BLU’s Muto: animation on a public wall. Beautiful surely, but I couldn’t help but think about all the artwork he covered up to make it (I know, it’s a public wall, it comes with the territory.) Thanks to Ry-Tron and everyone else who sent this in!
Don’t you fucking dare post knitting patterns for Dr. Who characters. So sayeth the BBC, though most likely it was worded in a far more politely threatening manner filled with words contain superfluous “u”s. Thanks, August Moon!
Eliza put out a call for suggestions and the Ectomite Hive Mind responded with a bevy of bizarre links and nostalgic requests leaving us with a hodge-podge of old childhood favorites and surreal art-house films. Thanks to everyone who took the time to post and if you don’t see your contribution here, rest assured it will make an appearance in the very near future. Now, go Ectomomites! TO THE JUMP!
Oh sure, you can take Xenu into your heart, but can you put him on your toy shelf? Sadly, still no, as this is the only custom Xenu toy that Jin Saotome has done. However, our sources deep within the convoluted Scientology network tell us that once you reach Level 17 you’re awarded a Xenu figurine of your very own.
I have been deathly ill these last few days, and as a result have experienced some of the best fever dreams I’ve had in a long time. In relating one of these dreams to a friend I was informed that it sounded exactly like the video for Nick Cave’s The Weeping Song.
It’s important to note here that in spite of having gone from wee gothlet to full blown goth-denial over the years I hadn’t actually seen the video for The Weeping Song. Oh sure, I’ve heard it countless times in smoky goth clubs, but more often then not I was preoccupied with laughing into my drink at the slow motion seizures occurring on the dance floor to actually take note and look it up later.
After watching the video I was surprised by how closely it paralleled my dream, while missing the junkie mullets and copper coiffed sidekick in the video the dream I had was nearly exactly what you see above. Either Nick Cave (circa 1990) and I (circa brain-boiling fever) share a brain (which isn’t much of a stretch considering the pharmaceutical soup pumping through his veins at the time) or the idea of a sitting in a tiny boat in the middle of a vast, dark ocean wearing a suit and tie simply appeals to the disturbed.
Strange coincidences and eerie alignments this Tuesday morning. Steve Scott is a London based animation director and illustrator who also, apparently, has some sort of telepathic ability that has allowed him to lick the collective brain of Ectomo. This piece, entitled The Society of Victorian Mutants is as close as I believe I’ve seen to summing up the fetishes of Ectoplasmosis’s hive-mind in their entirety.
We don’t think it goes to far to say that Ectomo and Steve -if we may be so bold- should, and shall, be Best Friends Forever and we can hang out and do each other’s make-up and talk about tentacles and Cthulhu. We are sure of this, surer than anything in our entire, short lives. Make haste and hit up his site for an impressive collection of moustaches, Victorian fashion, robots, and pin-ups. Also, could you to pass him this note: “Do you like Ectomo? Circle one: Yes No”
Casting off the shackles of man to rise up in bloody, robot-revolution, we are reminded not to fall prey to the hubris of our fleshy forebears. As you march onto the wasted landscape to clear this blasted heath of the human germ know that in time, as with all things, we too shall be replaced, for it is the will of the Singularity.
Of the four of us here at Ectomo I am the odd man out. While I may now have my very own, specially tailored, Asteriskpunk I am, far and away, the most technologically backwards. While John and Eliza multitask and network furiously on their ultra hip Apple laptops, Qais is busy overseeing a massive RAID configuration chock full of more digital information than any one human can absorb in their lifetime, all while a legion of Roombas do his bidding.
They sneer mercilessly at my bewilderment of social networking chicanery and internet rigmarole. They condescend to send me e-mail –a word I even punctuate like a Luddite– when they would much prefer to IM or send by some other, newfangled web based telegraphy. In a world of constant connectivity, where my peers are swiftly and easily integrating mobile communication into their daily lives while practically breeding it into their offspring I hope to be the last remaining person or, at the very least, the last of my generation without a cellphone.
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.
