Range Murata’s Robot Vol. 01

The first and last project of The Rabbit Republic.

Suzuhito Yasuda – Ebony & Ivory Ch. 01

“I said
If you’re thinkin’ about my baby
It don’t matter if you’re
Black or white
I said
If you’re thinkin’ of being my brother
It don’t matter if you’re
Black or white”

Hanaharu Naruco ~ Picnic

Hanaharu Naruco’s Picnic.

YUG ~ Hemohemo Ch. 01

YUG’s Hemohemo, Chapter 1. From Range Murata’s Robot Vol. 1.

Shin Nagasawa ~ Sedouka Ch. 01

“Fair is foul, and foul is fair;
Hover through the fog and filthy air.”

Sabe ~ There Goes Suzume Robo!! Ch. 01

“Blah blah blah
Something Mr. Roboto
I’m not even
Bothering to look up the lyrics
So I hope you enjoy
This instead because it’s
All you’re getting
Fucking Rabbits
I’ll kill you all”

Hiroyuki Asada ~ Pez Ch. 01

Hiroyuki Asada’s Pez, Chapter 1. From Range Murata’s Robot Vol. 1.

Missing Pages to Haccan’s Eventyr

It seems that out of a thousand rabbits, none managed to pick up on the fact that Haccan’s “Eventyr” was actually two pages short.

Range Murata ~ Groundpass Drive

“Thinking of Vaughan now, drowning in his own blood under the police arc-lights, I remember the countless imaginary disasters he described as we cruised together along the airport expressways. He dreamed of ambassadorial limousines crashing into jack-knifing butane tankers, of taxis filled with celebrating children colliding head-on below the bright display windows of deserted supermarkets. He dreamed of alienated brothers and sisters, by chance meeting each other on collision courses on the access roads of petrochemical plants, their unconscious incest made explicit in this colliding metal, in the haemorrhages of their brain tissue flowering beneath the aluminized compression chambers and reaction vessels. Vaughan devised the massive rear-end collisions of sworn enemies, hate-deaths celebrated in the engine fuel burning in wayside ditches, paintwork boiling through the dull afternoon sunlight of provincial towns. He visualized the specialized crashes of escaping criminals, of off-duty hotel receptionists trapped between their steering wheels and the laps of their lovers whom they were masturbating. He thought of the crashes of honeymoon couples, seated together after their impacts with the rear suspension units of runaway sugar-tankers. He thought of the crashes of automobile stylists, the most abstract of all possible deaths, wounded in their cars with promiscuous laboratory technicians.”

Yasuto Miura ~ Biting Summer Play

“Either I mistake your shape and making quite,
Or else you are that shrewd and knavish sprite
Call’d Robin Goodfellow: are not you he
That frights the maidens of the villagery;
Skim milk, and sometimes labour in the quern,
And bootless make the breathless housewife churn;
And sometime make the drink to bear no barm;
Mislead night-wanderers, laughing at their harm?
Those that Hobgoblin call you, and sweet Puck,
You do their work, and they shall have good luck:
Are not you he?”