“But maybe, I decided later, much later, years later when it didn’t seem that it would ever matter again, she had gone up because she had to be alone, to sit by the window in the unlighted room, looking out on the night, or lying on the bed watching the dark ceiling, to accustom herself to her new self, to see if she could breathe the new air, or sustain herself in the new element or dive and lounge in the new tide of feeling. Maybe she went up there to be alone, absorbed in herself the way a child is absorbed in watching a cocoon gradually part in the dusk to divulge the beautiful moth–the Luna moth again, with its delicate green and silver damp and crumpled but gradually spreading in the dusk, defining itself, slowly fanning the air to make a breeze so light that you would not be able to feel it on your eyeball were you to lean that close to peer. So maybe she was up in the room trying to discover what her new self was, for when you get in love you are made all over again.”
Robert Penn Warren, from All the King’s Men (Harcourt, Brace, & Co., 1946)
me, a black metal warrior: i, the satanic god of unlight, forced to live within the ruins of this crumbled society. there is no life here, the northern forest’s calling, i can hear it. a Spirit rises before me and speaks in different aeonic tongues. it beckons me towards the winterscape, the mighty kingdom of frost and snow. i feel my nordic ancestors smiling down upon me. all glory to the father of all, who is high in Valhalla, the true god.
I love how Lovecraft’s monsters are so protean, enabling so many great artists to take some wonderful creative liberties with their interpretations of one the the great author’s most fascinating inventions.
“Will Murray, in “Behind the Mask of Nyarlathotep,” points out that not only is this Lovecraft’s first fictitious god, but it is te first t appear in more tan one Lovecraft story.”
-Leslie S. Klinger, The New Annotated H. P. Lovecraft
“And though this revolting graveyard of the universe the muffled, maddening beating of drums, and thin, monotonous whine of blasphemous flutes from inconceivable, unlighted chambers beyond Time; the detestable pounding and piping whereunto dance slowly, awkwardly, and absurdly the gigantic, tenebrous ultimate gods–the blind, voiceless, mindless gargoyles whose soul is Nyarlathotep.”