Andrea Bonazzi

@andreabonazzi.eurosky.social

Starving artist. Weird art. Cosmic horror. No AI, just biological idiocy. https://linktr.ee/andrea.bonazzi

October 12 will mark the birth anniversary of uncle Edward Alexander “Aleister” Crowley. A pictoresque character that I don’t like at all, but back then I still created one of my photo-montages of him—featuring one of my sculptures, as usual—which was published in the ebook “The Weirdles.”

Black-and-white photo-montage: a young Aleister Crowley crouched in an armchair, with a notebook on his lap. To the right behind him stands a human statue with a snail’s head divided into two protrusions, its arms positioned in the obscene gesture known as the “bras d’honneur.” In the background is a dark stone wall with mysterious inscriptions carved into and around a bas-relief circle.

Every day I check the news to see if the emperor in Washington has finally and formally declared war on us, his former Atlantic allies; if he has already planned military action against the Vatican; if he has already appointed his horse as a senator, and what new names has chosen for lakes and seas.

October 12 will mark the birth anniversary of uncle Edward Alexander “Aleister” Crowley. A pictoresque character that I don’t like at all, but back then I still created one of my photo-montages of him—featuring one of my sculptures, as usual—which was published in the ebook “The Weirdles.”

Black-and-white photo-montage: a young Aleister Crowley crouched in an armchair, with a notebook on his lap. To the right behind him stands a human statue with a snail’s head divided into two protrusions, its arms positioned in the obscene gesture known as the “bras d’honneur.” In the background is a dark stone wall with mysterious inscriptions carved into and around a bas-relief circle.

Here at home, I’m spending more and more time with the lights off because the electricity bill has become a nightmare, but… In the dim light, I just spread some jam on a cracker that’s still wrapped in plastic wrap. 😑

They're still using my illustrations and passing them off as "real" hidden archaeological discoveries, even though my signature is right there on the side, and even though users comment that they're my works (though they're convinced I created them in 1929🙄). This story will never end.

Screenshot from Instagram: one of my Lovecraftian photo-montages with "this was never meant to be found" written on it, posted as "real" for gullible readers.

🧵 Attention, Fellow SFF Artists and Authors -- here is my response to Must Read Magazines, after they presented an Asimov's art contract expecting me to waive all Moral Rights and Copyright to my art. And, I would strongly advise the following to my fellow pros…. 1/

John Picacio’s response to Must Read Magazine’s request for his waiver of all Moral Rights and Copyright of his commissioned art for an ASIMOV’S assignment. Short version — Picacio says a resounding NOPE.

“We were taught to feel wonder toward those who steal bread; now we know that it is a crime not to steal when you are hungry.” These are lyrics from an Italian song by Fabrizio de André ("Nella mia ora di libertà" in Storia di un impiegato, 1973)...

Wall graffiti in Genoa old town alley: "ci hanno insegnato la meraviglia verso la gente che ruba il pane,  ora sappiamo che è un delitto il non rubare quando si ha fame'.

My little contribution to ongoing debates over weird fiction is now up at @pghreviewofbooks.bsky.social! In it I try to explain why we fight about what counts as weird fiction, giving some deeper historical context for disputes over the term and a sense of what the stakes of those debates might be.

The Dilemma of Defining Weird Fiction - Pittsburgh Review of Books

“Weird” was only intended as a placeholder. When Weird Tales magazine debuted in 1923, the adjective in the title meant the same thing it means in

pghrev.com

Just found this, a survived piece of juvenilia. Watercolor and Rotring Rapidograph ink pen on now-yellowed drawing paper, probably dating back to the mid-1980s... I stopped drawing altogether at the end of that decade.

A watercolor and ink drawing on a white background, depicting a group of tall, slender obelisks rising above stylized, foaming waves.

This will be a very long and fragmented post. Cockroaches... Every time I see one, I’m reminded of my first month of military service at the recruit training center in Fossano, in Piedmont (Italy, of course), in the fall of 1987. My shift on “kitchen duty” starts before five in the morning...

My blood pressure is probably too high; I keep feeling the pulsations inside my head, as if it were a gear squeaking loudly in a rusty mechanism. ⚙️ Or maybe I really do have a broken clockwork mechanism instead of a brain.