Portraits of deranged youth, possibly unsafe for work and for soul, but deeply affecting.

Sergey Bratkov [babyart]

Although Marilyn Monroe’s version of “My Heart Belongs To Daddy” is certainly not the most artfully wrought rendition of the song, nor even my personal favorite (Count Basie’s Decca recording of the tune holds that honor), it is elevated to sublimity by Marilyn’s ditzy vivaciousness and boom-boom curves, an opening monologue forcefully tying the song to Nabokov’s immortal nymphet and the insinuating leers of the perverts ogling her from the back row.

My Heart Belongs To Daddy - Marilyn Monroe [YouTube]

Lolita is Ectomo’s favorite novel. We are smugly convinced, Brownlee and I, that we understand the sweetness, the despair, and the adoration that ebbed and flowed between Humbert Humbert and his ward better than the average prole.

Lest we forget what we’re dealing with here, Humbert reminds us:

Now I wish to introduce the following idea. Between the age limits of nine and fourteen there occur maidens who, to certain bewitched travelers, twice or many times older than they, reveal their true nature which is not human, but nymphic (that is, demoniac); and these chosen creatures I propose to designate as “nymphets”.

I flatter myself by supposing I was such a creature, and that the now-subsumed demonlet crashes around inside my grown-up body still.

Intoner alerted me to this unreleased Sneaker Pimps song, which exists only as an acoustic performance from a radio program. There are dozens of songs about, by, and for nymphets of all stripes. I’ve challenged John and the New Scum to grace Ectomo’s days with them, all this week.

She was soft
She was unbroken
Dressed in the pink
That she wore as a token
To the summer
To the summer

Continue Reading…

Flying Saucers In Popular Culture - Comic Books [coisas do arco del velha]

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?

“It happens two hunred an’ fifty thousan’ times a yea’. Where is your daughta tonight?”

Fifteen year-old Arlene-Sue is irresistible. She knows that “you have to put out if you’re gonna get back”, and she’s gone “all the way”. She knows that the best way to get a man is by seductively feasting on fried chicken. “She turned brother against brutha” and it was going to catch up with her eventually. After a tryst with a trucker she’s chased down and taught a lesson by an entire gang. Thankfully, we are informed that once we follow fifteen year-old Arlene-Sue as she gets into trouble we’ll also join her as she is educated about pregnancy, ostensibly by a woman who interned under Ilsa during her stint with the SS. The saga of Arlene-Sue is the story of our time. It is not to be missed.

“Teenage mutha! Means nine months of trouble.”

Teenage Mother (1967) trailer [YouTube] : Hugo Strikes Back!

Alternating between creepy little girls as sadistic killers and little girls as creepy sex objects, Zhang Peng’s photography/paintings manage to be both simultaneously beautiful and unsettling.

zhangpengart [Artist’s Site] : baby art : ectochat

Instructables has a step-by-step to crochet your very own Cthulhu! A few people tipped us on this one, but Bibi was first.

Bela sends us some fantastic artwork from the talented Sayaka; comprised of an Ectomo favorite, namely: lithe, Japanese nymphets. Also, tentacles.

Asa Gilmore calls out attention to a list of abandoned wonders in Russia, saying “Scroll to the end of the article. If that strange contraption doesn’t scream ‘Steampunk’ to you, I shall eat my hat and say ‘balderdash.’”

Benton Barnett submitted this badass gas mask t-shirt which will now have to be added to my wardrobe. They can be purchase here.

Dr. Hypercube warns us, via ectotweet, to beware the cephalopod loo.

Ninjas and moustaches are BFFs! Thanks, Felix.

Illustration: Uncle Dapper by missmonster : Thanks, Jason!

Harma Heikens’s work combines mutant babies, prepubescent girls, pigs, and Hans Bellmer to create sculptures that elicit admiration for the imagination on display as well as feelings of acute discomfort. Of course, they might also just elicit a cry of “What the fuck!?”

Artist’s site may not be safe for work.

Harma Heikins [Artist’s Site] : who killed bambi?

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”

Steve Scott [Artist’s Site] : Thanks, Bira!

From our experience in Japan, Eliza and I find this video to be very similar to getting on a Tokyo subway, except replace exhausted salarymen on the cusp of a nervous breakdown with naked schoolgirls.

It’s the cacophony of high-pitched, bird-like squealing that fills the phone booth like a crystal atrium full of magpies that makes it for me. Mushi mushi!

Not safe for work, obviously.

How To Get 20 Hot Japanese Chicks in a Box [Metacafe] : Fleshbot : Sex or Not : SITB

Bruised, limping dolls, their almond eyes covered in stained patches, their limbs swaddled in yellowing gauze, hacking fake blood into virginal white handkerchiefs: meet the newest fantasy playgirls to capture the heart of the enraptured Japanese otaku!

Japan’s otaku geeks have turned their attention away from eyeglasses and maids to focus on kegadoru — literally translated as “injured idols,” who are scantily clad pretty women wrapped in bandages and wearing eye patches, according to Weekly Playboy…

“Girls who get decked out in Amaloli (cute, pink or white frilly ‘Lolita’-style outfits) have started covering themselves in bandages and wearing eye patches,” she says. “Many of the men who come to Akihabara often compliment us on how good our bandages look, or how cute they are. For girls hanging out in Akihabara, bandages and eye patches have become a must-have fashion item.”

Latest Akihabara geek fetish? One-eyed virginal maid mummies [Mainichi Daily News] : Boing Boing : Tokyo Mango

Jason Levesque (Stunt Kid) [Official Website]

From the series of short films for Adidas’s line of Adicolor footwear, comes Charles White’s entry entitled Pink. Pink is the story of a stuffed animal and his bestest friend in the whole wide world, The Attractive Blonde Nymphet. In fact, Mr. Bear cares so much for his lithe BFF that one day, with the help of a magical, metaphor -and fluid- dripping seashell, he turns her into a sequined fuck doll and brutally “snuggles” her.

Take from this what you will. I am to understand from the comments I’ve read for this video that I am “not getting it”, that there is, in fact, a “deeper meaning”. Now, as both my masters and my readers are fond of pointing out, I do not know things about stuff. Make no mistake, I am grateful for the mass of sneering and merciless pedantry that follows in my wake, like a fetid, editorial afterbirth, assuring that my already fragile self-esteem remains on the level of a herpes ridden porn starlet preparing to service every male within a 5 mile radius.

That said, what we have here can be interpreted as the story of a girl’s sexualizing and commodifying of her body. In making herself a beautiful, bling-encrusted product, she robs herself of her vitality and innocence, represented by Mr. Bear. However, twisted pervert that I am, I recognize veiled threats of sodomy when I see them. That said, I stand by my claims of filthy, vicious, ursine toy rape.

adicolor pink directed by charles white [Google Video] : adicolor