood, with an opened MetaMaus, a couple books more. Down the sofa there's a bag bank-robber type (or sport, it depends on your imagination) with two comics, (Quiver and Daredevil) a pair of dirty (deeds done dirt okay okay) socks (I really did that cause I couldn't remember how's sock in english) and my ID. (In fact there's also a plastic bag for frozens)

(The content of the bag almost defines my life)

(That's becoming long, even I thought to write this higher cause there was a felt pen spot. Orange and red, and pink felt pen too. That's BBQ?)

(I tried to do something similar cause page was ending but now I'm in a new page)

(What if life is an unstopabble way to the eternity like that?)

That's life.

(I'm going to make the pencil tip)

[Psst, from that day things have changed a little, but you'll see it!]

Original cover for the nº1, all made by me, Vieko. Drawing in touchable way and texts in digital. (Changed later because of a gramatic mistake)

Original cover with the mistake.