La Petite Mort Special - Artist Spotlight

The Sexy / Scary Photography of Flex-Flex

Finger

Moon Deuce

Eat Me

Space Disease

necRomantism

Decayed

Craving

Die Augenhand

Abysmal Dreams

Female Zombie

Integration

The Music of Insanity

To visit Flex-Flex's official website, Flexdreams, you may do so by clicking here.

The Poe-et’s Nightmare

A Fable

Luxus tumultus semper causa est.

Lucullus Languish, student of the skies,
And connoisseur of rarebits and mince pies,
A bard by choice, a grocer’s clerk by trade,
(Grown pessimist thro’ honours long delay’d),
A secret yearning bore, that he might shine
In breathing numbers, and in song divine.
Each day his fountain pen was wont to drop
An ode or dirge or two about the shop,
Yet naught could strike the chord within his heart
That throbb’d for poesy, and cry’d for art.
Each eve he sought his bashful Muse to wake
With overdoses of ice-cream and cake;
But thou’ th’ ambitious youth a dreamer grew,
Th’ Aonian Nymph declin’d to come to view.
Sometimes at dusk he scour’d the heav’ns afar,
Searching for raptures in the evening star;
One night he strove to catch a tale untold
In crystal deeps—but only caught a cold.
So pin’d Lucullus with his lofty woe,
Till one drear day he bought a set of Poe:
Charm’d with the cheerful horrors there display’d,
He vow’d with gloom to woo the Heav’nly Maid.
Of Auber’s tarn and Yaanek’s slope he dreams,
And weaves an hundred Ravens in his schemes.
Not far from our young hero’s peaceful home
Lies the fair grove wherein he loves to roam.
Tho’ but a stunted copse in vacant lot,
He dubs it Tempe, and adores the spot;
When shallow puddles dot the wooded plain,
And brim o’er muddy banks with muddy rain,
He calls them limpid lakes or poison pools
(Depending on which bard his fancy rules).
’Tis here he comes with Heliconian fire
On Sundays when he smites the Attic lyre;
And here one afternoon he brought his gloom,
Resolv’d to chant a poet’s lay of doom.
Roget’s Thesaurus, and a book of rhymes,
Provide the rungs whereon his spirit climbs:
With this grave retinue he trod the grove
And pray’d the Fauns he might a Poe-et prove.
But sad to tell, ere Pegasus flew high,
The not unrelish’d supper hour drew nigh;
Our tuneful swain th’ imperious call attends,
And soon above the groaning table bends.
Tho’ it were too prosaic to relate
Th’ exact particulars of what he ate
(Such long-drawn lists the hasty reader skips,
Like Homer’s well-known catalogue of ships),
This much we swear: that as adjournment near’d,
A monstrous lot of cake had disappear’d!
Soon to his chamber the young bard repairs,
And courts soft Somnus with sweet Lydian airs;
Thro’ open casement scans the star-strown deep,
And ’neath Orion’s beams sinks off to sleep.
Now start from airy dell the elfin train
That dance each midnight o’er the sleeping plain,
To bless the just, or cast a warning spell
On those who dine not wisely, but too well.
First Deacon Smith they plague, whose nasal glow
Comes from what Holmes hath call’d “Elixir Pro”;
Group’d round the couch his visage they deride,
Whilst thro’ his dreams unnumber’d serpents glide.
Next troop the little folk into the room
Where snores our young Endymion, swath’d in gloom:
A smile lights up his boyish face, whilst he
Dreams of the moon—or what he ate at tea.
The chieftain elf th’ unconscious youth surveys,
And on his form a strange enchantment lays:
Those lips, that lately thrill’d with frosted cake,
Uneasy sounds in slumbrous fashion make;
At length their owner’s fancies they rehearse,
And lisp this awesome Poe-em in blank verse:



Aletheia Phrikodes

Omnia risus et omnia pulvis et omnia nihil.

Demoniac clouds, up-pil’d in chasmy reach
Of soundless heav’n, smother’d the brooding night;
Nor came the wonted whisp’rings of the swamp,
Nor voice of autumn wind along the moor,
Nor mutter’d noises of th’ insomnious grove
Whose black recesses never saw the sun.
Within that grove a hideous hollow lies,
Half bare of trees; a pool in centre lurks
That none dares sound; a tarn of murky face
(Tho’ naught can prove its hue, since light of day,
Affrighted, shuns the forest-shadow’d banks).
Hard by, a yawning hillside grotto breathes,
From deeps unvisited, a dull, dank air
That sears the leaves on certain stunted trees
Which stand about, clawing the spectral gloom
With evil boughs. To this accursed dell
Come woodland creatures, seldom to depart:
Once I behold, upon a crumbling stone
Set altar-like before the cave, a thing
I saw not clearly, yet from glimpsing, fled.
In this half-dusk I meditate alone
At many a weary noontide, when without
A world forgets me in its sun-blest mirth.
Here howl by night the werewolves, and the souls
Of those that knew me well in other days.
Yet on this night the grove spake not to me;
Nor spake the swamp, nor wind along the moor,
Nor moan’d the wind about the lonely eaves
Of the bleak, haunted pile wherein I lay.
I was afraid to sleep, or quench the spark
Of the low-burning taper by my couch.
I was afraid when thro’ the vaulted space
Of the old tow’r, the clock-ticks died away
Into a silence so profound and chill
That my teeth chatter’d—giving yet no sound.
Then flicker’d low the light, and all dissolv’d,
Leaving me floating in the hellish grasp
Of body’d blackness, from whose beating wings
Came ghoulish blasts of charnel-scented mist.
Things vague, unseen, unfashion’d, and unnam’d
Jostled each other in the seething void
That gap’d, chaotic, downward to a sea
Of speechless horror, foul with writhing thoughts.
All this I felt, and felt the mocking eyes
Of the curs’d universe upon my soul;
Yet naught I saw nor heard, till flash’d a beam
Of lurid lustre thro’ the rotting heav’ns,
Playing on scenes I labour’d not to see.
Methought the nameless tarn, alight at last,
Reflected shapes, and more reveal’d within
Those shocking depths than ne’er were seen before;
Methought from out the cave a demon train,
Grinning and smirking, reel’d in fiendish rout;
Bearing within their reeking paws a load
Of carrion viands for an impious feast.
Methought the stunted trees with hungry arms
Grop’d greedily for things I dare not name;
The while a stifling, wraith-like noisomeness
Fill’d all the dale, and spoke a larger life
Of uncorporeal hideousness awake
In the half-sentient wholeness of the spot.
Now glow’d the ground, and tarn, and cave, and trees,
And moving forms, and things not spoken of,
With such a phosphorescence as men glimpse
In the putrescent thickets of the swamp
Where logs decaying lie, and rankness reigns.
Methought a fire-mist drap’d with lucent fold


The well-remember’d features of the grove,
Whilst whirling ether bore in eddying streams
The hot, unfinish’d stuff of nascent worlds
Hither and thither thro’ infinities
Of light and darkness, strangely intermix’d;
Wherein all entity had consciousness,
Without th’ accustom’d outward shape of life.
Of these swift-circling currents was my soul,
Free from the flesh, a true constituent part;
Nor felt I less myself, for want of form.
Then clear’d the mist, and o’er a star-strown scene,
Divine and measureless, I gaz’d in awe.
Alone in space, I view’d a feeble fleck
Of silvern light, marking the narrow ken
Which mortals call the boundless universe.
On ev’ry side, each as a tiny star,
Shone more creations, vaster than our own,
And teeming with unnumber’d forms of life;
Tho’ we as life would recognise it not,
Being bound to earthy thoughts of human mould.
As on a moonless night the Milky Way
In solid sheen displays its countless orbs
To weak terrestrial eyes, each orb a sun;
So beam’d the prospect on my wond’ring soul:
A spangled curtain, rich with twinkling gems,
Yet each a mighty universe of suns.
But as I gaz’d, I sens’d a spirit voice
In speech didactic, tho’ no voice it was,
Save as it carried thought. It bade me mark
That all the universes in my view
Form’d but an atom in infinity;
Whose reaches pass the ether-laden realms
Of heat and light, extending to far fields
Where flourish worlds invisible and vague,
Fill’d with strange wisdom and uncanny life,
And yet beyond; to myriad spheres of light,
To spheres of darkness, to abysmal voids
That know the pulses of disorder’d force.
Big with these musings, I survey’d the surge
Of boundless being, yet I us’d not eyes,
For spirit leans not on the props of sense.
The docent presence swell’d my strength of soul;
All things I knew, but knew with mind alone.
Time’s endless vista spread before my thought
With its vast pageant of unceasing change
And sempiternal strife of force and will;
I saw the ages flow in stately stream
Past rise and fall of universe and life;
I saw the birth of suns and worlds, their death,
Their transmutation into limpid flame,
Their second birth and second death, their course
Perpetual thro’ the aeons’ termless flight,
Never the same, yet born again to serve
The varying purpose of omnipotence.


And whilst I watch’d, I knew each second’s space
Was greater than the lifetime of our world.
Then turn’d my musings to that speck of dust
Whereon my form corporeal took its rise;
That speck, born but a second, which must die
In one brief second more; that fragile earth;
That crude experiment; that cosmic sport
Which holds our proud, aspiring race of mites
And moral vermin; those presuming mites
Whom ignorance with empty pomp adorns,
And misinstructs in specious dignity;
Those mites who, reas’ning outward, vaunt themselves
As the chief work of Nature, and enjoy
In fatuous fancy the particular care
Of all her mystic, super-regnant pow’r.
And as I strove to vision the sad sphere
Which lurk’d, lost in ethereal vortices,
Methough my soul, tun’d to the infinite,
Refus’d to glimpse that poor atomic blight;
That misbegotten accident of space;
That globe of insignificance, whereon
(My guide celestial told me) dwells no part
Of empyrean virtue, but where breed
The coarse corruptions of divine disease;
The fest’ring ailments of infinity;
The morbid matter by itself call’d man:
Such matter (said my guide) as oft breaks forth
On broad Creation’s fabric, to annoy
For a brief instant, ere assuaging death


Heal up the malady its birth provok’d.
Sicken’d, I turn’d my heavy thoughts away.
Then spake th’ ethereal guide with mocking mien,
Upbraiding me for searching after Truth;
Visiting on my mind the searing scorn
Of mind superior; laughing at the woe
Which rent the vital essence of my soul.
Methought he brought remembrance of the time
When from my fellows to the grove I stray’d,
In solitude and dusk to meditate
On things forbidden, and to pierce the veil
Of seeming good and seeming beauteousness
That covers o’er the tragedy of Truth,
Helping mankind forget his sorry lot,
And raising Hope where Truth would crush it down.
He spake, and as he ceas’d, methought the flames
Of fuming Heav’n resolv’d in torments dire;
Whirling in maelstroms of rebellious might,
Yet ever bound by laws I fathom’d not.
Cycles and epicycles, of such girth
That each a cosmos seem’d, dazzled my gaze
Till all a wild phantasmal glow became.
Now burst athwart the fulgent formlessness
A rift of purer sheen, a sight supernal,
Broader that all the void conceiv’d by man,
Yet narrow here. A glimpse of heav’ns beyond;
Of weird creations so remote and great
That ev’n my guide assum’d a tone of awe.
Borne on the wings of stark immensity,


A touch of rhythm celestial reach’d my soul;
Thrilling me more with horror than with joy.
Again the spirit mock’d my human pangs,
And deep revil’d me for presumptuous thoughts:
Yet changing now his mien, he bade me scan
The wid’ning rift that clave the walls of space;
He bade me search it for the ultimate;
He bade me find the Truth I sought so long;
He bade me brave th’ unutterable Thing,
The final Truth of moving entity.
All this he bade and offer’d—but my soul,
Clinging to life, fled without aim or knowledge,
Shrieking in silence thro’ the gibbering deeps.



Thus shriek’d the young Lucullus, as he fled
Thro’ gibbering deeps—and tumbled out of bed;
Within the room the morning sunshine gleams,
Whilst the poor youth recalls his troubled dreams.
He feels his aching limbs, whose woeful pain
Informs his soul his body lives again,
And thanks his stars—or cosmoses—or such
That he survives the noxious nightmare’s clutch.
Thrill’d with the music of th’ eternal spheres
(Or is it the alarm-clock that he hears?),
He vows to all the Pantheon, high and low,
No more to feed on cake, or pie, or Poe.
And now his gloomy spirits seem to rise,
As he the world beholds with clearer eyes;
The cup he thought too full of dregs to quaff
Affords him wine enough to raise a laugh.
(All this is metaphor—you must not think
Our late Endymion prone to stronger drink!)
With brighter visage and with lighter heart,
He turns his fancies to the grocer’s mart;
And strange to say, at last he seems to find
His daily duties worthy of his mind.
Since Truth prov’d such a high and dang’rous goal,
Our bard seeks one less trying to his soul;
With deep-drawn breath he flouts his dreary woes,
And a good clerk from a bad poet grows!
Now close attend my lay, ye scribbling crew
That bay the moon in numbers strange and new;
That madly for the spark celestial bawl
In metres short or long, or none at all:


Curb your rash force, in numbers or at tea,
Nor overzealous for high fancies be;
Reflect, ere ye the draught Pierian take,
What worthy clerks or plumbers ye might make;
Wax not too frenzied in the leaping line
That neither sense nor measure can confine,
Lest ye, like young Lucullus Launguish, groan
Beneath Poe-etic nightmares of your own!

- H.P. Lovecraft

Photos provided courtesy of  www.mechanicalwhispers.com

La Petite Mort Special - Artist Spotlight

The Ghoulish Photography of Corinne Alexandra

Collecting Dust

Fever #2

Banshee

Gallow Walker

Thirsty #2

Lullaby

Nikki Horror #3

Fever #1

Reanimator

How...

Arachnidism

Craving

About the Artist
(In her own words)
I am a young entrepreneur living in San Diego, California. Self-taught in photography and graphic design, I have been working with my freelance project, Stuck with Pins, since 2004. As a male-dominated industry, the commercial art world lacks pioneering female talent; Connoisseur of zombie movies, I’m bringing sexy back.

You may visit Corinne's official website Stuckwithpins.com by clicking here.

If You'd Just Let Me Carry Out One Post-Mortem !

"Someone in this village is practicing witchcraft. That corpse wandering on the moors is an undead, a zombie."

My Mommy Always Said There Were No Monsters, No Real Ones...But There Are.

"Final report of the commercial starship Nostromo, third officer reporting. The other members of the crew, Kane, Lambert, Parker, Brett, Ash and Captain Dallas, are dead. Cargo and ship destroyed. I should reach the frontier in about six weeks. With a little luck, the network will pick me up. This is Ripley, last survivor of the Nostromo, signing off. "

Oh Please! By Definition Alone, Sequels Are Inferior Films!

Mark: "I know what it's like to see ghosts that don't go away, to be watching a scary movie in your head... watching it alone."
Sidney: "Ghosts are tough. You can't shoot ghosts."
Mark: "Can't arrest ghosts, but the best way to fight them is to be around people. You're not hiding. You've done the right thing, Ms. Prescott."

You Hang Up On Me Again, I'll Gut You Like A Fish, Understand?

Ghostface: "Name the killer in Friday the 13th."
Casey: "Jason! Jason, Jason!"
Ghostface: "I'm sorry. That's the wrong answer!"
Casey: "No, it's not. No it's not. It was Jason."
Ghostface: "Afraid not. No way."
Casey: "Listen, it was Jason! I saw that movie 20 goddamn times!"
Ghostface: "Then you should know that Jason's mother, Mrs. Voorhees was the original killer. Jason didn't show up until the sequel. I'm afraid that was a wrong answer."
Casey: "You tricked me."
Ghostface: "Lucky for you there's a bonus round, but poor Steve... I'm afraid he's OUT!"

But You Will Sit Through A Movie Called Stab?

Mickey: "Come on Randy, with all due respect, the killer obvious patterned himself after two serial killers who have been immortalized on film."
Film Class Guy #1: "Thank you!"
Teacher: "Are you suggesting that someone's trying to make a real life sequel?"
Randy: "Stab 2? Who'd want to do that? Sequels suck!"

It's Happening Again, Isn't It?

Sydney: "You're as crazy as your son was!"
Debbie: "What did you just say? Was that a negative, disparaging remark about my son? About my Billy?"
Sydney: "No, Billy was a good boy. Billy was perfect, you did a bang-up job Mrs. Loomis."
Debbie: "It's not wise to patronize a woman with a gun Sidney! Randy spoke poorly of Billy and I got a little knife happy."

After All Gale Weathers, You're Such A Complex Character.

Jennifer: "Jese!"
Gale: "What the hell are you doing?"
Jennifer: "Being Gale Weathers! What are you doing?"
Gale: "I am Gale Weathers!"
Jennifer: "Here's how I see it. I've got no house, no bodyguard, no movie and I'm being stalked. Because someone wants to kill me? No, because someone wants to kill you. So, now, starting now, I go where you go. So that if someone wants to kill me, I'll be with you and since they really wanna kill you, they won't kill me, they'll kill you, make sense?"
Gale: "None!"
Jennifer: "You know in the movies, I play you as being much smarter."
Gale: "And as a sane person, for you that must be quite a stretch!"
Jennifer: "That's funny."
Gale: "Ha!"
Jennifer: "Need to get in that building?"
Gale: "Yeah!"
Jennifer: "Is there a story in that building?"

You're Starting To Sound Like Some Wes Carpenter Flick Or Something.

Stu: "Because there's not way a girl could have killed them."
Tatum: "That is so sexist. The killer could easily be female, Basic Instinct."
Randy: "That was an ice pick, not exactly the same thing."
Stu: "Yeah, Casey and Steve were completely hollowed out. Takes a man to do something like that."
Tatum: "Or a man's brutality."

Your Forgetting One Thing About Billy Loomis. I Fucking Killed Him.

Mickey: "You should really deal with your trust issues Sid. I mean, poor Derek. He's completely innocent and such a nice boy too. He's bright and funny and handsome. Decent singing voice. And he was going to be a doctor. This is just the kinda boy you'd like to take home to mom. If you had a mom."
Sydney: "Fuck you!"
Mickey: "Oh, so vulgar! Did Billy let you talk to him this way?"
Sydney: "Billy was a sick fuck just like you!"
Mickey: "No. Billy was a sick fuck who tried to get away with it. Mickey is a sick fuck who wants to get caught, yea! Ya see I got my whole defense planned out. I'm gonna blame the movies. Pretty cool huh? It hasn't been done before. You see, this is just the beginning, a prelude to the trial. Cuz see that's where the real fun is 'cause these days it's all about the trial. Can you see it? The effects of cinema violence on society. I'll get Dershowitz or Cochran to represent me. Bob Dole on the witness stand in my defense. Hell the Christian Coalition'll pay my legal fees. It's air tight Sid. I'm an innocent victim."
Sydney: "You're a psychotic."
Mickey: "Yeah, well. Shh...that'll be our little secret. Cause people love a good trial. It's like theater. They're dyin' for it. And I've worked hard to give the audience what they want. See that's what Billy was good at. He knew... It's all about... execution."

Mickey: that'll be

You... This Is All Because Of You.

Sidney: "God why don't stop your whining and get on with it. I've heard all this shit before."
Roman: "Stop."
Sidney: "Do you know why you kill people Roman? Do you?"
Roman: "I don't want to hear it."
Sidney: "Because you choose to. There is no one else to blame."
Roman: "Damnit fucking damnit"
Sidney: "Why don't you take some fucking responsibility?"
Roman: "Fuck you!"
Sidney: "Fuck you!"

Don't Forget To Set The Alarm

Cici: "Who are you calling for?"
Ghostface: "What if I said you?"
Cici: "What if I said goodbye?"
Ghostface: "Why would you want to do that?"
Cici: "Why do you always answer a question with a question?"
Ghostface: "I'm inquisitive."
Cici: "Yeah, and I'm impatient, look do you wanna leave a message for somebody?"
Ghostface: "Do you want to die tonight, Cici?"

Bitch, Hang Up The Phone And *69 His Ass!

"It's some dumb-ass white movie about some dumb-ass white girls getting their white asses cut the fuck up, okay?"

I Get A Lot Of Money For You, And That Makes You MY Bitch

"I've been all over the world. You know, I've been everywhere and the bottom line is: Pussy is pussy. You know, every strip club, every whore house, every... It's all the same shit. You know, I just fucked a girl two days ago and I don't even remember the color of her tits. But this... This is something you never forget, right? RIGHT?"

Sometimes You Talk About A Place Called Silent Hill.

"Was it not as I said? I see it all now- Yes everything. And with the sacrifice, the demon will swallow up the land. I knew this day would come... and the task is almost finished. There are only two left... To seal this town to the abyss, the mark of Samael. When it's completed, all is lost. Even in daytime, darkness will cover the sun, the dead will walk and martyrs will burn in the fires of hell. Everyone will die!"

I Dont Know! I Didn't See Anything Except... Except The Axe.

"The impulse had become irresistible. There was only one answer to the fury that tortured him. And so he committed his first act of murder. He had broken the most deep-rooted taboo, and found not guilt, not anxiety or fear, but freedom. Any humiliation which stood in his way could be swept aside by the simple act of annihilation: Murder."

My Women Just Blew Up On Me.

"In a blaze of blood, bones, and body parts, the vivacious young girl was instantly reduced to a tossed human salad... a salad that police are still trying to gather up... a salad that was once named Elizabeth".

They're here.

"These souls, who for whatever reason are not at rest, are also not aware that they have passed on. They're not part of consciousness as we know it. They linger in a perpetual dreamstate, a nightmare from which they can not awake. Inside the spectral light is salvation, a window to the next plain. They must pass through this membrane where friends are waiting to guide them to new destinies. Carol Anne must help them cross over, and she will only hear her mother's voice. Now hold on to yourselves... There's one more thing. A terrible presence is in there with her. So much rage, so much betrayal, I've never sensed anything like it. I don't know what hovers over this house, but it was strong enough to punch a hole into this world and take your daughter away from you. It keeps Carol Anne very close to it and away from the spectral light. It LIES to her, it tells her things only a child could understand. It has been using her to restrain the others. To her, it simply IS another child. To us, it is the BEAST. Now, let's go get your daughter."