Kimball and Laurel

@counterintuitive.bsky.social

357 Followers 206 Following

2 queer and disabled people making weird comics together. https://www.patreon.com/counterintuitive/ https://outside-life.com/c/ https://laurellynnleake.com/ https://counterintuitivecomics.tumblr.com/

In this section, hands move through a yellow murkiness, reaching for something. Text starts: when I paced and paced, and said words to myself, I started to feel like I was not the one speaking.
Loosely drawn figures fill the panels in this section, with little details in white. On this page, a figure walking to and fro, gesticulating. Writing reads: the thing is, I think I maybe just saw this on TV. That this is what it is like to be sick. Pacing and rambling random words. Some vague portrayal of madness.
In this section there are drawings of the indoor environment, captured in realistic detail. A baseboard heater. Floorboards. Text says: staying up after everyone had gone to bed, in my teenage years, I started talking to myself.
In this section, amorphous blobs of gray-white float in every panel, looking like clouds or unicellular life forms. Text reads: how can I decide anything though, how can I be an authority on anything. I am just.
A four panel comic. A hand holding something that can not be seen. Text says: where. A small drinking glass. Text says: where. A column of red liquid, shaped like it would be in the glass, though the glass can’t be seen. Again it says: where. A drawing shows them all combined, a hand holding a glass of red liquid. Light shines through the glass, and everything is barely visible as though there is a bright light. Text concludes: is the feeling.
A zine rests in the crook of a moss covered tree, the bright magentas of its cover standing in stark contrast to the mottled bark. A little yellow creature is in the corner, crossing their arms indignantly and crying big, wet tear drops that float around the edges of the page. In the middle, large white cursive text reads: me, me, me. And then in scribbly print letters it says: Laurel Lynn Leake.
This section has detailed drawings of frogs in gray ad with touches of white that show their wet sheen. Text says: afraid to be sick, afraid to be well. The strange shapes of frogs, somehow both lumpy and sleek.
Two heads, the gray holds a hand up almost covering an eye. The white seems to look at the hand. Text says: or in another sense, neither. Gray legs and white ones seem to walk, but their steps are out of sync.
In this section figures in gray lines are accompanied by a second set of white lines. First a head and shoulders with a white outline of a head looking another way. A standing figure facing a white lined figure. One head looks up, and the white one looks down. Text on the page reads: I have always had this sense that I never acknowledged, that I could not have my past and my future at the same time.
In this section, balls of white impose upon figural drawings. Fingers, but a thumb and most of a palm lost to the white. White across the top of a head, like thoughts are being lost in it. Text says: so maybe holding on to all selves, everyone I have been, every form I have had, is part of that.
A circular mass of darkness appears in the panels, fighting against the light. Text says: I wanted to believe I was well, so I tried to force it.
In the section abstractions fill the panels. Text says: I am becoming more and more aware that, the largest act of self destruction that I have done is the act of cessation of self protection. In the panels, lines and colors struggle frantically to find their way out of a gray haze.
In orange colored pencil, twisted trunks and limbs of trees stretch out from the center of the page. Text says: how, how, how do I. Below, four figures in different poses are rendered in different colored pencils. Their shapes overlap, like vague memories.
« Cette bande dessinée n’existerait pas sans le gros travail et savoir-faire sur le COVID de maon partenaire Kimball Anderson. Ses corrections ont permis au zine de continuer pendant mes poussées de TMS, et son soutien émotionnel m’a permis de m’en sortir. Merci! Je suis également reconnaissante envers ceux qui m’ont fait des retours sur ce zine, avec un gros merci à Dupe et Caitlin pour leurs révisions. Enfin, merci à toutses celleux qui ont rendu accessible en ligne leur recherches et ressources sur le SARS-CoV-2, et à toutses celleux qui luttent pour rester en vie. » Un croquis d’un blob avec les cheveux et lunettes de Laurel. « Laurel Lynn Leake… est une artiste blanche, queer, handicapée et une larve à plein temps. Elle prend soin d’elle même si c’est difficile! Vous pouvez la trouver sur: LaurelLynnLeake.com LaurelLynnLeake.Storenvy.com laurel-lynn-leake.itch.io CounterIntuitiveComics.tumblr.com patreon.com/CounterIntuitive » Note finale: MERCI DE M’AVOIR LU Si vous avez arrêt
Un texte de taille moyenne indique « Tout comme les masques marchent mieux quand nous sommes nombreux à en porter, quand nous nous unissons, localement et mondialement, nous nous protégeons les uns les autres. Nous nous masquons car nous refusons un monde où nous serions jetables. Nous luttons pour un futur avec de la place pour toustes. » Dessous, un grand dessin des deux personnages du bar de la page 7, la personne fem noire et l’ami aux cheveux frisés. Cette fois, les deux marchent sur l’herbe devant un beau cours d’eau, se tenant le bras, alors qu’une brise balaye les cordons de la capuche de la personne noire et le keffieh de l’ami. Iels portent toustes deux un masque respiratoire et se regardent l’un l’autre, des cœurs apparaissant entre deux.
« COVID LONG » en gros. Cette page montre une personne grosse avec de la barbe et un undercut, une main sur une canne et l’autre en l’air. À l’intérieur de son corps on voit certains de ses organes, muscles et veines, et elles sont entourées de bulles contenant des symptômes. En partant du haut près du cerveau, les bulles indiquent « AVC et pertes de mémoire », « migraines », « maladie mentale nouvelle ou aggravée », « fatigue incapacitante (dormir n’aide pas et l’activité aggrave la situation) », « brouillard cérébral », « perte du goût/odorat », « perte d’audition », « perte de vision », « maladies immunitaires », « cancers nouveaux ou aggravés », « douleurs articulaires », « poumons endommagés », « éruption cutanée », « défaillances cardiaques », « problèmes de digestion », « diabète nouveau ou aggravé », « défaillances des reins ou du foie », « douleurs neuropathiques », « lésions intestinales » (43, 44, 45). Le texte indique: « En 2025, nous continuons de découvrir de nouvelles ma
« Notre corps se défend contre le SARS-CoV-2 avec des cellules immunitaires, mais les variants excellent à retourner notre réponse immunitaire contre elle-même en provoquant des CHOCS CYTOKINIQUES (28). Les cellules infectées mourantes libèrent des CYTOKINES, des signaux chimiques qui font venir des cellules immunitaires… Ces cellules se font aussi attaquer, elles font donc venir encore plus de cellules immunitaires, etc. ...! (29) Votre alvéole inflammée essaye d’expulser les envahisseurs avec des fluides protecteurs, jusqu’à être gonflée de pus. Cela cause un état de suffocation appelé PNEUMONIE, où les sacs alvéolaires infectés ont du mal à continuer les échanges O2-CO2 à travers leur paroi endommagée. Sans traitement, cela peut entraîner la mort. » Dessous, du fluide rempli un sac alors que le SARS-CoV-2 infecte les plus grandes cellules de la membrane. Des cellules immunitaires saines attaquent les virus, et des cellules immunitaires infectées envoient des cytokines pour signaler
« Lorsque vous inspirez... de l'air (qui inclut toutes les particules respiratoires aux alentours), il s'introduit dans votre nez ou bouche, dans votre trachée, et se réparti ensuite dans les deux BRONCHES de vos POUMONS ». On voit une trachée remplie avec des particules respiratoires, et des bronches remplissant des poumons transparents. « Tout ce système est appelé les VOIES RESPIRATOIRES ...et il est protégé par un type spécial de revêtement cellulaire MUQUEUX couvert de petite tentacules ondulées nommées CILS CELLULAIRES. Ils sont couverts avec des fluides de MUCUS collant. » On peut voir des cils cellulaires ondulants recouverts de mucus collants parsemé de SARS-CoV-2. « Les cils cellulaires utilisent leurs mucus pour collecter tous les PATHOGÈNES dangereux que vous respirez (comme la poussière, les virus ou les bactéries). S'ils sont capables d'attraper quelques PR portant des virus, les cils cellulaires sont débordés quand il y en a des centaines d'un coup. » Un dessin de virus
« SYMPTÔMES » écrit en gros. Puis « Les symptômes du SARS-CoV-2 débutent 3 à 6 jours après l'infection et durent pendant 12 à 14 jours (12).  Cette phase initiale ou aiguë est plus couramment nommée COVID-19. Les symptômes et la contagiosité dépendent du variant mais incluent souvent (13) ». En dessous, les symptômes sont illustrés par des dessins sur un fond noir. « FATIGUE, VERTIGES, MAUX DE TÊTE » est illustré par un visage fatigué entouré de lignes radiales suggérant douleur et confusion. Une personne tousse dans sa main pour « TOUX, ÉTERNUEMENTS, NEZ QUI COULE ». Une personne allongée disant « aïe » a des petites étoiles autour de ses articulations pour illustrer « COURBATURES, FIÈVRE, FRISSONS ». Un personnage se retenant de vomir représente « NAUSÉES, VOMI, DOULEURS ABDOMINALES, DIARRHÉE »; Puis une tête confuse dégoûtée par le goût d’une pomme indique « PERTE DE L'ODORAT ET/OU DU GOÛT ». En dessous, il est écrit « Là encore, vous pourriez être l'une des 32% à 50% de personnes a
« LES BASES: La COVID-19 est une maladie causée par le virus SARS-CoV-2 qui se propage principalement par l'air.» (1). « Une seule infection, même semblant bénigne, peut causer de sévères dégâts partout dans le corps. Pire encore, chaque nouvelle infection expose à de nouveaux dégâts dans votre cerveau, système immunitaire, poumons, cœur, etc., pouvant aller jusqu'à des handicaps permanents ou la mort (2). A ce jour, au moins 75% des adultes (3) (et 30% des enfants (4)) ont de grandes chances d'attraper une infection grave qui pourraient causer une hospitalisation ou même tuer. Et si vous avez DÉJÀ eu la COVID-19, même une seule fois, VOUS êtes désormais officiellement dans la même situation. » « LE VIRUS » « Syndrome Respiratoire Aiguë Sévère », CoV signifie « Corona Virus (en forme de couronne, rond avec des pics) », et 2 indique « Similaire à l'épidémie de SARS-CoV de 2002-2003 ». « LA MALADIE » « corona », « virus », « disease » (maladie) et « découvert en 2019 »
Au premier plan, une personne noire débarrasse de la vaisselle en jetant un coup d’œil à deux adultes blancs qui parlent alors qu’un de leurs enfants éternue. L’air circule et tourbillonne autour d’elleux, éclabousse le visage de l’adulte qui écoute et forme des émanations qui remplissent le reste de l’arrière-plan. Lae serveureuse a un badge disant « service avec le sourire » même si sa bouche est couverte par un masque FFP2. Écrit à la main en gros en haut de page, les mots « POURQUOI SE MASQUER » sont sur un fond noir. Sur les émanations il est écrit « CE N’EST PAS » puis avec des guillemets « JUSTE UN RHUME ». Dans le quart inférieur droit, il est écrit « Laurel Lynn Leake » au-dessus d’un large « 2026 ».
Birds fill the panels in this section, carefully drawn with sharp highlights of white. Text says: which self do I want to destroy. Below, a bird that seems to have been frozen after being noticed and a bird with ruffled feathers and eyes closed. The writing continues: the child faking illness? The adult digging inward holes?
A zine sits on stained, beat up wood. Most of the cover is gray, with softer gray polygonal shapes floating over each other, like smooth shards of pottery. In large text it says: how to rest 6, cushions and rules. In smaller text at the bottom it says: kimball anderson.
Laurel's hand holds up the same sketchbook with a new drawing, in front of the subject: a rock wall in a tree filled park with rustic fence posts in the foreground. Dappled light and tree shadows are cast on the wall.
A photo of Laurel's sketchbook open in front of a leafy spring weed. She has drawn it in black and gray brush pen so you can see the luminous light on the edges of the leaves.
A later photo of the same page of Laurel's sketchbook, with more of the surrounding forest floor drawn. It is covered with pine needles that green leaves are emerging from. Below a larger bamboo shoot is drawn with wide leaves and new growth that looks like an umbrella yet to be unfolded.
A form looms over a face that looks back up at it. Writing reads: form in the eyes of others. The figures look intently into each others eyes.
Loose, lumpy human figures fill the panels on this page, with multicolored splotches that give a sickly feeling. The figures seem to look at each other, and then touch. Text says: and having sex, where I am eclipsed, or eclipse someone else.
Writing starts the page, reading: here / look at this nothingness. The silhouette of a head and shoulders is filled with a dark and ambiguous shadow that seems to grow and become jagged in the next panel. Text continues: that rests on my head / on my shoulders.
Text says: I chase nothingness of gender / and I run from nothingness of health. The white circle seems to break free from the imposing lines. Text continues: and well / are they the same?
A tall panel goes from the top of the page to the bottom. It’s abstract, with a small white circle in the middle and strips of waving gray, giving the sense of spotting the full moon through the clouds. Text says: being nothing / being nothing / being nothing.
A tall panel shows an upside-down view of tree limbs bending and splitting into the sky. The sort of disorienting view you get when you look up in the woods. It stretches from top to bottom, giving the rest of the page an off-kilter feel. Text on the right says: its just tiring, you know what I mean? Two figures walk through the woods, gesturing as they speak to each other. The text continues: why cant it, why.
A large eye in shadow, looking down. And below, a mouth and nostrils. The two drawings seem almost like some awkwardly shaped cyclops. Text reads: looking at myself in the mirror / which is self destruction?
A zine rests on a seafoam blanket. On the cover a panel fills the top half, and in it two gray polygons sit on a gray background. But unlike prior issues, the shapes do not seem to be light or dark, just cut outs of the cloudy gray behind. Behind the shapes, rough and quick squiggles of white swirl through the background. Below, text reads: how to rest 5 quantifying. And then smaller it says: kimball anderson
Text says: and a part of me wonders about the trans thing. A blue point siamese cat is asleep, nestled in, only the head and one outstretched reaching paw visible. Below, the cat again, all curled up into a ball, with tail sticking out. Text continues: if that is just / me separating myself once more / one more divide.
A small, wide cilantro leaf. Three serrated strawberry leaves. Text says: cant just keep digging myself / deeper and deeper / into this niche existence / until I can no longer cope with the world. The waxy leaves again.
A leaf with a shiny, waxy surface that ripples over the veins. Text reads: I am vegetarian / and my father started separating / the meat and cheese / in the refrigerator. A young branch of a tomato plant with small but plentiful leaves.
A large abstract panel sits in the middle of the page, with dark tendrils dancing among milky white. Text says: I wonder how much was self destruction / I wonder how much of what I do now is self destruction.
The two large panels on this page show pieces of a doorknob detached from a door. The knob itself attached to hollow chamber, and the latch with a long sheath behind what you would normally see when installed. Text reads: and still I will say again: I am afraid to be well.
The messy lines intertwine and tangle as the shapes overlap in three dark panels. Text on the page reads: what do you want to be? You ask yourself. The question loses its meaning to you. You have no answer, just a sigh.
The shapes dance through four different forms. Text says: that feeling you had of the future, so optimistic. You could be anything. Anything was possible.
The encircling lines on this page start to feel like swirling doubts. Text says: You run your hands over the parts of your body that feel most wrong. Feeling for change. Maybe improvement, maybe worsening.
The darkness on this page is almost overwhelming. Writing reads: A fear grows inside of you, barely acknowledged. A fear that you will never get out of this state of being. That this will be your life, if you let it.
A paragraph of text sits in the middle of a plain white page. It reads: so much of rest is a matter of controlling your expectations. It often feels totally rational to say to yourself: okay I can rest for one week. To set a deadline or a goal like that, so that you can feel like you have some control over your physical limitations. But you do not really have that control. Your body will take as long as your body needs. Setting that kind of expectation can put too much pressure on the situation and the stress of that can make your rest ineffective, or even drive you into self destructive actions.
The cover of a zine with dark, overlapping polygonal shapes surrounded by curvy black outlines that loosely follow their shape. They sit on a murky gray background. White text reads: how to rest 4, fears and expectations. And then at the bottom it says kimball anderson.
Text starts the page: my brother got sick too. Again, the rippling. Around a drawing of a water droplet floating in the air reflecting the world around it, text continues: and it must have been like / there was something wrong with her / with my parents.
Writing at the top of the page says: it was hard on my mom / me getting sick. Panels hold patterns that seem almost abstract but if looked at closely they appear to represent waves. Text continues: she works so hard to get me a diagnosis / and treatment. The waves get narrower and narrower, until they are just a bunch of parallel lines.
Dappled light falls across a gray-blue wall, catching on the cover of a zine held up by a pale hand. The zine has a reddish and blueish hue that shows through in the loose pencil lines. At the top of the zine it says: fair weather friend. Below, a simple and loose drawing of a tree, the foliage represented by a jagged outline around the ball-like shape of it. And limbs go up into the shape from the bottom.
Text starts the page: I wondered sometimes what the other kids would say about me / after I got sick. A lineless style inhabits the panels, just defined by chunking hatching. First an outstretched hand, and then a self portrait that is barely identifiable as such. Text continutes: I really had no idea.
Two large panels show a close up on a tiny mouse that seems to be moving nervously. Text between the panels says: hiding, and being seen.
Skin texture. The many little crevices and platforms that are barely visible to the eye. Writing says: so what is this ugly self? In another panel there’s a series of short hairs coming out of the skin, maybe an eyebrow. Then the wrinkles and folds on the joint of a thumb. Text continues: what is this uncomfortable self? / why am I still drawn to it?
Two large panels fill this page, with abstract shapes strewn over each other, like scattered shards of broken glass. Words on top read: you get past the -when you get back- part. He is just talking about work responsibilities, things he needs help with.
A blank white has a paragraph of text in the middle that says: sometimes you will be able to find these unhelpful external ideas by tracking back your feelings to an idea. As you start to rest mor, as you start to live this life of someone who needs rest, there are going to be ideas that just make you feel bad. Sometimes they will make you feel bad subtly, over time, or sometimes right away. Identifying this negative feeling can show you the ideas that impact you the most.
Two tall panels are filled with angular shapes that feel like they overwhelm the space. Text reads: why couldn’t you just feel better. What is wrong. Below, fainter shapes continue to fill most of the wide panel. The writing continues: even when you try to relax it is still there.
In a large panel, words and shapes sit at the bottom, giving a feeling like looking out at the far off horizon. The text reads: It sort of works. It feels better at first. Below, a silent thin panel lets the feeling of quiet relief continue.
A blank white page with a paragraph in the center, the text reads: It can feel like people emit a reality distortion field on you. Like their expectations, too low or too high, are more real than the observations you’ve made about your own body. They can make you start to expect your body to meet these illusory ideas.
Darker clouds of gray sit on this page, and soft angular shapes top it somberly. Text reads: You feel this impatience in the air, like everyone in your life is tapping their feet somewhere.
Two panels split the page unevenly, with the first panel larger and with text hanging low in it with a melancholic feeling. That text reads: You want nothing more than to just go back. And then in the next panel the writing says: So why aren’t you just letting it happen.
The cover of a zine with two panels on it, both with light polygonal shapes on a murky grey background. Unlike previous issues though, loose white pencil lines mark the general outline of the abstractions. A large wordless panel fills the top of the page, and below, with far more overlapping shapes and lines, text says: how to rest 3 things people will tell you. And then it says kimball anderson.