We are aware that some, perhaps even many, ectomites have not only engaged in the sticky and awkward physical act of love but have gone the distance, so to speak, and reproduced; pushing new, wriggling life into the world. We do not judge. Now that you have a needy tadpole to take care of though there are, apparently, things one must do to ensure good growth and retard cellular breakdown. Fuel helps as does avoiding exposure to corrosive substances. We at ectomo, therefore, suggest that you never, ever touch your child. Better to place the neonate inside an antiseptic environment and insert food through an airlock. You could include a habitrail for exercise.
Should you not have the funds or not care enough about your offspring to keep it hermetically sealed then, at the very least, do something to keep it warm. We suggest this crocheted Cthulhu blanket which not only prepares the child for its inevitable death at the hands of the mighty master of R’lyeh, but also sports a handy pacifier to silence it and, thereby, help it to avoid a fatal shaking.
“The only thing I can say in favour of my work is its sincerity.”
— H.P. Lovecraft from “Some Notes on a Nonentity”
Today marks the 119th anniversary of the birth of Howard Phillips Lovecraft, one of the twentieth century’s more contentiously influential authors; praised and maligned in equal measure for his writing prowess. I feel it is safe to say that we here at Ectomo have no such qualms; embracing Lovecraft’s propensity for long strings of thesaurus rustling adjectives with a fervor that borders on obsessive or, at times, unreadable.
Still, it is a tactic, this picking apart of Lovecraft’s verbal acumen, that I find misguided and shortsighted. H.P.L.’s work isn’t read today and cited by authors and scholars for his abilities as a wordsmith, he is cited for his creation; for his specific universe. He was one of the great mythologizers of the modern era, creating a pantheon of gods who represented the cold, infinite, and malevolent universe in which man finds himself. It’s a testament to his talent that so many still continue to be inspired by his creations and add their own stories. Today we salute the man who gave names and forms to the mysterious, unknowable nature of the void; the man if not for whom there would be no Cthursday. Happy birthday.
A beautiful collection of paintings by Blanka Dvorak based on Lovecraft stories. For no good reason — other than, perhaps, the manic scribbles found throughout — they remind me of Stephen Gammell.
Bookended by scenes from an episode of Rod Serling’s Night Gallery, entitled “Professor Peabody’s Last Lecture” what follows is madness of the highest order. I can’t really explain what ensues but it involves J-Pop and choreographed dance moves.
Most of my nights are, blessedly, dreamless; vast stretches of blissful, barren darkness bookended by painful reality. Those nights on which my fevered brain decides to regale me with nightmarish visions, however, seem endless; the parade of grotesque images forced in front of my mind’s eye taking my last refuge from me. Now, do not misunderstand me, I have no delusions of grandeur. My dreams are certainly no worse than yours, dear reader. I do not pretend to assume that my mind houses apparitions any more terrible than anyone else’s. All I am saying here is that the nights in which I dream that Isaac Mizrahi has taken my beloved pet Velociraptor, Paul, hostage and is forcing me to murder women and collect their labia for the coats he plans to show for his winter line…well…
Those nights are bad.
The filthy warrens of my subconscious aside, I can say with some certainty that I have never conjured up anything as disturbing and wonderful as the Cthulhu Kitty doll pictured above. Fashioned by limeinmoloko, it has, alas, already been sold. Still, we can marvel at her spindly frame topped by a massive, feline cranium. We can gaze upon her horrific, tentacled visage, which belies her demure pose, those tentacle-like extremities crossed ever so delicately. We can try to catch the gaze of her eye with its milky, pearled cataract. Truly, it’s a fantastic piece, effortlessly walking the line between ghastly and beautiful.
Not like labia coats. No one wants those. I have no idea what Isaac was thinking.
Stylish craniums by the artist simply known as Jim, using what appears to be twine, their visages adorned with long, hanging tendrils. A worthy addition to any worshiper’s domicile.
High atop his shelf in The Watcher in Toronto, Canada The Loneliest Cthulhu of All waits, weeping. From his precipitous perch he hangs his head, his muscles unable to support the massive weight of his Sadness; and really, who can blame him? Out of season the outlook for the future seems bleak; his stocking body and winter colors rendering him all but invisible in the heady days of spring. Perhaps once the weather turns, and the Earth once again shrivels under freezing conditions and slate skies he will rise triumphant over someone’s hearth. Until then he can do nothing but wallow, the promise of the future providing no solace.
A short film from 1998 by director Djie Han Thung based upon an even shorter novel fragment by H.P. Lovecraft titled “Azathoth” — which bears a resemblance to The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath — Between the Stars is a meditative and quintessentially German film about a man who seeks to escape from the drudgery of his meaningless existence.
An example of Lovecraft’s notes, which in this case appears to pertain to At the Mountains of Madness, complete with a sketch of one of the barrel shaped creatures the expedition finds. From Something About Cats, edited by August Derelith.
I seem to remember seeing this before, though I’ll be damned if I can remember where. The inscription, from what can be made out reads as follows:
To R.H. Barlow, Esq., whose Sculpture hath given Immortality to this trivial Design of his oblig’d of all obdt (obedient) Servant.
Cthulhu
H.P. Lovecraft
11th May, 1934
Barlow was a close friend of Lovecraft and collaborated with him on several stories including, one might reasonably conclude, one of his most famous, The Call of Cthulhu. Lovecraft went so far as to make Barlow his literary executor.
Despite its crude nature, it’s still a great representation of Cthulhu, not only because it is directly from the mind of his creator but also for the inclusion of the multiple, spider-like eyes. Few illustrations of the Lord of R’lyeh come to mind that show him this way.
ARKHAM, MA—Arguing that students should return to the fundamentals taught in the Pnakotic Manuscripts and the Necronomicon in order to develop the skills they need to be driven to the very edge of sanity, Arkham school board member Charles West continued to advance his pro-madness agenda at the district’s monthly meeting Tuesday.
“Fools!” said West, his clenched fist striking the lectern before him. “We must prepare today’s youth for a world whose terrors are etched upon ancient clay tablets recounting the fever-dreams of the other gods—not fill their heads with such trivia as math and English. Our graduates need to know about those who lie beneath the earth, waiting until the stars align so they can return to their rightful place as our masters and wage war against the Elder Things and the shoggoths!”
Ectomo fully supports the efforts of Mr. West to enlighten the children of Arkham. They are, after all, our future.
It was a strange, unpleasant end to the previous week for me, dear readers. My guts, seized by some unholy specter, churned and roiled, swiftly and explosively expelling any and all substances that passed through their many, circuitous bi-ways. Thus it was that my feverish malaise burst into a fluid drenched hallucinatory nightmare for 48 hours. I can honestly say that I was out of sorts.
All this is bad enough, but to then have one of my editors suddenly reappear, kicking in the door of my office, a demented smirk on his face, filthy, and reeking of Strawberry Ripple and shame; staying just long enough to scream “HEY BOY, TAKE A LOOK AT MY WORD MAKING!” before running off into the night, cackling; off to gallivant wherever it is he gallivants, well, you see how I might be a little confused.
That said, this Cthursday-flavored offering comes from Joseph Nanni — whose work has previously been featured on Ectomo — and Bad Advice for Good Times. It was important that I post this. They have to talk to you. About polyps.
In sheer defiance of the World Wide Web Consortium's will, Ectomo was designed using a non-web-standard font. Luckily, it is included in the excellent font pack released by the H.P. Lovecraft Historical Society, which can be freely downloaded in Mac and PC formats here. Ectomo should still look fine without it, though.
We are aware that some, perhaps even many, ectomites have not only engaged in the sticky and awkward physical act of love but have gone the distance, so to speak, and reproduced; pushing new, wriggling life into the world. We do not judge. Now that you have a needy tadpole to take care of though there are, apparently, things one must do to ensure good growth and retard cellular breakdown. Fuel helps as does avoiding exposure to corrosive substances. We at ectomo, therefore, suggest that you never, ever touch your child. Better to place the neonate inside an antiseptic environment and insert food through an airlock. You could include a habitrail for exercise.
