We’re SO stoked for Zo today! After a year in aesthetic stasis, her personal website, Biorequiem, has finally relaunched with a gorgeous new look. Our favorite cosmonomad is a busy bee; she barely has time to initiate her patented Zobogrammatronicambient energy battery recharge system, let alone find a spare moment to whip up sexy new design and code, so she enlisted Nubby Twiglet (our awesome Coilhouse Indie Ad Grid designer) and Star St. Germain to help her. And now the proud mama crows “here it is – hussied up, blushing and ready to be sent out center stage with a brisk slap on the ass.” Huzzah.
You’ll find all sorts of goodies at Biorequiem 5.0. Art! Photography! Illustration! Memoirs! Bewbz! Chihuahuas! Anthropomorphic cybercows! Go get some.
I’d like to give a shout out to all my English major peeps with this “Pitch ‘n’ Putt with Joyce ‘n’ Beckett” a short film so rife with literary gravitas and pretentious humor that it nearly succumbs under its own weight. So load up your Calabash, ease into your favorite chair, and chuckle at each and every joke, satisfied that you are only one of a minority who could possibly grasp the humour found therein. Just don’t think about all the time you had to waste reading Finnegans Wake.
This went up all over the web back in June, but it’s too gorgeous not to be ‘Haused as well:
Directed by Pete Candeland, best known for his Gorillaz music videos. Produced by Passion Pictures. (Via Jhayne, thanks.)
Even if you’re not a fan of the Fab Four, or of Rock Band, you can still appreciate how absolutely breathtaking this animated trailer for the new Xbox game is. (Please, seriously, click that link and watch it high def.)
The Beatles: Rock Band has been in development by Apple Corps for quite a while. Conceived and created by George Harrison’s son, Dhani, in cahoots with MTV prez Van Toffler, and given a stamp of approval by Paul McCartney, Ringo Starr, and Yoko Ono, it’s slated for a Sept 9th release.
Here’s Bobby McFerrin at the World Science Festival last June, demonstrating how deeply internalized and anticipatory (if not truly universal), the language of music can be during a panel called “Notes & Neurons: In Search of the Common Chorus“:
Are you ready to have your mind blown? If the answer is yes, prepare for the bass stylings of one Hyunmo Kim, a South Korean man who “hopes to be the world’s greatest stupid idiot bass player”. He does this in a dress. With pigtails. He is a pigtailed man in a dress with mad bass skillz who does not drink milk until he gags or examine his delicate faux-cleavage with the aid of his camera. You must be imagining things. It’s probably the awesomeness of his bass, frying your brain.
Bet you didn’t know the Bird of Death was such a funky chicken. Or a Criss Angel fan. More toothsome tidbits over at his YouTube channel. FANGTASTIC. WOULD BITE AGAIN A++++.
July 31st: untold years into the future. The incept date of a mysterious being known in this dimension as Zoetica Ebb. Deep in the dank, aromatic depths of the Coilhouse Catacombs, we’d all been wracking our brains as to how to best celebrate another year of the glorious Zobogrammatron’s dalliance in our own space/time.
We know she likes shiny baubles. And pure electricity. And raw meat. So, for weeks, we all pooled our modest resources, collecting them in a special porcine receptacle with the intention of taking Z out for sushi tonight, followed by dancing and Jacob’s Ladder-licking at the Edison Lounge. Also, Nadya and I spent countless nights sneaking away to a top secret, tucked-away laboratory alcove of the Catacombs. Combining our formidable thaumaturgical and soldering skills, we crafted a Rundell Tiara facsimile from unclassifiable, glittering glassine fragments found lining the deep crater in Siberia where Zoetica was said to be discovered.
The ominous crown was finally completed in the wee hours of this very morning. So very proud we were, and so very tired, we forgot to engage the Catacomb’s alarm system before passing out cold in our cots. Or to feed Ross Rosenberg (our brilliant but pathologically ill associate whose cage office is also located here) his daily can of uncooked Spaghettios.
A few hours later, we were awakened by the sound of maniacal cackling. Rushing into the central chamber, we caught a glimpse of Ross clambering out of the jimmied escape hatch with our piggy bank tucked under one arm and the precious Doom Tiara perched askew upon his malformed cranium. “I’M A PRETTY PRETTY PRINCESS. SAY IT!”
“Yes, Ross! You are! You’re the prettiest princess in all the land! Please, just put down the pig!”
“NO. I’M GOING TO SPEND IT ALL ON WHIPPETS AND PTERODACTYL PORN AND THERE’S NOTHING YOU CAN DO TO STOP ME. MOOHOOHAHAHAHAHA.”
“Ross! Nooooooooo!”
“SEE YOU IN HELL!!” With that, he slammed the escape hatch shut, leaving us bereft in the moldering darkness. But let it never be said that we are not resilient, resourceful gals. At the very last minute, through the magic of some hastily cooked up bathtub MDMA, Ross’s discarded balloon stash, and the Craigslist strippergram directory, we are still going to be able to observe Zoetica’s special day with an appropriate degree of sexiness and aplomb.
In my mind’s eye there stands a mansion. From the outside it appears somewhat modest, at least for a mansion. Comprised of brick, mortar, and stone its facade is dotted with windows. It is wider than it is tall, though not by a great degree. It has a circular car park in front of it which you reach by driving down a long, cobblestone driveway. It is surrounded by green, verdant lawns. It is a conglomeration of every Merchant Ivory movie ever made. The skies in this place are always gray. It is a pleasant gray if such a thing exists.
Inside this mansion things become askew. The interior space is an impossibility when one considers the exterior dimensions. Hallways stretch seemingly forever, leading to room upon cavernous room. The architect of my mind’s mansion clearly shows his Escher influences without shame. When you walk your footsteps echo.
And everywhere, everywhere, there are shelves and drawers; cupboards and cubbyholes. The mansion in my mind has a library the size of a sports arena, the shelves rising multiple stories accessed by stairs and platforms and ladders. To attempt to reach a book in my library is to taunt death. The mansion in my mind is a container, a repository for things; a dilettante’s warehouse.
The mansion in my mind is always under construction; though there is never any construction to be seen. Every time I open my browser an addition appears. Sometimes it’s just an another piece of furniture; yet another card catalog on Craigslist. Sometimes it’s an entire room. Today it happens to be a Romanian pharmacy. I think the mansion in my mind could use a pharmacy.
As mentioned previously on Coilhouse, I happen to think DJ Earworm is one of the most creative and engaging mashup artists out there. His latest offering, “Backwards/Forwards” is a sublime distillation of Annie Lennox’s most fabulously demented/dementedly fabulous moments in music and videography. Enjoy.
