Two modes of the strip: day and night.
Day are the jokes and funny arcs.
Night...Night is Cartilage Head. The transfer station. The day the Achewood machine broke. The helicopter with the very long legs. There are no explanations, no punchlines. There is unease, fear, wrongness. There is silence.
These dark dreams [INSERT SYNONYM FOR 'LIMN' HERE] the bright. When you sail over the edge you find yourself there.
Night is basically Day that affects a Black patois, a "Circadian Ebonics" if you will, to represent the hidden Bantu-Yoruba-Ife struggle against the hegemonic oppressiveness of a light-colored Sun. Night is when the creatures of the Underground (cf. Underground Railroad*) emerge to assert their fundamental blackness; an Underground Railroad cum Hershey Highway, as it were. Day is for 2000 Flushes parties in the cold, unforgiving glare of a porcelain institution; but the freaks come out at night.
Also, here is some poetry about night.
I wear my sunglasses at night
So I can, So I can
Watch you weave then breathe your story lines
And I wear my sunglasses at night
So I can, So I can
Keep track of visions in my eyes
While she's deceiving me, she cuts my security
Has she got control of me
I turn to her and says
Note how the last stanza illustrates the emasculation of the mythical night-man, turning him from a cthonic avatar of unrealized masculine potential into a mere guy in shades with whom you may neither masquerade nor switch a blade upon.
*The author is so fuck*ng witty. pp. 22-391, Oxford University Press, 2009