Who is Caveman Robot?

The text below originally printed in Caveman Robot #3

Caveman Robot is perhaps something very profound or is just an inside joke, maybe both. Ever since his creation over a telephone call, with Shoshanna Weinberger. He has been floating around in my mind, standing there at my side!

St. Ignatius of Loyola said he imaged that Jesus Christ was always standing, at his side, this would allow him to endeavor to be on his constant best behavior. I have come to think of Caveman Robot in a similar way, always there ready to leap from my pen onto paper, a bombastic id force that dispatches obstructions with extreme overkill.

The fun thing about the clockwork Neanderthal is his ubiquitous nature, the rather open-ended template he is for anyone to access. Those who have been willing to give me their "take" on him have always returned with something that adds another facet to "the Concept." Some see him as a superhero, an action figure (literary) that kicks ass and crack skulls with remorseless brutal might. Others see him as a comedic oaf combining the most negative aspects of his two surnames. Others have seen him as an oxymoron, a visual puzzle to design, or dissect into parts that are more straightforward.

Still others see him as a kind of Everyhuman, we are all robotic primitives, viewing technology as an Arthur C. Clarke kind of magic, We howl and holler in front of the TV instead of the communal fire. We gaze longingly at the image of those most wanted consumer goods, instead of the image of beast to hunt. Personally, I see Caveman Robot, as an omnibusic idea. He is quite the rare Alchemical being, that can or will be simultaneously many different things to many different people. Right now he is the master of my notebook, standing there always changing form and mood. Collaborators that I have shared' him with have also become infected with his image. What red-blooded artist does not love to draw robots and for that matter, visit the lands that time forgot? An enigmatic wonder he is powered by Enrico Tesla's tower station somewhere outside of our timeline. Upright is his form, bolts and metallic limbs covered with the hide of some prehistoric breed of a fearsome spotted beast. Standing there in a dark primordial jungle his electronic optical input devices flash on a bright red light, processing the entire visual spectrum. The fast hum of his mini rockets ignite as blue flames burst from below his massive feet, he leaps over your heads to take a giant predator on face to face. Perhaps he is the star of a some future Saturday morning cartoon, he and his gang of well meaning young hipster friends travel around the country on the hi-ways and BI-ways solving mysteries and playing in their Rock n' Roll band. He is a cuddly cute stuffed toy that wiggles when you squeeze him, and there are only a few remaining at the toy store. He is a go-project; the big guys in Hollywood have given the green light, the merchandise possibilities alone, sold them!

Badly made rushed botched job of live action fiasco will fill the silver screen with Caveman Robot's visage. The bright young unknown actor that plays the lead will be forever typecast, his life ending in suicide. Nevertheless, the film will be an underground "cult classic," its viewing a rite of passage for every misunderstood suburban youngster. Years later every watered down nostalgia hound will comb backwoods thrift shops for Caveman Robot items, finding them will fill them briefly with that sense of fulfillment we all seek when we momentary recover the long yearned for irrecoverable artifacts of the fleeting past. Everywhere you go he will be there the comic books, beach towels, instant tattoos, T-shirts, plastic Halloween costumes, mouse pads, screen savers and candy bars. The giant Caveman Robot Balloon will fill the skies of New York on Thanksgiving Day. Knockoff hackjobs of the likeness of Caveman Robot will adorn the signs and windows of lower class day-care centers. The national syndicated comic strip produced by a company of ghost artist will be right below those dreadful littlefoot affairs. Rex Morgan MD, Apartment 3-G, and Steve Canyon. Little children in Bangladesh will learn their first words of English and those words will be:

"Caveman Robot"

All these events will come to pass, or the skies will blacken with the unholy hellfire of Caveman Robot's wraith. The great cities of humankind will fall, society will crumble, and the concepts of love and mercy will become mere fantasy. The term apocalypse will become a shinning daydream in contrast to the scattered wastelands of this once green earth. The tiny handfuls of unlucky survivors will meekly hide within the ruins of metal and plastic that was once our might skyscrapers. This is it, the end of all illusions, you had better get out when the gettin' is good, and one reality will be at the hub of our crossroads, its name:

"Caveman Robot!"