Here's what an old salt should look like.  

BLACK WIDOW #8 NATHAN EDMONDSON (W) • PHIL NOTO (A/C)• On a snowy night in Prague, Natasha must fight her way out of disaster alongside the WINTER SOLDIER!• Meanwhile, Isaiah has business of his own in London, but a simple plan gets complicated.• Nathan Edmonson and Phil Noto continue their uninterrupted run on one of the most acclaimed books of the year.
BLACK WIDOW #8
NATHAN EDMONDSON (W) • PHIL NOTO (A/C)
• On a snowy night in Prague, Natasha must fight her way out of disaster alongside the WINTER SOLDIER!
• Meanwhile, Isaiah has business of his own in London, but a simple plan gets complicated.
• Nathan Edmonson and Phil Noto continue their uninterrupted run on one of the most acclaimed books of the year.
"Forgiveness.

The ability to forgive oneself. Stop here for a few breaths and think about this, because it is the key to making art and very possibly the key to finding any semblance of happiness in life. Every time I have set out to translate the book (or story, or hopelessly long essay) that exists in such brilliant detail on the big screen of my limbic system onto a piece of paper (which, let’s face it, was once a towering tree crowned with leaves and a home to birds), I grieve for my own lack of talent and intelligence. Every. Single. Time. Were I smarter, more gifted, I could pin down a closer facsimile of the wonders I see. I believe that, more than anything else, this grief of constantly having to face down our own inadequacies is what keeps people from being writers. Forgiveness, therefore, is key. I can’t write the book I want to write, but I can and will write the book I am capable of writing. Again and again throughout the course of my life I will forgive myself."

Dorothy Allison, To The Bone

That summer I did not go crazy,
spoke instead to my mama who insisted 
our people do not go crazy. 
We make instead that sudden evening
silence that follows the shotgun blast. 
We stand up alone twenty years after 
like a scarecrow in a field
pie-eyed, toothless, naming
our enemies and outliving them. 
That summer I talked to death
like an old friend, a husky voice
whispering up from my cunt, echoing
around my knees, laughing.
That summer I did not go crazy
but I wore
                  very close
very close
                 to the bone.

photographs by seth howard

I’m a spy. Not some rooftop-jumping archer, shield-wielding super-soldier or shiny-metal philanthrobot.