clintcatalyst: Hello, Dark-hearts... † http://tinyurl.com/BlackRainbowsBloodyLollipops † An alternative to diggonometry: POST YOUR FAVORITE CONTENT HERE […]
clintcatalyst: Between that obnoxious twit-whale & the tweet-robot, my mental health demands that I abandon these parts...(Message rcvd, universe: kthnx) […]
clintcatalyst: Just rcvd yr DM but can't respond bcz you're not "following" me, @Weebeasty. This better be a Twit-glitch, or somebody's gonna CUT A BITCH! […]
clintcatalyst: Someone stole yr jeep, @lizyd? SUCKAGE. I've thght my car was ganked a few times, but turned out my dumb ass just forgot where I parked. […]
this weekend: Friday, August 13th & Saturday, August 14th
Two Thousand & Ten A.D.
the roving, decadent, well-bedecked beast
is taking up residence at The Uptown in Oakland, CA
“…as the shades of the evening drew on, within view of the melancholy House of Usher.”
:: but what is this ‘House of Usher’—this legendary construct of myth & mirth & mystery—without its cast of characters, its inhabitants? ::
First, Please Allow Me To Present…
Shawni Brothers, Proprietress of The Estate
The question posited, I hereby present a sampling of retinal treats under the auspices that it might inspire any indecisive whine-&-diners of this, my self-named blogature, to readjust one’s posture.
Sir Xavier Haight, The Gentleman of The House
&
Vocalist/Founder of Malign, The Critically-Acclaimed Darkwave Project
Cutting to the chase, with the swath of a switchblade: If you live anywhere in the vicinity of this one-two punch of delectable darkness: even a cursory glance at the gorgeous creatures that follow should propel you off your gluteous maximus & rifling through your closet.
Case in point? The hyper-hyphenate & über-hottie Zoetica Ebb, as pictured above. Of course, you could stay in tonight & lurk endless jpegs of her posted at Biorequiem, her home base among the internet ethers—or you could even go all brainiacattack (accusations of gay? who, me? NEVER. I would not!) & explore Miss Ebb’s prolific outpourings at the subculturally essential—let alone just downright damn sublime—thick & slick & glossy-paged love-letter to alternative culture known as Coilhouse magazine, of which she was a co-founder.
Or, hey! Here’s an idea: how ’bout you just stay home with a family-sized bag of Cheetos & instead of licking the nuclear-hued dandruff off your fingertips, close your eyes & BEAT IT, BOSS
all breathin’ heavy & visualizing this fab fascinatrix you might—no promises from me, as this world we live in? a pretty damn cruel place…
But yeah, you might have a chance to stand close enough to do borderline* creepy stuff like fill your lungs with the stink of her hair.
The asterisk on “borderline”? Bitch, you already know this! Because when we’re crushed-out, there’s some intense delusional hormones released that sell us clichés like how [we] “can’t help the way we feel,” and “no, I really mean it, you guys: this time isn’t like the last time when I said it’s about time I found the right [pick a pronoun, rinse, repeat; double-up on those appointments to the shrink, as close friends will only sigh in disgust, hang up, or pay someone to fark some sense into you. Quickly].”
Kay, I really need to focus here.
Ah! That’s right! The equation of your hormones with a jaunt to Usher this fine eve…
Unless, of course, you’ve slipped past that veritable point of ABANDON HOPE ALL YE WHO ENTER HERE into a life of Ed Hardy sweatpants, woven leather belts the color of fecal matter, headbands from mega-corporate “non-corporate” franchises prominently listed—even & especially if by invisible ink—on the trustafarian American-Apparel-Apparel-Is-My-Idea-Of-Slumming, Ma-a-an pseudo post-post-ironic Hipster Checklist Of [COUGH!] Cool.
✷ Cunty Ranting Hereby Interrupted for A Ceasura of Correctness Maximus ✷
L O O K † U P O N
T H E S E † L O V E L Y † L A D I E S
Nakoeth [L] a.k.a. ‘The D.J. Formerly Known As Fuchsia’: Esteemed Provisionist of Hand-Picked Auditory Delights, & Sorrel Smith [R], A Prodigious Talent of The Visual Arts Who Renders
Her Paintings, Portraits, & Illustrations With Consummate Skill
✷ Palettes Cleansed, Corneas Stimulated…HEED THESE WORDS AS ‘CAUTION TAPE’ FOR YOUR PSYCHE, ✷ As There’s A Shifting Of Gears Back To Vitriolic Territory ✷ (Sorry, mom. Sorry, God.) ✷
Pfft! Oh.&.Yeah: The “Checklist of Cool.” That tripe’s more played-out than Dexy Midnight Runner’s lethal earworm known as “Come On Eileen,” but then again? Chances are if you’ve read—that’s read, any blog-skimmerexic stereotypes who’re in full-blown desperato zone, scrolling with sweaty palms & a staggering 2.8 second average attention span (thanks to the ADHD Pharmers calculated into the same demo/grapho/frankly, let’s-not-get-too-graphic, whose intake of Mother’s Little Helpers fluff up those statsas effectively as a porn set’s invaluable blow-hards working behind-the-scenes)…
Anyway, as I was saying–or, at the very least, attempting to communicate before I reverted to an unfortunate habit of interrupting myself with tangential matter & tossing parentheses around with the same ease as a game of horse-shoes…
:: HERE. HERE’S THIS ::
with Ryan Rosprim [L], Maker-Ov-Musick from Kill Sister Kill: A Band Among the ‘Short List’ of House Faves
& on the [R]? Most applicable? The Court Jester, if anything!
(Incidentally, if I look like a bitch here? Alas! A photographic representation that’s accurate)
You you you, yeah, you: with yourinsatiable hunger for celebrity gossip, commerce tagged as “sharing a secret” (such a flagrant ploy to incite the domino effect among the dumbed-down click, copy, paste & repost crowd to create viral content…yet just like the anything-but-accidental exposure of thongs several inches above [insert name of trendy jeans] horizon being the visual equivalent of a mating call, it’s as fool-proof as the endless supply of fools).
Umm, yeah. Whaddya say we don’t “revisit” the aforementioned yawn-fest (not to mention time-suck kthnxthoractuallyeallynot) & visualize the rapid sweeping gesture responsible for ~magic~ on a dry erase board. Yeah yeah, you know: the trademark disappearing act that occurs when ✷ POOF! ✷ It’s the same blinding white hue working actors & “working boys” have for teeth.
Anyway, so now? Keep that imagination crankin’! Since, upon it, there’s been an addition of verdant green text in which a new topic—an assignment, if you will—occupies that space with the insistence of CAPS LOCK.
The message? Consider this an invitation to (envision air quotes here) follow my lead &
commence whatever personal rituals permit you to complete your destination of being
:: Suited & Booted ::
Above This Text, The Look? Four Words, My Applause: I SEE NO FLAWS
As aforementioned, here’s a dangerously delectable sampling of the historical haunt’s gorgeous creatures dressed in sumptuous fineries. However! Before any butt-hurt gloomophiles dial whine one one for the What About Me?! What About Me!? waaahbumlance to arrive, with a stern tone, I reiterate: this is but a small cross-section of the legendary bar’s “intimate associates.” A vast array of ‘regulars’ populated Usher’s environ over the years; these pictures just happen feature some of the individuals who—for whatever various & sundry reasons—appealed to the “peculiar sensibilities & temperament” of this humble blog’s narrator.
Or, to quote Poe (yet again!): my “reserve [has] been always excessive & habitual.”
Here’s to
Cheers to
T H E † E X C E S S I V E † & † T R A N S G R E S S I V E
Exhibit A:
Sensual, Though Inherently Too Cultivated & Chic For One Dare To Describe As ‘Slutty.’
Sophisticated, Though With A Sufficient Accumulation Of Accolades; i.e., No Need To Be A Show-Off. An Infectiously Engaging Conversationalist—Perhaps The Most Charmingly Macabre Individual I’ve Ever Met, Actually. If you’re familiar with the photography of Eric Kroll, Steve Diet Goedde, Charles Gatewood, &/or Richard Kern (et al), you’ve seen her likeness: or rather, the image this anthropology major & multi-faceted individual chose to project at that precise moment in time.
A maestro of oil, Anna Noelle Rockwell‘s paintings explore the sublime intersection where
the gorgeous & the grotesque intersect. Just click it & check ‘em, already… (For feck’s sake!)
Exhibit B:
Gabriele: Conjurer Of Thunderstorms & Lunar Apparitions, Dark Liquidtrance Bloodscapes,
Scrying, Writhing Vampiric Chasms, Stitch-Witchery Of Glamoured Fabrications,
Brightly-Colored Tarot Playthings In A Physical Shape & Smash-Lit State Of Mind
Like No Other, Cemeterial Moonlit Gloom, & Body-Popping.
A individual in a wonderfully warped sense of the word, & a collector’s dream.
Exhibit C:
Though I Can’t Tell You If It’s From When He Was Or Wasn’t A ‘Prince,’
With All Certainty, I Concur With The Sentiment: Natalie? She’s Got The Look, Yes
Exhibit D:
Paris Sadonis: A Master of Multiple Instruments; A Painter, Performance Artist & Musician Known For Pushing Boundaries—Particularly With The Rotating Cast Of Collaborators in The Audio-Visual Pastiche He Both Created & Orchestrates: EXP. ‘EXPerimentation Without Limitation’ is a doctrine among the collective; ‘Catharticism Is The Key To Our Satisfaction’ is another.
:: Joie de Vivre ::
an editorial of Gareth Pugh‘s oil-slick, sicker-than-ever Autumn 2010/Winter 2011 collection
✷ Unfortunate, though necessary DISCLAIMER BEFORE VIEWING: This video contains partial female nudity in an artistic context. If you are easily offended, uptight, conservative, under the age of 18 in a country where breasts are against the law for minors to view; if you are on a public computer—including though not limited to libraries, internet cafés, airports, airplanes, and/or places of employment—within a public setting which could potentially expose anyone to partial nudity against his or her free will; if you do not appreciate fashion, have no respect for the beauty of the human body, are a member of the Clergy, adhere to a religion in which viewing the aforementioned will incite questionable behavior, immortal thoughts, if not altogether deem you a candidate for hellfire and eternal damnation; if you are immature, live anywhere on the planet that designates aforementioned material illegal for anyone under the age of 21 and you are not at least 21 years of age, live where obscenity laws are stringent regarding web site content—namely, countries in which women are expected to have their bodies completely clothed in any and all public forums, certain zip codes within the American Bible Belt, or quite frankly, anywhere mired in antiquated notions of morality: do not click on the arrow that appears in the embedded content; do not press “play,” and do not view any other content on this URL under any pretense. In no uncertain terms: please, DO YOURSELF & THE REST OF THE CIVILIZED WORLD A FAVOR & GO AWAY—IMMEDIATELY, NOT ONE SECOND LATER; YES, I AM SERIOUS WHEN I SAY KINDLY NAVIGATE ELSEWHERE & THAT MEANS NOW. ✷
:: whew! ::
That being stated, for the rest of us?
Enable Full Screen
&
C r a n k + T h e + V o l u m e
video description & full credits await
beneath the cut
Auxiliary = alternative, supplementary, to provide what is missing, to give support
from the site page:
“The August/September issue is the eleventh issue of Auxiliary, a magazine dedicated to alternative fashion, music, and lifestyle. This issue is packed with interviews, including Android Lust, Nina Flowers of RuPaul’s Drag Race, Michael Swaim of Cracked.com, and Andy Deane of Bella Morte. The issue also contains a military inspired fashion editorial, a beauty editorial that will teach you to get smart, a style editorial guide to wearing harnesses, a mod inspired style feature, and editorials from two notable writers, Clint Catalyst* and Grumpy Owl. It also features DJ picks from Volvox, a beauty feature on how to achieve the look of a 2026 starlet, and fashion by Steam Trunk, Cyberoptix TieLab, Dace, S&G, Skingraft, Fluevog, Audra Jean, Garbage Dress, EC Star, Steady, and much much more.”
and—although credited in the issue, just as my own little Damn Straight, I Love My Friends—here & now:
*featuring the photography of Dirk Mai, wardrobe by Mother of London & Stacey Hummell make-up artistry.
To download a free .pdf, or for ordering information on a print copy, either click the image above or GO HERE.
The talented and obscenely prolific Bethalynne Bajema has rendered my likeness in oil, an act for which
I’m most grateful (& humbled). ☆ While the painting itself is not for sale, a limited edition of
35 signed & numbered reproductions on metallic paper—as well as 13 hand-embellished,
signed & numbered prints on 8″ x 12″ fine art paper—are.
:: the artist’s work ::
Three parts because I blab about myself enough as it is; two parts because today I’m about as sharp as a
plastic spoon—please allow me to present further details via the artist’s own verbiage:
“One of the first portraits I created for my Black Ibis project was for the enigmatic Clint Catalyst. I’ve been so invested in the faded colors and sepia work these past few years I had almost forgotten what it’s like to work in the dark end of color spectrum. It was almost like I was a twenty year old goth again painting the cute lad who I always catch at the coffee shop…
This print will ship well backed flat, in a plastic sleeve to protect it. Please allow three to six weeks for delivery within the US. International orders may take a smidge longer.”
Miss Bajema then goes on to thank me (when it is I who have thanks to extend her direction!), & adds:
“[Clint] will be found among my tarot deck, as well—as the hierophant! You will find a few other print versions of this painting in The Scriptorium Shop under the ‘Black Ibis’ category.”
Moreover, you’ll find a special offer—as well as the name of our winner for theJillian Lauren: Some Girls give-away— beneath the cut…
Rifling through the ridiculous four-digit number of unanswered missives clogging my In-Box like a steady diet of deep-fried dill pickles, KFC and biscuits slathered in bacon fat does the arteries, it took but a cursory glance at the last sacrilegious e-card Ugly Shyla sent starring Scooter (R.I.P.), her three-legged cat, and I was transported back to April of 2003. Convergence, an annual festival for those more shadowy in spirit, had booked me as a spoken word performer among that year’s roster. Jared, ever the trooper in terms of road trips, had joined me on this excursion to Las Vegas: convention capitol of the world, tackiest city in the country, and home of the flamingo-themed Hilton hotel where for four days it was as if a black cloud descended upon its fuchsia presence.
That’s when I first “officially” met Shyla ♥—
Why the quotation marks? A counter-culture periodical entitled Swag had premiered around this time, and both Shyla and I graced its pages. I’d read the feature on her and hence already knew about the ‘morbid fine art’ dolls she creates, her involvement with the performance art troupe (A-M-F), her wicked sense of personal style (fish-hooks through flesh used in lieu of garter belts), how her mom (known in the scene as ‘Goth Mom’) turned her on to the joys of John Waters, Satanism and transvestites. All of that was fine and fascinating, but—more than anything—I was intrigued by the knowledge that this remarkable creature hailed from a tiny town called Jennings, Louisiana.
My own history composed of 18 years in Nowheresville, Arkansas—where I grew up not on a street, but a ‘Rural Route’ consisting of dirt and gravel—I can’t help but be drawn to other southern-fried freaks. Not so much for the sake of sharing tear-stained stories of persecution, but rather because some of the most fascinating individuals I’ve ever met have sprouted from completely random spots among The Fly-Over States’ detritus. While it sucked with sharp fangs during those days of puberty and pimples, I’m grateful to have developed as an individual without a clique to inform or guide me. Said another way? There was no “Check-List of Cool,” no tables in the caf polarized by those who fit within the parameters of Punk, Goth, Mod, Ska, etc.
When there’s no need to conform among the non-conformists? That’s when the aberrant has an opportunity to define itself.
But I digress. Ugly Shyla is aberrant, if anything—and sick, sick, siiiick in the best sense of the word.
:: A Sexy Shyla Pin-Up Print :: Available Through Her Web Shop ::
We clocked each other in the (ahem) “Bizarre Bazaar”: me in a custom Liz McGrath pinstripe suit adorned with gaping wounds and open sores oozing with red glitter; she in a pristine white baby doll dress that’d been ripped apart and re-stitched with thick black thread to match her full-eye black sclera contacts.
Sure, there’s the blue hair, the fishnets: this is familiar territory for most of us.
But once we made it past the “Don’t-I-Know-You-From…” social pleasantries?
That’s when I began to learn the good stuff.
:: artwork utilizing menstrual blood as a medium ::
Don’t just take my word for it, though.
Stop by her self-proclaimed “trailer park of the internet” ( Ugly Shyla Dot Com ); peruse her on-line gallery ( Ugly Art Dot Net ); give her Etsy marketplace a gander ( Ugly Art On Etsy ) and come to your own conclusions.
Rather than a welcome mat, you’ll be greeted by an image of your hostess bound in a warm, fuzzy straightjacket. It might be hard to make out what she’s saying on account of the Hannibal Lecter-Lite safety guard that obscures her mouth…but if you look deep into those eyes eclipsed by contact lenses a ruptured shade of red, there’s an inherent sense that in Ugly Shyla’s world—complete with gauche magenta-on-pink animal-print wallpaper and the royal proclamation “Mental Illness With Style” scrawled in a gorgeous font rife with manic intensity—this is her version of an invitation to step inside.
Then, once you ease into the nascent stages of dementia via multi-sensory bombardment,
once you abandon all distinctions between what’s extreme and what’s extremely absurd,
it’s hard not to feel immediately welcomed…and at home.
Oh. That New York Times Best-Selling Author Jillian Lauren?
Yeah. “I Knew Her When…”
Matter of fact, just to show what a hot shee-ot I am (not, you know, because
it’s an excellent memoir in which the reader falls down the same gossamer-swathed rabbit hole of adventure that landed Lauren in a Prince’s Harem, nor is it because Lauren’s prose is balanced so adeptly; it’s the quietest arrangement of language such loud subject matter could get)
No no, for no reason other than to prove that Yeah, I Know People, Man am I giving away a signed, personally inscribed copy of Some Girls: My Life in a Harem
to one of you lucky bloggamareaders
(That One’s For You, Oh Sarah Of The Palin-Speak! ♡ ‘Refudiate’ FTW!)
Here’s what you have to do to be “in the running for America’s Next Top Memoir”:
1. Leave a comment here, on this very web log entry
2. Regardless how clever—or cruddy, so long as it is not about the author—aforementioned comment might be,
Don’t forget to include your email address along with the sentiment you choose to share
&
3. Complete tasks #1 & 2 before or by the precise stroke of 11:59 p.m., P.S.T.
Friday evening, the 23rd of July, two thousand & ten A.D.
On the 24th of July, at whatever time the fancy might strike me, I shall be pulling a name from my top hat.
Until then, here’s a trailer for the book
(yes, “trailers” exist for books these days…hell, some spoken word performers make videos!)
&
Here’s a media reel of the lovely Ms Lauren for your retinal penetration—including coverage on
The View, Insider, & AM NorthWest:
To Optic Nerves & Opulence!
:: [a fanfare is appropriate] ::
In case you haven’t heard by now, mega-model Agyness Deyn co-edits an e-’zine where she “gets bloggy about it.” And before the eye-rolling commences, no: it doesn’t suck. As the adage goes, yes:sometimes God does serve with both hands.
Contrary to the Cabaret Voltaire reference in my title, Naag was named after its founders (“na” from journalist Fiona Byrne and “ag” from Aggy)—a choice made all the more appropriate by the URL’s personality-driven articles. In their own words, “Naag is Fiona and Aggy and our friends, talking about things we like to see and do and feel. We live in New York and like to hang out.”
Among the current features are: “A Nice Day For A Sulk”, a photo editorial Agyness shot of her pal Nancy (one of the images was used for the site’s splash page, as seen above)
and articles ranging from “MAC’s New Two-In-One Mascara Is Heroically Important”, in which staff writer Tamar Anitai explains that with Haute & Naughty, “even though it looks like you’re using two different brushes, you’re not.” The delineation between the pink “Just Running To Starbucks” wand and the purple wand is a clever, chuckle-worthy example of colloquial writing with a distinct voice, as “the purple wand essentially acts like a John Deere front-end loader, absolutely crushing the hopes and dreams of other high-volume mascaras as it packs drag-queen levels of mascara onto the brush for an epic, intense effect. It’s like 10lb of sugar in a 5lb bag. So, use either side separately for a totally different look, or use both sides for maximum effect, but hello? Who doesn’t love options?”
to Stephanie Trong’s “Jewelry That Shouldn’t Work, But Does” — subtitled Studs, Spikes and Rhinestones? Sure, Trong’s coverage of New York–based designer Meredith Kahn’s jewelry line Made Her Think summarizes the aesthetic as being “like if punks finally stopped being snobby toward goths and then they decided to have a bunch of Top 40 pop stars over for a slumber party with champagne.”
