As you might have known: Me, Dunwich Horror am occupant of archive as well. Even though they try from time to time, or always, to make me leave archive by spraying things on me and calling me bad smell.

What you might not know about things is that Dunwich Horror has found new corners of archive no one knows about, even you, and those corners am currently empty of the sorts of interested things what decorate the archive where humans and others dwell.

My annex, as we in art worlds say about art places that are extra, has much need for things to make it more… “placey”, something to pretty up empty space.

I need better providers of stuff – here is why:

Ready? Okay!

Unknown decorators come throughout every day and try to decorate the Dunwich Horror Annex with things… many of which not too spiffy, such as bananna peels, empty milk cartons, styrofoam peanuts, and such.

Not to complain, they are not bad decorations – but apparently trucks like these things… A LOT!

Each weak, BIG truck finds annex, lifts annex up in sky, and eats all decorations what were donated. Sometimes Eats Dunwich Horror. Scares bejebus out of Dunwhich Horror each and every time… sometime Dunwich Horror has to walk home after being eaten.

Dunwich Horror wants make annex official with real stuff what trucks do not like. Dunwich Horror wants to sleep in on Tuesdays, and not get eated by BIG truck, and not have walk home.

More artifact and relic donations, crafty donations, and such – less dead cats and “sporks” – less mustache cream tin, less ”shaved snizzy magazine” (scary!). ART! That is what Dunwich needs to get annex up and running.

Send links to art donations and exhibits through handy contact form, tell Dunwich Horror about yourself and donations.

Thank you,

Dunwich Horror.

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The clear morning sky was overtaken by one very large storm cloud. It threatened and grumbled, but never let loose of any rain or real wind. It just hung there in the sky looking grumpy and still. It was a giant bruise adding a beautiful background contrast to the nearly violent green of the summer trees. I ventured out to enjoy the appearance of a storm without the somewhat wet and bothersome benefits of a real one.

As I was walking through the forest behind my house I heard strange giggling. It wasn’t really childlike, but neither did it belong to an adult. There was a metallic quality to it. I pulled back a gnarled juniper tree branch and was greeted by a collection of creatures I’d rather not describe. I had read about these creatures, in fairy tales meant more for adults in need of some type of morality lesson, but the descriptions could have been better as I sat looking at the real thing. One of the strangely hooded creatures, with terribly long horns, held a piece of paper and was reading from it.

Maliciousness and strife,
and all kinds of vice,
that’s what scary little girls are made of.

Dark clouds and thunder
and creeping bed monsters under
that’s what scary little girls are made of.

Dead teddy bear picnics
tainted places and broken doll faces
that’s what scary little girls are made of.

As I watched the other creatures in attendance giggle, that strange sound of theirs collectively echoing around the forest, I decided it was time to go. Artwork by Bethalynne Bajema, three of nine in the collection. Available here.

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Upon arriving to the Archive this morning I was greeted by a small crowd of people hanging about the bulletin board in the front hall. It appears Myke Amend slipped into the Archive last night and once again favored us with some of his artwork. We’re not sure if his intent is something meant for a child’s room or to harass the interns. If it’s the former, I fear for the temperament of a child that would it enjoy it on their walls. If it’s the latter, well, one can never harass the interns enough. Available here.

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