Posts Tagged ‘gas masks’

Dr. Ray D. Ayshun & Eyeleen

Story by: Dan Barrett

That he was once a doctor of a stature which could be considered noble is arguable. If you were somehow fortunate enough to find a past colleague, they surely would deny the knowledge of acquaintanceship now. For the (perhaps we can say) ‘good’ doctor shall only be known for his madness and perseverance in the arcane. He was testing something in the evenings, when he was alone beyond the watchful eye of peers, and the thing backfired on him. Some kind of radiation attached itself to his skin and melted it from the inside out. Unfortunately the dear doctor was not lucky enough to expire during the ordeal, but instead was forced to watch himself become rather mutated and corrupted by the amorphous foulness seeping onto his flesh. After the incident he came unhinged, or perhaps simply exhibited the full breadth of an inherent lunacy. Loathing himself, he retreated to a crumbling estate on the edge of the world where he feverishly stalks the countryside.

Eyeleen

So disgusted was she by the foulness that had overtaken her brother, she could no longer bear to look at his abhorrent, charred countenance. But the vision was of so hideous a degree it had become absolutely etched into the very retina which bore her sight; the only lasting solution was to destroy them completely. The act achieved, covered in molten blood and filth, she fell deep into an abyss of pain and torment. The grotesque objects of disdain had been removed, but the grave reward was to be trapped in a boundless void of formless horror. She clutches at the detested eyeballs, trying to find a way to rend them from this plane and erase all the horrors they have seen.

Matthew 5:29 If your right eye causes you to sin, gouge it out and throw it away. It is better for you to lose one part of your body than for your whole body to be thrown into hell.

Inspiration List: Twisted Porcelain Dolls by Jessica Harrison, St. Lucy (Christian martyrdom makes Hostel look like The Little Mermaid), Bill’s desire to shoot with Michael since “he’d make an awesome psycho”, the “Lyme Disease House of Walpack” and nonmedical use of antique wheelchairs.

The REAL Tortured Souls of New Jersey.

… The house is free, but the ghosts are extra.

The mood is that of antique-tinged insanity as fashion and violence march hand-in-hand by the way of bandages steeped in crimson fluid, colorways cast in bloody tones and truly eye-popping accessories.

• Much like a supremely elegant funeral, the #49-237 Blacklist Ruffle Dress Shirt and the #38-532 Duchess de Sade II Danse Macabre Victorian Mourning Skirt, both seen here in the blood colorway, bestow somber overtones upon the wearer, creating tension and discomfort while remaining well within the parameters of propriety.
• Disembodied eyeballs and soiled gauze up the ante on creepy.
• A heart cameo corset bridges the gap between structured and insane.

• Playing doctor is no fun in a coat that isn’t generously punctuated by sanguine splatter.
• In this “rivet rendition of Phantom of the Opera”, the most instantly recognizable standby of industrial culture sits perched upon the putrefied physician’s shoulders. Faithfully shielding his disfigured features from prying eyes (though they sure as hell won’t be his sister’s). And yes, ladies he IS single.
• Dr. Ray D. Ayshun’s makeup was applied using the technique previously seen in Blood Harvest and Springtime Sacrifice.

Note: Christian martyrs make some of the goriest Halloween costumes. Just sayin’.

Special thanks to: LA Mike (seen here in the role of Dr. Ray D. Ayshun) for laying on the most disgusting mattress known to man and falling through a couch.

Credits

Photographer: Bill Tracy Photography

Models

Dr. Ray D.Ayshun: LA Mike

Eyeleen:Vanity Kills

Location:Walpack, NJ

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Vanity Kills

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The Birthday Girl

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Another birthday had come, and with it one more party to add to the list. We were at one of my favorite bars in the city; we being myself and a close-knit circle of good friends I’ve amassed over the years, those I truly felt close to. It was a moderately satisfying, if rather uneventful, night; the bar crowd was typical and the drinks were pleasantly mediocre. We were overdressed, of course, decked out in lavish flowing gowns and enormous hair more fit for a ballroom than a barstool. But this was a celebration and absolutely no time to conceal our love for the garish!

The venue was in full swing, but the lack of exciting dialogue was causing prime time to feel more akin to mime time. Something that would take the night from a blasé 4 to a riveting 8+ was in order. As if on cue, the dubious on-and-off love interest of my old college roommate decided to grace us with his typically “too cool for school” presence. He was an odd fellow, known for both his ironic Franz Ferdinand moustache and highly acclaimed work within the field of street pharmacy. He stepped forward to reveal that he had a blotter securely tucked away in the gargantuan Native American tribal chief ceremonial headdress perched atop his head. Not ones to normally partake in such rash activities (such as conversing with hipsters), we thought ill of the notion at first, but ultimately decided to throw reason on its head and see where this new development may lead us (possibly jail). There were three of us that decided to indulge and we each ingested our respective portion. For some time there was little impact beyond elevated adrenaline levels, but suddenly the world began to grow thin and long until a blackness corroded the lens of perception.

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After some time, as to the duration of which I could offer no educated guess, I became aware of myself once again. I was standing up, apparently the same as I had been at the bar but, in growing cognizant of my surroundings, I realized that I was somewhere quite apart from said city-dwelling tavern. There was simply what appeared to be a ramshackle, old dwelling floating solitarily in a void; nothing but amorphous darkness beyond the small bit of soil and several trees serving as the withering buildings’ meager estate. My options were few, and panic oddly suppressed, so I decided to see what lie within the crumbling edifice.

Not surprisingly, the interior matched the degeneration of the exterior; the walls were stripped of paint and paper, the floors were missing large sections and the ceilings were precariously cracked and splintering. There was dull light streaming in from an unforeseen angle which provided something of a conduit in navigating the inner sanctum of the structure. The bottom levels were all but uncharitable, so rather than tempt fate, I chose to ascend the staircase in the front room. Reaching the top of the stairs, I noticed that many of the upper rooms would nary accommodate a human body; however though, one particularly large empty room stood out among them as potentially habitable. With nowhere else to traverse, I ventured into this area.

Save for the bits of crumbled plaster and brick around the edges of the room, the floor was entirely bare. The walls had become uniformly blank with age, and the only things which stood out were a long abandoned fireplace and a rather dusty, ancient couch. This was strange enough, until, in a startling revelation, I noticed that some force or entity had posted a sizable HAPPY BIRTHDAY marquee along the back wall, and left a rather bulky cube-shaped present on the rustic couch. Both of these items lacked signs of age or length of stay. Normally, I would run from this uncanny scene, frightened out of my mind, but the effects of the drug and/or the blur of the dreamlike state caused in me an intense curiosity instead, and a distinct lack of fear. This was apparently to be my private astral party and I, as the guest of honor, should take care not miss it. I took my place on the dust-encrusted throne and proceeded to take the present into my lap. Across from me on the wall was a large rectangular mirror. As I stared at the reflected image of myself, I had the bizarre feeling of being watched, almost ethereally, as if the reflective glass was storing an image of me. Inquisitive, but un-phased, I resumed my duty of opening the sole present bequeathed to me by this inexplicable residence. I poised myself to grab the bow and tug it off, slowly removing the ribbon and peeling back the top of the container to peer inside…

I blinked my eyes, startled, as if abruptly awakening from a particularly gripping nightmare. I was sitting in my dimly lit living room, alone and empty handed. Unsure of what had just transpired, I resigned myself to bed and fell into a deep slumber almost immediately. Later, I would learn from my friends that I had left the bar on my own and none of them could find me and knew nothing of my whereabouts for the remainder of the evening. They speculated that I had caught a cab home straightaway and fallen asleep. That was an easy explanation, and I think that I should not tell them about the mystifying pictures I found the following day on the sofa in the room I awoke in. The pictures of me in my party dress, sitting on a strange, deeply aged couch in the middle of a barren, grimy room holding a large, pristine present in my lap…

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“The highest of all holidays in the Satanic religion is the date of one’s own birth. Every man is a god if he chooses to recognize himself as one. So, the Satanist celebrates his own birthday as the most important holiday of the year. Despite the fact that some of us may not have been wanted, or at least were not particularly planned, we’re glad, even if no one else is, that we’re here! You should give yourself a pat on the back, buy yourself whatever you want, treat yourself like the king (or god) that you are, and generally celebrate your birthday with as much pomp and ceremony as possible.”- Anton LaVey

Inspiration List: Estigmas (the Z-grade Spanish post-Apocalyptic fetishistic Nazi-sploitation film by Jose Bravo & J. Luis Martinez ), finding practical use for my extravagantly fancy Salon Du Pop ballgown, Hello Kitty children’s birthday thotchke, the delicious juxtaposition of gas masks worn with party dresses, sharing past experiences of fun with hallucinogens , abandoned buildings, turning 28 on January 22nd and celebrating my favorite Satanic Holiday of the year.

Whoever said that gas masks and glamour are mutually exclusive obviously hasn’t seen the bling encrusted and Louis Vuitton-logo-emblazoned conceptual “High Fashion Protection” pieces conceived by Diddo Velema. While Velema’s bizarre designer breathing apparatus appears to be a tongue-in-cheek reaction to “our collectively insatiable culture of consumption”, my own coupling of gas masks and ballgowns is completely devoid of any underlying political innuendo. It’s merely an ode to unconventional pairings of metallic frocks that would be most at home at a Martian senior prom, post-Apocalyptic survival gear, and playful child-like accessories.

Alas, sometimes our best laid plans (such as dropping acid in a haunted house) should remain confined to the realm of a controlled environment for sanity’s sake. The “Ominous Birthday Princess” getup looks simply darling at a photoshoot or a music video, and it will easily seize the imagination of any live audience member at a stage performance. However, certain fantasy-based stylistic statements won’t translate all that well in a club environment, mostly due to the fact that gas masks tend to be face-meltingly hot, and wearing one for an extended period of time without being overcome with the distinct feeling of drowning in your own perspiration can prove to be quite challenging. Unless you’ve got an actual sudden chemical warfare emergency on your hands and preventing toxic irritants from liquefying your eyes is your new number one priority, you’ll probably want to tear the fucking thing off in under an hour. And the sweaty aftermath? If you don’t mind oozing salty fluid out of every pore, go on and live out your dream of becoming the human sauna. But when your friends suddenly flee the scene to “wash their hair” or “call their grandma” at 1:00 am on Saturday night, well – don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Silver Belle

Vanity’s take on birthday girl glam:

• Salon Du Pop 14-71 “Marquise Gown” and matching 14-70 “Flaunt and Flattery Shrug“ in the silver/black colorway shimmer with the otherworldly inapproachability of a garb fit for an entity which exists solely outside of the common man’s perception of reality. The more LSD-laced tiki drinks one consumes, the greater their chance of catching a glimpse of her on the physical plane.
• Purple and black petticoat to further amp up the volume of the lavishly decorated Salon Du Pop Marquise Gown, adding considerably more “pomp and ceremony” to the party. Trust me, LaVey would’ve wanted it this way.
• To avoid getting mistaken for your own birthday cake, balance out the proportions of the billowing lace-trimmed sleeves of the shrug and the multi-layered floor length skirt with the addition of a black waist cincher. It will take the “foofy” quotient down a notch.
• Clinical trials have proven that 10 out of 10 times gas masks looked more legit/creepy/”industrial” than the respirators , dust masks and silly so called “surgical masks” that cyber kids can’t seem to live without. (Read my extended anti-respirator-as-fashion-accessory rant here)
• Purple sparkly Hello Kitty tiara
• ”Birthday Girl” award ribbon pin. Because I’m the guest of honor, bitches. And no force in the universe will stop me from obnoxiously announcing it with my attire.

Learn how to insert falls here.

A happy birthday to me(it’s this Saturday, so you still have a chance to get me something!) and to all a good night

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Credits

Photography: Bill Tracy Photography

Model:Vanity Kills

Location: Abandoned house in Montague, NJ

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Vanity Kills