NOTORIOUS COMIC BOOK #01
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what do you think you are?
nope... a hero?
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here’s something about the visual simplicity of comic books that renders life into stark outcomes: black or white, good or bad, hero or villain. Sitting somewhere between book and film, a comic’s almost child-like simplicity when tackling dark themes taps on the shoulder with a spine-tingling immediacy that is unlike any other medium. If only we, too, had the superpowers of comic book heroes. Instead, we hone and refine our survival skills over time, faced with threat and the menacing shadows of the comic's pages in our own real-life corridors. Those who grow up in hostile, combative corners of the world, where threat is day-to-day, tug deep into the force of the human spirit to overcome the narratives that were pre-written for them. This mirrors my own reality. I served twelve years of a life sentence in prison, for crimes that I did not commit. I survived prison, proved my innocence and became a storyteller. Inside and outside of prisons, I fight injustice all
just a stubborn survivor.
over the world. I delve into dark and murky corners of the universe, questioning, pondering, exposing and uncovering, working against systemic inequalities. Hope is my spider bite, belief my superpower. The will to survive and the deep-felt need to probe built-in injustice has coloured my journey as an investigative reporter. As an undercover journalist, I have smuggled diamonds to expose conflict, joined a gang to expose drug traffickers and used Buzz Lightyear-style technology to track illegal environmental activity. My name is Raphael Rowe. I'm a British journalist and host of Netflix series Inside the World's Toughest Prisons. This comic series will inspire, grip and thrill you as Brazilian artist, Auracebio Pereira, illustrates stories from my incarceration to the threats I’ve faced as a journalist. They said I was Notorious. I am, now.
notorious - the comic book - created by auracebio pereira and raphael rowe
what are you most afraid of?
maybe the fear of darkness.
or it could be the dread of being contaminated with a deadly virus?
sometimes it can be the simple fear of being alone.
at the age of 20, it was definitely not on my list...
...to be arrested and convicted of a crime that I did not commit.
sentenced to life. this was my worst nightmare.
but it didn't last a night. it was real and lasted for twelve long years.
a life worth less than a cigarette end on the floor.
19th December 1988, at 25 Lawrie park Road, london. the place known as THE white house is surrounded by a massive police force.
to understand why, we need to rewind a little bit more.
notorious
special preview
aggravAted writer
raphael rowe
script adaptation and art
auracebio pereira
I was woken by loud thudding noises.
and I realy felt pissed off about being woken up.
was my flat mate and his brother fighting?
my old friends didn’t usually fight. but they often argued.
i need to see what the fuss was about...
The first thing I saw was my flat mate's brother slowly walking towards the front door with his hands in the air.
Police! Don’t move or we shoot!
The shock rocked me back and I stumbled.
put your hands in the air! I kept shaking my head.
Is there anyone else in the flat?
Then the smoke from the cigarette started to burn my eyes.
they shouted continuously.
I went to move my hand to my mouth to remove the cigarette. when all hell broke loose.
One of the masked men dived to the floor.
and made
to fire.
no , don’t
shoot!
put your hands back in the air!
I did as I was told sharpish.
They could see from the little I had on that I could not be concealing any weapon. but their tactic was obviously to scare the hell out of me, and they did.
I’ll never forget that sound of their guns being cocked as they threatened to shoot me.
I had to wiggle my lips to shake the fag from my mouth as it was stuck to my lip, my mouth was so dry.
It was difficult to hear much of what they were saying as they barked out order after order, which began to disorientate me.
I understood that they wanted me to turn around and walk backwards to them at the door entrance.
As I did, they were all over me.
My hands were cuffed with some kind of plastic cuff that dug into the wrist.
is there any other person in the flat? no.
The last thing I remember seeing as I was dragged from the room was...
I was dragged out of the flat and down the stairs backwards.
...the cigarette I’d dropped from my mouth burning the carpet.
which bloody well hurt and injured my back.
As I was being dragged down I caught a glimpse of two policemen... ...with their knees forced in the back of another resident, a known burglar.
He was face down flat on the floor, eyes bulging with terror. outside, As I was looking around in shock I was approached by a uniformed officer. I am arresting you for aggravated burglary.
What’s aggravated burglary?
it is Breaking into other people’s homes with weapons.
Before I could ask any more questions I was dragged away and shoved in a van.
Each of us who were removed from the white house were put into separate vans.
Two plain-clothes officers got in beside me and drove off at high speed with sirens blaring.
At that moment, a sense of fear engulfed me that words can not express.
NOTORIOUS
NOTORIOUS
in 2021
the comic book raphael rowe by auracebio pereira from the work of
making of
season 5 january Ø8, 2021
rodrigo bittencourt
auracebio pereira
The taste of iron in his mouth is stronger than the touch of the wall.
The writer knows what barbed wire is.
but to him ribs are just what they serve at barbecues.
and the switch, he calls it the light button.
From the top of the toilet, through the restroom window, he sees the afternoon sun and the barbed wire on the courtyard wall.
He hears his name through the door and swallows. and there comes the reminder, the taste of iron.
because he hears Floater pressing the light button and locking the door.
Or maybe it is true what he said, and Floater’s mother is actually a bitch.
and the sound he makes is not that quiet.
and that’s why he can smell fear.
Floater’s retarded!
he’s eighteen and he’s still in sixth grade.
and he can’t even fucking spell!
Everything went black.
First there was the taste, still the blindness.
say it again, you fucking brat!
say it again and see who’s retarded!
thinking you’re a writer ‘cause you got some words right.
and only later the pain, the broken nose.
you stupid son of a fucking bitch!
you faggot, they’re gonna kick you out of this shit!
you retard, you’re a grown-up already!
Then he dashed because he was still small and skinny and light. and he went into the secondfloor bathroom because he thought Floater had a screw loose...
and that he would punch Mr. Ivan just to take him down.
and throw his fist at his face
once, twice.
many times again, until it turned into a mush.
What he would have liked to think of instead, if his brain weren’t just good at being a smartass, was running to administration.
But he went into the restroom.
this fucking beast doesn’t even care ‘cause he’s kicking those fucking stall doors one by one.
He doesn’t fucking care anymore.
and I can hear ‘em breaking.
He hears Floater break the second door, smashing the wood. and something hits that stall’s water tank and it squirts and leaks out that the so fast writer can already see the puddle gathering around the toilet under his feet.
He takes another look through the window and at the courtyard and at the and he feels barbed the taste of wall. blood. and figures that he can jump out.
But there’s no use going back to the courtyard.
there’s no use going back there because that beast could still catch me.
There are two doors left and Floater has already stopped the show and now he doesn’t break them.
just opens them, almost gently, like he thought maybe he had made a mistake.
like he really contemplated being expelled or arrested for assaulting a minor.
But why? Why do care now that the damage is done?
he thinks, clutched to the water tank and trying to be quiet.
like he could somehow get away with it?
cwith his little feet on the door climbing the stall.
In his doggish gentleness, Floater tries to open the stall door.
He feels the lock and the weight of the little feet.
and smashes the door open.
and the little feet cannot hold.
and smashes the door open.
and he even feels a hand pulling on his shoe before jumping out.
He runs home, crying and smiling.
and reaches the window pane.
and the writer hits his back against the wall and feels his ribs.
He grabs the barbed wire and jumps to the other side of the wall and out of the school.
his shirt torn, the blood on his palm sticking to his fingertips.
and knowing that Floater can’t get through the window and that no one gets out of the school without running into administration.
never mind the gate, which is closed at all school hours, from one o’clock to five thirty in the afternoon.
fim
Making of
seguir dançando com fé, independente da música que estiver tocando. este é o segredo do bem viver.
guias uma hq com zé pilintra em porto alegre
guias
cria de zé em poa
i n s ta g r a m . c o m / a u r a c e b i o
mentors
son of zé in poa
NOTORIOUS NOT I