Where the fuck do we go from here?

Parasocial relationships are weird. 

Very few of us, the throngs of acquaintances and online fans/haters, truly knew Ed Piskor. We knew only what he wanted to put out for us to know. We knew his pro-wrestling hyperreal “Eddie P” character he put on when filming videos for the landmark champion of YouTube comic book channels, Cartoonist Kayfabe. 

Ah, Kayfabe, what an important word. If you, like I, have been deeply entrenched in professional wrestling fandom, then you know  what this word means. If not, then take a jump over here for a catch-up, but in short, it’s the fake that wrestlers pretend is real to create the illusion necessary to suspend the audience’s disbelief.  The line between the real and the fake blurred as much as possible. The best pro wrestlers will tell you that for it all to work, it has to be the truth of who you are dialed up to absolutely unreal proportions. Like Spinal Tap having dials that go up to 11. 

Very few of us knew the real Ed Piskor, but we certainly felt like we had a window into that. Ed and Jim always came off as remarkably genuine, with just the right amount of catchphrase and ritual built into their presentation to secure their fandom. Just like the best little Hulkamaniacs would brush their teeth, take their vitamins, and be inspired to greatness by Terry Bolea’s kayfabe, so too did we find things to learn from and be inspired and motivated by in the tireless works of Ed Piskor and Jim Rugg. 

This attachment was further enhanced by the fact that most of us found their work during the worst parts of 2020-2021, the deep heart of pandemic lockdowns and loneliness. We all needed companionship and connection. A bit of light parasocial trauma bonding. I’ll not dare to speak for everyone, but I know that I have struggled to maintain a lot of friendships as I’ve aged. I have very few real life friends, in particular, who care even half as much as I do about sequential art. 

Cartoonist Kayfabe has been a doorway to more friendships, online and in real life, than I can easily count. A circle dominated mostly by passionate makers of art, with remarkable talent. Right now, and for the last few weeks, my community is/has been hurting. 

“Emotional whiplash,” that’s what I’d describe it as. In the span of a few short weeks we’ve gone from the status quo, where the worst we felt about Ed was disagreeing with his persona’s takes, vibes, and opinions at times,  to being worried and disappointed that someone we deeply respected, who educated and inspired us to make our art, was the kind of person we could no longer feel good about associating with, and then finally to, tragically, reading his suicide note and mourning his death.

I’ve been hurting. I am no stranger to suicidal ideation. I survived a suicide attempt in my teenage years. I have lost several people I care about to suicide. I’m not interested in finding and assigning blame, or uncovering some obscured truth out of this mess. What I am interested in is not losing this community and their passion.

Cartoonist Kayfabe routinely signed off with Ed and Jim giving us our “marching orders,” an external motivator after fueling the fires of passion with discussion and insight, to “make more comics.” This declaration, nay commandment, from people I, and many others, wished to be peers with really helped us to make our art. Calls to action exist for a reason. Internal motivation can be difficult without external nudging. Particularly if you are neurodivergent and/or struggle with mental health issues. I check both of those boxes.

Had it not been for Cartoonist Kayfabe, I very well would have given up in the middle of drawing my first solo comic, the first issue of Cannibal Crime. It was hard work, and I was figuring it all out for the very first time really.

I would work for hours on end, unable to see anyone who lived outside my household, as Ed and Jim kept me company. Teaching me about new books, creators, techniques, bits of industry history. Everything I craved to have people to talk to about. They helped shape my tastes even further, refining down an already massive love for the medium into something where I far better understood not only what kind of books I was interested in reading and studying to grow my art, but why those were the things that interested me the most. 

To lose that, to know not only that there will be no more videos in the long term, but also to know that Ed will never hold a copy of the comic he so helped me create… It hurts a lot. I have never cried this much about the death of someone I never really knew at all. And, judging from the posts, texts, and messages I have received, I am far from alone in this feeling.

Where the fuck do we go from here? 

I’d like to believe that we could all just internalize the marching orders, have them seared into our souls, and to no longer need external motivation the way we used to. Life is short, after all, and if anything could drive that point home, this tragedy is it. Ed was two years older than me.

I know some people will be able to do this, and goddamn I am jealous. I know I can’t fully, and many others can’t at all. I have seen numerous posts about people unable to pick up a pencil again. This is heartbreaking to me, more grievous wounds inflicted upon this brilliant community in a time where we have suffered the most grievous of wounds already.

Once the last batch of videos is released posthumously, and we have all caught up on our backlogs of videos yet to be watched (when we’ve moved past the point where its too hard to watch them,) where do we turn to next? 

We need to be there for each other. 

No one can replace Ed, or what he brought to the table, precisely. But all of us, together? Maybe we can come close.

 I certainly don’t dare to say I have all of the answers, or all of these ideas are great, or that everyone will feel the same way about these things, but let me hit you with some things.

1. If you don’t see what you want to read, watch, or listen to then make it. 

Done is better than perfect, and if you don’t know how to do it, then ask for help. My first comic looks like ass compared to what I am drawing now, and I am certain that when I make my first video in years, it’s gonna be edited like ass. But if the passion for the project can be felt, and you are pushing to do the best that you can, I believe it will be felt by those who read/watch/listen. 

Ed and Jim have covered so much in their show and in the material they created, but there is oh so so so much more out there to explore. Lean hard into that unknown and create something only you can create. 

2. Be yourself, but dialed up to 11. 

Kayfabe is a powerful tool that applies, not just to professional wrestling, but to all realms of public facing life. Now, I’m not asking you to wholly fabricate an identity for yourself. But the greats in comics have often been prone to being quite larger than life. Look at Stan Lee, Todd McFarlane, Rob Liefeld, and, yes indeed, Ed Piskor. 

Being able to tap into that energy can level up your charisma, which can lead to   opportunities because charisma, when paired with  earnestness and authenticity to yourself, are powerful tools. Additionally, and I know this for myself, putting on a bit of an act of bravado can help you move past the anxieties and self-consciousness of being in a performative setting — whether it be filming a video, pitching a project to a collaborator/financer, or trying to sell/promote your indie comic. 

3. Stay connected and forge new connections. 

This is multi-faceted and not just towards one objective. Making comics is lonely work, as I’m sure you’ve heard from numerous people, but also loneliness is an ally of depression.

When I was a teenager I dropped out of high school for several years as I was exceedingly depressed, tormented by bullies and feeling so alone that I had attempted to take my own life. I’m so grateful that I failed and that I am still here. My healing really only came when I found solace in community and friendship, slowly helping lift the curtain of gloom from my eyes. These friendships were built around mutual interests initially. 

I know that, as I have aged, it has been hard to maintain meaningful friendships. It’s a lot of work as the pressures of day-to-day survival pile up upon you. The drain on your energy that makes making art so hard and making connections feel so challenging. But to me, and I suspect many of you out there, it will be worth it. Knowing you are not alone in the struggles you experience, having people you can lean on for distraction and compassion can literally save your life. 

But, let’s look at the less melancholy part of building your community.

A strong community, across the world, of artists helping to inspire and educate each other is something I think I have already started to build for myself, unintentionally over years. I started this back on DevArt before that site fell off, and through groups like CKRS on FaceBook. 

I know that  it can be hard to take the leap and start making those connections, but I promise it can be worth it. Being able to lean on other creators who can help you work through problems in your own work, who can offer a compassionate ear for the stresses and blocks hitting you, and help motivate you with their enthusiasm… it’s a game changer, man. 

If we, as a community in turmoil, can be there for each other we can, I believe, prosper and create the best comics, illustrations, stories, video essays, and friendships. So when people need help, if you can offer it up, do so. When you need help, ask for it. 

Now, here are my marching orders, folks, and I hope you’ll join me: Make more comics.  Make more art.  Make more friends.