…But even here, I know our work was worth the cost.
What we have brought to pass, no one can take away.
Life offers up no miracles, unfortunately, and needs assistance.
Nothing will be the same as once it was,
I tell myself. –It’s dark here on the peak, and keeps on getting
darker.
It seems I am experiencing a kind of ecstasy.
Was it sunlight on the waves that day? The night comes down.
And now the water seems remote, unreal, and perhaps it is.

excerpt from “A Distance From the Sea”
by Weldon Kees
(born February 24th, 1914 – presumed dead July 18th, 1955)

A poet, a novelist, a painter, a jazz composer, a photographer, an art critic, a radio personality and a filmmaker, Weldon Kees wore many hats. Always dapper, always daring without compromising his accessibility, he was a true mid-century Renaissance man: the twitchy post-war poster child of avant garde America.

On the rare occasion that I meet folks with knowledge of Kees, it’s all I can do not to grab their ears and plant a big, wet one on ’em. Despite his brilliance and polymathic output (perhaps in part because he’s hard to pigeonhole) Kees isn’t too well known outside of a small, devout cult of literati who seem to want to keep his legacy a secret. Personally, I wish his work would receive more wide-ranging attention.

Storyteller du jour Si Spurrier just introduced me to the Mayor of Nightmare Town. Would you like to meet him?

Usually I have a lot of trouble finding common ground with the average YouTube commenter, medicine but in this case, sovaldi sale I concur wholeheartedly with dud8112084:

“If i ever see that thing ima blow its brains out with a 12 gauge.”

In the name of all that is good and wholesome, ed will someone please tell me who was working in ads and marketing over at Ferrero for the Kinder Surprise line in the 80s? Leprechauns? Crackheads? Seriously. I am confounded and terrified. Can anyone out there tell me where these demonic puppetmasters have gone? I must know.

Send any and all pertient information regarding the unholy Eggmaster to [email protected].

Please help. Please. The kinder eggs grow restless. They rustle and mewl in the dark oh please god help me I may never sleep again.

The freak shall inherit the earth.

Dear Mr Nomi,

We’ve never met, and your ashes have long since been scattered above Manhattan, so I guess it’s pretty weird for me to be writing you this letter. Then again, everyone always says you seemed to hail from another planet. Let’s pretend for a minute that you didn’t die alone in a hospital bed in 1983. It’s comforting to imagine that you simply returned to your home world and maybe, somehow, you can read this.

If you were still here, you’d be 64 years young today. No doubt your friends would be gathered around you at the piano to sing Kurt Weill and Chubby Checkers tunes. Perhaps you’d share some of your delicious homemade pastries with them and spend hours reminiscing about those hazy, crazy post-punk days in NYC.

Ruff and ready.

I wish I could fold time and space to sit in the balcony at Irving Plaza the night your brief, bright star ascended during a four night New Wave Vaudeville series. It was 1978. Up until then, you’d been supporting yourself as a pastry chef for well-to-do Hamptons types. They say that you emerged from the fog machine vapors like an alien from another planet, stiff and somber in a silver space suit and clear vinyl cape. My old friend Jim Sclavunos was there, manning the spotlight. He once told me that when you opened your Clara Bow mouth and sang, no one believed it was really you. The MC had to keep assuring the audience that you were not lip-syncing…

Enzo & Donato (detail), 6″ x 6x 6″ each (12″ x 18″ x 10″-Mounted), 2004
Brass, bone, fur, cast/painted plastic, glass eyes

You may have already heard tell of Jessica Joslin‘s enchanted bestiary via the esteemed Wurzeltod, Brass Goggles or Boing Boing. If not, it’s a joy and an honor to introduce you to her work. In Jessica’s loving hands, delicate one-of-a-kind creatures are born of brass and bone, buttons and leather, glass eyes, mother of pearl, filigree, taxidermy, antique mechanical flotsam, scientific process, nostalgia and GENIUS!

From the Lisa Sette Gallery Newsletter:

Jessica Joslins’s odd menagerie begins with her penchant for collecting: “I find things anywhere that I find myself…in obscure junk shops, flea markets, attics, taxidermy supply houses, specialty hardware distributors… or walking through the woods.” Joslin seeks out and puts to use those bright odds and ends that might catch one’s eye in a box full of orphaned fixtures, or glinting up from the sidewalk. While each piece she employs in her eerie animal reliquary is delicately beautiful, it is also the detritus of human engineering and design: old brass buttons and gold braid, glass beads, clockwork cogs and velvet ribbon. Such items are reminiscent of the whimsical technology of a century past, one’s grandparents’ house, the dark interiors of old fashioned movie theatres – and as such they have an intriguing, wistful quality. In other words, Joslin collects the things that all of us secretly want to, the shiny pieces that we might comb through, handle and admire, but ultimately force ourselves to put down; what would we do with such things?

Flora, 4″ x 2″ x 3″, 2006
Brass, bone, sterling, painted wood, grommets, cast pewter, glass eyes

Jessica, who lives in Chicago with her commensurately brilliant husband, painter Jared Joslin, recently took time out of her busy schedule to answer several questions for the upcoming Coilhouse print magazine. You can read excerpts from this interview and meet a few more of her creatures under the cut. Also, anyone who happens to be in LA through the 23rd can take a closer look some of her work at the Los Angeles Art Show in Santa Monica.

Two-Faced Portrait (1996) © Colette Calascione

The women of NY-based painter Colette Calascione‘s world are the most luscious and enigmatic lot you’re likely to encounter in modern classical painting. Inspired by Victorian portraiture and Surrealism, Calascione is gifted with an Old Master’s hand for technique, a fevered imagination, a wicked sense of humor and a reverence for the feminine form rivaling that of Vargas himself. The resulting work is whimsical, provocative and elegant in turns. Demure masked nudes entice viewers with smoldering eye contact and slight, come-hither smiles. Grand dames of the parlour consort with beastly Ernstian suitors. The rosy aura of myth and allegory that surrounds these ladies is a fetching as their silken lingerie… maybe more so.

Scrupulous attention is paid to everything, and the color and contrast she imbues in each form — powdery decolletage, folds of drapery, the riotously rococo backgrounds — is exceptional.

Truly, Calascione knows that Goddess is in the details.

Illumination (2003)

More images and links under the cut.

The oldest known folk song of Japan is called Kokiriko-Bushi. Villagers in secluded Gokayama used to perform it in honor of local Shinto deities.

A wonderfully daft electro-pop wizard who goes by Omodaka came up with the idea to revamp the song with chiptune vocals and Stevie Wonder-isms. He then handed the track over to the equally wonderfully daft animator Teppei Makki, sick who made the following video. It features a breakdancing marionette skeleton cutting a rug with a dexterous disembodied hand and assorted Residents reminiscent eyeball-headed women at the cosmic discotheque. Enjoy:

(Via Pink Tentacle by way of Bram Clark.)

Nicharee “Jeeja” Vismistananda stars in Chocolate

Chocolate is the latest from director Prachya Pinkaew, the man at the helm of Ong Bak and Tom Yum Goong/The Protector, two internationally acclaimed martial arts films starring the inimitable Tony Jaa. I was disappointed to hear that the collaborators had a big falling out recently, apparently due to Jaa’s desire to direct the Ong Bak sequel himself, and prompting Pinkaew to cancel their much-anticipated Sword project. If anyone can land on their feet after such upheaval, it’s Jaa! But I found myself wondering how on earth Pinkaew would replace him. The answer is Nicharee “Jeeja” Vismistananda, a very talented young woman who has been training with Jaa’s own Muay Thai mentor and fight choreographer, Panna Rittikrai, for several years.

From the Twitch website:

In Chocolate, [Vismistananda] plays an autistic girl who goes on a mission to collect debts to save her ill mother, a course of action that puts her on a collision course with gangs of both the local Thai and Japanese varieties. Japanese film fans will recognize popular Japanese leading man Hiroshi Abe as one of the yakuza bosses.

(Wooo! Hiroshi’s a hottie.) The following trailer is un-frigging-real. Choreography is top notch and this girl is appropriately fast, fierce and fearless. There are some exhilarating nods to Bruce Lee. They’ve even included bloopers of both Jeeja and her stunt double enduring some painful missteps to assure viewers of authenticity. No wires, no special effects. Just human beings accomplishing extraordinary physical feats.

Thanks to Tommy Z for the heads up!

Hold me, Daddy. I’m afeared.

Hey, remember when Disney didn’t suck and blow simultaneously?

Deep down, most of us suspect that ol’ Uncle Walt was a sexist, racist, feeb-informing Machiavellian rat king. (Still, who doesn’t love Pinocchio?) And while there’s no doubt Disney’s recent corporate merge with Pixar and subsequent shakedown (leaving prodigies Lasseter, Catmull and Jobs steering the ship) will bring back much of the first company’s long lost artistry, the question bears repeating: have the past 20 years of Disney output blown epileptic pygmy goats, or what? Wtf happened?*

Never mind. Let’s focus on the semi-positive and take a look Disney’s chaotic neutral, pre-sucky years. I know I’m not the only one with fond recollections of the many offbeat live action flicks Disney produced in the late 70s and early 80s. Uncle Walt was in cryogenic deep freeze and the company’s heyday was fading, but gems like TRON, Something Wicked This Way Comes, and most poignantly their ridonkulous sci-fi space epic, The Black Hole all have a special place in this gal’s personal What Made Me Weird lexicon.

Yvette Mimieux gets some much-needed laser surgery.

Produced on the heels of Star Wars’ popularity, The Black Hole is one of Disney’s last gasps of cornball genius. Sure, it’s got problems. No originality, for starters. As one reviewer put it “[this is] nothing but a ‘creepy old house’ movie set in space.” Also, the screenwriters seem to have been unsure what demographic they were writing for, resulting in a plot that insults adult viewers’ intellects while still managing to scare the ever-loving crap out of children (and making The Black Hole the first PG-rated film in Disney history). Hokey dialog and unfortunate wardrobe choices abound. But if I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a hundred times; you can’t go wrong with Ernest Borgnine. If that’s not enough to entice you, there’s John Barry’s amazing score, the incredible scale models and sets, scene after scene featuring beautiful, richly colored matte paintings of deep space, and Anthony Perkins getting the Cuisinart treatment.

Best for last, the Maximilian <3 Reinhardt 4-Ebber (In Hell) ending:

A photo from one of General Tom Thumb’s successful tours in Europe.

Charles Sherwood Stratton was born today in 1838. His birth weight was a hearty 9 pounds, 2 ounces. For the first 6 months of his life, Charles continued to develop normally. Then, quite suddenly, he stopped growing. On his first birthday, the boy’s chagrined parents realized he hadn’t grown an inch or an ounce in half a year. They took him to a doctor, who told them it was unlikely their child would ever reach a normal height (he mostly likely suffered from pituitary gland malfunctions). Charles was a little over two feet tall and weighed 15 pounds.

Left: a playbill featuring the General’s many talents. Right: Stratton as a young child.

The embarrassed Strattons muddled along with their tiny son for four years until P.T. Barnum heard tell of the boy and negotiated with them to exhibit Charles on a trial basis in Barnum’s own NY museum. The family was paid a princely sum of 3 bucks a week plus room, board and travel expenses for Charles and his mother.

a befuddling coroner’s photo of retired doctor John Bentley, 1966

Dear diary, today my heart leapt when Agent Scully suggested spontaneous human combustion…
-Agent Fox Mulder

Ho hum, the good old days. Pluto was still a planet, Nessie, Big Foot and leprechauns frolicked unfettered among us and the theoretical possibility of true Spontaneous Human Combustion seemed feasible. Well, to me, at any rate. I’m not really sure what’s to blame for that. (Repo Man? Krook from Bleak House? My unhealthy childhood obsession with Brad Dourif?) In any case, Ablaze! was required bathroom reading in my apartment for many years. Until quite recently, I clung to my hope that there was a chance, albeit remote, of my asshole ex being inexplicably reduced to a pile of ashes with feet.

Alas, thanks to a series of informative scientific articles and National Geographic specials, believers must face facts: SHC is a most likely myth.