Another comic, Prisma, is less a book and more of an illustrated manifesto. It is the only one narrated in the first person. The sadistic tinkerer Volk is the most brilliant scientist who ever existed. He explains his project with many detailed illustrations.
I made 10 androids, perfect women-plus, all attributes vary, but with the taut-muscled bodies of age 18. Small breasts are 46DD. Then I duplicated each, & modified those. Next I merely made 50 copies of all 20. They are the population of Prisma.
Nine hundred are Betas, sadomasochistic born servants. All of the other 100 are Alphas, all sadistic. Twenty of those are ravening beast-sadists. Ten of those are plus-Alphas, superbosses with medieval titles. As you will see, I have mingled technology & a medieval-barbaric culture.
Clothing is manufactured underground by my computer system—randomly from every fabric & every era. My own creation of subcutaneous dye is used in a number of ways. For one thing, the legs of few Prismans match their skin!
Because of my computer control—& my whimsical nature—reality changes on Prisma!—and IS reality.
The series Jera takes its title from the name of a blue-skinned alien with vacant pink eyes and an elongated bald head. She combs through Playboy, Playgirl, Penthouse, and Cosmopolitan, culling a list of women, then feeds their attributes into a “computrex.” The top twenty-seven are kidnapped and modified through serum and surgery. The 187 pages of Jera contain the most lavish and intricate use of color. The genius alien finds a planet whose inhabitants have reached the medieval level, and kills everyone with a plague. She then distributes her three thousand creations among the existing city-states, organizes a social hierarchy, and teaches them fetish bondage. Time continues to progress swiftly. The story leaps ahead fifty years, then a hundred, and lands in the three hundredth year. Every so often, all the male children are murdered. Matrilineal royal dynasties rule each city-state of warriors. A new term emerges, a “penoid,” or a penis on a female.
The most original comic is entitled Null-A, a philosophical term meaning an absence of Aristotelean logic. The two-hundred-page series opens with a lab assistant hopping into an experimental matter transmitter to escape a rapist. She arrives on a foreign planet. By page ten, she’s dead of multiple stab wounds. The text says:
Epitaph? Perhaps: she came a long, long way for no reason to die for no reason.
Another comic is subtitled The Most Awful Tortures Ever Told . . . A bound woman is nailed to a block of wood and pierced by hundreds of pins, including in her face and eyes. Her left leg is sawed off to reveal a protruding bone. The female killer washes away the blood in order to gloat over the corpse as she masturbates herself to orgasm. A victim is staked spread-eagle in the desert, her bosom doused with honey. A team of “super ants” chews off her breasts, depicted in a series of dramatic panels. Four hours later only her skeleton remains. Another story ends with a very large-breasted woman bound in a hog-tied position, ankles and wrists locked behind her back. She is suspended on a chain. Her captors slowly lower her until only her bosom enters a cauldron of boiling fat. After her breasts fry, they are eaten in front of her.
Throughout history, people have turned up their noses at pornography, dismissing it as disgusting and immoral. I tried very hard to resist such a response. These comics were Dad’s most personal work and therefore deserving of careful examination. Looking at them made my stomach hurt. I could peruse them for only short periods before turning away. Despite my revulsion, I felt a horrified sympathy for anyone who lived with such imagery on a daily basis. That it was my own father made it worse. He didn’t collect these books, he made them. Here was the world he carried inside himself at all times—filled with pain and suffering. I had no idea how miserable he had truly been.