Aug 5, 2021
Hammer House of Horror | S1E9 | Carpathian Eagle | 1980
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Hammer House of Horror | S1E9 | Carpathian Eagle | 1980
Matthew Long. “They allowed us to paint whatever we wanted, and I want to do something I probably would never have the opportunity to do again. So I wanted to play on themes of melancholy and dreaming and just letting kids see something they’re familiar with and give them a heavy attachment to it, but also that when adults see it they can reevaluate their lives, see where they’re at, and ask whether or not they’re happy with that based on what their dreams were when they were children. Hopefully it takes people back to that nostalgic melancholy.” You can check out Matthew's mural along with 5 others that were painted over the weekend at LSA Burger Co. (I highly recommend seeing this one in person to appreciate all the little details, like the book titles).
Catfish Crowdfunding for Broken Man Album
Catfish Crowdfunding for Broken Man Album
Catfish Crowdfunding for Broken Man Album
Crowdfunding opportunities to demonstrate your support for a British award-winning blues band HERE
British Blues Award winners Catfish crashed onto the blues scene in Jan 2015 when their debut album, So Many Roads, went to no 1 in the IBBA blues airplay charts. Their follow up EP, a tribute to BB King called When BB Sings the Blues, followed it to…
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Catfish sings a warm Tribute to BB
Catfish sings a warm Tribute to BB
Catfish sings a warm Tribute to BB
Catfishsings a warm Tribute to BB. An EP with four re-interpreted BB King Classics, and the quintet of gems is completed with an original homage to the forever great King of the Blues. Matthew Long has captured the essence of BB in his vocals that curl around his skillful interpretation of the guitar licks and riffs of the man himself. These are not straight…
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From the Blog of Dr Matthew Long
Earth date 2904
3rd Coatlicue Quarter Turn
2600 hours
Naturally, in the period of isolation we are in, I won’t be able to upload this to the Internet until our group has been evacuated. But Dr Singh has insisted that we continue our research despite the unfortunate circumstances. She also requested me to continue this log of the Galactic Academy’s xenobiological exploration of Coatlicue, so as to fulfil the interests of our online following once I have returned to a sustainable colony. But I digress. Many of the readers may be wondering what has happened to Coatlicue that has resulted in this sudden media coverage. Well, our resident astronomer has infrormed us that the orbit of the planet has brought it much closer to the resident star, Eta Cassiopeiae. Essentially, this has led to the extreme summer that we are currently suffering… for survival we have had to evacuate into one of the mines on Coatlicue’s nearest mountain range; Section 9. While the conditions are not bad, and it is at least cooler than the surface of the planet, there is concern among the militia here that supplies of food may not last long, and that the well may run dry in the current conditions, just like how the oasis we were previously stationed boiled away.
The sergeant in command here has expressed a great deal of anger at those in orbit. She has been abusively accusing the orbital command of abandoning the communities that couldn’t make it to the shuttles in time. Too many people. Not enough shuttles. Not enough time. At this point it doesn’t matter whether or not they’ve abandoned us. The heat has forced us to move our camp deeper into the mine, and the communications cannot penetrate the ores and limestone above us.
Now, to the biological observations we were able to make, what you will all be reading this for no doubt. About 50 sunrises ago, the air began to severely increase in temperature. It’s only gotten worse since then. As one would have expect, the lifeforms on Coatlicue have long ago adapted to this violent change in climate. The coral-like flora Dr Aramov described in his last entry have shut down, their shells as dull as the stones they mimic. This response could be to the increasing temperature, or to the adjacent ocean boiling off. I am inclined to believe both, and I’m sure Aramov would agree with me, if he hadn’t been lost during the shift into Section 9. I sincerely hope he is safe, that he has found some cave or shelter from the intense rays of the sun.
But now, it is not just the sun we have to fear.
Regular readers of our blog know that locomotive lifeforms on Coatlicue, while not unheard of, were mostly of the microscopic variety; the largest predator we could find was a mere eight millimetres long. However, with the change on season, we have seen a vast flood of formerly unseen species, apparently emerging out of hibernation in the caves beneath the planet’s surface. While many are harmless creatures that appear to undergo some supremely efficient form of photosynthesis, there are others that occupy the positions of ruthless killers. It is a source of no small amount of trepidation for me that one such predator seems to have great interest in our newfound community. To make matters worse, Dr Singh has decided that it will be my responsibility to investigate the mechanics and biology of these monsters.
Even in the face of the chaos that has gripped this planet, she insists on our continued service to the Galactic Academy and to the science it represents. Admirable in many ways.
6th Coatlicue Quarter Turn
1603 hours
Yesterday was a triumph. After many days of fruitless working, we have successfully acquired a specimen of what we have dubbed Torquesegnathus (no true classification as of yet, as Coatlicue has not yet been approved for planetwide taxonomy). The other inhabitants of this rudimentary settlement have taken to calling them ‘Rascals’ for their destructive curiosity and apparent fascination with us. They steal our tools and seem to find enjoyment in sabotage. Considering the amount of bullets it took to take the specimen down, it is in remarkably good shape. A brief examination of the carcass has revealed that it does not have flesh in a familiar sense, more of a wooden complexion than anything else. I shall examine the cadaver in about nine hours, once I have had some rest. It has been an exhausting day. For now, I will describe the behaviour and outward appearance of this curious being, while enjoying the fresh water that thankfully still runs fresh from the well. Perhaps, if I am not too tired, I will describe the circumstances that granted us this sample.
We will begin with a first impression of Torquesegnathus. The creature is of varying size, which could relate either to age or substance; with xenomorphs it is difficult to tell. On average, they are about 1.8 metres in length, and half a metre tall at full height. They possess no eyes or any feature familiar to us on Earth. They have two discernible sections to their anatomy; I have dubbed them the thorax and the abdomen. The abdomen has the appearance of being black in the shadows of the tunnel, but under powerful lamps in my laboratory, one may see that in fact the layers of fibre that cover it are transparent, and the bare flesh underneath is gold. These fibres are most curious; I can identify neither their purpose, nor their substance and structure. It is possible that this is some form of ‘web’, like that of an arachnid. Torquesegnathus produces these fibres in a similar way to a spider or a silkworm, fabricating the silken material from their skin, and spinning all around itself as it moves. It coats the cave walls as they move, and seems to aid movement and protection.
The thorax of Torquesegnathus is rather distinctive. In place of jaws or a head, the creature has three large ‘arms’, which act as support for the creature when it climbs, and grants it remarkable jumping capability. The inside of these solid limbs are lined with jagged edges that have the function of teeth but are not of the same composition. During vicious combat with our specimen, I could see the function of these teeth at work; in a remarkable display of violence, the Torquesegnathus wrapped its arms around the chest of one of the soldiers (Yosef, I believe his name was), and with a shift of it’s thorax, shredded through his Kevlar vest, right down to his flesh, stripping the skin from his ribcage. This visceral sight held me fascinated. The teeth act as a conveyor belt, drawing nutrition up grooves in its arms to be absorbed into the body.
I suppose now, it would be unfair to mention the encounter without a full account of the kill.
So I had tried to organise an expedition into the lower caves, where the silken threads were thickest. I believed that this would be the highest concentration of specimens. However, the sergeant was adamant on the matter; no one was going to leave the camp. As she put it, “the sons of bitches aren’t getting any more of us.” She was referring to the damage the Rascals had done to our machinery, as well as the casualties. The motivation behind these attacks is unclear to me… it is unlikely people are suitable nourishment for an alien lifeform, indeed, our biochemistry is probably completely different. Instead, it seems the Rascals are studying us. They play with the corpses, as a child does with its food. It will be most interesting to dissect their neural system, to measure their complexity and evaluate the intelligence behind us. Their actions are incomprehensible to us… what is their stimulus? There is no recognisable pattern. Nonetheless, I detect an alien curiosity in them.
In any case, it turned out I did not need to find the Torquesegnathus. They found me. In a sudden flash of dark flesh and silk, from all angles, they attacked. Eight soldiers were severely maimed, and remain in the infirmary, and two are dead. The specimen that lies on the dissection table before me approached from above suspended on its ‘web’. This substance (whatever it is) has given the Rascal the advantage of locomotion in three dimensions. The fibres themselves we have not severed, and trail into the dark above. The subject is now deceased, filled with bullets by our courageous sergeant. Her blood drips from the specimen’s third jaw, and she remains on IV. Once she has regained consciousness, she will no doubt seek someone to blame.
I suppose I had better be there to greet her.
6th Coatlicue Quarter Turn
2959 hours
It is with a trembling hand I type these words. My laboratory is in pieces… as is Dr Singh. The deathly state of our Torquesegnathus specimen was mere dormancy, as we learned today to no small cost.
As I tried to clean up the corridors, sweeping the silken threads from the facility, I heard a great cacophony from the laboratory. The specimen was alive and well, and ripped Dr Singh to pieces. Nervously, I followed the trails of visceral red and glistening silk through the facility. This was very easy… the entire area is lit up with harsh spotlights, which the specimen did not harm. As a creature that has never developed any variation of photosensitivity, it had no reason to react to the light.
And I found where it escaped. It tore through the loading bay, creating a rupture in the facility’s airtight outer rim. Until we are certain that the perimeter is once again secure to both the noxious atmosphere (an effect of the increased temperature… the atmosphere has degraded into toxic gas) and to any further attacks, we must all wear facemasks. The device is unwieldy, and gives one a overbearing sense of claustrophobia, as its rim hems in the vision. A Rascal could be lurking in my peripheral vision as I type these words, and I would never know.
Forgive me. That’s the last straw. I can no longer write. I shall update once night falls, once the causalities of the breach are calculated. There are children…
7th Coatlicue Quarter Turn
3012 hours
Extensive examination of these unusual fibres under the microscope this evening has forced me to conclude something rather remarkable. After the morning’s massacre, I noticed a degree of discolouration in the ‘web’ that still coated the interior of my ruined laboratory. More to occupy myself than anything else, I was compelled to examine the Torquesegnathus silk under my microscope.
Technically I should be helping those that inhaled the poisonous Coatlicue atmosphere earlier today (many of whom are in critical condition), but to be perfectly honest, they are a lost cause. We all know how potent the atmosphere is, but it seems to only be yours truly that has the prudence to give up on them. We shall never survive if they keep fawning over cadavers. They’ll die. There’s no kinder way to put it. But these Rascals… they’ll last forever. They deserve my undivided attention.
But I digress. The material of this web the Torquesegnathus generates is not, as I first thought, a simple organic product of their internal biology. It is best described as an extension of a Rascal’s being. They lay their most vital possessions at the mercy of the elements, of the passing breeze. In the absence of the specimen, the silken substance dies in a similar way to cell death in a missing limb.
It was a stroke of inspiration that made me realise what it was. Through the microscope, the material is not an elementary organic compound, but a rudimentary form of organic cells, that exchange lithium and fluorine ions. It was so obvious! An exchange of such ions is so familiar: we may observe it in the neural pathways of our own brain! This is no web. This is the brain of the Rascal, spread across its environment like a sort of external neurology. I hold in my hands alien intelligence! Never before has the Galactic Academy come across anything coming close to the intracite workings of the human brain. But here, there is limitless potential. An aged Torquesegnathus could have double the brain capacity of a human… five times! Ten times!
Excuse me. I shall have to finish this later. That callous sergeant is at my door. I’ll have to make her understand the significance of what I’ve discovered. As the last representative of the Academy (now that Dr Wu is missing, and Dr Martell is disposed of), I feel it is my duty. Perhaps I should take my pistol. If the stupid bitch can’t understand my persuasions, perhaps she’ll respect something she knows.
I wonder what her name is?
2nd Coatlicue Quarter Turn
0028 hours
I’m sorry for not updating earlier. Actually, I’m not really that sorry. I was preoccupied with the duties of the camp. I’ve really set myself into the swing of things. I’m only writing this to satisfy my need for the flimsy human connection.
Now that the camp is peaceful, I’ve been able to make my way to the surface unmolested. The Rascals don’t bother me. They have plenty on their plate, ha ha. Now I approach them. They are friendly. Their inherent curiosity was misguided. After their appetite is fulfilled, I can examine their behaviour without fear of mutilation or death. They appear to have no social bonds. Perhaps they have evolved beyond such things? Each has their own fascinations, their own exploits.
They join me on the surface of the planet, which is currently dark. The soil is still steaming with heat, condensing down into thick sedimentary stone, mingling with the bones of limestone flora.
I collected a sample, originally so that I could analyse the dormant flora of this planet for any signs of nocturnal activity in their sluggish biochemistry, but I quickly lost interest in this. The view is spectacular. After being bombarded with so much solar radiation during the day, the atmosphere has turned clear, showing a magnificent manuscript of the Coatlicue System, planets, moons and glittering rings punctuated with distant stars. I watched the satellites burn in the sky, brief as embers. The orbital station burned up right before my eyes, so large and distinctive. Even with all that technology, they couldn’t withstand the rays of Eta Cassiopeiae like the Rascals can. I wondered briefly which star was home, before leaving. The sun was rising, and the monsters were coming out to play.
I have seen no clues as to how the Rascals reproduce, or whether they do so at all. A lack of a social structure in their incidental community would surely prove a lack of intelligence for an observer from the Academy. But their definition of mental aptitude is out of date. What is our variable? Mankind? What does that mean in the dark reefs of the cosmos? We aren’t the blueprint for an alien intelligence. The Academy knows nothing. They are content to measure the mind, to observe it. Ah, but this new being I have discovered, they live in their memories, they live in their emotions, and whatever higher functions the alien brain possesses, that one could not hope to understand.
A further analysis of Rascal silk under my microscope shows that the cells also have sensitivity to motion in the air! Remarkable! Not only does the Rascal brain act as its sanctuary and its tools, it acts as the senses of the creature!
The human mind. It is confined. Limited. We could never understand this universe. What I first took for madness. Its just beyond me.
They could understand.
Their mind is.
Everything.
4th Coatlicue Quarter Turn
0290 hours
midsummer rises
theres fuck of heat ha
the rascels r altight I think
my head hurts
i wonder
Notes:
Here the transcript ends. Our forces landed once the planet was safely out of range of the sun, (503 Coatlicue days after the final entry), and found the mine by following its emergency radio signals. The entanglement communication systems were damaged, and the temporary facility was in ruin. The water levels on the planet were quickly rising, and the team had to quickly salvage the remains.
There was only one body found; DNA testing revealed it to be the corpse of Dr Matthew Long, who wrote these entries. There was no sign of either the people he describes in this text, nor of the alien “Rascals”. The body’s head was severely mutilated; a large piece of skull had been removed, and the doctor’s brain was exposed. Under closer inspection, it appears a crude lobotomy had been applied to the man. This was very confusing for us, as there was no other in the facility, nor in the tunnels surrounding. It is unlikely that anyone could have survived in the harsh environment of midsummer Coatlicue. Our medical officer tells me he has examined the damage to the head, and says that it was done at least eighteen hours before death.
The business stinks to high hell if you ask me. There are more than twenty thousand families looking for answers, and they expect them to come from you, director. This could well spell the end for the Brazilian Real Mining Company, if you don’t mind me saying so.
As to the unfortunate doctor, I’ll be sure to keep his work under lock and key until your response.
Regards
General Abdul Johnson
Simon | Mirror Mirror Agencies | Taken by Matthew Long
Your editor finally got a chance to meet Eric Clutton face-to-face for the very first time this past weekend. Pics and clips will follow in the coming weeks, but first, I am off to Oshkosh!
The orchestra really came into its own with its programmatic offerings: the steps of the warriors burned with rage as the story came alive in the mouths of its narrators, Bostridge and Kirchschlager, who divided and shared the role between them, their performances equally committed and dramatic. But despite an accomplished pair of narrators, the real stars of the piece were soprano Julia Doyle and tenor Matthew Long, who sang as Clorinda and Tancredi respectively – while their roles were brief, each had a startling clarity of tone and diction which cut through the orchestral accompaniment beautifully. Their performances spoke for themselves in a ‘no-frills’ approach which was refreshingly simple and self-assured.