Johnny Monomyth #1 Post-Post-Secondary Productions 5425 S. Dorchester, Apt. #1E Chicago, IL 60615 email: bertstabler@earthlink.net Available at Insound

Every now and then, I come across a publication that forces me to adjust my definition of terms I'd previously thought static and safe. I'd been thoroughly happy relating the word "comic" -- when attached to words like "book" or "strip" -- to things like Bob the Angry Flower, Milk and Cheese, Maakies and Preacher. Then Johnny Monomyth came along and, not to put too fine a point on it, fucked with the zeitgeist.

Johnny Monomyth -- The Man with the Abstract Guitar is a hand-screened, thirty-two-page comic book that, under ideal circumstances, is meant to be taken apart and reassembled in its optimal reading order. If you want to get the "full" experience, you'll need to dismantle the book and assemble the pages in four rows of eight panels, which read from right to left, then from left to right, then from right to left again, then from left to right again. You know, like an "S" with an extra curvy bit, or like the "E" from the E-music logo. You might have to do a bit of cutting to make sure that all the edges align properly, and for your sanity's sake it's wise to close all windows and turn off all oscillating fans before beginning. Unless, of course, you've opted not to cut the book up, in which you can wait patiently while everyone else catches up.

Assembling the cut-up book reveals the big picture, quite literally -- there's a lot going on in the larger artwork that's only hinted at by the background details of the individual frames. You owe it to yourself to dismantle the book.

By now you're probably wishing I'd quit telling you how to cut the book up and move along to telling you what it's about. And that's where things get difficult. Though the framework of a traditional, James Bond/Superhero narrative exists, the text itself is ostensibly culled and adapted from a diverse batch of literary works. The result is dense prose, packed with business buzzwords and consumerist manifestos and existential technobabble. The best summary of the plot comes from Johnny Monomyth's page on the Insound Zinestand:

Subversive rock-n-roll corporate exec meets multi-headed alterna-chick, battles giant phallus. Subculture tourist longs for gnostic purchase to make demographic essence secure. Fun for all!

See what I mean? That's way better than I could've written.

By the time it reaches its thrilling climax (perhaps the wrong word to use with a story whose villain is a giant phallus), in which dozens of incensed Dadaists run amok in Las Vegas, the book is so chock-a-block with jumbled metaphors and catch phrases that it's difficult for even a very very smart person to make much sense of it, beyond blindly following the most general details of the story. You can safely monitor the archetypes -- noble hero, betrayer-villain, female companion whose allegiance has been won from the enemy, world-destroying weapon, insidious henchmen and so forth -- or grab your dictionary and dive into a tale wordy and metaphysical enough to send Noam Chomsky running away in blind terror, eyes wide and mouth foaming.

Since I think the world needs more art that forces us to struggle to understand it, I found Johnny Monomyth quite intriguing. It's not for everyone, though. Be prepared to be alienated, confused and perhaps annoyed. You'll also be impressed by what's been achieved here.

One final thought. I've been nursing the suspiscion that if you drop enough acid, Johnny Monomyth reads like a Peanuts comic strip. I'm not going to test the hypothesis, but if you do, let me know if I was right. -- George Zahora