Uncomprehending brainmeats… convulsing…

Desperate, hysterical tears of laughter… streaming…

Do not question why. Or what. Or how. Just… click to behold the conundrum that is Erotic Falconry.

Sunday morning is for lovers:

Why they cut this brief, hilarious scene from the film is truly the greatest mystery of all.

Previously on Coilhouse:

• Tom Waits Unleashes P.E.H.D.T.S.C.K.J.M.B.A.
• BTC: Sweaty, Burly, Stubbly, Groiny Manslice Edition
• The Laughing Heart

“Neverest” is a single of of Star, the debut album from Hey Champ. The song itself is of the electronic variety, the members of Hey Champ playing their instruments from inside the confines of neon tinged pyramids bastardized from Gary Numan’s repertoire. We’re not here for either the song or the set design, however. No, we are here for the beautiful, lithe nymphets gyrating in their underwear, swinging their hips back and forth like seductive pendulums, their sentient dolphin-head breasts swiveling on their chests, eyes glowing with otherworldly light.

Why these women would have cetaceans sprouting from their torsos is a question I am not equipped to answer, nor would I allow myself to pass judgment on those who find the image of the aforementioned cetaceans bound to the human form arousing. I am simply pointing out that it is a thing that exists and we are, all of us, going to have to accept that.

via The Daily What

Holy balls, kids. HOLY. BALLS.

These are stills from a clip of one seriously wackypants “Japanese punk rock Exorcist homage” called (appropriately enough) The Exorsister. It comes to us courtesy of the ever-terrifying and wondrous Weird Shit Magnet that is Dogmeat, who says “I’m laughing, because this is one clip where even I ask myself ‘Where do you get these?’ Stick around for the octopus attack… as if you would turn this off!”

Definitely not safe for work. Click the collection of stills above… IF YOUR DARE.

Perhaps no fruit plays a greater role in ancient cultures than the noble fig. Subfossil figs have been found in Jordan that predate the domestication of even wheat and rye. The fruit also appears in many religious traditions, for instance the leaves of the fig tree were used, according to the Book of Genesis, as the first underwear.

No man may understand the fig like albertluk6043382973, a gentleman whose enjoyment of this fruit borders on the perverse. In his instructional video he shows the viewer exactly how to determine the fruit’s ripeness and how then to pluck it from the branches. Gently, he caresses the purplish skin, stretched taut by the bloated flesh within. With the intensity of an amateur pornographer he focuses our gaze on the ostiole, open and secreting a sugary dew.

Soon though, his movements become more daring. Grasping the fig with one hand he begins to twist the stem; splitting the skin with his fingers. Finally, released from the branch of its birth, he brings it towards us, tearing it open to reveal the sticky interior, flush and glistening. Only when we have drunk in this sight does the shirtless man bring the fig to his lips and devour it with an ardor tempered by months of desire and need. Here, truly, is a man whose love for the fig is unmatched. He is part of a long tradition, possessing a deep understanding of the natural eroticism of the Ficus carica — and in that knowledge he revels. Juice running down his face, he celebrates; for now is the time for figs.

All images by Marcin Szpak

If Joseph Merrick had solved the Lament Configuration.

“Dear Coilhouse,

My name is Katarzyna Konieczka, I am an avant-garde fashion designer from Poland. I have been browsing through your website and while reading the blog I came across photos of Joseph Merrick’s head sculpture. I would like to take the opportunity of inviting  you to consider some of my work which took his inspiration from his life and condition. In particular, one of my models from the ‘Very Twisted Kingdom’ collection. The costume depicted in the attached illustration consists of a metal ruff and other elements resembling orthodontic medical equipment in reference to his illness which had not been diagnosed at the time.”

SOLD. Ten minutes later, I’m still picking my jaw up off the floor after perusing Konieczka’s site. Many more images, after the jump. In addition to the images on Konieczka’s page, many more images can be found in Marcin Szpak’s portfolio.

Model: Maggie of Lucent Dossier. Collar by Dream Rockwell.

LA-based Allan Barnes’ love of “Jurassic” image-making technologies – ambrotypes, daguerreotypes, instant film, and the like – lends itself well to his portraits of artists, models and performers from the LA scene. Recently, his work has displayed a greater degree of sartorial opulence thanks to contributions from the likes of Lucent Dossier’s Dream Rockwell (who created the collar above), Billy and Mellie (formerly) of Antiseptic, and one Miss Laila (responsible for the masks/headpieces below, though there’s no known URL for her work), among others. Sadly, many of the most stunning images are marred by what I consider to be a gruesome watermark, but that doesn’t dissuade me from sharing them after the jump. Barnes is also a teacher, so LA residents interested in learning old-timey processes are encouraged to follow him on Flickr for updates on workshops in the area.

[via httf]

Dr. Mangor and Laila. Wet plate collodion on aluminum. Makeup by Meg.

In remembrance of Dennis Hopper, who passed away on May 29th, The FAM presents David Lynch’s 1986 masterpiece Blue Velvet, a film that did perhaps just as much for Hopper’s career as it did for Lynch’s. I would imagine that most, if not all, Coilhouse readers have seen this film at least once. Starring the aforementioned Mr. Hopper as the psychotic Frank Booth as well as Kyle McLachlan, Laura Dern, and Isabella Rossellini, Blue Velvet is the story of a small town that hides dark and terrible secrets. It’s a classic Lynchian theme by now, but coming after the disaster that was 1984’s Dune — a film that I must admit, I like very much and a book, I must admit, I dislike as equally — it was a revelation.

Much of the film’s success must be placed at the feet of Mr. Hopper who, after accepting the role of Frank Booth (he was Lynch’s third choice for the part) was said to have exclaimed “I’ve got to play Frank! I am Frank!” His portrayal of Booth: impulsive, unpredictable, and terrifically violent, makes for one of the scariest characters in all of film. His constantly shifting moods and disturbing, recursive, Oedipal-tinged sexual proclivities, combined with his iconic nitrous oxide kit, are the perfect foil for McLauchlan’s naive, amateur detective. It’s a truly masterful performance.

In many ways Blue Velvet may be Lynch’s crowning achievement, and part of reason for that, I would maintain, is due to its relative simplicity. The imagery he uses here is powerful, but it is also far less obtuse than he has a tendency to be. In other words the signal to noise ratio of meaningful symbols and Stuff David Lynch Thought Looked Pretty is fairly low, making for what I feel is a much more complete and perhaps enjoyable experience.

At the very least, it’s a chance to see Dennis Hopper at his crazed, drug-addled best, every line spewed wild-eyed, frothing, and peppered with profanity. He shall be missed.

Weirdness and misogyny this week on The FAM as we present 1987’s The Confessions of Robert Crumb produced by the BBC (which includes the wonderful Arena opening and song. Seriously, I love that intro.) Unlike 1994’s Crumb by Terry Zwigoff (which is seeing a Criterion release this August) Confessions is less concerned with Crumb’s bizarre family and more concerned with the man himself. In that regard it spends much of its time letting Crumb explore and contemplate his objectification of women and self-loathing, preferring to be a catalog of the man’s various fetishes, to merely witness a day in the life of a dirty old man.

Both documentaries illustrate how difficult it can be to separate the artist from their art. A great fan of his work I can’t help but cringe as Crumb displays his current wife to the camera, showing off her musculature as if he were trying to sell the viewer a horse. It is, perhaps, admirable that one would be able to be so honest with the world, willing to expose one’s Id to whoever passes by, and it has certainly worked out well for Robert Crumb. I just can’t help but think that those images made living, breathing flesh are not nearly as entertaining when not on the printed page.

Posting this here was preceded by a long, arduous internal debate. It’s true that I’m far from a Devendra Banhart fan. In fact, I’m fairly allergic to just about everything  I’ve seen of him, little as that may be. Until this video, that is. Taking a big step away from his neo-flower-child-meets-Castro-Jesus look, Devendra, along with director Isaiah Seret, made a video for the song Foolin’ that pays tribute to tender man-love, old school pulp films, as well as to their biggest fan ever, Tarantino. What I love most about it is the fact that it shows a heavy S&M relationship in a positive, humorous, light. It’s just so darn happy-making, I can’t help myself!

Marking this NSFW for gratuitous use of bloodied butt-crack, sexy violence, and dangerous thongs. Dig it:

[Thanks, Whitechapel]