Chintz of Darkness

Heart of Darkness

2011-02-05T22:23:00.000-08:00

Ok, as to the recent happenings here at Chintz of Darkness…Seraph + Splendor have started smoking again…NOW DO NOT PANIC or send in a skilled intervention team to rescue us from our seemingly wayward ways…we STOPPED SMOKING CIGARETTES YEARS AGO and are simply referring to the copious quantities of smog coming out of our ears due to the ongoing financial fiasco happening here in America. Now the LAST thing we want to do is to start getting pointedly political on a blog exclusively dedicated to DECADENCE AND DEBAUCHERY, so we will refrain from blaming an assortment of twits, tea baggers and a certain unintelligible Texan for the current woes befalling our country. As to the hazy cloud that hangs over the Turkish Smoking Parlor (aka, the master bath) you will have to ask Seraph about that personally…HA!

During these trying economic times one must be ever vigilant in regards to the household budget. This is of particular importance if one lives in a dank and drafty mansion THAT EXISTS COMPLETELY IN ONES MIND. Recently entire wings of our Obsidian Halls have fallen into disrepair and regrettably we have had to lay off much of our staff. The Zoological Garden and Aviary were the first to suffer resulting in the misplacing of a large gilded elephant and a flock of glass songbirds. The Orangery and the adjacent Orchard Room are currently manned by a small but reliable skeleton crew (yes, and we do mean a LITERAL SKELETON CREW) that produce an abundant crop of forbidden fruit, poisonous pears and absinthe laced apples. We are also pleased to report that the Music Room is still in full swing and that the Formal Gardens are in the capable hands (paws?) of the resident squirrels. There was only one minor mishap when our furry friends took the liberty to rearrange the Bone Altars, pointing a particularly frisky femur toward the street causing a series of minor fenders benders…

Splendor was quite reluctant to let her chambermaids go, because who else is going to spend hours on end brushing the knots out of her hair, lacing her corsets and painting her nails, all the while listening to her scream “LET THEM EAT CAKE, MOTHERF%#CKERS” and hurling silk slippers at their heads? Now everyone knows that Splendor does not ACTUALLY behave that way in real life… (or does she???) While NOT prone to fits and tantrums, she has on occasion with scuffled her Fluevog’s, but that was only after they viciously attacked her and ripped a hole in her fishnets…but THAT is a story for another day…

Seraph on the other hand, had the unfortunate task of breaking the news to the Master Hostler and his crew of dimwitted stable boys. It seemed a logical cost cutting maneuver because less of our house guests arrive on horseback nowadays and our imaginary pet goats are quite capable of taking care of themselves, thank you very much. After all they live on a diet of dust and debris, which grows plentifully throughout our Obsidian Halls. Although stoic, Seraph seems to miss his gigantic black charger named Mephistopheles but luckily he still finds time to put on his armor and swing his sword around…hee!

But not to worry, dear readers, there are many bright (?) things on the horizon here at Chintz of Darkness and fund raising opportunities abound. Not only are we considering starting a D&D…and, yes you read that right, dear readers, a DUNGEON & DINER…a B&B is quite out of the question because quite frankly we are in no mood to get up at the CRACK OF DAWN to make cinnamon rolls but are not at all opposed to evenings filled with FLOGGING AND FONDUE…

And on a side note – does the phase “Crack of Dawn” bring to mind visions of some cheesy 80’s porn flick starring Muffy Manslave and Seymour Butts? Just curious, not that we would know anything about things like that…would you?

Let me roam in the shadows of the graveyard

I crunch the wings of angels beneath my feet

Candlelight dances through the darkness

Angels aflame scream to the midnight skies

In the shadows of the graveyard

(“Graveyards and Dead Angels” by Goatwhore)

Living in Fiction

2010-11-16T23:54:00.000-08:00

Attending a cultural event (say such a as museum show) can be an educational and enlightening experience. On the day of the show, the FIRST thing that Splendor learned was that her closet contains many strange and wonderful things…spiky Victorian style boots with skull buttons, flowing velvet jackets in gloomy shades of death, ash and midnight and an endless supply of skirts adorned with lacing, zippers and buckles. What this closet of curiosities DOES NOT contain is a winter coat, a pair sensible shoes or any other “NORMAL” attire that should be worn in public during daylight hours.

Now the SECOND thing that Splendor learned is that wearing a lace mini skirt and knee high lace up boots to a posh art exhibit will only lead to further scrutiny of one’s person. Although not out rightly stated, there seemed to be a lingering connotation by some that Splendor’s hair is too long, her garments too strange and her general demeanor too scandalous to be considered “professional” and that henceforth she should no to be allowed in to roam freely, mingling with the general public…HA! As to which Belphegor hoodie Seraph decided to wear, that is a story for another day…

Now Splendor’s first experience with PROPER BUSINESS ATTIRE occurred back at her first job in high school where it was promptly pointed out that one CANNOT come to work in a Venom t-shirt reeking of Jack Daniel’s and sin and was expected instead to wear a white blouse, a knee length white skirt and a FREAKING PINK APRON (…the horror…the horror…) In case there ever is a Chintz of Darkness category on an upcoming Jeopardy show, the answer to the question would be BAKERY for 1000 points, Alex. And what a fine establishment it was…

Now just to set the stage, one only needs to imagine a stately brick building with an elegant tailored awning on a quaint tree lined lane. Upon entering the dignified double doorway, one was promptly greeted with a greasy crumb strewn floor, hazy frosting smudged walls and a collection of rickety café tables with mismatched chairs held together with duct tape and string. Other highlights included a lecherous cocaine huffing boss, an infestation of cockroaches (that yes, now that you asked, dear readers, dropped from the ceiling into vats of chocolate icing on a hourly basis…) and of course let’s not forget about the flasher and his gigantic…er…oh, never mind…Did we mention that both of the dishwashers and one of the bakers were registered sex offenders? And last but not least, who could forget about the “Apple Strudel” that they sold at Christmas time after gathering racks of rotten pastries throughout the year and grinding them up as filling? We kid you not, this putrid pastry resembled a MUMMIFIED ZOMBIE ARM, complete with brown flaking skin and an odd odor…

Indeed, Splendor’s first job taught her many important life lessons such as the value of earning one’s own money, as well as how to avoid getting groped while carrying two trays of doughnuts, how to fend off marriage proposals from pedophiles and the subtle art of “borrowing” bus money from the till… Needless to say, the bakery eventually filed for bankruptcy and closed its doors...soon after that Splendor joined the racks of the self employed and has never looked back…

…and yes, self employment is a joyous situation where no one minds if you show up to work in your BIRTHDAY SUIT instead of a business suit. In fact around here they (as in Seraph) rather encourage it…hee!

So how do YOU earn your keep, dear readers?

Please stop by for a visit to our new ETSY SHOP. Thanks!

Unveiled in death to the sinner

Written in the ancient book of lies

Hear the demons call

From the crimson waterfall

As the blood rains from the skies

("Seven Gates of Hell" by Venom)

Siren Song

2010-11-02T20:15:00.000-07:00

As to the recent happenings around our haunted halls: yes, the kitchen here at Chintz of Darkness is fully functional and is in fact OPEN 24 HOURS A DAY. If one has a craving for a toasted cheese sandwich sprinkled with fresh basil and parmesan shavings at four in the morning that request can quite often be granted (although the clattering of pans will undoubtedly wake up the ghosts and the chef on duty is not likely to be *completely* sober…hmm…)

This must be clearly stated in advance because for some unbeknownst reason Seraph + Splendor are perceived as the kind of people that are quite incapable of cooking for themselves. We are not sure where this perception comes from but there are those who think that we survive on a diet entirely consisting of ABSINTHE AND HUMAN BLOOD that is served to us in jeweled skull goblets by a pair of bats that we have enslaved into infernal servitude. While that is fine and dandy for special occasions it is problematic for everyday living. Not only do the bat’s leashes get tangled in Splendor’s unruly hair but they tend to have, hmm how shall we put it? POOR BATHROOM ETIQUETTE…HA!

Truth be told, our kitchen is a haven of domestic bliss (as long as one is careful to avoid the demonic portals in several of the frying pans and NEVER look the garbage disposal directly in the eyes…) Culinary tasks are of course divided evenly and everyone (even the bats) take turns doing the dishes.

When it comes to preparing our evening meals, Seraph is quite famous for his fiery hot barbecued chicken. This eyebrow blistering recipe is of course TOP SECRET, but one can only assume the main ingredient is MOLTEN LAVA. Perhaps it is an overstatement to claim that pillars of fire shoot out of the oven during the preparation of this delectable delicacy but let’s just say that the kitchen cabinets are charred beyond recognition in a five foot radius around the stove and the scent of brimstone hangs in the air. Unfortunately, we are not at liberty at this time to discuss the “incident” with the tandoori chicken that set off the fire alarm and caused the evacuation of our entire building… We just count ourselves lucky that the TOXIC SPICE CLOUD could not be traced back to our apartment… (yet…damn)

While Seraph is renowned for his panic producing poultry preparations (hee!), Splendor’s claim to fame is making a mess. As the saying goes, dear readers, there comes a time when one simply must wash their hands of things. Usually this happens right after Splendor makes a peanut butter & jelly sandwich or with anything involving mayonnaise, butter or cheese (do not even ask…) and if there is any flour being used it would be advised to grab an umbrella before entering the kitchen…but that is neither nor there.

When it comes to serving our meals, our everyday dishes are a sullen assortment of black plates and mismatched bowls that have followed us home from Goodwill over the years. Complimenting this troubled tableware is our set of blood red goblets etched with cryptic flourishes, and of course our wrought iron silverware (ironwear?) reminiscent of a Karl Blossfeldt photograph. Needless to say this odd assemblage results in a rather spooky dining experience for all involved…

We do have a set of “Good” china (as opposed to the bad natured and slutty china mentioned above.) It is a lovely heirloom set straight from the prim and proper 1950’s complete with delicate rose hues blossoms and dainty flowing lines. Now, we can already hear you laughing, dear readers, but instead of looking at this as a DETRIMENT TO DARKNESS we just use our menacing serpent candleholders and a set of glass apples to create a miniature reenactment of the Garden of Eden. All that is missing is a scantily clad “Eve” centerpiece …Volunteers anyone?

Tell us, what is on YOUR plate tonight?

Also, we would like to say a very special thanks to Carla, Mo & everyone else that has stopped by to visit our new shop!

The fields and dwellings of relapsing ruins

Find thou thyself in every star

Achieve thou every possibility

Listen! Heed not the siren-voice of thought

(“Descent to Acheron” by Absu)

Black Baroque Luxuries

2010-10-31T22:36:00.000-07:00

Wicked Halloween greetings, dear readers! While most of you are likely to be still dancing under the stars, stalking through a cemetery or involved in other assorted acts of mischief and mayhem, we wanted to let you know that our wicked new shop has opened its doors…please stop by for a visit, we hope something catches your eye! Enter the door here…

Also, we have prepared for you a full update of our recent mishaps and misadventures…coming soon!

This ritual object, resplendent in amber, russet and gold, was conjured from many oddities scattered throughout our Obsidian Halls. First an unusual spindly brass base, mirror like yet clouded in mystery, next a gilded plaque of dubious function and lastly a small skull dripping in sentience…

A three dimensional collage of vintage jewelry, silk and organdy form an intricate armor crowned with an eight pointed star. Glittering obsidian eyes, unusually lifelike, glisten with silver diamond tears. The perfect companion or familiar, this oracle conveys a silent wisdom to those who are willing to observe her haunting stare…

A regal Sky Crown worn by the Queen of Night, consort to mighty Orion Lord of the Hunt… Encrusted with silver tears, tarnished tinsel and shards of starlight, this exquisite pillow illuminates the obsidian sky…

An extensive array of vintage jewelry, crystals and mirror pieces were used in the conjuring of this cushion. Sparkling darkly through a haze of black mesh, the central medallion was formed of many things… The first, a vintage star brooch resting upon a briar of crystal and a mirror of ice. Next, a pair of filigree constellations dangling silvery diamond strands. Lastly a heavy frame of bronze nail head encloses the entire collage upon a midnight velvet ground.

Further embellishments include a lovely set of 7” crystal spears (in another life, the glittering facets of an antique chandelier.) These spears drip from the upper corners, and chime at the slightest movement, as the lower crystal facets appear as pools of tears reflecting the night…Shall this majestic cushion be yours?

Oracle of the Horned Star (top)
Seraph + Splendor © 2010

Queen of Orion Cushion (bottom)
Seraph + Splendor © 2010

Halloween is the night

The legend says the ghost will rise

On Halloween they can't redeem

A restless soul from ancient scene

At the sound of the demon bell

(“At the Sound of the Demon Bell” by Mercyful Fate)

A Postcard from Hell...

2010-10-10T23:11:00.000-07:00

Now, dear readers, everybody already knows that Seraph + Splendor have (on occasion) wandered off to parts unknown to attend to some strange collection of calamities that have befallen our lives. Instead of trying to excuse our hellish hiatus in clear and concise English we will instead rely on a series of cryptic messages hidden in bottles, smoke signals and an odd (but highly lethal) form of ESP that requires one to wear a sun bonnet made out of aluminum foil to explain our recent whereabouts….HA! So if you have been feeling a bit dizzy or light headed as of late, we apologize profusely…

In all seriousness (hee…) over the last several months we have locked ourselves away in a dim and murky wing of our Obsidian Hall known simply as THE STUDIO. If one knows where to look one might find a room full of stacks of velvet and caskets of trims as well as wisps of shadows and shards of glass. There are cabinets bursting with butterfly wings and tables heaped with skulls. Needles and pins litter the floor and the rasp of rusty scissors accompanies the sound of strange machinery well into the night. Indeed we have been hard at work preparing many strange and wondrous things for you… a new collection of cruel cushions, forbidden fruits and objects of oddity to delight the scenes and frighten away ghosts. Our new online shop will open its doors soon…hope to see you there!

Skeleton Key Cushion (above)
© Seraph + Splendor 2010

Lucifer’s Gilded Glove (top of post)
© Seraph + Splendor 2010

Flying South

2010-08-20T20:31:00.000-07:00

Now Chintz of Darkness exists firmly in reality but many of its rooms, corridors and passageways are only accessible by a journey through a mist shrouded etherworld. These spaces are merely glimpsed as fleeting visions or as hazy vistas that disappear as soon as one approaches. Those who follow these apparitions too ardently often become forever lost chasing a sure footed slipper chair down a mystical hallway full of clutter or have become ensnared in a VIGNETTE OF SKULLS. The rooms here are decorated with physical things such as tables and chairs as well as thoughts and ideas. One might share the sofa with a stray spell or a particularly dreary BAUDELAIRE poem or find a reflection of an unearthly landscape in every mirror. So be warned, dear readers, and enter at your own risk…

In our current realm of darkness you are greeted outside the door by a smiling demon mask and a small Persian carpet (a magic carpet no less, so watch your step.) It has been pointed out that the hallway of our apartment building is deemed “public space” by the management, apparently meaning KEEP YOUR CREEPY BELONGINGS INSIDE YOUR OWN APARTMENT etc etc blah, blah, blah… We consider the laundry room a “public space” too, but that does not prevent our weirdo neighbor from doing her laundry in the buff and stealing our dish towels. It also does not stop another neighbor from keeping A FULL CAN OF GASOLINE on top of large pile of cardboard boxes by his car. He appears to be from the school of thought that ARSONISTS ARE PEOPLE TOO and just need a bit of encouragement like everyone else…damn…Well WE are from the school of thought that we should be able to litter the otherwise empty spaces throughout the building with throw pillows and cocktail tables and turn the communal storage room into a fully hosted bar… humph…

Truth be told, we have a long and illustrious history of being rather FREE SPIRITED (ok, maybe unruly is a better word) tenants. Did we ever tell you the story of the time we painted our (former) storefront like a lovely jewel toned Victorian castle complete with gilded trim and filigree stencils? Now when we say “jewel toned” we do not mean some tepid color palette one might find at Home Depot, but instead an exuberant combination of bloody burgundy, blackened teal accented with black, gold and electric gunmetal flourishes. After the paint job was complete we promptly studded the front door in a dizzying display of nail head that would have made Augustus Pugin swoon and were about to start installing the GOTHIC GINGERBREAD ARCHES when the city intervened citing some code violation. HA!

This would perhaps be a good time as any to point out that the rest of the building was painted entirely white and blue resembling a Greek flag and that our landlords lacked not only an aesthetic eye but a sense of humor as well. It probably goes without saying that we were promptly evicted as soon as our lease ran out. (We certainly would have enjoyed being a fly on the wall when they discovered how we painted the INSIDE of the building…hee hee…) There really is no need to bring up the time when we decorated the walls of our first apartment with Indian tapestries mounted NOT on decorative rods but rather held in place with a set of kitchen knives or that occasion we adorned the ceiling with a GLOW IN THE DARK skyscape and lived entirely in black light for a month and a half…hmmm, better keep that to our selves lest you start thinking us strange…

So tell us, all of you lodgers, renters and boarders out there…are you naughty or nice?

Behold the black cloud of corpselike birds

Their wings are on fire

And their song has turned backwards

A morbid cacophony singing of...

A new dawn!

(“Casus Luciferi” by Watain)

Frigid Bitch

2010-07-28T22:35:00.000-07:00

Every year THE POWERS THAT BE come up with new and exciting ways to make summer even more unbearable than it already is. First they burnt a gigantic hole in the atmosphere causing toxic radiation to drip from the sky and now it seems that we are being forced to celebrate CHRISTMAS IN JULY. After several weeks of being barraged with ads expounding the virtues of this concept (if Santa in a pair of Bermuda shorts can be considered a virtue) we have had enough! We do not approve of the concept of Christmas in July in any shape or form, in fact, we do not really approve of Christmas in December either, but that is a story for another day…. If we MUST be forced to celebrate an inane winter holiday in the midst of the dog days of summer it may as well be VALENTINE’S DAY because this time of year we are already scantily clad and sweaty as it is….HA!

Here at Chintz of Darkness we are well aware that everyone and their mother just loves to bask in the summer sunshine for hours on end. We choose NOT to participate in this garish worship of the sun preferring instead to bathe in vats of sun block (a particularly industrial variety that clings to one’s skin much like a smutty latex bodysuit…hmmm…not that we would know anything about THAT…) We then spend the remaining daylight hours hiding under our sofa until dusk when it is finally safe to wander our Obsidian Halls without the risk of being pierced by a stray shaft of sunlight and disintegrating into a puff of dust…trust us, dear readers, we have seen it happen time and time again…

Summer appears to bring out the worst in people’s wardrobes as well. Perhaps the greatest lyric ever written is from The Rolling Stones song “Paint it Black”, which clearly states: “I see the girls walk by dressed in their summer clothes I have to turn my head until my darkness goes…” When writing this song it would appear that Mick and company had an apocalyptic vision of a future full of girls wearing Old Navy sundresses in retina blistering shades of tangerine and pastel plaid shorts FOR MEN. WTF? There is nothing at all wrong with wearing head to toe black every day of the year. Trust us we have been doing it for several decades straight and know what we are talking about…

Truth be told, we DO have to venture out in the sun on occasion in the name of fitness and frugality (no air conditioned gym memberships here, damn it…) During our daily walks our neighborhood gets a chance to poke fun at us and have a good laugh at our expense, referring to us as the MEN IN BLACK (apparently choosing to ignore Splendor’s rather obvious gender…) Even the resident homeless have become fashion police, suggesting that we really should “fade to white” during the summer months. The only ones that are truly on our side are the ominous hordes of ravens (Ok, crows) that live in our area. They at least cack approvingly as we walk by and show their support of us by refraining from crapping on our heads…a small victory, but a victory none the less…

It is time again to crawl back under our sofa and wait patiently for nightfall…Gathered here for your enjoyment is a lovely selection of the glacial tones of ice, snow and sleet. We must indeed have sunstroke because even a little blue is looking cool and appealing right now…and if anyone out there really needs any more proof people are strange and summer is scary please visit the blog Pale is the New Tan…yikes…

Crystal world with winter flowers

Turns my day to frozen hours

Lying snowblind in the sun

Will my ice age ever come?

(“Snowblind” by Black Sabbath)

B is for...

2010-07-02T20:52:00.000-07:00

Now as much as it is wished otherwise Seraph + Splendor must abide by the law of the land just like everyone else. It seems that we are NOT entitled to some special pass or a get out of jail free card simply because we choose to live by an imaginary set of rules and regulations that we have MADE UP ENTIRELY IN OUR HEADS. And although we rather resent a rabid respect of rules we nonetheless buckle our seat belts, rinse our recyclables and restrain from recklessness. HA! In spite of that we still find plenty of time in the day to break the rules of convention, scale, proportion and of course good taste…hee!

Breaking with religious taboos and traditions is a favorite pastime around here as well. You know those freaks in the white short sleeve shirts that come by trying to interest you in some strange religion? Recently a gaggle of those weirdos gained access to our building under quite false pretences claiming to be UPS (because that’s what Jesus would do, right?) Here in our gloomy Obsidian Halls we adhere to the axiom WHAT WOULD NATTEFROST DO? (WWND for short, if you would like to get a bracelet made) but we do not go around trying to convert people to our evil ways by making them listen to the album Blood and Vomit until they crack and began writing a SO CALLED DESIGN BLOG riddled with obscure black metal references and have to learn to live with a growing collection of irreversible carpet stains. But that is a story for another day…

Anyways as soon as Splendor opened the door (anticipating a delivery from Scalamandré, no less…) she was immediately addressed with the impertinent question “ARE YOU THE PERSON HERE THAT LIVES IN SIN?” Finding it doubtful that they were actually fans of Chintz of Darkness, timid Splendor assumed that she appeared in need of salvation. To make a long story even longer Seraph took offence to people speaking rudely to Splendor and made one of them cry and the other one pee his pants, oh excuse us slacks…HAIL…oh never mind…

The laws of scale and proportion can be broken into several bite sized pieces or completely shattered beyond recognition, it is all up to you, dear readers. For example, you can confound and confuse tall guests by hanging all of your lanterns and chandeliers menacingly low much like a cave full of glittering (yet chic) stalactites. Our collection of antique glass lanterns that adorns the kitchen ceiling dangles at such a precarious level that they have been hit more than one time with an errant baguette and once with A PARTICULARLY AMPLE SQUASH…yikes…

Another example of this eccentricity here at Chintz of Darkness is an overabundance of low hanging valances. Our bedroom doorway is draped with an Arabian Nights worthy concoction of brocade, velvet and beaded tassels that sweeps down in an overly dramatic fashion leaving only a scant 5 ½ foot tall (otherwise known as Splendor sized…HA!) opening that one must shimmy through to reach the room beyond…In the front parlor there is also an impossibly narrow passageway through several sets of portieres that force unsuspecting guests to spontaneously learn a strange version of the limbo if trying reach the safety of the sofa…

Gathered here is a selection of BAT WINGS, BLASPHEMY AND OF COURSE BLACK which we hope will inspire you to go make some trouble of your own. Tell us, dear readers, what rules do you willfully break?

I invoke thee, possessor of all hidden keys

God of the unknown and the lawless ecstasies

initiate me, thy most faithful child

In the darkest of mysteries and all pleasurable crimes

(“Xeper-I-Set” by Dissection)

Chintz of Darkness Turns Two!

2010-06-21T22:34:00.000-07:00

We are pleased to announce that Chintz of Darkness has officially turned two years old today. Now as a child a second birthday is a momentous occasion where you can smear frosting all over your face and throw your patent leather dress shoes in the garden and NOT EVEN GET PUNISHED FOR IT! As an adult it is a day were you can lie around in bed all day, drinking absinthe and…oh, never mind… needless to say there was still patent leather involved… (It MIGHT even be said that there was a little TOO MUCH celebrating this weekend resulting in several strategically placed bruises and a mild hangover…hmmm.)

An enormous THANK YOU goes out to all of our wicked and wonderful readers that have made this blog what it is. We appreciate all of your comments and contributions and it has been great getting to know each and every one of you. Again, thanks for putting up with all of our gibberish about the comings and goings here at our Obsidian Hall…we truly enjoy sharing them with you!

We would also like to take this opportunity to express our gratitude to all of the haters, detractors and assorted interlopers that lurk around the outskirts of Chintz of Darkness. Although many of you cannot even admit that you EVEN READ THIS BLOG, we have nevertheless caught you peaking though our windows and rooting through our trash. HA!

As we move on to our third year what better way to celebrate the TERRIBLE TWOS than to introduce our Seraph + Splendor: The Early Years pages. You are cordially invited, dear readers, to have a hearty laugh at our expense! (If you look closely you might even find the infamous picture of Seraph dressed as Elton John or Splendor in her dreaded ballet costume) Click here if you dare…

Expectorate me into infinity,

I thirst for the obsidian venom,

Of the boundless sea of space

("Baphomet" by Dark Fortress)

All that Glitters is Not Gold

2010-06-15T20:59:00.000-07:00

Now we are sure that some of you out there feel that we might be exaggerating a bit about our recent garbage disposal dilemmas. Well just to set the record straight, lately things went from bad to worse when the abysmal appliance starting wandering around the apartment eating Cheese Puffs (that we DO NOT keep in the pantry) and watching TMZ until the wee hours of the night. Now after several weeks of this odd behavior the dastardly disposal let out a blood curdling groan and died a tragic and untimely death. Now we must confess, for a few days (undoubtedly due to shock) we did nothing, choosing to ignore the situation entirely. But when the reek of putrid onions and rancid dishwater became overwhelming we were put in an awkward position of calling our landlord.

Perhaps NORMAL people do not break into a cold sweat at the thought of a visit by the landlord but then again normal people do not spend the better part of an afternoon creating a NEFARIOUS LOOKING OBJECT for Seraph’s upcoming stage performances in the middle of their design table. A table that sits smack dab in the middle of the apartment, visible from every possible vista and unavoidable at every turn… As for the object in question, the ensemble MIGHT HAVE featured a large ram skull complete with a jeweled crown entwined in a candle lit rose briar. To be sure you would have had to be there, dear readers, because nefarious can be in interpreted in many ways…

We dutifully spent the next several hours hiding various pieces of our wicked creation under tables and in closets so as not to be further deemed “the freaks” of the apartment building. Truth be told this is an activity that we are quite good at after years of experience (being freaks, that is, as well as master illusionists…hee hee) In fact an entire room can be transformed from a den of sin to a casual work environment in a matter of minutes using nothing but some bolts of fabric, a U-Haul box AND OF COURSE A FREAKING BLIND FOLD. HA! After finishing up with a light dusting we felt our work was complete, having transformed our abode from a look of “deranged weirdo” to merely “eccentric artist”. Boy, were we wrong…

It seems that we were lulled into a false sense of security by the fact that most first time visitors are easily stunned and miss some details that might be picked up by a more acute scrutiny of our apartment. This was not the case for the savvy miniature Doberman (with a PINK SPIKED COLLAR no less) that our landlord was dog sitting that weekend. The diminutive beast came dashing through and without a moment’s hesitation headed directly for a pile of antler bones that we had hidden under a skirted table. It (she?) became quite delighted with the discovery and announced it to all present by barking at the top of her lungs. Having apparently watched one too many episodes of a certain 80’s cop show we felt sure that Crockett and Tubbs were going to bust through the door, read us our Miranda rights and then haul us off to county…Just as we were trying to banish that unpleasant thought, the beastly dog was off again spilling a carefully concealed tray of contraband and rudely sniffing the carpet stains before racing down the hall and out the front door. Luckily and (not a moment too soon might we add) our landlord followed right on her heals, leaving us to contend with the bewildered plumber on our own.

It turned out that the entire fiasco could have been easily avoided if we had only pressed the LARGE RED BUTTON SAYING “RESET” on the front of the disposal and sharpening the blades with some ice. WTF!?! Did we mention that just as the plumber entered the kitchen we noticed that we forgot to cover the picture on our refrigerator door of a dear friend wearing nothing but a scant layer of body paint and a goat mask? So tell us, dear readers, what lurks under your skirted table …

Joining the march of the even fall

To be at your disposal, the blade when

you release damnation

I fulfill these actions with pride, I worship

all that is ours.

(Evil Oath by 1349)

The (Not So) Great Outdoors

2010-05-20T22:55:00.000-07:00

The Apology Department here at Chintz of Darkness humbly begs your pardon, dear readers, for our neglectful posting practices this month. Perhaps there have been several mishaps, some minor blood loss and a hectic work schedule or maybe a shirking of responsibilities…NO ONE WILL EVER KNOW. But now that we are back we must clearly state two things in advance: 1) We DO indeed leave the comforts of our Obsidian Halls on occasion and DO NOT (despite the persistent rumors) spend all of our time lounging around on velvet pillows under ornately tented ceilings conferring with our collection of jeweled skulls…well, not all of our time anyway… 2) We DO NOT have anything whatsoever against outdoor activities such as camping, hiking and picnics as long as they are done inside in the comfort of one’s home…HA!

Now the reason for this clarification is simply that we can smell the scent of impending doom in the air (oh, wait, that is just our neighbor’s barbeque…) no, the dreaded smell is the first whiff of summer that will inevitably inspire our friends and relatives to start planning a torturous roster of outdoor activities that we must attempt to dodge like a basketful of rabid kittens. This year we have decided once and for all that if anyone suggests a camping trip they will need to provide an inflatable Victorian style tent complete with stained glass windows, hardwood floors and turret. Not to mention a FREAKING TOILET. As for the camp ground, let’s just say the farthest that we are willing to trek into the wilderness is the back parking lot of our apartment building, thank you very much.

It seems that we are blessed (as in cursed) to live in the part of the county were people revere nature. And we do not mean “revere” as in “respectful admiration” but as in JUST PLAIN EMBARRASSING. Case in point, Pemco Insurance enjoys humiliating our region on a daily basis by airing commercials pointing out that we are “a little bit different” with our rabid recycling ladies, our socks with sandals guys and the dudes that make chainsaw sculptures out in the woods. Thus it follows to reason that people embrace (quite literally) the outdoors. We swear to Darkness that one cannot walk five feet without bumping into someone hugging a tree or tripping over a dreadlock encrusted hippy trying to embody a wolf spirit, and that is right here IN THE CITY LIMITS. Now do not get us wrong, we appreciate nature just as much as anyone else. In fact we find nature rather tasty when chopped up in a delicious salad...

Speaking of salad, the cool cooking shows on TV (that we find ourselves hopelessly addicted to…) make outdoor dining look like a fabulous soiree to be enjoyed by all. These evil shows plant otherworldly visions of a vast outdoor kitchen arranged in graceful tiers with a spatula and a crock of cilantro at every turn (damn you Rick Bayless and your sexy kitchen, too!) They feature laughing guest drifting through the gauzy sun drench yard, gracefully balancing a plate of delectable morsels and a shimming glass of wine. HA! What they do not show you is the dark side of garden parties. Flocks of terradactyl sized wasps, excrement drenched flies and of course the race of demons that live in potato salad. Do not even get us starting on the armies of ants that would use your fishnet stocking as a ladder if given half a chance. Mark our words, dear readers, TV chefs are LIARS AND SCOUNDRELS who retreat to the safety of the indoors as soon as the cameras stop rolling…

Now perhaps we would be more open to the great outdoors if things were a little more like a lovely Gustave Moreau painting where one could lounge around half naked in a mystic courtyard surrounded by hazy shrubbery while an attendant helps one put on a collection of enchanted jewels…hmm…

You got your sugar

You got your spice

You got a kitten

Now isn't that nice

You just can't wait for a picnic in Spring

I just get nauseous

When I think of those things

(“Give It Up” by Alice Cooper)

Junk in Our Trunk

2010-05-02T22:04:00.000-07:00

It seems as though the time has come to pass, dear readers, when Seraph + Splendor must pay a visit to a dubious and shifty acquaintance referred to only as “THE UNDERTAKER”. Why such a grim moniker one may ask? Perhaps it is the peculiar odor of his antique shop or the unexplained and untimely death of several of his assistants. It could just be his fondness for Hawaiian shirts or the arsons in the neighborhood. We choose to leave the speculations in the hands of the proper authorities. We also choose not to visit his establishment after dusk and leave a letter to our loved ones in case we were to expectedly disappear without a trace. The reason for the impending appointment? It is quite simple really. The Undertaker will buy a carload of our accumulated crap, NO QUESTIONED ASKED…

We have willfully got ourselves into this predicament by a daily dose of pillaging our local thrift stores and consignment shops. Now, for those of you keeping track at home, this week’s list of things that we DID NOT REALLY NEED TO BUY include: 1) a package of Victorian era metal doilies that will be used to make crowns and party hats for the ghosts. 2) A not so Victorian era velvet painting depicting the Devil in all this grandeur doing some rather unspeakable things 3) A small glass music box with a lid etched in a delicate floral motif. Now this box has already been placed in a drawer with SEVERAL DOZEN other glass boxes and it has chosen to differentiate itself by playing it’s creepy song at random and inappropriate times (again, this greatly amuses the ghosts and gives them a much needed excuse to don their new hats…yikes…)

The final straw to the realization that we must rid ourselves of some our junk was our collection of antique fireplace accessories including (but not limited to) a rather lovely set of bellows intricately decorated with hand painted ivory (OK, bone) tiles. Now this would be all fine and dandy if we had a fireplace, a wood burning stove or even a crude (yet strangely elegant) fire pit here in the gloomy and frigid halls of Chintz of Darkness. Lacking all of these things we began placing our collection around our houseplants and under the slipper chairs. Some savvy reader will no doubt suggest that we could have placed our fire related ephemera around one of the BLAZING DEMONIC PORTALS that flare up here from time to time. While this might sound good on paper, the last thing we need around here is a gaggle of fire nymphs using our precious bellows to blast puffs of air up each other’s…oh never mind…

In case one was in doubt, there are established rules at the PURCHASING DEPARTMENT here at Chintz of Darkness for the procurement of objects and oddities. The rules state such things as “buy only things that you have a place for” and “only buy objects that are in good condition and relatively tasteful”….blah, blah, blah…whatever. Now anyone who is a packrat worthy of its tail knows that the rules can be stretched to the point of breaking thus allowing one to amass a basket of rusty knives (that was Seraph’s fault) and a stack of framed pictures three deep against a set of chests stacked four high with the whole rickety contraption draped in a paisley shawl (this was Splendor’s evil doing)…damn…make that TWO CARLOADS of accumulated crap…It is going to be a rough week, dear ones, but we simply must thin the herd…

Tell us, what would you sell to the Undertaker, dear readers?

I'm an undertaker

I'm a ghost in the night

I'm a coffin shaker

This graveyard site is mine

("Legend of A Headless Rider" by Mercyful Fate)

Plum Struck

2010-04-21T22:57:00.000-07:00

Sadomasochism can occur in many forms, dear readers. On one hand (ouch…) it can involve nothing more than an afternoon of fun activities resulting in some strategically placed bruises (and perhaps a little rope burn…) to something much, much darker… Here at Chintz of Darkness we have recently participated in the most heinous and masochistic act one can perform alone or in a group setting. What is the vile act you ask? Why nothing short of looking through family pictures. One is instantaneously reminded of every short coming, embarrassing situation and bad hair related disaster that has occurred in one’s life. It seem as though every dorky outfit and cringe inducing family event has been lovingly documented and preserved so one can LIVE THROUGH THE HUMILIATION AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN until one’s head finally explodes and ruins the photo album once and for all…HA!

One particularly painful flashback occurred while Splendor was perusing a pictorial of her ill fated ballet lessons. Now everyone knows that requiring a tomboy to wear a pink spangled tutu is cruel and unusual punishment to say the least. Now to be posed like a “proper young lady” (as opposed to a heathen beast) in gauzy soft lighting with hair in silky pony tails, HOLDING A FREAKING BOUQUET OF PANSIES is simply beyond the pale. And on top of that being forced to dance to the song “I ENJOY BEING A GIRL”…. (A song that should be more aptly titled “I Enjoy Being a Whore” with insipid lyrics like this…) Is there really any question why young Splendor burned all of her hair scrunchies and turned to a life of delinquency??? At least there were amble pictures of her climbing trees, playing with dirt and eating cat food to balance things out. And if you must ask out of a morbid sense of curiosity, it was DRY CAT FOOD (Meow Mix to be specific…)

Now after a careful review of Seraph’s family pictures one can conclude he spent his childhood being rather adorable. Nothing was found which would enable a blackmail scheme or extortionist’s plot… (unless you count those pictures of him dressed up as Elton John…AND IT WAS NOT EVEN HALLOWEEN, dear ones…hee, hee…) Even his school pictures are quite consistently charming with his lovely locks growing longing and longer in each preceding grade until reaching rock god-esque crescendo during senior year. Now Splendor on the other hand was cursed by year after year of odd self inflicted haircuts and makeovers that requires her school pictures to be buried in the back yard in a tin can…yikes…

In all seriousness, both of our families were picture perfect in their own ways. One family being comprised of free spirited artists, the other a family of a more traditional style. But the problem with pictures is they are rather two dimensional and do not show what is outside the frame. Trust us, there were skeletons in both families’ closets. We have seen them with our own two (four?) eyes and in fact we have several hanging in our front parlor. HA! We wish. It seems as though “SOMEONE” in the family has already made off with the real ones…hmmm…

Now all of this talk of bruised egos as well as asses (HEY, YOU CAN’T SAY THAT, YOU FREAKY WEIRDO!) has got us thinking of the lovely shades of amethyst, plum and purple. Now smile and say “Yes, Mistress”….

Radiant dust a chimney rise

Desert floor dissolved wide ablaze

Golden plum against the midnight sky

Burning eyes in death clouds ash grey face

(“Destroyer of Worlds” by Bathory)

Garden Warden

2010-04-14T22:26:00.000-07:00

One might recall that over the dreary winter months the Gardening Department here at Chintz of Darkness painstakingly decorated the shrubs and bushes with a dazzling array of chandelier crystals for no logical reason whatsoever. This foolhardy endeavor has inspired the resident squirrels to attempt to grow a MAGICAL GLASS SHRUB by planting the crystals amid the bluebell bulbs in a blatant act of RODENT RELATED VANDALISM. Now we are not afraid to admit that the thieving squirrels in question are nicknamed Bucky and Spaghetti-o…do not even ask for an explanation…you would only think that we are weird (HA!) and stop hanging around with us …

Looking back there seems to be a rich history of garden related mishaps that date all the way back to our childhood misadventures. Splendor grew up with a backyard that appeared (to the untrained eye) to have been landscaped by a SADISTIC MADMAN OR A DRUNKEN BOTANIST. A yard that was full of cruel and murderous shrubbery that was constantly on the prowl for its next young victim. Splendor’s earliest memory of those dreaded bushes was pulling up in the driveway for the first time, only to spot a lone sullen camellia bush with baby pink blossoms lurking amid the waist high grass. Whatever it was doing there in the middle of nowhere no one will ever know, but it was quite apparent that the evil shrub was out for Splendor’s blood.

There was also the ornamental cherry tree that was pruned (tortured?) into a lovely umbrella style plume. Every spring the tree’s blossoms would send an intoxicating fragrance wafting though the yard. This would entice one to climb up and sit among the heavenly scented flowers only to have the entire tree snap shut like a bear trap or a FLUFFY PINK VENUS FLY TRAP. Splendor clearly remembers being ensnared there for days on end surviving on nothing but rotten cherry pits and rainwater. She also remembers being told that she had an OVERACTIVE IMAGINATION at times. Regardless of that let’s not forget the group of wicked lilac trees that could be found sulking in an inaccessible corner of the yard, mugging the smaller shrubbery and exposing themselves to passing joggers…and you think your childhood was weird…As for Seraph, his outdoor activities could not technically be referred to as “gardening” as most of the incidents involved fire…enough said.

Upon reflection on the sinister nature of shrubbery the idea of trudging off to the nursery to procure yet another lovely crop of brambles, sticker bushes and fire spitting nettles has lost its appeal this year. Instead we will be focusing our efforts on our indoor garden. A garden which is flourishing quite nicely in spite of an absence of light, a predominance of dust and a never ending serenade of calming Black Metal. Remember that guy from the 70’s that claimed plants preferred classical music? Well let’s just say that guy was an idiot. Our lovely pothos vine certainly proves that theory wrong by prolifically growing in the opposite direction of the window under a gothic chair and is at this very moment attempting to strangle a antique ceramic cat. BLOODTHIRSTY INDEED, DEAR READERS…so tell us, how does your garden grow?

The curse of salvation

The odious essence

of His holy revelation

It floats from the garden of eden

In malevolent grace

The Devil's blood

Through the pentagram's maze

(“Devil’s Blood by Watain)

A Man in Uniform

2010-04-01T22:02:00.000-07:00

Now Splendor considers Seraph to be her knight in shining armor, her true champion and all around soul mate. People often ask how Seraph + Splendor made their acquaintance with one another in the first place. What mystical conjunction of the universal forces of destiny or chaos brought the two wayward angels together? There are many strange and heroic tales bandied about containing various degrees of truth. Perhaps brave Seraph had to rescue her from a tall and spindly tower or revive her with a kiss as she slept in a glass coffin? (Oh, wait…that coffin incident was just LAST WEEKEND…) Or perhaps he just found young Splendor misbehaving in 7-11, gave her a place to crash for the night and then decided to keep her. NO ONE WILL EVER KNOW…as to how a certain snake tattoo and a bottle of Jack Daniel’s figured into the story, that will have to be left up to your ample imaginations, dear readers…HA!

Now truth be told, Splendor started living (in sin, no less…) with Seraph at rather a young age. Their apartment was quite different than it is today, being at that time decorated in the romantic style of YOUNG BACHELOR MEETS TEENAGE RUNAWAY. Now if you are not familiar with this mode of interior decoration there will probably be a coffee table book coming out soon enough. In the mean while, just imagine bookshelves full of Mercyful Fate records, an overabundance of beverage bottles and a bed draped in an evil and billowing canopy complete with a human skull dangling from a chain of camel teeth… (in other words every parent’s dream …)

Another query frequently asked is “are you two weirdos ACTUALLY MARRIED or did you just put some floral garlands on your heads, chant some stuff and then call it official???” No, in fact we had a real living, breathing wedding complete with family (!?!), cake and a potluck buffet. We had initially planned to keep things simple and find some scruffy justice of the peace to perform the deed, but you know how these things go, dear ones. In the end, it was decided to have the wedding in the yard of Splendor’s paternal Grandmother’s house. In retrospect, we are glad that we did. It was truly an enchanted place full of fey magic and earth spirits. A colonnade of towering oak trees draped in a thick curtain of ivy formed an eerie semicircle where the ceremony could take place. Adding to the enchantment was a luscious cushion of moss dappled with woodland flowers and an unmistakable sense of mystery…

When the day finally arrived it was sultry and overcast with the exhilarating threat of rain. No one was completely sure what faith our “minister” adhered to, except that it was not one of the proper ones. There are foggy recollections of a robe appliquéd with faux-archaic symbols like something left over from a groovy 60’s cult and an intriguing leather volume from which he read. Then there was his sudden disappearance back into the forest when the ceremony was over never to be heard from again…(Ok, Ok, he was a family friend, once again proving Splendor’s family is about as traditionally religious as a pond full of ducks.)

Even after all of the intervening years there are still those that seem unhappy with our blessed union (*cough*parents*cough*). We started getting rather suspicious when only being wished a happy anniversary by the resident garden squirrels, crazy Aunt Mildred and the ghost in the linen closet. This year the squirrels were even thoughtful enough to leave a gift of peanut shells…

The honeymoon however is still in full swing…

Now guess what I saw on one of the stones

I saw my soul, in a magical haze

It was all dressed up as a corpse in a wedding dress

Small black wings on my naked back

Now hear my prayer, beggin' for mercy

I'm living to die

("Corpse Without a Soul" by Mercyful Fate)

Good Housekeeping

2010-03-21T21:25:00.000-07:00

It looks as if Spring is finally here. That dreaded time of year when the first brilliant shaft of sunlight pierces through the murky windows and illuminates a winter long accumulation of dust, grime, crumbs and other décor related blasphemies that have amassed over the winter months. It would appear that the resident spiders have been busy building gossamer castles in our chandelier and attaching diaphanous puppet strings to our collection of Art Nouveau statues. The statues themselves seem rather pleased (as they are usually too lazy to get up and do anything themselves, preferring to just sit around looking waifish and pretty…UPPITY BITCHES…) As for the chandelier, it seems to resent the intrusion and has developed the unladylike habit of scratching itself in public…

Now when we moved into our current residence we vowed to keep it as pristine as the wind driven snow. HA! This is not an easy task when various factors are constantly at work against us. Firstly, as artists and designers we tend to produce a rather large quantity of dust, threads and metal shards not to mention multitudes of fabric scraps in every imaginable shape and color. Secondly, half the furnishings that we have dragged home and installed here are filthy and biodegrading to begin with. When these oddities are then mingled with our assortment of moldering textiles, it creates a toxic squall that hovers over our dwelling like a baroque thunderstorm, raining down bits of tinsel, gilding and the occasional bullion tassel…

All in all we manage to keep things fairly clean (at least that is what we like to tell people…) as long as no one looks under the sofa or behind the drapes. Truth be told, without Seraph and his never ending supply of lint rollers (not to mention his pet vacuum cleaner named Skippy) the place would go to HELL IN A HAND BASKET rather quickly. (Now the concept of going to hell in a hand basket has always been quite appealing especially if the basket included a mini bar and a fluffy pillow to rest ones head on during the journey…hmmm…but that is besides that point.)

Another thing that we like to tell people is that the portieres in our kitchen add height and bring drama to the room. HA! Actually they are primarily used to hide crumbs the size of croutons and some delinquent Cheerios among their lower tassels. If worse came to worse we could probably live for a week on what has fallen back there over the years. Needless to say Splendor’s overall standards of cleanliness are rather lower than Seraph’s and she has a notorious reputation of being rather messy in the kitchen. She is only trusted with flour under adult supervision and has been known to put sticky jars of peanut butter in back in the fridge.

There is really no need to bring up the infamous incident with a bottle of coleslaw dressing that somehow exploded covering not only the entire kitchen but the parlor carpet in a gooey mess. (OK, OK it is probably a deserving punishment for eating such WHITE TRASH CRAP like Kraft salad dressing in the first place…lesson learned…hope no one finds out about the occasional cravings for Stove Top stuffing and diet root beer…damn…)

May this lovely section of ephemeral flora remind one that Spring is indeed upon us…HAPPY CLEANING, dear ones…enjoy!

You freeze to death in morning mist..

Great vast landscapes, frostbitten woodlands...

Frozen thunder, hellish blizzard storms

Here snow will always fall... black majestic winter magic

The evil frozen moonlit nights

("The Frostbitten Woodlands” by Carpathian Forest)

Land of Odd

2010-03-12T14:11:00.000-08:00

For those of you keeping track at home our garbage disposal has started talking in that weird demon voice again. We sincerely hope that this will not cause the dishwasher to start acting up as well, throwing plates and demanding money for beer and cigarettes. It HAS occurred to us that perhaps if we set a better example for our household objects things might not be quite so strange around here…At least the refrigerator remains housebroken and the stove is as docile as a kitten (albeit a very useful kitten that one can heat up to 400 degrees and bake a delicious pizza in.) Last night as Seraph was attempting to tame our errant disposal with wearing nothing but his red cape and a sword it became apparent that not only does our kitchen contain a DEMONIC PORTAL but it is entirely full of objects that do not pertain to food preparation in the least…

Like crows and small children these otherworldly portals seem to be attracted by all the lovely, shiny (yet entirely useless) crap that we have accumulated over the years. Truth be told, our kitchen is full of wild animals, enchanted fruit and oriental carpets (five at last count). What it is NOT full of is daylight, counter space or modern appliances. It seems as though we cannot resist buying decorative tins and boxes that contain ABSOLUTELY NOTHING and placing them were normal people would chop their carrots. However, these containers do come in handy if one must block a gaping vortex that has suddenly appeared and swallowed up the toaster…

Another matter that we feel is contributing to the general mayhem around here is our habit of collecting trays that are dubious in functionality and quite odd in shape. One of our favorites is an Italian tray in the same emerald green color as the witch from the Wizard of Oz. In fact, if spattered with a droplet of water it would no doubt disintegrate on the spot, screaming “I’M MELTING, I’M MELTING” at the top of its gilded lungs. Another favorite is a long and narrow silver tray with a spooky gunmetal tarnish, spindly legs and a bad temperament. To keep it from constantly fighting with others we allow it sit in our studio and hold a large ram skull with evil curling horns (you can blame Renzo for this, he started it…if you would like to see why, click here.)

There are supernatural occurrences beyond the kitchen as well. Now our Obsidian Hall occupies a mere 1000 square feet of actual physical space (not including our creepy porch and various storage units where we hide things that we do not want anyone to see...) However in the ether tinged netherworld it spans much farther into various passageways and inter dimensional chasms. We kid you not, spent a bit of time here and you are bound to stub your toe on a threshold to neverwhere or fall in a bottomless abyss. Unless you have a number of unwanted guests or nosey neighbors that you would like to rid yourself of we have found it best to keep these entrances hidden from view. Now perhaps you will begin to understand, dear ones, why there is such a preponderance of portieres and a polonaise at every turn…

Now all of this running around has completely tired us out and we think it is a good time for a nap. Gathered here is a lovely collection of decadent draperies and blissful bedding. Sweet dreams…

The Portal to the realm beyond

Splits the Night wide open

The sky turns black shadowed

By a thousand Unholy Daemons

(“Lord of Terror” by Tsjuder)

Manifesting Darkness

2010-03-08T17:40:00.000-08:00

We would like to thank Tara from the fabulous blog Nothing Elegant for asking us to participate in her Blogger Manifesto Project. We had a wickedly fun time writing "Manifesting Darkness"…please click here for a look! Also, if you are interested in more information about the Blogger Manifesto Project, read more about it here and here.

Color Me Bad

2010-03-01T22:17:00.000-08:00

Here at Chintz of Darkness we firmly believe that everyone’s favorite color should be BLACK and if it is not, one should simply lie about it while in our presence...HA! Now while we could go on and on about this exquisite and virtuous color in all of its glorious shades of pitch, coal and soot that would be merely overstating a rather obvious opinion. We are infinitely more intrigued by one’s SECOND favorite color because it tells much more about the devious interworkings of one’s mind…

Burgundy and plum make lovely second favorite colors, while yellow and pink are totally unacceptable. The vast and spacious color BLUE shall be discussed at length in a later post, but be forewarned, IT MIGHT NOT BE PLEASANT. While we consider the colors of sapphire and lapis to be quite friendly, we have a rather hostile relationship with most of the other cheerful shades of blue. Lavender and periwinkle are considered to be downright enemies (for their constant fraternization with beige, among other things…)

Several weeks ago Seraph + Splendor were abruptly confronted with the VERY LEAST OF THEIR FAVORITE COLORS and were forced to spend the better part of a weekend in its company. What led up to this color related altercation began simply enough by an invitation to join some friends on a road trip. (By the way, as soon as the term “Road Trip” is uttered anywhere in our Obsidian Halls it is immediately followed by jokes about leaving extra space for Splendor’s suitcases and the phrase “high maintenance” is usually said more times than is completely necessary…

Now the destination of this adventure turned out to be an overnight stay a rustic Bed & Breakfast. And yes, Splendor’s luggage for the brief trip included a portable crystal chandelier, an oriental carpet and no less than three pairs of boots (in various heights and degrees of propriety) which she transported in a ratty black pillow case….Seraph on the other hand insisted on bringing his favorite flogger, a flask of whisky and a small library of Carpathian Forest CDs… This seems like as good of a time as any to state that we have probably been banned from all of the respectable B&B establishments in the continental United States...but in our defense it WAS Valentine’s Day after all and everything WAS put to good use…the incident with the rose pedals was totally beyond our control. At least that is the story we are sticking with for now.

In retrospect we could sense the owners of the establishment looking itchy as soon as we pulled up in our BLACK DEATHMOBILE FROM HELL (OK, it is just a Pathfinder adorned with skull stickers…) and started unloading our menacing cargo bags and backpacks. Matters only got worse as we clomped through the quaintly appointed hallways clad in black hoodies, combat boots and t-shirts depicting various misanthropic ideals and philosophies. Again, it WAS Valentine’s Day after all…

Our room was named the “Louisiana” (although we could detect no southern accent whatsoever…hmmm…) Upon opening the door we were greeted with a swath of WHITE eyelet lace curtains with frothy ruffled hems, an ensemble of WHITE wicker furniture and a bed full of shiny WHITE linens. Now everybody already knows what will happen if one is overexposed to an ABUNDANCE OF WHITE FURNISHING so no further explanation is really even needed…

It is probably equally unnecessary to describe looks of shock and horror as we arrived at the breakfast table in the morning. Perhaps the walls were thin or maybe no one expected to have to share a meal with a herd of freaks. Firstly, we are not morning people; secondly we do not normally eat breakfast. Now if breakfast must be consumed outside of the comfort of one’s home we prefer to sit in high backed booths and scowl at the other diners behind our pitch black sunglasses. It seems that this is NOT APPROPRIATE BEHAVIOR AT A BED & BREAKFAST…when our Warden, oh, we mean Hostess poured our coffee she stood as far away as physically possible from us with the coffee arching like…oh never mind…we are sure we have already disturbed you enough for one day…

Tell us, dear readers, how does color affect you on your daily misadventures?

The chatter of white noise is calling

Enter the loathing of tortured souls

With fear came thunder

Where the soil is red as blood

(“A Haunting Curse” by Goatwhore)

Wild at Heart

2010-02-15T22:00:00.000-08:00

Today was one of those days when we asked ourselves “why did we leave the comfort of our disheveled and dusty halls?” We suppose it was somehow COMPLETELY NECESSARY to have a fresh and nutritious meal instead of dining on the remnants in our vegetable bin (which would have consisted of the delectable combination of wilted celery and a stumpy carrot end…) Or perhaps we should just have eaten that moldering package of Top Ramen that was shoved in the back of the pantry between a biodegrading box of Cheerios and single leopard print sandal (HEY, HOW DID THAT GET THERE?!?)

Needless to say as delicious as all of this sounded we decided to pass. As we entered our favorite grocery shopping establishment we were greeted with herds of people (and we use that term loosely) running up and down the aisles shrieking at the top of their lungs and getting in fist fights over day old boxes of heart shaped cupcakes and some mangy white roses…Now everyone already knows that EVERY DAY IS VALENTINE’S DAY here at Chintz of Darkness but for everyone else Valentine’s Day is FREAKING OVER!!! At this point, we will not mention the reason for our stop at our other favorite shopping establishments. A store where one can procure exquisite leather whips, eight inch patent leather boots and a paddle that leaves a heart shaped welt on one’s posterior…or so we have heard…hmmm…

Having to brave a crowd of weirdos simply to purchase some lettuce reminds us that we have little patience for these insipid times, preferring things to be difficult and overcomplicated like they were in the old days…Remember that time when Splendor decided to make handmade cards for the entire family out of vintage gilded doilies and metal lace that was confiscated from a dead priest robe? Or that summer when Seraph tried to raise a flock of demon hatchlings in his guitar case? And let’s not forget the difficulties with the pack of unicorns… This got us to seriously thinking that perhaps we were NOT BORN IN THE PROPER CENTURY (or for that matter on the appropriate planet.)

As for so called “modern day conveniences”, our cell phones run on pixie dust and string and resemble something out of a Roger Zelazny novel (Nine Princes in Amber is highly recommended). Truth be told, Splendor is rather frightened of hers and hides it under a pile of silk where it cannot watch her sew. Even the land line phone is a complete nuisance, always ringing when one is deep in thought considering question such as “why are we such freaks?” and “why do we insist on pointing it out to the entire world?” One apparatus we WILL NOT complain about is our answering machine because it allows us to avoid odd inquiries and all sorts of questions for which we have no answer for.

We seem to prefer other things rather old fangled, as well. For a time we wandered our hallways by torch light alone, that was until we scorched the draperies and frightened away the bats. Now we content ourselves with the glow of candlelight and the occasional lantern. As for most other gadgets and gizmos, we simply have chosen to live without them. We abandoned our microwave years ago and use the dishwasher to store napkins and cans of beer. Do not even get us started on Panini presses. Trust us, dear readers, all you really need is a frying pan and a large rock…and that goes for making Panini sandwiches, as well. HA!

Tell us, dear readers, what inspires you to walk on the wild side…

Hear the call for war, the master calling his

Warriors to explore by the sign of the horns

As the dawn arises the souls of a thousand

Young men shall go wild

As the fire shines into the night they're sitting by

The campfires awaiting the dawn

("Black Winds" by Satyricon)

Greenhouse Effect

2010-01-30T21:18:00.000-08:00

Our concept of gardening used to border on the eccentric, now it seems to reside there. Currently our winter garden rather resembles a witch’s pea patch or an overgrown battlefield full of feuding wizards, complete with burnt patches of turf and the odd smell of sulfur in the air (but that is a story for another day AND A STORY THAT NOBODY BELIEVES when we tell it…All we will say at this point is that it involved our neighbor, a broomstick and a pack of flying rats. We promise you, dear readers we are not exaggerating.)

Recently it came to our attention that the plants in our container garden have passed through the veil of life and now reside in the afterworld…OK, there is not a nice way to say it - our plants are just FREAKING DEAD. There was a series of unfortunate mishaps that led up to this but we will not bore you with yet another peculiar and only somewhat plausible tale. Let’s just say that not even the invaluable gardening book “BOTANICAL NECROMANCY IN THREE EASY SPELLS” made much of a difference (besides growing moss on our eyebrows, that is…)

Now, our barberry shrubs were quite lovely when they were alive with their seemingly graceful boughs and delicately dappled leaves. In death they have taken on an entirely different form, transforming into a gnarled cluster of branches dripping with sinister thorns. We never spent much time pruning these plants (much like how Splendor does not spend much time properly bushing her hair…) so their misshapen twigs have twisted into a spooky and impenetrable hedge. Instead of just heading to the nursery and procuring some new shrubs we decide to decorate the skeletal remains of the old ones by fastening chandelier crystals among their thorny bows. Much to our amusement this caused BLINDING SHAFTS OF LIGHT to shoot from our porch, frightening the postman and confusing the crows. We did not stop there, dear ones. Our garden (HA!) now boasts a collection of mirrors placed at odd angled designed to further perplex and bewilder the casual bystander and last but not least a bird’s nest spun of metal strands, a set of silver filigree eggs and a pair of brass songbirds…

Whatever apocalypse occurred to our shrubs has involved the undergrowth as well. The winter pansies have committed mass suicide and the stone crop and creeping jenny appear to have been carried off by pixies. Instead of filling the gaping holes with new and lively plants we instead packed them with ceramic orbs, crystal facets and decorative rocks. There is a resident squirrel here that likes to profusely rub a certain green orb much like a crystal ball. Instead of sharing what dire portents and omens he has witnessed, he prefers to sit on our railing and scratch his armpits for hours on end. (But then again everyone knows that clairvoyant squirrels can be troublesome…)

As a final touch we placed our bronze Buddha statue front and center in one of the pots. This stately statue previously resided in our bedroom, but was recently replaced with a shrine of skulls sprawled upon a wrought iron candelabra. Buddha seems much more content presiding over the lifeless yet lavish garden rather than the shenanigans that tend to take place in the master chamber (although we must say the skulls seems to enjoy it…hmm…)

Since it seems we will be lacking in greenery for the foreseeable future, we have gathered together a selection of opulent olives, murky mosses and evil emeralds…enjoy!

Now when the day goes to sleep and the full moon looks

And the night is so black that the darkness cooks

And you come creeping around, making me do things I don't want to do

(The Green Manalishi (with The Two-Pronged Crown) by Judas Priest)

It's a Small World

2010-01-18T21:03:00.000-08:00

*SPOILER WARNING* this post may contain references to how bodily functions and interior decoration can be combined to the delight and entertainment of the entire family….

Now having no children of our own (unless you count the spawn of demons that we have no doubt created by simply existing…) we see no reason at all to act our age…we still proudly enjoy fairy tale books, running in the halls and playing with toys. OK. Splendor does, Seraph is completely normal and acts like an adult all of the time…hmmm…really? But seriously, we will be the first to admit that we DID NOT need to buy another miniature ceramic furniture set (including a sofa, two side chairs with an ottoman and a grand piano with a removable lid.) As to what we are planning to do with the set we have no idea whatsoever. Perhaps another elaborate yet rustic fairy parlor decorated with tiny skeletons, dead spiders or a family of taxidermy frogs. We have noticed other people use their cabinet space to store more useful things such as china, books or linens while we create spooky haunted dollhouses that would give Edgar Allan Poe the creeps (if he were ever to stop by and visit our collection of ravens, that is…)

Everyone knows that dolls completely suck and do not deserve furniture of their own, but pet sized furniture is completely acceptable. The only drawback is convincing the little darlings that sleeping in a Tony Duquette-esque roomscape is not a threat to their own design esthetics. If we were to have ever made a bed like for our beloved cat Kitche she would have looked at it with amusement and distain and then set it on fire with her eyes…She much preferred to sleep on the most inconvenient thing at hand (such as our heads) or the most expensive object in the room that DID NOT BELONG TO HER.

Did we ever tell you the story about the time when we decided to treat ourselves and have one of our heirloom chairs reupholstered? We thought not…It seems that somewhere during our travels we ran across a lovely scrap of velvet just the size needed for our chair. Now this velvet was the lovely shade of a shimmering tiger running through a forest in the golden sunlight… (perhaps the homemade shrimp chow mein that we had for dinner has given us an “overactive imagination” again…we HOPE that those were shitake mushrooms in the cupboard…damn…)

Anyways, arrangements were made and before long our much loved chair was returned to us. At this time we must point out that Kitche used an elaborate language comprised of various bodily functions to portray her displeasures with us. We are still not sure what we did that day to upset her tender sensibilities but within a half an hour of the chair being delivered there was a gigantic projectile vomit stain directly on the seat and dribbling down the front leg. Now the guys at the upholstery cleaners had a good laugh at our expense and assured us that it would be “as good as new”. It seems they DID NOT UNDERSTAND THE SUBTLE NUANCES OF EXPENSIVE VELVET, which after cleaning turned from the lovely color of tawny tiger fur to a flat and lifeless shade of stale graham crackers. We swear after that day Kitche never again gave that chair another look and moved on to bigger and better things that we WILL NOT EVEN BEGIN TO DESCRIBE. Needless to say Kitche ran our lives with an iron claw and we miss her more than we can even put into words…

The moral to this story surely DOES NOT EXIST, so please feel free to make up your own, dear readers. (And do tell us of your own animal / interior ordeals…)

Our Beloved Kitche...

I shall never forget you, the best

of all there is, I lick your cold lips,

I embrace your coffin as I sigh in woe.

(“Natassja in Eternal Sleep” by Darkthrone)

Damask of Destruction

2010-01-08T22:27:00.000-08:00

Perhaps, dear readers, it has finally come time to change our name to Velvet of Viciousness or perhaps Flannel of Fury (yes, we know that we hail from Seattle so therefore there will be no jokes about GINGHAM OF GRUNGE...) We are not sure if it is just this time of year but there are certain things that have been getting on our nerves as of late. It appears that instead of a shiny new kitten we have a litter of pet peeves instead…

Has design related decorum not to mention the simple of rules size and proportion gone out the window? (We promise you that in this day and age that window would have a hideous unlined drapery treatment in the becoming shade of rancid oatmeal.) Case in point, we simply cannot find sheets that fit. We could understand this phenomenon if we had a sack made of ticking that we occasionally stuffed with hay but our mattress is simply not that old! We distinctly remember purchasing it for an exorbitant amount of money not more than four years ago. Did we miss the meeting when it was decided on to add SIX MORE FREAKING INCHES to the depth of a fitted sheet???

To rectify this problem we were forced to buy a creepy mattress pad that resembles a gigantic waffle straight off the menu of the DENNY’S IN HELL. This fluffy monstrosity caused our formerly imposing (and quite smutty) black tufted headboard to visually sink half a foot. Now instead of resembling a set from a vintage porno movie with an Arabian Nights fetish our bed now appears to be a malevolent black cloud. (Ok, and it STILL kind of looks like a set from a porno movie…)

The design and scale of dishes is another thing that is getting preposterous. It seems that the diameter of a dinner plate is now somewhere between a garbage can lid and a hula hoop. Do not even get us started on coffee cups the size of cereal bowls and cereal bowls the size of sinks. Now we have our fair share of vintage china to make a comparison to. Our heirloom 1950’s set is quite svelte but still functional, while our Victorian china is nearly miniature in scale with handles as fragile as humming bird bones or wisps of smoke. At this point it is only right that we confess to one slight inconstancy. There is absolutely nothing wrong with a martini glass the size of a small pond that you can dangle your toes in between sips. (And just think - if you get too tipsy and fall in you can always use the olive as a floatation device...we have done that more times than we can count…damn)

We have decided to edit out the part of this post where we contemplate the silliness of slipcovers. Ok, maybe not… Now if there was ever a piece of furniture that needed to put on a bit more clothing it would be our sofa. We have always considered it rather vampy, clad in black and constantly on the prowl for someone to seduce into its velvety embrace. Although we have caught it on many occasions smoking cigarettes and swearing at the cat, we do not have the heart to punish it by making it wear a uniform (a baggy shapeless uniform at that…HA!) Now comparing slipcovers to a lovely ensemble of body bags awaiting the arrival of the coroners van is pushing the point JUST A LITTLE TOO FAR.

Perhaps we just need, quite literally, a change of scenery. We would be perfectly happy living on a stage set somewhere in the early part of the last century. We find nothing to complain about in these lovely images courteously of Bakst, Diaghilev and company…enjoy.

“I am seeking nuances of richness, of blinding magnificence.” Leon Bakst

Like a flock of hell spawns

And stewards of the son of despite

We parry their guile with the magnificence of disgust

By the evidence of our heavy burden

Lies their mind drowning

Left desiccated without power

("Vredesbyrd" by Dimmu Borgir)

The Witching Hour

2009-12-31T22:08:00.000-08:00

All that we can say is that we are sincerely glad that this series of weirdo holidays and celebrations finally is over. Here in America no matter how far one buries oneself under a rock you can still hear people trampling around the malls singing xmas carols or turn around and catch some elf trying to stick a candy cane in your…ear…damn. It is definitely time again for everyone (and we mean EVERYONE) to start playing with knives, running with scissors and conjuring the spirits of the netherworld (or perhaps the Netherlands if you prefer a more “safe and sane” activity…)

Now we have received some requests to show more of our sculptures and artwork, so in the future be careful of what you ask for, dear readers…People often inquire how we amass such a collection of oddities that we use to create our sculptures. It takes a fair amount of scrounging around thrift stores and consignment shops, tripping over yuppies and interlopers that should be at Macy’s and wasting the better part of many an afternoon. One does reap their rewards and patience wins out in the form of an armload of indescribable nonsense…

Often we get peculiar looks at the things we buy. Dolls with pouty bisque faces and fluffy Scarlet O’Hara dresses make lovely voodoo dolls. Upon arriving home one must immediately strip off their ugly flocks and bind them from head to toe with black cloth. We refrain from burying them in the backyard for a season simply because a backyard is yet another luxury (burden…) that we do not have…

Salespeople will often ask us what we do with the things we purchase. We usually just smile, laugh and mumble some lame excuse. We think that one particular clerk might be on to us. We have code named her “The Dirty Librarian” because of her prim and proper appearance and the fact that she wears a PENTAGRAM ENCRUSTED DOG COLLAR hidden under her blouse. And to anyone who thinks a pentagram paired with nerdy glasses is fashion faux pas, you are just plain wrong…

Other objects can be born again (HA!) into new uses. Stands, easels and topiary forms can be converted (…ok, we will stop…) into a skeletal framework for a new creation. The discarded pair of sparkly earrings that some tramp wore to prom can be become a demon’s eye or a witches corset. Odd boxes turn to caskets then placed in our hand and picture frames, once innocent, can be transformed into portals to darkness and far beyond…

This series of sculptures featured in this post are a few of our recently conjured pieces. They are very intricate and layered beyond belief in both their creation as well as their meaning. Witch Plague Breath is perhaps described best as a ward against those with little or no tolerance for another’s chosen path. In this object one might see a guardian of witches that bears their torment thought the ages…Born upon a bed of bone, to burn upon a pyre of death. Undying vengeful wraith, seeking blood from unholy faith…

We have always been intrigued with reliquaries and crypts. Their existence within the church confounds the imagination and certainly blurs the line in regards to desecrating the dead… (as always it seems to depend on which side you are on.) Displaying bits and pieces of powerful objects and remains became our inspiration for a series of dark reliquary boxes. Corpse Moth Curse returns to one of our favorite subjects (we will leave that up to you to interpret…) A winged relic of the Dark Lord. Earth fallen fragment preserved for all time. Gilded entombment rising in triumphant death…

We have intermingled some pictures of the stunning Sedlec Ossuary among images of our artwork. Our plan is to evaporate into a poof of dust when our time comes, if not feel free to use our bones to make a lovely chandelier…and take a moment to watch this beautiful and haunting short film by Czech filmmaker, Jan Svankmayer.

Witch Plague Breath

18” h x 7” w x 6”

Corpse Moth Curse

10” h x 9” w x 5” d

Alone in my sinister crypt, I evoke the ancients,
I raise my chalice of pure blood sacrificed angels,

towards the moon, and I cry my reading,

my sorcellery breeding the infernal awakening.

The winds is changed on fire, in a cyclone,

the prophets coming from nowhere,

show the eternity paths,

the no return ways,

lost in the depth of gloomy forests from the North.

(“Scared By Darkwinds” by Enthroned)

A Blaze in the Northern Sky

2009-12-22T22:35:00.000-08:00

We hope that everyone enjoyed the Solstice and the Longest Night… we think our night might have actually stretched into the following day once the festivities came to an official close… It seems there is another holiday taking place this month that we vaguely remember from childhood…hmmm…what could it be? Oh, yeah “CHRISTMAS” – the holiday were one can ponder the deep philosophical and religious questions such as: “Where is all of this freaking glitter coming from?” and “Tree SKIRT??? What if our tree is a tomboy and wants to wear pants…” (Yes, we already know we are going to burn in Hell, so no one needs to write and inform us of that…)

Although we like to tell everyone we fell to earth in a hail of sparks and brimstone with singed wings and scorched halos, we actually grew up “fairly normal” with parents, pets and the proverbial family holidays… As adults we are now able to misinterpret all of the major celebrations to fit our devious plans or opt out all together (ST. PATRICK’S DAY? WTF???), but as children this simply was not a choice…Luckily we both have fond memories of this time of year.

Seraph grew up in a sleek mid century home complete with two ovens, two fireplaces and of course a two car garage. Rather predictably he had two siblings (an older brother and sister) as well. When looking through the family pictures one sees bright and joyous family celebrations with the living room awash in the sea of presents and packages. The tree was always placed in front of the large picture windows with the scenic backdrop of Lake Washington and brooding Mt. Rainier. Perhaps there are rumors and murmurings of how Seraph liked to break glass ornaments in the furnace grates, but as far as we know nothing can be proven and any evidence has long since been incinerated…HA! As for Seraph’s toys and gifts, photographs seem to verify that they usually ending up in some very odd and surreal vignettes (you simply have NO IDEA, dear readers…)

Splendor’s holidays were spent in a series of quirky and usual dwellings including a disheveled Victorian manor, some island retreats (as in retreat from society and become a juvenile delinquent…HA!) and several suburban sanctuaries. Regardless of the “residence de jour” Splendor’s family spent nearly every Christmas Day at her Grandparent’s house. Their Christmas tree was always shrouded in an air of mystery. It was spooky and beautiful at the same time, sitting quietly alone in the corner of the living room. The ornaments and decorations (including a faux mantel with a gaping hole leading to nowhere...) dwelled upstairs in the attic. One had to ascend a steep and narrow staircase to a nearly invisible door (that we insist had no doorknob, but a strange handle that was always cold to the touch…) Behind the door was an odd little room that led to an adjoining crawl space with exposed wires, creaky rafters and a meager light never entirely illuminated the farthest corners. The ornaments themselves were kept in rickety wooden crates and wrapped in yellowing tissue and ancient newspaper. There was always the risk of spiders, mice and if you were truly lucky a haunting by one of the resident ghosts…we kid you not. The ornaments ranged from fragile and dusty Victorian relics to the grandchildren’s strange creations (it’s amazing no one grew to be a serial killer or deranged hermit…guess there is still time…?)

Seraph + Splendor as cherubs (weren't we sharp dressers...yikes...)

Included in this post are the fabulous illustration by Etienne Delessert from the book “A Wart Snake in a Fig Tree”, along with some vintage family cards and a few pictures of our own decorations…

We wish you a Happy New Year full of wicked and wonderful things…

Hear a Haunting Chant

Lying in the Northern wind

As the Sky turns Black

Clouds of Melancholy

Rape the Beams

of a Devoid Dying Sun

and the Distant Fog approaches

(“A Blaze in the Northern Sky” by Darkthrone)