It may have started, as many internet-lit things seem to do, with Tao Lin. His drawings of weird animals rendered from Microsoft Paint are endearing and comical. That the Adobe platform (illustrator/photoshop/indesign) is not employed is what I call ‘guerrilla pixel-dom’—crude, design-unfriendly, kitschy in a Bill Gates kinda way. Such aesthetic seems to be propagating. Enter Mike Bushnell and our own Sam Pink.

Mr. Pink, sans Reservoir Dogs, is, um, an interesting character. He brings us an adolescent violence that, constrained in its virtual medium, is benign and somehow charming. Looking at this blog, I don’t know whether to become aroused or duct tape my penis to my perineum for safety.

Mr. Bushnell, of face warpaint fame, is, um, an interesting character. His drawings of anthropomorphic creatures, while not necessarily violent, are of vehement temperament. Yes, Jean-Michel Basquiat tread such ground in the 80’s, but in oils.

Just what are these guys saying? Tao Lin, a master of quick-witted sayings that evoke complex existential quandaries, brings us ‘sad pterodactyl living a life of fear and anxiety’ and ‘elderly obese frost bitten squirrel’, among many others.

Pink and Bushnell’s drawings seem reactionary, void of the deep—yet somehow self-effacing—sadness that is Tao Lin. Maybe they are on to something different, and the comparison is unfair. I’m humored by all three gentlemen, all whom make me want to duct tape my penis to my perineum for safety. (For Tao, I’d use organic hemp tape.)

When one saw a blurry black-and-white photograph, one knew poetry was coming. Every journal had some BW photo of some chick’s shoulder up close, or some tree’s shadow. Blurry photo meant poetry.

Now, for some, a fucked up MS paint drawing means poetry. Are we cruder? younger? of binary soul? or just bored?

While supplies last.