The Art of Darkness

Super Emo Friends

November 30th, 2009 by Cobwebs

SpideyIsn’t Spidey cute? Artist J Salvador has created a whole collection of adorably angsty little superheroes with a host of personal problems.

You can see the entire set here. He has a few prints of individual “heroes” available for purchase in his Etsy shop, but they’re selling out fast.

Not anticipating the high demand he’s received, the artist promised that the prints would be limited-edition runs of just 20 each. Some of the comments at his site don’t hold out a lot of hope for posters or T-shirts either, so we may have to just admire them from afar. That’s a pity, because I want to take the Green Goblin home and snuggle him.

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Poetry Sunday

November 29th, 2009 by Cobwebs

The Haunted Palace
Edgar Allan Poe

In the greenest of our valleys
By good angels tenanted,
Once a fair and stately palace-
Radiant palace- reared its head.
In the monarch Thought’s dominion-
It stood there!
Never seraph spread a pinion
Over fabric half so fair!
Banners yellow, glorious, golden,
On its roof did float and flow,
(This- all this- was in the olden
Time long ago,)
And every gentle air that dallied,
In that sweet day,
Along the ramparts plumed and pallid,
A winged odor went away.

Wanderers in that happy valley,
Through two luminous windows, saw
Spirits moving musically,
To a lute’s well-tuned law,
Round about a throne where, sitting
In state his glory well-befitting,
The ruler of the realm was seen.

And all with pearl and ruby glowing
Was the fair palace door,
Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing,
And sparkling evermore,
A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty
Was but to sing,
In voices of surpassing beauty,
The wit and wisdom of their king.

But evil things, in robes of sorrow,
Assailed the monarch’s high estate.
(Ah, let us mourn!- for never morrow
Shall dawn upon him desolate!)
And round about his home the glory
That blushed and bloomed,
Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.

And travellers, now, within that valley,
Through the red-litten windows see
Vast forms, that move fantastically
To a discordant melody,
While, like a ghastly rapid river,
Through the pale door
A hideous throng rush out forever
And laugh- but smile no more.

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All Grown Up

November 28th, 2009 by Cobwebs

Pooh vs. Hobbes

I like how it takes you a second before you realize who the two combatants are.

(via Spiked)

Posted in Funny Peculiar | 1 Comment »

A Clockwork Link Dump

November 27th, 2009 by Cobwebs

Skeleton Onesie – Cute little onesie with a skeleton pattern.

Artist Amy L. Rawson – I ran across her zombie bunny on Neatorama, which linked to her site. None of her felted stuff appears to be on there, but I love some of her sculptures (Fear in particular).

Lovecraft 101 – Good primer on Lovecraft’s milieu.

Steampunk Altoids Tin – Tutorial for etching an Altoids tin with gears. The same method could also be used for other, less peculiar, objects. (Hat tip to Empress Pam)

18 Creepiest Landscapes on Earth – Beware the superlative. Still, pretty.

Humerus – Posters, T-shirts, and other ephemera with a heavy dollop of zombies. (Hat tip to Kitten Herder)

Roadkill Carpet – It’s carpet. With a roadkill feature. Huh.

Halloweddings – A few cute ideas in a quasi-roundup.

Characters for an Epic Tale – Awesome limited-edition print by Tom Gauld. I want this on a T-shirt.

The Great State Quilt – Not exactly gloomy, but the crafty amongst us might want to contribute to this quilt. (Non-US denizens might want to lobby her for a “countries” quilt.)

Posted in Link Dump | 1 Comment »

A Humanist Thanksgiving Proclamation

November 26th, 2009 by Cobwebs

When I became convinced that the universe is natural-that all the ghosts and gods are myths, there entered into my brain, into my soul, into every drop of my blood, the sense, the feeling, the joy of freedom. The walls of my prison crumbled and fell, the dungeon was flooded with light and all the bolts and bars and manacles became dust. I was no longer a servant, a serf or a slave. There was for me no master in all the world-not even infinite space.

I was free-free to think, to express my thoughts-free to live my own ideal-free to live for myself and those I loved-free to use all my faculties, all my senses, free to spread imagination’s wings-free to investigate, to guess and dream and hope-free to judge and determine for myself-free to reject all ignorant and cruel creeds, all the “inspired” books that savages have produced, and all the barbarous legends of the past-free from popes and priests, free from all the “called” and “set apart”-free from sanctified mistakes and “holy” lies-free from the winged monsters of the night-free from devils, ghosts and gods.

For the first time I was free. There were no prohibited places in all the realms of thought-no air, no space, where fancy could not spread her painted wings-no claims for my limbs-no lashes for my back-no fires for my flesh-no following another’s steps-no need to bow, or cringe, or crawl, or utter lying words. I was free. I stood erect and fearlessly, joyously, faced all worlds.

And then my heart was filled with gratitude, with thankfulness, and went out in love to all the heroes, the thinkers, who gave their lives for the liberty of hand and brain-for the freedom of labor and thought-to those who fell on the fierce fields of war, to those who died in dungeons bound with chains-to those who proudly mounted scaffold’s stairs-to those by fire consumed-to all the wise, the good, the brave of every land, whose thoughts and deeds have given freedom to the sons and daughters of men and women. And then I vowed to grasp the torch that they have held, and hold it high, that light may conquer darkness still.

— Robert Green Ingersoll

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Seen Online

November 25th, 2009 by Cobwebs

Monopoly is to the contemporary board gamer as garlic-infused kryptonite snakes are to Super Vampire Indiana Jones.
Lore Sjoberg

I’m starting a band that only plays polka songs about Nostradamus’s predictions. We’ll call ourselves Accordion to Prophecy.

Glitter is the herpes of craft supplies.
— Demetri Martin

The worst thing about being a vampire: people thinking I have fake teeth I won from skee ball, when I’m clearly an oversized sunglasses guy.

You know what really gets my goat? Chupacabras.

If you’re happy and you know it clap your hands! I thought we should make this funeral more of a celebration. Who knows the macarena?

Liquor is like water that puts out.

Canadian Kanye West: IMMA LET YOU FINISH! No. Really. Go on.

Posted in Funny Peculiar | 1 Comment »

I Heart Christopher Walken

November 24th, 2009 by Cobwebs

This kind of thing is why.

Posted in Funny Peculiar | 2 Comments »

This Made Me Giggle Immoderately

November 23rd, 2009 by Cobwebs

Medium Large

If you aren’t already visiting Medium Large regularly, you owe it to yourself to start doing so post-haste.

Posted in Funny Peculiar | 1 Comment »

Poetry Sunday

November 22nd, 2009 by Cobwebs

The Old Astronomer To His Pupil
Sarah Williams

Reach me down my Tycho Brahe, I would know him when we meet,
When I share my later science, sitting humbly at his feet;
He may know the law of all things, yet be ignorant of how
We are working to completion, working on from then to now.

Pray remember that I leave you all my theory complete,
Lacking only certain data for your adding, as is meet,
And remember men will scorn it, ’tis original and true,
And the obliquy of newness may fall bitterly on you.

But, my pupil, as my pupil you have learned the worth of scorn,
You have laughed with me at pity, we have joyed to be forlorn,
What for us are all distractions of men’s fellowship and smiles;
What for us the Goddess Pleasure with her meretricious wiles.

You may tell that German College that their honor comes too late,
But they must not waste repentance on the grizzly savant’s fate.
Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light;
I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.

What, my boy, you are not weeping? You should save your eyes for sight;
You will need them, mine observer, yet for many another night.
I leave none but you, my pupil, unto whom my plans are known.
You “have none but me,” you murmur, and I “leave you quite alone”?

Well then, kiss me, — since my mother left her blessing on my brow,
There has been a something wanting in my nature until now;
I can dimly comprehend it, — that I might have been more kind,
Might have cherished you more wisely, as the one I leave behind.

I “have never failed in kindness”? No, we lived too high for strife,
Calmest coldness was the error which has crept into our life;
But your spirit is untainted, I can dedicate you still
To the service of our science: you will further it? you will!

There are certain calculations I should like to make with you,
To be sure that your deductions will be logical and true;
And remember, “Patience, Patience,” is the watchword of a sage,
Not to-day nor yet to-morrow can complete a perfect age.

I have sown, like Tycho Brahe, that a greater man may reap;
But if none should do my reaping, ’twill disturb me in my sleep
So be careful and be faithful, though, like me, you leave no name;
See, my boy, that nothing turn you to the mere pursuit of fame.

I must say Good-bye, my pupil, for I cannot longer speak;
Draw the curtain back for Venus, ere my vision grows too weak:
It is strange the pearly planet should look red as fiery Mars,
God will mercifully guide me on my way amongst the stars.

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Well, This Explains a Lot

November 21st, 2009 by Cobwebs

Posted in Funny Peculiar | 4 Comments »

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