5 x 7″ Claybord sketch, one of a set of three, for the Ectomite who ended up fixing my MBP screen.

Adam’s Commission [Flickr]

Japan’s most famous cephalophile and friend immortalized in plastic, gumball-machine-dispensable form.

Octopus uploaded by Kozy Shack : Tweeted by Dr. Hypercube

The gasmask is an integral part of any space-hobo’s fashion arsenal, and while there’s a nearly infinite number of stylistic permutations from which to choose the mask that best suits you nearly all of them are drab militaristic affairs. Hardly surprising considering they’ve never been intended as anything other than tools to avoid taking lung-fulls of poisonous gas or air swirling with microscopic debris during a siege.

Thankfully an enterprising designer, Diddo Velema, saw the gaping couture void in post-apocalyptic style and decided it needed a good filling, creating high fashion gasmasks, studded in diamonds and logos, thus cementing her place in the annals of fashion history.

Personally I prefer the understated elegance of the Vuitton, but if gaudy is your thing there’s more than enough Gucci analog to go around. Hit the jump for larger versions of the masks.

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Gentlemen, I am outraged.

Your gross negligence in assuming I am ashamed of any of my musical predilections is noted, and will be revenged. There is absolutely no reason to assume, self-righteous pricks that you are, that the carmine creeping up my collar is anything other than stoic pride, a touch of the ol’ toxoplasma gondii, and perhaps a brief spike in my everyday, baseline feelings of discomfort.

Listen you, I was enjoying the Ruski pop nymphets way back, before any hoity-toity English remixes got loose, much less actual American album releases. This shit was edgy and inaccessible. Hell, it still is! I would get home from my live-action Vampire the Masquerade roleplaying session at the local college campus (back when I was a ginger-curled nymphet myself), maybe boot up a game of Fallout 2, invite my BFF Steve over, and we’d watch these videos, on repeat, in silent awe. Why, I thought to myself, did I not have a dark pixie of a partner, an eternal semi-succubus, someone to cling to during the long nights of crippling self-doubt, someone to share my pants and lipgloss, someone to hold my hair while I purged, someone with whom to ghost ride the whip? I mean, someone besides Steve?

Now, emerald-haired, naked in a wooden trunk, chugging Red Bull and typing on a keyboard for which I cannot see the screen, I ask myself: if I had found her, this dark unicorn, would things have turned out better?

But then I think: how could they?

The 5th Element, in spite of being a fairly bad movie, is still one of my favorite films, if for no other reason than the entire thing is absolutely gorgeous. It is a future in which the soft, rounded corners of plastic-everything that we all expect to be permanently spotless and milky white are in actuality smudged with the dirt and grime of a population that built its way out of the polluted, earthen pit they created for themselves.

Everything in the movie is immediately obvious as “futuristic” without looking outlandish or ridiculous (save Ruby Rod, who gets a pass for having a special place in my heart); a problem to which many films set in the future fall prey.

The above grand piano, designed as a collaboration between Schimmel and Luigi Colani, would have fit perfectly in the film. As such, it is awarded my highest praise. Redesigning an instrument that many have a near religious reverence for is a tricky task, rife with perilous design flaws that could very easily ruin the whole shebang resulting in packs of pianists screaming for blood; but Colani and Schimmel have pulled off their design coup with a singular aplomb.

Had I the measly $110,000 that is being asked for this masterpiece it would be snatched up greedily with a haste I’ve likely never before displayed; and thus I would be able to count myself among the lucky 14 that stroke the keys of a piano sent back through time.

The Pegasus [Cool Hunting] : Gizmodo : Automorrow

At some point after 1988 someone, somewhere was playing Super Mario Bros. 2 and thought “One day I’m gonna fuck Birdo.” Well it seems that that day came to pass.

From the Place That Shall Not Be Named.

With a delicious lunch having slithered its way from the depths of Davey Jones’ locker, an Ectomite if I’ve ever seen one stares glassy eyed into the gaping maw of disgustingly erotic possibilities Hokusai teaches us to expect from octopi. Little does she know, our be-tentacled friend has more fiendish plans in store…

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In a culture of casual nudity, cheap beauty, and non-stop supermodel rollerdiscos, what can a man do to get noticed? How can he draw slitted eyes away from mirrors, and fellow sapphic sphynxes, long enough to make any sort of impression? When personality, looks, and tiger speedos just don’t cut the mustard anymore, what else is left?

What else indeed.

For any of our female Ectomites looking to recreate The Dream of the Fisherman’s Wife but who do not have access to a live octopus, or do not have the desire to have a slick, razor sharp beak on their sensitive and delicate girl parts, the Screaming Octopus Clitoral Vibrator is the perfect holiday gift. Comes complete with “Tingle Tentacles” which no self respecting manufacturer of cephalopod sexual massagers would fail to include.

Screaming O Screaming Octopus Clitoral Vibrator [LoveHoney]

Available from Strapya World, it’s the Bondage Kewpie Cell Phone Strap. Kewpie is the mascot of one of Japan’s most popular condiments, Kewpie Mayonnaise, and is very popular with the kiddies. Now, adults who loved Kewpie as children can have the neonatal icon of indeterminate sex, nude and trussed up, ready for its big scene in the Studio Ghibli adaptation of Story of O. You even have your choice of five different colors of rope! The blurb on Strapya’s site reads: “Wow, Kewpie is tied up with a cell phone strap string! It’s strange that Kewpie still smiles… He/She likes to be bondaged??” Oh, you know he/she does.

Bondage Kewpie Cell Phone Strap [Strapya] : Inventor Spot : Spluch

Jason Levesque (Stunt Kid) [Official Website]

I’ve spent the past week in the frozen wastes of Toronto, Ontario. My expectations of barely literate, maple syrup sucking, troll people were beautifully shattered my first night here. My host having dragged me to a club at which the first sight to grace my eyes was a creature that stirs the loins of only the most deviant at Ectomo H.Q., the mustachio’d woman.

No no, not the overbearing Russian mother of 13, whose moustache is wispy and borne of horrible genetics. The supine, ink-stained upper lip of a woman in male drag is the madonna of my filthy lust. There are few things in this world more attractive than a woman embracing, owning, and subjugating (in a fashion akin to praying mantis) a masculine icon, and in so doing infusing it with feminine allure.

H.R Giger’s bar in Chur, Switzerland….

The Giger-Bar which, today, exists in the Swiss city of Chur, was originally planned for New York City. When it became apparent that the budget for the bar envisioned for New York was not going to be enough to allow for the design and construction of the elements which had been planned for it, Giger decided it would be wiser to wait until it could be financed properly.

Fortunately, Thomas Domenig came into Giger’s life at about the same time. In his youth, Giger had attended high-school with his wife. Domenig is the number-one architect of Chur. He built about a third of the city. There were plans for a café in his Kalchbuhl-Center, which was already under construction, and Giger had, evidently, shown up at just the right moment. He was able to convince Domenig to change his plans and back the idea of a bar.

I had a friend–a colleague, really, at the University who specialized in Human/Yuggothian political relations….Went to a conference in Switzerland, part of the ReArmament Talks after the disastrous Mars mission in the ’70s [See forthcoming Footnotes story, “Beneath the Moons of Madness” for details]. He hooked up with a Yugg “ambassador”/physicist/nanoengineer/florist (they each “specialize” in some many fields, each of them is, ultimately, a perverse kind of autistic super-generalist) who took him to Giger Bar in Chur. Continue Reading…

Every once in a great while something catches me off guard. I am not ashamed to admit it. It hasn’t happened in quite some time but while meandering around I found this interview with Martin (the only name given).

Martin seems to have spent much of his life enamored of one hobby, namely modifying his penis. This is, in and of itself, not particularly off-putting, after all most of us have seen at least photos of, say, a Prince Albert. However, this is so far removed from the epic modifications that Martin has undertaken as to be irrelevant.

Littered throughout the interview are pictures of various surgeries, in various stages, that Martin has performed upon himself. This is when things become awkward for, you see, upon clicking on one of the small, pixelated/censored thumbnails I was presented with an image so abstract, so painful to me that my brain almost ceased to function. There I sat, slack-jawed, my breath slowly escaping from my lungs in a horrified wheeze for what seemed like an age.

Needless to say that, should someone have walked by and peered over my shoulder, the image may have instantly been rejected by their psyche as well, thus saving me the chore of explaining why I, a supposedly straight man in a monogamous relationship, was spending time staring at images of cocks.

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I, Derek Cthulhu Fh’tagn Pegritz, have a confession to make: I have a raging medical fetish, especially when it comes to mortuary equipment and insane asylums. I collect antique medical equipment, and my house looks like a combination of a 1920s doctors office and a shrine to Skinny Puppy and broken computer equipment. If I ever find an Innsmouth babe of my own, we shall certainly honeymoon at Danvers Asylum in Danvers, Mass.

So when I came upon Cyril Van Der Haegen’s online portfolio, I was interested in just flipping through the illustrations, chasing down a few rumored R’lyehan prints until…I came upon the one above. Continue Reading…