Strange noises were heard coming from the ceiling beneath the attic space on the far east towers of the Archive.  By the gentle prodding (and when we say gentle we mean rough and rudely, and when we say prodding we mean prodding mostly done with pointy sticks aimed firmly at her fanny) of her devoted interns, our good old lass Babel Jean Tea Hymn was convinced to investigate. Ms Tea Hymn was a bit skiddish at first, to blindly go into these dark and mostly unused areas of the Archive, but after a bit more gentle prodding (and by gentle we mean… oh you get the picture, we threw the fussy old bird right into that dark old room!) Ms Tea Hymn bravely weathered the spiderweb infested attic by candle light alone. Many bets were taken as to the outcome of this spur of the moment adventure, but much to the disappointment of the interns (all of whom are still a bit spiky where Tea Hymn is concerned after her year of rude and relentless memo tyranny the Archive staff suffered before some peace was had when it was rumored dead professor Mint T. Zolty introduced his living colleague to the joys of ectoplasm and getting busy with the dead) Ms Tea Hymn returned from the attic unharmed and holding the creative efforts of some nameless attic dweller at the Archive. A fine selection of art pieces reprinted on what looks to be antique book pages were found left about the attic. The interns and their pointy sticks dispersed and Tea Hymn has hung a few of the collage pieces in the hallway with a note on how to own the selected pieces. Please have a look and should any appeal to you, please stop by the Archive shop.

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The Chuthlu Crush

The Magpie’s Bird Room

There was once a woman born Abigail Frost who thought she saw a very strange creature when she was just a child. This fateful event put her on a path that would slowly cause her to become more and more dedicated to the task of proving the reality of what she thought she saw. This task became an obsession and this obsession would finally be satisfied, only the reward for her driven pursuit was not exactly what she was looking for. Abigail was transformed into a creature known as a Taurean and her immortal name became the Magpie. In the mythology of the Taureans and Saturnines the Magpie became a well known figure. Her fabled bird room housed countless species of bird or rumored to exist. This was her passion for decades until a chance introduction to a book about Lovecraft’s old gods caused her to make a sudden and sharp turn. Her crush on the old thing named Cthulhu found strange changes taking place in the Magpie…

Of the many subjects that the eccentric shopkeep and researcher Etta Diem occupied her free time with, the topic of the Taureans and Saturnines fascinated her the most. If Etta was capable of falling prey to obsession these two entities would be that obsession. The suggestion of this is rather ironic, but only if you understand the nature of Taureans and Saturnines. Each of these titles is a quick identifier of a type of person who followed a certain course of action somewhere in their life and suffered the consequences. The most simple way to sum of these actions is to say the phrase curiosity killed the cat, although death is not the outcome in this case but rather a strange brand of unwanted immortality. (more…)

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At the height of the Spiritualist Movement when creators like Huxley Auspex were inventing their other worldy creations like the Auspicmoriscope, a more mundane line of invention was being attempted by brilliant creator Professor Semper Vogel. Vogel, not content to simply teach his knowledge and try and inspire the youth of his city to push their gray matter towards more profound things, he put his talents and intellect to the task of inventing machines that would aid the afflicted in his world. His first attempts were at a clunky brand of hearing aids. Most of them proved too large and impractical for the individual use. They were little better than the old fashioned method of putting an ear horn to your head and hoping for more hearing clarity.

After much frustration and failure Professor Vogel came upon an invention that seemed to conduct itself perfectly. The rather large invention was a reading machine, a device that could be placed over a page of written words that were read and clearly reproduced aloud from a speaking apparatus at the top of the machine. The professor hoped such a machine would greatly aid the blind in finally having access to books without needing someone else to read them to them, or waiting for them to be translated into brail. The only mishaps the good professor kept encountering were that the words being read aloud often times were not the words to be found on the pages. He couldn’t quite tell if this was a simple matter of the reader not being able to translate what it was reading, or something along those lines. What troubled and vexed him was the fact that what was being spoken aloud, though not what was on the page, was still a well thought out and perfectly understandable speech. It almost sounded like the reading machine was reading its own stories in place of what it read on the pages of the book or paper its reading eye glass was moved over.

As he grew increasingly frustrated with a device that seemed to be working perfectly and yet was not, he found himself one night spilling his woes to his sister Belle over several glasses of brandy and sinful truffles. His sister suggested he leave the reading machine with her and see what she could make of it. She was just as bright as her older brother, just as capable at construction and invention, and in this case she would be a pair of fresh eyes taking an equally fresh look at the machine. Vogel agreed and left his reading machine with Belle. (more…)

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There are many things to be found in Etta Diem’s eccentric attic shop. I remember visiting once where I spent nearly an hour sorting through a shelf full of beautifully crafted bottles — often called Egyptian Tear Catchers. Each of these small and elegantly spun bottles held a small tag that offered a name of the bottle and the properties of the fluids kept inside. One of the most tall and narrow of these bottles, painted an incredibly pearl like black and crimson and extremely beautiful, claimed to contain the tears of a mythical dragon of very old legends. When Etta’s back was turned I did a rude thing on impulse and removed the stopper of the bottle and lifted it to my noise. The smell alone caused my noise to recoil in pain and my eyes instantly watered. Nervously I tipped the bottle a pinch and watched a droplet fall from the bottle and hit the wooden floor with an evil hiss of burning. That one droplet burned clear through the floor, and then through the items that lie in the basement below. I quickly put the bottle back and excused myself from Etta’s shop. So it didn’t even cause me to pause or doubt the strange shopkeep when she showed me her collection of antique and very special scissors. Each elaborately crafted tool that she finds I take up to the Archive and do my best to study and document its cursed or enchanted properties. I drew up the diagram of the individual sheers that Ms Diem currently has in her shop. And below this image I have summed up the things claimed of each sheer. Please admire their eerie beauty, however… I don’t recommend you touch any of them, even for a second… (more…)

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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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Travel Log, 27th of June, 2008, or 1908, I can never tell anymore.
Mechanical Insects in the Forest (more…)

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Bethalynne Bajema was brought to this world some years past, spring-time-ish, in a dark ceremony using stolen languages since unspoken by man. From an early age she was taught sewing, story-telling, and unconventional warfare… all this in preparation of her foretold future as Dread-Overlord-And-Tailor. What prophecy could not see was the impact her older brother’s comic collection would have on her, and the siren songs of India ink, the arts, and the written word. These talents have since been nurtured and have been showcased in a variety of magazines, books, and for more than ten years online.

Mixing equal parts Victorian horror, sepia erotica, clockwork logic and Industrial music, Beth carves her dreams on the skins of Tibetan holy men before transferring their contents to the computer’s screen.

Beth currently resides on America ’s East Coast with her better half, a rather bizarre little cat, a laptop, and her dark army. Online she can be found at Bajema’s Web or her online journal.

(Biography provided by John Galati)

Examples of Beth’s Work (Click on a thumbnail to see a larger view)

All images in this post are copyright © 2008 Bethalynne Bajema,
and used by this site with permission

Beth’s first collection of work is available through the lulu.com site.

Beth’s prints and various craft work can be found in Etta Diem’s Attic Shop

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