There is a small cabal of crow devotees along the West coast that count several EctoEditors among their number. You can tell who they are easily enough. The sacks of bread-heels and dog-treats stuffed into pockets and trailing crumbs are a dead giveaway. The occasional full-stop, moon-eyed, staring into the sky might seem like the local weirdo’s weekly fugue state, but maybe they’re just watching the antics of a group of jousting adolescent corvids.

If you’re lucky enough to have a few near your home, try tossing out the occasional treat. It won’t be long before soot-winged minions swoop menacingly over your mountaintop lair, rattling across the bones of your fallen enemies in search of necrotizing morsels as a warning to all that would disturb your uneasy peace.

Crows [Gustavo Lopez : Why Me]

Something to help jump start your week.

54m4n7ha [Livejournal] : ectochat

When they aren’t walking in slow motion to a techno soundtrack, looking bored at shows, or crafting spells to finally show that jerk Brad who’s boss these precocious gothlets fight prejudice and inequality wherever it can be found. Sadly, not everyone understands the hardships of being spooky and fighting for the right to be taken seriously while looking like a complete jackass.

The goth wonder twins were ejected from a bus (the enormous leathery bat wings with which they usually travel being in the shop) due to the lead the the more feminine of this fearsome duo (the one with less clothes on in case you’re wondering) is led around the streets of West Yorkshire. Citing a strict “No dogs allowed” (do you see what he did there?!) policy, the bus driver refused to take on any more passengers or move the bus any further until the gothlets took a powder from the virtuous and wholesome people’s public transportation.

I’m strangely torn, on one hand I support the bus driver’s decision simply because of the atrocious taste these youngsters display with zeal. More people should catch a little humiliation for nancing around in an unoriginal costume they put no thought into whatsoever. On the other hand, at no point did the bus driver inquire whether Gothy McCliche was using his young paramour as a service animal; a seeing eye goth as it were. Think about it, if you saw these two out and about would it really be that much of a stretch to assume blindness as the source of their fashion woes?

This Is London [Thanks, Giania!]

My favorite Flickr dandy, all dolled up again and nuzzling a vessel of vino. Amoel’s works combine the vocabularies of old and new gothic, which is why I find her so fascinating…there is an element of *punk in her clothing, and also a dash of the doll, a clippet of clown, touched all over with her simple non-Americanness.

Here I enjoy the powdered skin in contrast to the painfully clean, almost shrieking shine of the glass. The polka dots calling very gently to the peeking lace on the shoulder. And especially, the graduating pearl studs, looking not so much pierced as pinched by the furl of the cartilage.

We have presented odd theremins before but those had a special charm, an air of frivolity distinctly laking in this offering on ebay. Fashioned from the leering, demonic head of a child’s doll, its eyes alight with an unholy crimson glow, truly this is an instrument for an emotionally stunted and traumatized sociopath or, perhaps, a high-school goth.

DOLL HEAD II LPC THEREMIN SCI FI SYNTH EFFECT (NEW) [ebay] : Gizmodo : boingboing

NEWSFLASH! Egyptian Lord of the Dead comes to London to serve as Prime Minister in wake of Tony Blair stepdown. When asked what new plans he may have for leading the United Kingdom, the Son of Osiris, Lord of the Journey to the Other World, said, “I have come to weight the hearts of every British citizen. And to begin withdrawing troops from Iraq.”

Anubis had no comment, however, when asked about his shadowy connections with possible terrorist leader and known Soul and Messenger of the Other Gods, Nyarlathotep.

Anubis Comes to London [Tribe.net] (Thanks, Pope Jeremy!)

Since my band Nyarlathotep, the Crawling Chaos is playing tonight in Pittsburgh and I have had to teach students how to properly pronounce “wgah’nagl” and its various declensions all day, I’ve but little time to post today–so here’s what you’re gonna get: A PHAT JAM PHOR YOUR ASSES!

Witness the insane mixage!

Take 1 Part Skinny Puppy’s “Pro-Test.”

Mix with 1 Part Vanilla Ice’s “Ice Ice Bay.”

Stir until mixture begins to phatten.

Heat it up ’til it’s steamin’ awesome hott (with no less than two T’s!)–

THEN SHOVE IT UP YOUR BOOTY and get down with your bad self! I wanna see ALL rumps shakin’ to this beat…or, if you are an amorphous blob of protoplasm, I’d better see them membranes wigglin’!

(Sorry…still can’t get YouTube videos to embed. I think YouTube hates us now. I knew I never should’ve uploaded that video of me and Yog-Sothoth mudwrestling in twelve dimensions. Shit like that probably warped the spacetime in which their servers reside and now it’s all gone to hell. Don’t blame me if some of you sudden;y start to find videos embedded in the solid rock of mountains, bulkheads of naval ships, or the foreheads of newborn babes.)

My boy Adam…he comes through for a brotha all the time. He knows that I need a constant feed of tentacled slimy mutants, hot chicks with raccoon-eye make-up and chestbusters ready to hatch, weird chord progressions and songs that don’t make a lick of sense…so he hooked me up with Animal Collective’s brand new video for “Peacebone,” from their new album Strawberry Jam. Animal Collective’s one of those bands you will either love or absolute hate: there is no try when it comes to music this fucked-up and this inventive. But even if you HATE the music, you–yes, YOU–should make it your Patriotic Duty to the New World Order Under Cthulhu and The Great Old Ones to watch this winsome video of a girl, her monster beaux, and their adventures in picnicking and TPing rich-bitches’ houses!

*Sniff sniff* I’m a monster. I’ve got tentacles and big, crooked teeth. I’m even slimy sometimes (damned cold). Why can’t I get hot pseudo-50’s sock-hop babes with chestbusters for tongues? I HATE LIFE.

Every year since 1999, the pallid, mope-faced moppets parade into Disneyland in their stinking black lace for the annual Bats Day in the Fun Park, “the premier event on the West Coast, if not the world, for the Gothic and Industrial subculture of all ages.”

The world’s saddest people in the world’s happiest place is not as ironic a scenario as anyone would have you believe–after all, both are devoted to a heightened reality, to fantasy, to creativity, to dress up, to women with menacing names and unnaturally colored hair. The event is in August because that month holds one of the few summer weekend days when none of the annual passes are blacked out. (There are annual Disneyland passes hidden inside those corsets and Emily the Strange lunchboxes, people!) That fact has probably helped Disney discover what so many of the day’s participants stressed to me: they have jobs, they have children, they have purchasing power. Disneyland even unofficially offers bat-themed merchandise during the day, showing that it is a small world, after all–especially when you are trying to part people from their last discretionary dollar.

Check out the photogallery: these people are more nightmarish and surreal than Walt Disney’s frozen head could envision if a tab of LSD were dropped to dissolve in the tank like Alka-Seltzer.

The World’s Saddest People Visit The World’s Happiest Place [Idolator]