Walking out from the Peace Memorial Museum in Hiroshima, we saw a statue dedicated to a girl who’d died of leukaemia caused by the atomic bomb. Draped over the statue were hundreds of folded paper cranes, bleeding their fluorescent colour away in the rain.
In Papua New Guinea we drove through the rage of a dark storm, the kind that tap into your genetic history and make you feel like a huddling homo erectus in a cave, watching the world end. We drove past uncountable numbers of local PNG families, dragging their belongings through the mud and holding their thumbs out for a lift in the futile hope we would stop and help them.
At Southern Cross Station in Melbourne we saw a man and a woman, almost catatonically stoned and on the brink of tipping face-first onto the tracks. The woman’s breast fell free of her shirt as she bent rummaging in her bag. Their ten year old son tugged her shirt back up to cover her chest, and offered his dad some of his chips.
None of these images or experiences have provided any depth to our comics, which are mostly about cocks.
Wes Gardner is a writer and blastocyst.
Jessie Ngaio is an artist and pooperhero.
Lucas Heil is an occasional collaborator and pog champion impersonator.