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Austin Osman Spare: Weird occult illustrations from ‘A Book of Satyrs’
08:34 am

In 1907, the artist and occultist Austin Osman Spare published his second volume of illustrations, A Book of Satyrs—or rather satires. Spare believed the word “satire” was derived from the Greek “satyr” as this was how “satire” had been once written in English hence his use of the word. As his biographer Phil Baker noted:

Spare liked the old spelling because the word evoked the goat-legged animal men, suggestive of lust, who pranced their way through the work of Beardsley and the 1890’s in general, overlapping with the era’s neo-pagan cult of Pan.

Spare was the teenage wunderkind whose work had been prominently exhibited in the British Section of the St. Louis Exposition and at the Paris International Exhibition in 1903. This led to some critics hailing Spare as “a genius” and describing him as the major hope for British art. A Book of Satyrs consisted of a series of “satirical pictures”—“The Church,” “Existence,” “Quakery,” “Intemperance,” “Fashion,” “The Connoisseur,” “Politics,” “The Beauty Doctor,” and “Officialism,”—framed by three other drawings—“Introduction,” “Advertisement and the Stock Size,” and “General Allegory.” The book allowed Spare to showcase his talent as he broke away from the influence of artists like Aubrey Beardsley, Charles Ricketts, and George Frederic Watts to forge his very own distinctive style of illustration. As Baker also notes:

Spare’s career was dogged by comparisons to Beardsley, and some of his earlier black and white work does have a Beardsleyish air, but the drawings of A Book of Satyrs is very different: Beardsley’s pictures are relatively easy to copy, because the genius has already gone into simplified design, whereas copying the obsessional penwork in A Book of Satyrs would be so much work as hardly worth the trouble.

The drawings were a critique of Victorian/Edwardian values—where money and power were all. The illustrations also marked Spare’s growing interest in spiritualism and the occult as writer Paul Newman notes:

Spare’s existence was a claustrophobic tunnel of self-exploration. And he did not think of the satyrs and spirits he drew as fantasies but as records of those he encountered in his daily life. “These beings,” a critic wrote, “live…in their horned horror in the drab streets south of London Bridge. The ribaldry and coarse revelry of the slums is due to the influence of these beings of the Borderland, [Spare] believes.”

Not long after the publication of A Book of Satyrs, Spare had an exhibition of work at the Bruton Gallery, 13 Bruton Street in London’s West End. Here he met Aleister Crowley, who introduced himself as the “Viceregent of God upon Earth.” Crowley pronounced Spare as a kindred spirit who (like Crowley) was a “messenger fo the divine.” It was the start of a brief but intense relationship (most probably sexual) that led Spare further into the world of the occult. Yet, as his involvement with the occult grew, his success as an artist faltered.

Recently, a friend sent me a present of a limited edition set of Spare’s illustrations for A Book of Satyrs that was published as a series of thirteen postcards—including the illustration “Pleasure” from the second edition—which I thought I’d share with you. A copy of the whole book can be viewed here.
‘The Church.’
More strange illustrations by AOS, after the jump…

Posted by Paul Gallagher
08:34 am
Salvador Dalí‘s hilarious lesson in proper English speech
08:40 am

Echo number four (via Discogs)
One of the nice people I met at the Revolting Cocks and Meat Beat Manifesto show last weekend kept telling me about an instructional record Salvador Dalí made, demonstrating the proper way to speak English. I think she must have meant this track from the 1960 publication Echo, “the magazine you play on your phonograph.”

“Salvador Dalí—A Linguistic Presentation” appeared in number four of Echo, a 24-page book of articles and flexidiscs. In conversation with Edward Mulhare, the actor who succeeded Rex Harrison as phonetics professor Henry Higgins in the original Broadway run of My Fair Lady, Dalí laments how conventional the English language has become. He exhorts us to inject “some irrational quality” into our boring lives using the Dalinian method, which he demonstrates with the words “butterfly” and “Connecticut.”

“By George, I’ve got it,” says Prof. Henry Higgins.

Posted by Oliver Hall
08:40 am
‘Undead’: The Book Every Bauhaus Fan Will Covet is Arriving Soon
08:36 am

It’s been a busy year for former members of Bauhaus, despite there being zero actual Bauhaus activity. Bassist David J did a well-received solo tour—I saw him do a living room show in Detroit, and it was goddamn magnifique—and has signed on to join his former band’s singer Peter Murphy in performing their classic material in San Francisco this February.

Meanwhile, the band’s drummer and guitarist, Kevin Haskins and Daniel Ash, reunited under the name “Poptone” to resurrect material by one of their other former bands, Tones on Tail. I saw that too, and they killed it—bass was handled by Haskins’ daughter Diva, and damn, she’s GOOD. That tour is still ongoing though December 10, and if you get a chance to catch a show, I recommend taking it.

And now, Haskins has announced—and released pages from—a new book of Bauhaus recollections and ephemera, titled Undead, a nod to Murphy’s famous chant in the band’s debut single “Bela Lugosi’s Dead.” (The full title is the rather unwieldy Bauhaus – Undead: The Visual History and Legacy of Bauhaus) According to the indispensable Slicing Up Eyeballs:

Haskins promises readers will be taken on a visual journey from the inception of the band…in 1978 through the group’s initial reunion in 1998 and its famed Coachella performance in 2005.

In addition to Haskins’ own writings, the book includes images from the drummer’s memorabilia collection: handmade flyers, backstage passes, ticket stubs, band artwork, letters, set lists, recording contracts, band sketches, fan club material, tour itineraries, handwritten lyrics, invoices, posters and more.

Preorders are being taken now via Cleopatra Records.


More after the jump…

Posted by Ron Kretsch
08:36 am
There’s a book of ‘beautiful’ (but strictly unauthorized) poetry by Donald Trump and it’s a hoot
10:47 am

Apparently, Donald Trump has unwittingly produced a book of poetry. Not just your run-of-the-mill rhyming couplets or iambic pentameter, but short sentences artfully clipped from speeches, Tweets, and interviews and then edited by Rob Sears. The resulting work reveal the “little known alternative fact that the 45th President, Donald J. Trump, has long been a remarkable poet.”

Who knew? you may well ask. Nobody, that is, until now.

With The Beautiful Poetry of Donald Trump, renowned fiction and comedy writer Sears hopes to redress this glaring oversight by the literary world and show that Trump is no slouch, no dunderhead, “no fabulous whiner,” when it comes to the aesthetic and rhythmic qualities of language, but “a modern-day Basho or Larkin” with smaller hands.

As Sears explains in his introduction to this “groundbreaking” collection of verse:

The greatest misapprehension about DJT corrected by this volume, however, may be the idea that he sees money and power as ends in themselves. In fact, just as Wilfred Owen turned his wartime experiences into poetry, and Slyvia Plath found the dark beauty in her own depression, Trump is able to transform his unique experiences of being a winner into 24-karat verse. He didn’t build a huge real-estate empire for the billions; he did it so he could write poems…

Not that anyone normal would ever recognize this from Trump’s rambling, incoherent, monosyllabic outpourings, but somehow Sears has toiled heroically to cut and reorder the President’s pronouncements into “a trove of beautiful verse waiting to be discovered.”

I can see that you don’t believe him, or me. Well, here are just a few of the many delights waiting to be discovered in The Beautiful Poetry of Donald Trump:

I won!

Well, we’ve had some disasters, but this is the worst

Bad hombres

I’ve known some bad dudes
I’ve been at parties
They want to do serious harm
I’ve seen and I’ve watched things like with guns
I know a lot of tough guys but they’re not smart
We’re dealing with people like animals

But they are the folks I like the best—by far!

I am the least racist person there is

I’ve always had a great relationship with the blacks
I remained strong for Tiger Woods during his difficult
Oprah, I love Oprah. Oprah would always be my first choice
Kanye West—I love him
I think Eminem is fantastic, and most people think I
wouldn’t like Eminem
And did you know my name is in more black songs than any
other name in hip-hop?
You are the racist, not I

I respect women, I love women, I cherish women

Vagina is expensive
No more apologies—take the offensive!

Hot little girl in high school

I’m a very compassionate person (with a very high IQ)
Just think, in a couple of years I’ll be dating you
It must be a pretty picture, you dropping to your knees
Come here, I’ll show how life works. Please.

We’ve got to stop the stupid

You know what uranium is, right?
It’s a thing called nuclear weapons and other things like lots
of things that are done with uranium including some bad
I have to explain this to these people, they don’t even understand basic
physics, basic mathematics, whatever you call it
I mean, they’re like stupid

Look at the way I’ve been treated lately

I should have been TIME Magazine’s Person of the Year
Just like I should have gotten the Emmy for The Apprentice
I should have easily won the Trump University case
I should have won New York state but I didn’t
I unfairly get audited by the I.R.S. almost every
single year
No politician in history—and I say this with great surety—
has been treated worse or more unfairly

The Beautiful Poetry of Donald Trump is published by Canongate.

Posted by Paul Gallagher
10:47 am
Theres a new edition of Dali’s ‘The Wines of Gala’: The modern wine bible you never knew you needed
12:32 pm

This month, publisher Taschen is following up on its successful re-publication of Salvador Dalí‘s Les Dîners de Gala with his long out-of-print companion volume The Wines of Gala.

The Wines of Gala may be the lesser known of Dalí‘s two epicurean books, but it is still a sumptuously illustrated and highly collectible Surrealist treatise on the pleasures of viticulture. Originally published in French under the title Les Vins de Gala et du Divin (The Wines of Gala and the Divine) in 1977, this Dalínian introduction to wine was (surprisingly) not a success on its first release. As Dalí contributed no text, it was seen by many as a money-grabbing exercise by the aging Surrealist. The original text was written by Max Gérard (“Ten Divine Dalí Wines”) and Louis Orizet (“Ten Gala Wines”) with an introductory poem by Baron Philippe de Rothschild (“La Cave”).

However, Dalí was involved in the direction of content, the selection of wines and their organization “according to the sensations they create in our very depths.” These are grouped together under chapter headings like “Wines of Frivolity,” “Wines of Sensuality,” “Wines of Light,” and “Wines of the Impossible.” The idea was based on Dalí‘s belief that “A real connoisseur does not drink wine but tastes of its secrets.”

The Wines of Gala contains over 140 of Dalí‘s illustrations—including “appropriated artworks,” collages, and paintings like “The Sacrament of the Last Supper” (1955). The book was dedicated to Dalí‘s longtime wife and muse, Gala, and the volume applies “Dalí’s famously intense obsession with sexuality and desire to food and wine, two sensual topics he’d rarely addressed in his work.”

Though intended as an introduction to viticulture, the section on “Ten Gala Wines” was considered somewhat revolutionary upon its publication and in many ways it still is today. This section ordered wines by “sensation” or “emotional resonance” rather than by the “prescriptive limits of traditional viticulture.” This opened a whole new way to appreciate wine rather than the way used by most traditional wine critics.

It’s a beautiful book, and who knew Art could be a reason to get merry? Click on the pictures below for a larger image.
More pages from Dalí ‘s ‘The Wines of Gala,’ after the jump…

Posted by Paul Gallagher
12:32 pm
A treasure trove of ‘The Twilight Zone’ magazine

Somewhere in your life, a door opens, you enter, and you suddenly find yourself in another dimension—a place beyond that which is known to man. A dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. Or, as we prefer to call it, the Internet—where everything is available and time disappears as you spend hours upon hours drifting in the hell of an Internet K-hole.

Sometimes you’re lucky. Sometimes you avoid the endless loops of cat and baby videos and dodge the fake news and outraged memes about nothing very much in particular only to land safely in a strange repository of mystery and imagination.

One such idyllic location can be found at the Internet Archive where the Pulp Magazine Archive has nearly every back issue of Rod Serling’s The Twilight Zone Magazine. This is the place to spend hours, days even, happily reading, learning, and being thrilled by the very best genre writers of our age like Stephen King, Richard Matheson, Ray Bradbury, Joyce Carol Oates, Isaac Bashevis Singer, Robert Silverberg, and Harlan Ellison.

Rod Serling’s The Twilight Zone Magazine started in April 1981 under the editorship of writer T. E. D. Klein and lasted until 1989. It was filled with first-class stories (see above), interviews with writers and directors, film reviews (including Stephen King’s take on Sam Raimi’s The Evil Dead), long illustrated features on films like Blade Runner, Gremlins, John Carpenter’s The Thing, and David Lynch’s Dune, plus book reviews by Thomas M. Disch and Theodore Sturgeon. There were also incredible treats like John Carpenters “lost” short fiction and the story behind H. P. Lovecraft’s “banned book.”

Now, thankfully to one kind dear soul who has lovingly scanned nearly every issue (sixty in total), you too can enjoy the pleasures of entering The Twilight Zone for yourself.
Discover more treasures from ‘The Twilight Zone Magazine,’ after the jump…

Posted by Paul Gallagher
11:08 am
Raymond Chandler’s guide to prison, street, and Hollywood slang

Elliott Gould as Philip Marlowe in Robert Altman’s film version of Raymond Chandler’s ‘The Long Goodbye.’
Raymond Chandler wanted to call his second Philip Marlowe novel The Second Murderer. His publisher Blanche Knopf nixed the idea. So, Chandler suggested Zounds, He Dies, a line spoken by the Second Murderer in Shakespeare’s King Richard III.

Knopf was deeply unimpressed. Eventually, the pair agreed on Farewell, My Lovely which is one hell of a killer title.

This is one of those little sidebars of information contained in Raymond Chandler’s Notebooks which were published long after the great man’s death in 1977. Chandler kept a variety of notebooks during his life. Usually small leather pocketbooks or large writing pads filled with daily events, observations, private thoughts, and details of work in progress. Unfortunately, the bulk of these notebooks was destroyed by Chandler when he was preparing to move to England after his wife Cissy’s death in 1954. Only two notebooks survived. Extracts from these two volumes supplied the content for The Notebooks of Raymond Chandler.

On occasion, Chandler has been unfairly given the rap that he was never as good as his rival Dashiell Hammett, as he made crime writing more about imagination than real hard-bitten, hard-earned experience. Hammett had been a Pinkerton detective. Chandler was a drunk oil exec down on his luck. He was a “gasbag,” according to the Demon Dog James Ellroy. His fictional hero Philip Marlowe was paraded through a series of hoops and jumps which were sometimes incoherent. It’s not a view I would ever agree with. I prefer Chandler to Hammett but think both writers took their writing very seriously.

This can be seen from what’s left of Chandler’s notebooks. He was a very serious writer, who worked damned hard at getting things just exactly right. In his notebooks, he practiced his writing and tried out his ideas. He also used them as a source book for research. From lists of street slang to working out titles, similes, and even writing parodies of other authors like Ernest Hemingway.

Among the many book titles listed in the two remaining notebooks are such unlikely gems:

The Man with the Shredded Ear

All Guns are Loaded

The Corpse Came in Person

They Only Murdered Him Once

The Diary of a Loud Check Suit

Quick, Hide the Body

Stop Screaming—It’s Me

The Black-Eyed Blonde


Everyone Says Good-bye Too Soon

You get the idea Chandler was a fun guy if just a little too shy to get the party swinging.

What interested me about Chandler’s notebooks (well, apart from his notes on writing crime fiction) were the long lists of slang he compiled from the streets and from newspapers, a few of which I’ve shared below.

Pickpocket Lingo

(Maybe New York only)

Saturday Evening Post, October 21, 1950

Cannon—General term for pickpocket (Dip is unused, obsolete)

Live cannon—A thief who works on normally situated people, as opposed to a roller (a lushworker) who frisks drunks. Both men knock their victims. Rousters walk with the victim pretending to help; sneak workers don’t touch him unless he is passed out or near to it.

Pit worker—Inside-breast-pocket expert.

Moll buzzer—Operator on women’s handbags.


Short—Bus, street car, any public conveyance.

Stride—Walking (“On the stride.”)

Shed—Railroad station.



Button—Police badge.

Kiss the dog—Work face to face with the victim.

Tail pits—Right and left side pockets of jacket.

Pratt—Rear trouser pocket.

Stall—Accomplice who creates confusion to fix the victim’s attention.

Right fall—Grand larceny conviction. To obtain there must be testimony that the accused had his hand in the victim’s pocket and was caught with the goods still on him. Most arrests are for “jostling,” which is a misdemeanor good for no more than six bits (months). A shove is enough when the shover is a known operator.

Hanger binging—Opening women’s handbags without stealing the bag.

Tweezer—Change purse.

Stiff—A newspaper or other shield to hide operations.

Wire or hook—The actual live cannon, as opposed to the stall.

Shot—A young pickpocket just starting to work (Harlem cant).

Fan the scratch—To locate money in a pocket without putting the hand in, i.e., by touch.

Dunnigan worker—Thieves who hang around comfort stations hoping for a coat left on a hook.

Note: A cannon never takes your money. He forks his fingers over it and moves away from it with a shove.

The great Raymond Chandler.
More slang from Chandler’s notebooks, after the jump…

Posted by Paul Gallagher
10:30 am
‘Monograph’ is the ULTIMATE Chris Ware tome
12:24 pm

Just released, Chris Ware’s Monograph is a hardbound book with a 13"x18” format and weighs more than 8 pounds. One of the most enduring messages of Ware’s oeuvre is that he doesn’t give a hoot about the specifications of your bookshelf because hardly anyone has a media storage/display system that can capably accommodate his output. Another Ware entry in my possession, the 2005 edition of The Acme Novelty Library (aren’t all of his books called that, somehow?), has a similarly shelf-denying 9"x15” silhouette, although that volume was not nearly as hefty.

Chris Ware’s output is so excellent and so extreme in various ways that the critic is faced with a set of questions that wouldn’t apply to anyone else. With any other writer of comix, a question one might ask is, “What made her come up with that plot point?” With Ware, common questions include, “How on earth did he find the man-hours to execute all of these incredibly meticulous pages?” and “Isn’t he actually a squadron of artists instead of just one man?” and “Will he ever feel better about himself?” Nobody packs as many brilliant, deadpan jokes per square inch, and damned few are as gifted with the written word, which is an odd, yet apt compliment for an artist whose assets are so thoroughly absorbable without access to any human language at all.

The point is that Ware is operating on a higher level than just about any other comix artist. In many ways his career appears to be a relentless assimilation of all comic book history for the entirely generous purpose of homage and regurgitation in an enhanced, late 20th- or early 21st-century format. The overweening complexity of Ware’s layouts means that he is more likely than your average goat to accomplish multiple tasks at once. So in the same image Ware can (a) invent a form that nobody knew was there to invent, (b) depict the nature of temporality in a way that advances the comix medium, (c) appropriate and rejigger an old-school comix hero like George Herriman or Winsor McCay, (d) crack wise about any number of publishing conventions, (e) tell an honest-to-goodness gut-wrenching & tear-inducing account of a fictional human being’s lonely progress on this planet, (f) deplete you of any spare hope you may have entered the transaction with, and (g) probably a few other things too.

When I was a kid I owned a book called Peanuts Jubilee that served as a kind of coffee table biographical portrait of Charles Schulz as filtered through his work. That book blended documentary artifacts (report cards, old photographs) with an evolutionary account of the development of Peanuts. Monograph is Ware’s Jubilee, one might say—a detailed survey of Ware’s life and career, with intensive input from the artist, featuring a look at every stage in his career up to this point.

Early in his career, Ware’s work found a place in Art Spiegelman’s RAW, and more recently he has become a frequent designer of covers for The New Yorker. He ran an ambitious series for the New York Times Magazine called Building Stories. His work has often escaped from the parameters of “comix” in the form of this animated short for This American Life, that “Date Book,” that other mural for Dave Egger’s literacy project 826 Valencia. All attest to Ware’s breathtaking range and daring, and all are lovingly examined in Monograph.

If you enjoy Ware’s work, there can be no doubt that this volume is an absolutely essential purchase. It’s selling on Amazon for $37.42, which is frankly a ridiculous steal if you consider what you get, in a world where hardback novels routinely list for $30.

The emphasis on the sheer size of this book is necessary to reference the somewhat contradictory nature of almost everything Ware has put out. Jamming hundreds of lush, text-heavy images into a massive, 9-pound book in a bewildering variety of formats (many are situated sideways and much of the text is actually upside down) ensures that vanishingly few people will ever read the lovingly honed prose—and indeed, that anyone who actually tries to do so runs the risk of throwing his or her back out. Seriously, this is a book that well-nigh demands its own custom-fashioned furniture in order to consume it—and it would surprise me not at all to learn that Ware has actually mass-produced that furniture already, complete with sardonic koans etched into the woodwork. Rather like the forbidding plinth in 2001: A Space Odyssey, which Monograph glancingly reminds one of, it’s there as much to be worshiped as anything else.

It’s often been noticed that Ware’s work is more depressing than a busful of Idaho widows, a trait that connects to his evident self-loathing. It’s not actually true that the best art is the bleakest, but at least there’s little doubt that Ware sincerely hews to the notion as a strategy for producing good work.

One fact that Monograph imparts is Ware’s incredible facility with three-dimensional, constructed, wooden artifacts—boxes, dolls, toys, hand-made booklets, and on from there—a habit Ware picked up on very early and surely influenced the complexity of his two-dimensional work as well. (By the way, one of the many incredible aspects of Monograph is that there are several stapled, multi-page mini-comix actually affixed to the pages for you to read.) A doll of an early potato-shaped character who is frequently blinded in the panels is given the following description: “When the string is pulled, the toy gouges himself in the eyes with a pair of scissors,” which is about as epigrammatic a summation of Ware’s approach as I could ever find.

Like David Letterman and a few other midwestern pop geniuses, you will seldom, if ever, find Ware praising himself in any way, to an extent that is distracting. His favorite adjective for his own output is “awkward,” and one accomplished oil canvas is titled simply, Bad Painting. The juxtaposition of this self-abnegation with such obviously accomplished work is off-putting to say the least, while also being the evident pre-requisite for the production of such obviously accomplished work. It’s annoying that Ware can never be caught admitting that he is good at what he does, but we’re the better for it, because we are the ones who get to consume his lacerating stories about the authentically Kafkaeque crew of Jimmy Corrigan, Quimby the Mouse, Rusty Brown, and the rest.

Fortunately, if you can get past the tripwires designed to prevent you from consuming Ware’s work (and they are surely there), one is (of course) rewarded with the endlessly entertaining output of the dominant comix artist of our time.
Check out several incredible Ware images after the jump….....

Posted by Martin Schneider
12:24 pm
‘Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas’: The gonzo graphic novel

I must admit that reading Hunter S. Thompson’s 1971 book Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas: A Savage Journey to the Heart of the American Dream changed my life. A friend gave me a copy during our first year of college saying that it was his favorite book. I was already a big fan of Jack Kerouac—who Thompson hated and referred to as “empty-headed”—so I was a little skeptical at first. That all changed after I read the first few pages of the book, especially the memorable passage below, one of many in the book that leads one to believe that Fear and Loathing might be as far away from a work of fiction as you can get.

“The sporting editors had also given me $300 in cash, most of which was already spent on extremely dangerous drugs. The trunk of the car looked like a mobile police narcotics lab. We had two bags of grass, seventy-five pellets of mescaline, five sheets of high-powered blotter acid, a salt shaker half full of cocaine, and a whole galaxy of multi-colored uppers, downers, screamers, laughers and also a quart of tequila, a quart of rum, a case of Budweiser, a pint of raw ether and two dozen amyls. All this had been rounded up the night before, in a frenzy of highspeed driving all over Los Angeles County – from Topanga to Watts, we picked up everything we could get our hands on. Not that we needed all that for the trip, but once you get locked into a serious drug-collection, the tendency is to push it as far as you can.”

At the time I was a journalism major but dropped that shortly after reading Fear and Loathing and subsequently learning that there weren’t really any other “journalists” who wrote like Thompson, making the idea of pursuing a career in the field uninspiring to me. I did continue to write and eventually, my years of dedication to the craft paid off. Am I in any way comparing myself to the diabolically druggy writer? Not by a long shot of whiskey and a handful of amyl nitrate, but thanks to both Thompson and my friend who hipped me to him in my youth, I knew what I wanted to be when I grew up. Anyway, let’s get to the point of this post which is the nothing-short-of-brilliant graphic adaptation of Thompson’s book by Canadian author and artist Troy Little. Little discovered Thompson in the late 90s and could barely contain himself when he was granted permission by the HST Estate along with his publisher Top Shelf Productions to take on an illustrated version of Fear and Loathing. Staying true to Thompson’s original tale of his evil twin “Raoul Duke” and his debauchery in the desert with his attorney “Dr. Gonzo,” Little decided to include all of the original text from the book in his graphic novel.

When it came out in 2015, the book was an instant hit leading to a second print run in 2016. Better yet, Little’s version of Fear and Loathing is hardcover bound, which just makes it seem even cooler, and it’s pretty fucking cool, to begin with. Copies of the book will run you $16.95 here. I’ve posted images from the book below—check ‘em out!

The cover of Troy Little’s graphic novel adaptation of ‘Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas: A Savage Journey to the Heart of the American Dream.’


More after the jump…

Posted by Cherrybomb
09:41 am
Brain Salad Surgery: The H. R. Giger artwork that inspired ‘Alien’
08:53 am

One of the images from H.R. Giger’s ‘Necronomicon.’

H.R. Giger’s 1977 book Necronomicon showcased his chilling, futuristic images of a world beyond our own would become the basis and inspiration for director Ridley Scott’s 1979 film Alien.

Giger’s profile was raised in 1973 when his sci-fi art was showcased by prog-rockers Emerson Lake & Palmer on the elaborate cover of their 1973 album Brain Salad Surgery. Swiss publishing house Sphinx-Verlag would publish a German-language portfolio full of Giger’s work about the mythical “Necronomicon” in 1977, as well as a French edition that same year. As you may be aware, Giger’s Necronomicon was inspired by the make-believe textbook of magic nightmared up by H.P. Lovecraft which the author first referenced in his 1924 short story, The Hound. When it comes to Giger’s dangerous, dark, and often somewhat R-rated take on the evil grimoire, the author and artist put his own unique spin on the book, undeniably his most vital and influential piece of work. In 1985 Giger would put out another edition of the material, Necronomicon 2 expanded to include 184 more images of his terrifying biomechanical creations and grim futuristic visions. 

Tracking down a copy of Giger’s Necronomicon isn’t difficult as long as you’re not coveting an original which can run you a few thousand bucks, while reprints usually sell for $200-$250. I’ve posted some of Giger’s work from the Necronomicon below—most which are emphatically NSFW.


More Giger after the jump…

Posted by Cherrybomb
08:53 am
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