A twisted rider apes a classic Napoleonic pose, mounted upon the fleshy back of a unicorn, its head that of a narwhal. Such things exist in the mind of Mat Brown, an artist whose images are nearly beyond description; sprawling landscapes, lush with alien vegetation and inhabited by hideous figures. It is a fascinating, but horrific collection of sensual grotesqueries.
Be careful as the gallery is, most assuredly, not safe for work.
New Zealand, land of emerald, sheep-dappled fields, rolling, sheep-dappled hills, and formerly rolling, sheep-dappled Peter Jacksons. Yes, New Zealand is a beautiful land, but a land that harbors a disturbing secret. Deep in its underground caves — perhaps the few places still sheepless — is a starry field, twinkling in the darkness. A starry field of horror.
This constellation of death is comprised of light emitted from the innards of Arachnocampa luminosa; glowworms native to these caves. The genus was formerly called Bolitiphila, meaning mushroom lover, but this was changed in 1924 to Arachnocampa, meaning spider grub. This was due to the way in which the glowworms hunt.
In order to catch their prey the glowworms hang long strings of mucus from the ceiling of the cave, which are connected to a mucus hammock, where the glowworm lays in wait. The light that the glowworm emits attracts insects, which are then ensnared in these viscous strands, allowing the worm to devour them alive.
Narrated by Sir David Attenborough in his signature style; that perfect mixture of expertise, awe, and showmanship.
There are those who get off on seeing other people dress up like anthropomorphized nightmares and there are those who get off on watching other people exercise; but I would venture that the segment of the population who enjoys both is rather small. This is what I tell myself when watching a video of what appears to be a blue possum on an elliptical machine. I tell myself this as she glances back at the camera in what I assume is an attempt to look coy and as the camera focuses on the ponderous, metronome-like pendulum swing of her tail. I tell myself this but it doesn’t make me feel any better.
Warren’s wonderfully groomed moustache had served him well in the years previous to his appointment as Commissioner of Police of the Metropolis in 1886, accompanying him in the tunnels under Jerusalem, during the 1877 Transkei War in Africa, and his investigations into the disappearance of Professor Edward Henry Palmer’s archaeological expedition in the Sinai in 1880.
His time as Commissioner was to prove its greatest challenge, however. The Metropolitan Police had degenerated into a sad state under the watch of Sir Edmund Henderson, which didn’t endear it to a city who, since its inception, seemed to loathe its existence purely on principle. For example, officers were required to wear there uniforms at all times, even when at home, for fear that they would act as agent provocateurs if allowed to wear plain clothes. In 1829 an officer by the name of Joseph Granthem was beaten and killed while trying to interrupt a fight between two drunks. His death was ruled a “justifiable homicide” by the jury at the inquest.
Warren would try to improve the force but he would be hampered by constant battles with the Henry Mathews, Secretary of the Home Office throughout his tenure. He would also prove to be quite unpopular with much of the press at the time, and the events in Trafalgar Square on November 13, 1887, known as Bloody Sunday, would turn them against him permanently. It was, to say the least, an uphill battle.
If Bloody Sunday didn’t cement Warren’s place in the history of London then a series of murders in the district known as Whitechapel, by a fiend who would come to be known as Jack the Ripper, beginning on August 31, 1888 would do it instead. The first victim, Mary Anne Nichols, a prostitute, was found in front of a gated stable entrance in Buck’s Row. The second victim, Annie Chapman — born Eliza Ann Smith, also a prostitute — was found on this date in 1888, a Saturday, near a doorway in the back yard of 29 Hanbury Street, Spitalfields. Three more women would be slain before his spree ended in November and neither Sir Charles Warren, nor his elegant moustache, would be able to bring the Ripper to justice.
Unhallowed Necropolis TM is the supernormal source book for Unhallowed Metropolis TM, the gas-mask chic role-playing game of Neo-Victorian horror. The 250 page, lavishly illustrated book introduces ghosts, psychics, and mediums to the Unhallowed world. Unhallowed Necropolis features the secret history of the supernormal, 5 new Callings, rules for psychosurgery, and a treasure trove of aethertech devices. Look for Unhallowed Necropolis in early 2009.
It’s finally happened. Jason Soles has managed to con me into throwing in for yet another retropostapocalytic nightmare. My illustrations for this book are currently several months overdue, mostly thanks to my immense investment in making the project perfect. I swore off RPG illustration and look what happens. I hope you’re all very fucking happy.
Extended Stay hotels has a series of videos in which a woman stalks through one of their rooms, licking everything she can. Ostensibly the ads aim to show just how sterile their guest rooms are while also providing the kind of semi-erotic titillation that only the image of a girl salivating on an alarm clock can provide. It is by far one of the most appalling ads I have ever seen.
I have seen the “Special Reports” featuring news correspondents armed with UV lights exposing the invisible, Pollock-esque glaze of protein that decorates most hotel rooms. Worse yet, I worked in a hotel for two years, most of it night shift and one of my duties was to slip a bill under the doors of people who would be checking out in the morning. Let me assure you, judging from the sounds I heard emanating from some of the rooms as I made the rounds, I have no doubt that someone has done far worse things to your television’s remote than lick it.
“Fear will pierce your flesh…until every nerve in your body…EXPLODES!!”
Giant leeches, no doubt created by some sort of accident involving radiation, feast upon human beings, draining them of their bodily fluids; only to bring them back to life as their slaves.
Trailers like this contain something that I find distinctly lacking in previews for more modern schlock: excitement! Wouldn’t the next Saw or Hostel seem more interesting if it was advertised with a bit more rabid, spittle-flecked enthusiasm? Perhaps what the filmmakers of today need is a lesson in the use of the exclamation mark.
The gentlemen behind the popular “Google Maps” and “Google Moon” have released the third part of their five part series “The Googling”. As usual, the most innocent Google Maps task takes on a sinister air. This is why I only use Mapquest.
The Spore Creature Creator, from autistic demigod Will Wright, has spread at a breakneck pace throughout the internet since its release. YouTube is heavy and tumescent with short videos of various abortions of nature and blasphemies from people, ignorant in the ways of creation, anatomy, and a life without the horrible pain resulting from a spine bent at various, unnatural angles.
Even Ectomo is not immune to the siren call of such god-like powers. Qais has become so deeply drawn into his own, private Book of Genesis that we fear we may have lost him forever. Even now, as I write these words, I can hear the strains of Strauss’s “Also sprach Zarathustra, Op. 30″ wafting through the offices. He plays it so loudly that, even with his door shut, every movement can be heard quite clearly. His correspondences have even begun to suffer, consisting almost solely of links to videos of his newest life-forms; and they are always, at the very least, unsettling. I’m still not comfortable with anything having that many pairs of testicles.
Needless to say, then, that it was inevitable that the great Cthulhu would shamble forth from the diseased brain of Spore obsessed cultists. The number of different interpretations excreted onto YouTube is impressive, though they range from quite good to, frankly, awful. One can only wonder if, when the full game is released, we will see entire planets of Cthuloid creatures, growing and thriving until maturing enough to go off into the universe of Spore and lay it to waste.
A few months ago Vanity Fair recreated some of Hitchcock’s most famous scenes for its Hollywood Portfolio issue; pulling imagery not just from the more popular of his films, but also those frequently relegated to the realm of Hitchcockian fanatics.
The results are brilliant, and remain true to Hitchcock’s horror-noir sensibilities rather than galumphing off into a demesne of half-cocked ideas conjured by those with no love for for the molasses paced fright-fests for which Hitchcock is famous. It’s highly recommended you click through to If It’s Hip It’s Here’s juxtaposition of Vanity Fair’s images against the original scenes from which they drew inspiration.
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.
