evil anti art

[delta-green]

hello all. i got my cpu fixed at long last so to celebrate i thought i would antagonise the good folk of uk420 with one of my more recent anti-art abominations and another short story.

vampiric simbiosis [psychiatrist/patient]

mostly inks on a roughly textured oil paint field. i liked this one so much i gave it to my brother for his birthday. saved me a shitload of money that did.

[delta-green]

and now for something extremely dark. this is my attempt at a lovecraftian styled horror story and its really quite nasty so youve been warned. credit goes to ramsay campbell for the creation of the stories evil deity, who shall remain unnamed for reasons of safety.

COME by delta-green

Ron stood at the back of the queue waiting for the old guy at the desk to hurry things along. He was four places from the counter and the last in line but that didnt really bother him. All he had to do today was post this letter and then back home to cook tea so he relaxed a little. Glancing around Ron saw how well the post office was maintained by the elderly couple that ran the place. Sure, it was old fashioned looking but they kept it clean and running smoothly. The Blonde woman being served at the counter [Nice legs thought Ron] wanted her letter posted to Phoenix Arizona. 'No' she replied to the old codger 'Its nothing valuable, just press clippings' Rons attention drifted out of the window and into the street beyond. It was a bright summers day, all sunny and warm with no clouds in the sky. 'Most unusual' thought Ron 'Its usually pissing it down this time of year' The blonde walked past him and out into the sunshine, Rons eyes glued to her ass all the way until he noticed the old woman sitting at a desk next to the door. She was surrounded by greetings cards, wrapping papers of all colours, packs of Sellotape and had an oddly blank expression on her face. Her eyes were glazed and staring, her mouth drooped slightly open and her shoulders were slumped. Peering out of the corner of his eye Ron guessed that she must be slightly retarded, like a mongoloid or a spastic or something. She had an unhealthy pale palour to her rough, wrinkly skin and her balding scalp was pock marked with small sores and blemishes. Feeling a little sickened at the sight of her Ron looked towards the main counter. A hulking black guy dressed in a navy blue suit was paying his water bill. 'I tried getting a water meter installed' he said in a voice so deep that he made James Earl Jones sound like a castrati. 'But they couldnt find the correct pipes so now i get a reduced rate instead' Ron noticed that the old man at the desk had the same sores as the old spastic, but these extended down his arms and onto the backs of his rough hands. 'Looks like its catching' he thought making a mental note to have a bath as soon as he got back. The black goliath stomped the length of the shop to the door, his bill paid and stuffed his wallet into his inside jacket pocket as he left. The old woman at the desk started to mumble something under her breath that Ron couldnt make out. She then walked to the main door and shut it, but instead of returning to her seat she stood next to the door swaying slightly. With her unfocussed eyes fixed on the tiled ceiling above she began to mutter strange nonsensical words to herself and as she did a thin, clear trail of drool escaped from her mouth and ran down her bristled chin. Ron nearly puked so he quickly returned his gaze to the main counter. 'It was nice that 'tards had jobs these days' he thought 'But couldnt they pick the ones that didnt slobber everywhere? it was so fucking sick' The young mother with a pair of brats in a pushchair was drawing some cash out using her post office account card. 'Can i have a book of twelve second class stamps please' she said as Ron eyed her. 'A bit saggy around the waist and ass' he thought 'Nice tits though, maybe good for a mercy fuck if ever he got hard up'. Hard up, what a joke. Ron was in his prime and had a way with the ladies, he never had any trouble pulling and wasnt worried about who he stuck it to either. It made no difference what age, race or even sex as long as they were fucking fit and up for it. The pushchair creaked as the young mother wheeled her way through to the exit and smiled at the human amoeba next to the door as she left. Once again the old woman pushed the door shut with a click but this time she returned to her seat and sat looking into space next to the rubber bands. At the main desk an old lady in a knitted grey cardigan and a frizz of white hair was depositing money into an account and chatting to the old guy but Ron wasnt interested. His attention moved to the rows of greeting cards that lined the walls of either side of the long shop. They had cards for every occaision it seemed. Birthdays of all ages, marriages, deaths, get well cards and even joke cards. Some had impressionist paintings of flowers or landscapes, others had pictures of sportscars or footballers. Ron even noticed one with a satirical picture of Maggie Thatcher sneering down a comically elongated nose 'Christ' he thought 'Who would want to be sent a picture of that bitch, even as a joke it would piss him off?' Then, without a flicker of warning the lights went out. It made Ron jump and glance quickly around, he hadnt realised that the lighting was switched on in the first place. Now that the lights had become extinguished he could feel a change in the atmosphere of the place. Where once the post office appeared neat and business like it now appeared shadowy, even sinister. The only source of Illumination came from the narrow strip light behind the crusty old bloke at the main desk, its bluish light spilled out onto the cards and floor like moonlight at full moon. Ron shrugged his shoulders and guessed that a lorry must be parked outside the front window, its bulk blocking the sunlight from entering the shop. 'Can i help you sir' came a creaky voice from behind him causing him to spin around with a start. The old guy at the counter smiled at him showing cracked brown teeth and yellowish eyes. Ron looked around the shop quickly, searching every corner. Where the fuck had the white haired old bird in the grey cardie dissapeared too? It was as if she had vanished. 'Well, maybe not vanished you twat' he thought, he had been a little distracted by the lights going out after all. She mustve left while he was looking around. 'Sir' the old man said with a frown on his face 'Are you ok?' 'Err, uggh, yeah. I was miles away is all' said Ron as he stepped up to the counter with a grin forced onto his face.

'We all get like that at times, 'specially when you get older' said the old man and winked a bloodshot yellow eye. 'Huh?' thought Ron. The disgusting old git had come onto him, he was sure of it. The wink was far too sly and sexual to be mistaken for anything grandfatherly or warm. Not the sort of wink you would expect from a man who had to be over seventy years of age. Ron shifted uncomfortably on the spot. Not only had the lighting spooked him but now the old leper at the counter was freaking him out in a big way. His smile was strange too. All of his teeth were long and exposed, some of them were chipped and all bore a deathly brown colour. The lips were black, bloated and covered in a slime that looked almost toxic. Under the blueish light his skin looked corpse pale and waxy. His wrinkled skin was covered in scabs and sores, some of which wept a thick cloudy mucus that reminded Ron of semen and which caused him to clasp a hand to his mouth in fear of vomiting. His eyes were really fucked up too. The whites were a dirty yellow colour, badly bloodshot and the pupils were cloudy with what Ron took to be catharracts. Feeling sickened Ron placed his parcel onto the nearby scales and said with a trembling voice that he wanted it sent first class recorded to Glasgow. The old man closed his eyes and with great solemnity nodded. 'As you wish sire' he said in a cracked, submissive way that made Rons skin crawl. 'Sire?' What the fuck was going on here? The old man had to be sick in the head, who the fuck called people 'Sire' these days other than hams and luvvies. 'My name is Michael' croaked the old man 'Although you may call me Mike or anything else you like or wish Sire' Mike slowly opened his disseased eyes which seemed to stare through him as if he werent there. His filthy grin widened. 'Dont you remember me?' The old fucker was spouting bollocks now. Ron felt like snatching up his parcel and running for it but the nearest post office was the other side of town and it would be shut by the time he walked there. No, he would deal with this old pervert, post his parcel and then be on his way. He made another mental note to pick up a bottle of whiskey at Morrissons. He suddenly realised that Mike was looking past him, over his shoulder towards the front of the shop. Following Mikes leperous stare Ron saw that the drooling woman had drawn the blinds and was slowly edging along the wall towards him with her back pressed flat against it and her shadow shrouded eyes seemingly fixed on his own. She knocked the odd card onto the floor as she passed. One read 'Hooray, Five Today' in big gold lettering above a picture of brightly coloured red balloons floating in the sky. The card itself was absolutely filthy and covered in some form of dried on reddish brown gunk. 'Hey, just you wait a minute' snapped Ron as he faced Mike again 'What the fucking hell is going on here?' 'As it was, so it will be' whispered Mike cryptically through bleeding gums. 'Always you play your little game, dont you sire'. To Rons horror he realised that mike had begun to leer at his body and had begun breathing in short sudden gasps. 'Look, I just want to post this to Glasg...' He was cut short mid sentence by a chill feeling of metallic coldness against the back of his neck followed by a loud click behind his head. He'd seen enough westerns as a kid to know the sound of a guns hammer being cocked. Cold swett trickled from is forhead and ran freely down is back. His body went numb in anticipation of the gunshot and he felt hot urine run down his leg. Mike stood up from his chair and Ron watched as he waddled his flabby body over to the door next to the counter, the one that led ito the shop. He could hear Mike releasing bolts, lifting chains and turning keys in locks. The woman behind him started singing or chanting something under her breath that sounded strangely familliar yet unnatural as the door swang open. Mike stood there smiling with his lower body now exposed, a large trouser bulge, his erection was obvious beneath his old mans tweeds. With a slight lurch Mike stepped to one side like a circus ringmaster and, with his left arm extended towards a closed door at the back of his enclosed area he beckoned. 'This way sire' he giggled. The gun barrel pressed hard into the flesh at the nape of his neck causing him to stumble forward with arms outstretched. As he passed the disseased fat man he reached for the door handle and began to tremble.

Ron couldnt remember walking the short brown corridor beyond the door, neither could he recall entering or climbing the stairs at its end. He was having trouble remembering anything at all, the death dealer pressing sharply into his spine and the low chitter-chant of the mad woman wielding it was making rational thought impossible. He found himself in a darkened room that stank of revulsion atvomit and stale body odour, the only source of light being a green shaded desk lamp placed near the rooms center. It produced a brilliant, if slightly billious glow that formed a wide circle which revealed a large pentagram cut deeply into the bare floorboards. Strange sigils were carved around a double circle that surrounded the five pointed star and at its center a lidless eye had been burnt into the wood with crooked, spiraling flames twisting from out of the pupil. Ron observed that the flames seemed to flicker and move as if they were real but that was impossible, they were simply burnt into the wooden floor like the eye itself. 'Step into the circle Sire, then face us and we shall prepare the way for Lord of Desire to come' said Mike from behind him in a gutteral voice thick with phlegm. 'Come' barked the woman with exitement as Ron obeyed. Mike had shed all clothing and stood behind but slightly to the side of the woman. His corpulent body was criss crossed with stretch marks and scars that looked as they were probably self inflicted, some still fresh and livid against his pale flesh. All Ron could do was to stare in sick dread at the fully engorged old man. 'Hand me the gun Shiela' said Mike as he fondled his sagging testicles with a clawed, scab encrusted hand. Ron watched as 'Shiela' gingerly passed the pistol, a revolver, over her shoulder and then in silence began to undress herself. As he watched with revulsion at the gerriatric striptease being played out before him he heard a low sound like a sob or short intake of breath behind him. Turning his head towards the noise he could just make out the prostrate figure of a naked elderly woman handcuffed to the bare springs of an ancient, rusty metal bed frame. Her arms and legs were spreadeagled, her body was bruised and bloodied and her clothing, her grey cardigan lay discarded beside the bed in a pile on the floor. Jammed into her mouth was a ball gag, around her neck was a posture collar with an eyeless mask covering her upper face. The mask was made of thick black leather and had two rubber tubes protruding from the nostrils for air. Drool streamed down the side of her face and chin as she sagged against the springs, there were bleeding bite marks across her breasts, stomach and groin. Eyes wide with terror Ron looked to Mike and Shiela and saw that they were both now naked. Shielas was covered from head to toe in cuts, bites and old scars. In places there were small circular burns and her crotch revealed a pulsating, dripping wound that bore no resemblance to female genitalia at all. Ron gagged on acidic vomit. 'Its time to begin the ritual Sire' gloated Mike 'Would you prepare the offering my dove' he said with a grin, never taking his eyes or the gun off of Ron for a second. Nodding obediantly Shiela shambled over to the bed and with a strength unusual for a woman of her years began to push the bed into the pentagram. The bound woman began to writhe and moan. As she shook her head violently from side to side spittle flew in strands onto the floor where it darkened the wood as it soaked in. By the time the bed was rolled into place next to Ron she had exhausted herself and lay there panting and making soft wimpering noises. Her only movements being the rise and fall of her wasted, mutillated breasts as she drew slow lungfulls of air through the rubber tubing. 'Now undress Sire' whispered Mike with a gleefull look in his yellow eyes 'Let us prepare for the coming of God' With the gun trained on him Ron had no option other than to obey. As he threw his t-shirt to the floor revealing his well built torso Shielas gnarled hand stroked gently between his shoulderblades and down his shivering, swett soaked back causing him to shudder uncontrollably. He wanted to grab the sick old bitch and punch the life out of her but he knew that doing so would only get him shot so instead he pulled his trainers and socks off, throwing them into the darkness beyond. 'All of your clothing Sire' chuckled Mike, his eyes dropping to Rons groin. Ron slowly unbuttoned his urine soaked jeans which he balled up and discarded with a wet slapping noise as they it the floor. Ron felt more exposed and vulnerable than he had ever felt before as he stood naked and fearfull at the center of the circle.

'Sodomise her' rasped Mike lustilly, motioning towards the woman tied to the rusty bed with the barrel of the gun. 'Fuck off' croaked Ron, his mouth and throat were dry and sore, his tongue felt like a length of cracked leather. The woman on the bed made a shrill noise and began to struggle again, fresh blood flowing from the wounds caused by the chafing cuffs. 'Always you play this odd little game dont you Sire, a very odd little game indeed' smirked Mike 'Yet you do enjoy yourself so very much once things have begun'. Mike began rubbing his free hand against his sore covered chin. Then, with an air of mock surprise and one finger pointed into the air exclaimed 'I know Sire, lets do this the hard way!' and then with a titter added 'Again'. From behind him Ron could hear Sheilas bare feet slapping lightly against the bare boards as she moved around, then came a slight rustling noise like the sound of dragging cloth. 'Turn Sire' urged Mike with a smile and a nod. 'Turn and face the true God'. He was weak with fear and could hardly draw breath, his leaden arms hung limply at his sides. Slowly, one step after another he turned to face Shiela. The bitch stood next to the far wall, a length of cord in her left hand, the fingers of her right hand sank into the twisted, boil covered hole between her legs. A black curtain had been drawn aside to reveal a strange, crude painting hanging unframed on the wall. At first he couldnt figure out what the picture depicted due to the gloom but after a short while his eyes adjusted to the dark and he could make it out more clearly. The picture was roughly two feet square and covered with heavilly textured slashes of paint. The image of a massvley bloated headless man sitting crosslegged in the dark covered the entire surface of the canvas and as Ron gazed in fascination at the ugly thing he realised that the figure was not only headless but had in fact never had a head, there was a slight hump between the shoulders where the neck should have been. Its right arm was bent at the elbow with its hand raised level with the shoulder and the palm facing forward. Leaning slightly forward and frowning, Ron saw that in the center of the palm there was a smirking mouth with full red lips lined in black. The left arm reached down to the groin and was partially covered by the bulging stomach as the hand, not gripping the penis in an act of masturbation as Ron had expected covered the genitalia in an almost modest fashion. Then it struck him. He instinctivley knew that if there was a mouth in the right palm then there was a mouth in the palm of the left aswell. As this revelation sank into his numbed mind he began juddering and twitching, all the while unable to take his eyes from the grim daubing in front of him. Cut into the figures sagging breasts was a line of strange, unreadable symbols that hurt his eyes as he fixated upon them. With a dawning horror he realised that the symbols represented the true name of God and he stared at them unable to look away until they became clearer and he could read them. The lamp exploded in a shower of sparks and plunged the room into total darkness as the name flashed into his mind In that instant the figure in the picture began breathing, its flabby chest rising and falling as it forced its way to its feet. Even in the darkness the picture was visible and Rons eyes bulged with panic as he stared at it. He was unable to move, he couldnt even look away as the thing began to push at the surface of the painting with both hands, the two mouths snapping and snarling as the textured surface bowed outwards. With a sound like ripping skin it broke through the walls of reallity and stood before him inside the circle. It towered above him, even without a head it stood close to nine feet tall and its entire body seemed to slightly flicker with a revoltingly golden inner light. Swett drizzled greasilly down its vast pallid body and dripped thickly onto the floor which again reminded Ron of semen. It reached for him in the dark, its hands caressed, licked and kissed him. Its smell was almost narcotically pungent, both floral and rotting at the same time. Rons head began to swim and his eyes bleed. Without speaking a word in the physical sense Ron heard its voice inside his mind. 'COME' it bellowed louder than thunder. Ron wimpered in teror as the things giant hand reached for his crotch and, using its blackened tongue, drew Rons stiffening penis into its wet mouth. Ron closed his eyes and began to spasm and convulse uncontrolably as they merged into one.

The End.

[Hipgnosis]

Lovecraftian porn,ffs bit of a tight niche innit.

Cool pic. B)

[delta-green]

bit of a tight niche innit.

Cool pic. B)

'ooh er missus', or some other frankie howerd quote. hope you werent too offended.

[maryjane]

you are very talented

[powerband]

I do love that piccy Delta.....not keen on horror stories But your artwork certainly catches my eye :wink:

Any more to be seen?

Ms Powerband :wink:

[delta-green]

I do love that piccy Delta.....not keen on horror stories :wink: But your artwork certainly catches my eye

Any more to be seen?

Ms Powerband

hi ms pb, i've done quite a bit of work recently in the same or simillar style to the picture above and im glad you liked it as i do too, its one of the few things i've done that i still like after i finished it. i'll dig my camera out snap some photos of the other pictures and i'll post them later today after i've messed around with them in photoshop.

this paintings called quest for fire and its painted in oils. its not something i've done recently and isnt in my current style but i think its interesting even if i dont think its all that good.

[delta-green]

this ones called justice jeffries. an utter asshole if ever there was one.

mixed media, mainly ink on oil

[delta-green]

this is called thatcher and is about yet another asshole.

mixed media again.

[delta-green]

this is called sick shooter.

mixed media yet again.

[dopedog]

nice art mate.

Quite a dark theme if you dont mind me saying.

Have you ever sold any of your work?

[delta-green]

mexican christ on a cross.

mixed media, primarilly acrylic, ink and coffee stains.

[delta-green]

the king in yellow.

nothing to do with the sanity shattering collection of short stories, just me being silly. im not actually that good at drawing either so to do this i printed the modified image of elvis onto a prepared sheet of wc paper and brushed indian ink over the black areas to make them light fast.

[delta-green]

broken home.

indian ink, acrylic ink and gouache.

[delta-green]

true love.

ink and gouache.