Give up the ghost Bob.

So in light of the new seasons being made for old reveled TV Shows like the X-Files, I recently purchased the definitive edition of David Lynch’s spectacular nightmare of Twin Peaks on BluRay. Not only does this collection hold a fully remastered rendition of the original two axed seasons of Twin Peaks, but there is third extra which is solely devoted to the missing pieces of his Prequel Sequel film: Fire Walk With Me.

I first watched this film when I was 15. Having watched the series before the film, it obviously filled in a few of the gaps. But as a whole the film doesn’t make a hel-lalot-a sense. See when Mr Lynch made Fire Walk With Me, the film was originally an odd 3 and a half to 4 hours long. The studio obviously cut that, as they went overtime and over budget. But the final theatrical cut, was so all over the place that even fans have a difficult time trying to piece the pieces together. But not for long.

There was a scene that struck out for me in this film, where Agt. Coop, comes back to the Bureau’s headquarters, to tell his boss that he was troubled by a reoccurring nightmare in that very building. After much confusion and an entrance from David Bowie, the scene cuts to a room filled with the souls from another place. It was so out of this world and prophetic, that I had never seen a film like this.

Now with the extras this scene makes so much more sense.

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Oh, Johnny Favourite.

One day we read for pastime how in thrall
Lord Lancelot lay to love, who loved the Queen;
We were alone – we thought no harm at all.

As we read on, our eyes met now and then,
And to our cheeks the changing colour started,
But just one moment overcame us – when

We read of the smile, desired lips long thwarted,
Such smile, by such a lover kissed away,
He that may never more from me be parted

Trembling all over, kissed my mouth. I say
The book was Galleot, Galleot the complying
Ribald who wrote; we read no more that day.

While the one spirit thus spoke, the other’s crying
Wailed on me with a sound so lamentable,
I swooned for pity like as I were dying,

And, as a dead man falling, down I fell.

Sleep and death.

If Sleep and Death be truly one,
And every spirit’s folded bloom
Thro’ all its intervital gloom
In some long trance should slumber on;

Unconscious of the sliding hour,
Bare of the body, might it last,
And silent traces of the past
Be all the colour of the flower:

So then were nothing lost to man;
So that still garden of the souls
In many a figured leaf enrolls
The total world since life began;

And love will last as pure and whole
As when he loved me here in Time,
And at the spiritual prime
Rewaken with the dawning soul.

 

Panorama.

A few months ago I got commissioned by Dumbsaint an instrumental metal band based in Sydney, Australia; to illustrate and design there new upcoming album for vinyl. We’ve been friends for a while via Instagram and still maintain contact. However, due to reasons beyond my control and time constraints on their end, the illustrations fell thru. Eh, it happens!

The idea, whilst not initially explained to the band, was taken from an earlier sketch of a man in-front of a void. I manipulated that, blew it up and made him stand profile view in front of a pupil that was just about to grow larger from the contraction of darkness.That darkness can then be seen on the right side of the frame as psychotic transformation if you will. I must make point, this illustration was meant to be continuous, yes the right side connects with the left side creating one perfect eyeball.

The music is super heavy, like a mish-mash between This Will Destroy you and Sleepmakeswaves. While I’m not a massive fan of the post-instrumental drone genre, Dumbsaint are definitely one of a kind. Their music is not the integral part of the process. Indeed for every EP and album they have released a film is accompanied. Neat hey!

This new album, which can be found here: https://dumbsaint.bandcamp.com/
My favourite tracks are definitely 3 and 4.

My illustrations for the record and just in general can be found here:
http://instagram.com/dusoodoo

Now while the illustrations weren’t used, I am prioritizing the gatefold interiors, covers and sleeves I specifically drew for other means. Hopefully with the help of this blog over time I’ll be able to transpire into further specifics.

But just to stir yo noodle. Here was what was going to be the interior.

Works done on Stonehenge paper using Copic and Micron markers 0.05,0.1,0.03, 0.2, 0.5 and 0.8

The Nine Billion Names of God.

He began to sing, but gave it up after a while. This vast arena of mountains, gleaming like whitely hooded ghosts on every side, did not encourage such ebullience. Presently George glanced at his watch.

“Should be there in an hour,” he called back over his shoulder to Chuck. Then he added, in an afterthought: “Wonder if the computer’s finished its run. It was due about now.” Chuck didn’t reply, so George swung round in his saddle. He could just see Chuck’s face, a white oval turned toward the sky. “Look,” whispered Chuck, and George lifted his eyes to heaven. (There is always a last time for everything.)

Overhead, without any fuss, the stars were going out. (Arthur C. Clarke)

Repairer of Reputations.

“This is the thing that troubles me, for I cannot forget Carcosa where black stars hang in the heavens; where the shadows of men’s thoughts lengthen in the afternoon, when the twin suns sink into the Lake of Hali; and my mind will bear forever the memory of the Pallid Mask” (pp. 13, Robert William Chambers)

Willy Bee.

Mr W. Burroughs:

Did I ever tell you about the man who taught his asshole to talk? His whole abdomen would move up and down you dig farting out the words. It was unlike anything I had ever heard. This asshole talk had sort of a gut frequency. It hit you right down there like you gotta go. You know when the old colon gives you the elbow and it feels sorta cold inside, and you know all you have to do is turn loose? Well this talking hit you right down there, a bubbly, thick stagnant sound, a sound you could smell. This man worked for a carnival you dig, and to start with it was like a novelty ventriliquist act. Real funny, too, at first. He had a number he called The Better Ole that was a scream, I tell you. I forget most of it but it was clever. Like, “Oh I say, are you still down there, old thing?” “Nah I had to go relieve myself.” After a while the asshole started talking on its own. He would go in without anything prepared and his asshole would ad-lib and toss the gags back at him every time. Then it developed sort of teeth-like little raspy in-curving hooks and start eating. He thought this was cute at first and built an act around it, but the asshole would eat its way through his pants and start talking on the street, shouting out it wanted equal rights. It would get drunk, too, and have crying jags nobody loved it and it wanted to be kissed same as any other mouth. Finally it talked all the time day and night, you could hear him for blocks screaming at it to shut up, and beating it with his fist, and sticking candles up it, but nothing did any good and the asshole said to him, “It is you who will shut up in the end. Not me. Because we dont need you around here any more. I can talk and eat AND shit.” After that he began waking up in the morning with a transparent jelly like a tadpoles tail all over his mouth. This jelly was what the scientists call un-D.T., Undifferentiated Tissue, which can grow into any kind of flesh on the human body. He would tear it off his mouth and the pieces would stick to his hands like burning gasoline jelly and grow there, grow anywhere on him a glob of it fell. So finally his mouth sealed over, and the whole head would have have amputated spontaneous – except for the EYES you dig. Thats one thing the asshole COULDN’T do was see. It needed the eyes. But nerve connections were blocked and infiltrated and atrophied so the brain couldnt give orders any more. It was trapped in the skull, sealed off. For a while you could see the silent, helpless suffering of the brain behind the eyes, then finally the brain must have died, because the eyes WENT OUT, and there was no more feeling in them than a crabs eyes on the end of a stalk.