Germany is of course the land of the spooky schloß, but there are many other domiciles that Frauen mit tollen Haaren can flee from...
They can flee a handsome Hanoverian crescent...
They can flee the haunted beach house of Heringsdorf Mecklenburg-Vorpommern...
They can flee 'cross the Spree from the bust of Nefertiti on Berlin's Museum Island...
They can flee the God-awful medieval banquet they put on for tourists at Marksburg Castle, before the jesters appear and everyone throws up their rotisserie chicken and beans...
They can flee the dismal dungeons of the Aachen Grashaus...
They can flee round and round the fachwerk facades of Dornstetten's Altstadt until they're dizzy...
Or they can just go to the Black Forest and scream at the prices.
Germany is of course a land of rules, and no fleeing is allowed unless gowns are ankle length.
Many German towns now frown upon women with great hair turning up unannounced at local historic monuments and demanding to flee them. These are now routinely locked after 5pm to stop such goings on, although you can apply for a municipal 'erlaubnis zu fliehen' in certain Länder.
Some German women are experimenting with cross-genre fleeing; for example fleeing an Aztec castle in the manner of Lara Croft. I doubt it will catch on, but well done for trying.
German men are also trying to get in on the gothic fleeing scene nowadays, but German women quite frankly aren't putting up with it!
And that's it for tonight's Germanic gothic fleeing guide. Kümmere dich darum, wie du fliehst...
• • •
Missing some Tweet in this thread? You can try to
force a refresh
Today in pulp, one of the most influential and outrageous illustrators of the Italian Italian fumetti scene: Emanuele Taglietti!
This will be interesting...
Emanuele Taglietti was born in Ferrara in 1943. His father worked as a set designer for director Michaelangelo Antonioni, often taking Emanuele with him on set.
In the 1960s Taglietti moved to Rome, where he studied stage design. He began a successful career as an assistant art director, working for Federico Fellini and Marco Ferreri.
If the spacesuit is the symbol of progress, the gas mask is the sign of the apocalypse. In popular culture it signifies that science has turned against us. It's the face of dystopia.
Today in pulp I look at the culture of the mask!
The first chemical masks were work by Venitian plague doctors: a bird-like affair, the beak stuffed with lavender, matched with full length coat and hat. It was a terrifying sight - the grim reaper come to apply poultices to your tumours.
But it was poison gas, first used at the Second Battle of Ypres in 1915, that led to the modern gas mask. At first these were cotton masks treated with chemicals. However their protection was limited.
It's now over half a century since 1970, and I'm starting to wonder if we should bring back its concept of gracious modern living...
You see we've grown so used to Swedish-style modernism that we've sort of forgotten that maximalism, rather than minimalism, was once the sign of a cultured abode.
The 1970s in many ways reached back to the rich ideas of Victorian decor: heavy, autumnal and cluttered. Home was meant to be a baroque and sensual experience, rather than a 'machine for living in.'