« Posts tagged bizarre

Bullet-Proof and Hassle Free: Adams Drive-Through Funeral Parlor In Compton

Since 1974

[ Lucy Nicholson / Reuters, via ]

»Read More

She Ain’t Ugly; She’s My Shyla.

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.

➡ C L I C K — for —  ➡ »Read More

Mad Pash for Fash/Reasons to Melt Plastic

☆ Thumbs’ Up to “the imdb”; What I’m Listening To/Things You Should See ☆

First off, thanks to all of you wherever who did whatever, whenever that made my imdb stats jump so high this week. I don’t know if it’s a result of my presence in the *(cough! cough!)* “Celebrity Lifestyle’ issue of Wedding Dresses magazine that came out earlier this month. I mean, I knew that was a mainstream fluke… I just didn’t expect to see it, well, just about everywhere. Especially, say—on a shopping excursion at 3 a.m. for Redi-Whip at Ralph’s.

Then again, I also didn’t anticipate going from having three cameras in my possession to none in the span of a week and a half.

As with anything in my life, it seems I have to learn my lessons the hardest way imaginable. Rather than talk about despair (I mean, please—how many years was I Too Goth To Handle? There’s only so long I can go around having a bad time everywhere!), I’m just gonna “suck it up’ and buy a Canon that’s been recommended.

So…since I don’t have any “exclusive’ photos at the moment, I figured:
Why not post about some of my current obsessions?

Today I’m diggin’ on…

Urinal Art:

lips,urinal art,Clint Catalyst's eccentric obsessions

«©»

The debut issue of Japanese Men’s Vogue:

vogue,vogue hommes japan,mens' japanese vogue
on the cover: Ash Stymest, photographed by Hedi Slimane

(Here’s a peek at a forthcoming editorial… on par with American Men’s Vogue, right? Riiiiiiiight):

Oliviero Toscani

«©»

A runway look from a while back that’s haunting me in the best way imaginable…

Somebody. Help me. Please!

Who’s responsible for this stroke of slick black genius?

latex, latex clothing

«©»

Then– of course, what’s a little…screen-saver/site-scan shopping?

Granted, I can’t fight off the lyrics that come to mind of someone who truly understands the meaning of the word irony: Lily Allen. Her demo “I Don’t Know” is such a strychnine-soaked smiley-faced commentary on contemporary society; rarely a day goes by that the sardonic lyrics don’t get queued up on the ol’ iPod.

Despite the cadence that resonates through lines like:

“I am a weapon of massive consumption/
It’s not my fault/it’s how I’m programmed to function…”

Here’s where I succumb to that which I

COVET (cause I just plain)

LOVE IT.

Spot-Check These Finds Among My “Wish List of the Moment”…

Toy Me’s Silver Scissor Cuff:

«©»

Citizen Citizen’s Shoplifter Tote Bag:

citizen citizen, shoplifter tote bag

(both items available from fashion journalist Rose Apodaca
& self-avowed “design junkie” Andy Griffith’s A Plus R store)

«©»

And these effin’ Killer Ninja Boots!
(Need. Pair. Nowwww…):

ninja boots

(available from Karon Koron )

«©»

For the Bookshelf/Coffee Table/Stash of Masturbatory Material:

viktor & rolf
The House of Viktor & Rolf

«©»

However, as for now?

My head aches
and I must sleep…

Besos, baby.
Besos…

Double C