About

Hello and welcome. I’m Zoran Taylor and this is the ground floor of my brain. Elevators are now in service….follow me to the 1,000th floor….you are now about to enter the fantastic, absurd, dark, sexy, slightly motion-sickness-prone shimmering pastel nightmare that is my webcomic, Shapes of Things.

It is a comic to the contrary – my sacrificial offering to the forces that sustain me, namely: Art-Rock and animation, comedy and choreography, sweetness and cynicism, a grand celestial plan written by a stoned slacker god eating a bag of space cheezies….

To say that the central characters are personal creations would be making a molehill out of a mountain. Unjar is 15; he’s basically my teenage self turned up to 11 – crabby but gentle, flabby but frail, has to be selfish because he’s not sure anyone else  (besides his mom and dad) is really looking out for him.

Lolly is turning 21 – and not taking it well. Totally alienated from her peers in high school, she has decided to forego post-secondary education altogether – save for a paternally guided quasi-curriculum that mostly consists of reading textbooks all day.  But under the skin of this antisocial shut-in beats the heart of a Rock ‘N Roll GLAMOUR QUEEN…and it’s only a matter of time before the real Lolly bursts forth from her cocoon…

Their parents, meanwhile, come from the murkier waters of my brain. Attempting to straight-up caricature my own family would be simply too terrifying a proposition, so I weaseled my way out of it by working in far less familiar elements. Patriarch Rafool is a reclusive, unemployed ex-university professor with a mysterious, closely guarded  past, while Momma Starla is a social worker with…..a mysterious, closely guarded past. How does it figure that this family lives in a two-story, three-bedroom house in a decent neighbourhood? Well, let’s just say YOU ARE FORBIDDEN TO ASK THAT QUESTION. ANY FURTHER ATTEMPTED INQUIRIES INTO THIS MATTER WILL RESULT IN YOUR EXCOMMUNICATION. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. *fake, forced grin*

Anyway, assuming you’ve read this far, why not pull up a chair, pull down another chair, dismantle and re-build a third chair, eat/cry into a bag of potato chips in the bathroom where no one can see you, no one at all, not even Jesus, start a shitty indie band, do some light aerobics and read this stupid, brilliant comic? I was kidding. This was never your choice. Read it. All of it. Right now. I am always watching you. Always. Enjoy!