Frases de Howard Phillips Lovecraft

página 4

“La más antigua y poderosa emoción de la humanidad es el miedo, y la clase más antigua y poderosa de miedo es el temor a lo desconocido”

“El lugar lógico para encontrar una voz de otros tiempos es un cementerio de otros tiempos.”

“El hombre que conoce la verdad está más allá del bien y del mal. El hombre que conoce la verdad ha comprendido que la ilusión es la realidad única y que la sustancia es la gran impostora.”

“En cuanto a los republicanos - ¿cómo puede uno tomar en serio a un corrillo de asustados, avaros y nostálgicos comerciantes y afortunados ociosos que cierran sus ojos ante la historia y la ciencia, encadenan sus emociones contra la decente simpatía humana, se aferran a sórdidos y provinciales ideales exaltando la codicia pura y toleran las dificultades artificiales para los no-muy-astutos que habitan sentimentalmente y con aires de suficiencia en un sueño-universo distorsionado de frases pasadas de moda y principios y actitudes que se basan en el obsoleto mundo agrícola y artesanal, y que se deleitan (consciente o inconscientemente) en suposiciones mendaces (tales como la noción de que la verdadera libertad es sinónimo con el único detalle de una licencia económica sin restricciones o que un plan racional de distribución de los recursos podría contravenir una vaga y mística 'herencia estadounidense'…) totalmente contrarios a los hechos y sin el menor fundamento en la experiencia humana? Intelectualmente, la idea republicana merece la tolerancia y el respeto que se le da a los muertos.”

“¿Quién conoce el fin? Lo que ha emergido puede hundirse y lo que se ha hundido puede emerger. Lo satánico aguarda soñando en el fondo del mar, y sobre las ondulantes ciudades humanadas navega el apocalipsis.”

“Escribo esto bajo una considerable tensión mental, ya que al caer la noche mi existencia tocará a su fin. Sin un céntimo y agotada la provisión de droga que es lo único que me hace soportable la vida, no podré aguantar mucho más esta tortura y me arrojaré por la ventana de esta buhardilla a la mísera calle de abajo. Que mi adicción a la morfina no les lleve a considerarme un débil o un degenerado. Cuando hayan leído estas páginas apresuradamente garabateadas, podrán comprender, aunque no completamente, por qué debo olvidar o morir.”

“Tampoco hay que creer que el hombre es el más antiguo o el último de los amos de la tierra, o que esa combinación de vida y sustancia discurre sola por el universo. Los Grandes Antiguos eran, los Grandes Antiguos son, y los Grandes Antiguos serán. No conocemos nada del espacio sino por intermedio de ellos. Caminan serenos y primordiales, sin dimensiones e invisibles para nosotros. Yog-Sothoth es la puerta. Yog-Sothoth es la llave y el guardián de la puerta. Pasado, presente y futuro, todo es uno en Yog-Sothoth. Él sabe por dónde entraron los Grandes Antiguos en el pasado, y por dónde volverán a irrumpir otra vez. Sabe dónde Ellos han hollado los campos de la Tierra, dónde los siguen hollando, y por qué nadie puede contemplarlos mientras lo hacen. A veces el hombre puede saber que están cerca por Su olor, pero ningún hombre puede conocer Su semblante, salvo en los rasgos de los hombres engendrados por Ellos, y los hay de muchos tipos, distinguiéndose en apariencia de la auténtica forma humana hasta la forma sin imagen ni sustancia que es la de Ellos. Caminan invisibles y hediondos en lugares solitarios donde las Palabras han sido pronunciadas y los Ritos han sido aullados en las Estaciones apropiadas. El viento gime con Sus voces, y la tierra murmura con Su voluntad. Abaten los bosques y destruyen ciudades, aunque ningún bosque o ciudad advierte la mano que los aniquila. Kadath, en el páramo helado los ha conocido; pero, ¿qué hombre conoce a Kadath? El desierto helado del Sur y las islas sumergidas del océano conservan piedras donde puede verse Su sello, pero ¿quién ha visto la helada ciudad hundida o la torre sellada engalanada con algas y percebes? El Gran Cthulhu es Su primo, aunque apenas puede entreverlos débilmente.¡Iä! ¡Shub-Niggurath! Por su olor inmundo Los conoceréis. Su mano está en vuestras gargantas, aunque no Los veáis, y Su morada se encuentra en el umbral que custodiáis. Yog-Sothoth es la llave que abre la puerta, el lugar donde se reúnen las esferas. ahora el hombre reina donde Ellos reinaron antes; pronto Ellos reinarán donde el hombre reina ahora. Después del verano viene el invierno; después del invierno, el verano. Ellos esperan pacientes y poderosos, porque volverán a reinar aquí.”

“No hay mucha gente que sepa cuántas maravillas se les abren en las historias de la juventud, ya que cuando somos niños oímos y soñamos, albergamos ideas a medio cuajar, y cuando al hacernos hombres intentamos recordar, nos vemos estorbados y convertidos en seres prosaicos por el veneno de la vida. Pero algunos de nosotros nos despertamos en mitad de la noche entre extraños fantasmas de colinas y jardines encantados, de fuentes cantarinas al sol, de acantilados dorados a la vera de mares rumosos, de llanuras abiertas en torno a somnolientas cuidades de bronce y piedra, de la severa compañía de héroes cabalgando blancos caballos engualdrapados junto a espesas selvas; y entonces sabremos que hemos vuelto los ojos a las puertas de marfil del mundo de prodigios que fuera nuestro antes de convertirnos en sabios e infelices.”

“La vida es algo terrible y tras el telón de lo conocido asoman atisbos de demoníaca verdad que la hacen a veces infinitamente más temible.”

“Si hay algo que nos salva en este mundo… es la incapacidad de la mente humana para correlacionar todos sus contenidos. Vivimos en una isla de ignorancia en medio de los mares negros del infinito, y no estamos hechos para viajar lejos…
[…] Hay terrores que caminan por los pasillos de los sueños cada noche, que embrujan el mundo de los sueños, terrores que pueden relacionarse con los aspectos más mundanos de la vida cotidiana. Cada vez estoy más convencido de la existencia de un mundo fuera de éste en que estamos, lindante con él pero quizá completamente alucinatorio.”

“yo nunca voy a dormir tranquilo de nuevo cuando piense en los horrores que acechan sin cesar detrás de la vida, en el tiempo y en el espacio, y en esas blasfemias impías de los Antiguos estelares que sueñan bajo el mar, conocidos y favorecidos por un culto de pesadilla, listo y deseoso de lanzarse sobre el mundo cuando un nuevo terremoto saque su monstruosa ciudad de piedra de nuevo al sol y el aire.”

“Me sentí como en el fin del mundo, atisbando al borde de un caos insondable de noche eterna.”

“Cuando el que viaja por el norte de la región central de Massachusetts se equivoca de dirección al llegar al cruce de la carretera de Aylesbury nada más pasar Dean’s Corners, verá que se adentra en una extraña y apenas poblada comarca. El terreno se hace más escarpado y las paredes de piedra cubiertas de maleza van encajonando cada vez más el sinuoso camino de tierra. Los árboles de los bosques son allí de unas dimensiones excesivamente grandes, y la maleza, las zarzas y la hierba alcanzan una frondosidad rara vez vista en las regiones habitadas. Por el contrario, los campos cultivados son muy escasos y áridos, mientras que las pocas casas diseminadas a lo largo del camino presentan un sorprendente aspecto uniforme de decrepitud, suciedad y ruina. Sin saber exactamente por qué, uno no se atreve a preguntar nada a las arrugadas y solitarias figuras que, de cuando en cuando, se ve escrutar desde puertas medio derruidas o desde pendientes y rocosos prados. Esas gentes son tan silenciosas y hurañas que uno tiene la impresión de verse frente a un recóndito enigma del que más vale no intentar averiguar nada. Y ese sentimiento de extraño desasosiego se recrudece cuando, desde un alto del camino, se divisan las montañas que se alzan por encima de los tupidos bosques que cubren la comarca. Las cumbres tienen una forma demasiado ovalada y simétrica como para pensar en una naturaleza apacible y normal, y a veces pueden verse recortados con singular nitidez contra el cielo unos extraños círculos formados por altas columnas de piedra que coronan la mayoría de las cimas montañosas.”

“No me importaba el futuro; huir, bien mediante curación, inconsciencia o muerte, era cuanto me importaba.”

“Lenta pero inexorablemente, arrastrándose sobre mi conciencia e imponiéndose a cualquier otra impresión, llegó un temor vertiginoso a lo desconocido, un miedo tanto mayor cuando que no podía analizarlo y que parecía concernir a una furtiva amenaza que se aproximaba…, no la muerte, sino algo sin nombre, un ente inusitado indeciblemente más espantoso y aborrecible.”

“La atmósfera es siempre el elemento más importante, por cuanto el criterio final de autenticidad de un texto no reside en su argumento, sino en la creación de un estado de ánimo determinado.”

“Ciertos toques aquí y allá eran vagos indicios de símbolos y estímulos latentes que, si hubiésemos tenido otro trasfondo mental y emocional y un sistema sensorial totalmente diferente, habrían tenido un profundo significado para nosotros.”

“No está muerto lo que puede yacer eternamente; y con el paso de los extraños eones, incluso la Muerte puede morir.”

“La emoción más antigua y más intensa de la humanidad es el miedo, y el más antiguo y más intenso de los miedos es el miedo a lo desconocido.”

“Rechazo seguir las convenciones mecánicas de la literatura popular o llenar mis cuentos con personajes y situaciones comunes, pero insisto en la reproducción de impresiones y sentimientos verdaderos de la mejor manera que pueda lograrlo. El resultado puede ser pobre, pero prefiero seguir aspirando a una expresión literaria seria antes que aceptar los estándares artificiales del romance barato.”

“Los hombres de más amplio intelecto saben que no existe una verdadera distinción entre lo real y lo irreal; que todas las cosas aparecen tal como son tan solo en virtud de los frágiles sentidos físicos y mentales mediante los que las percibimos; pero el prosaico materialismo de la mayoría tacha de locuras a los destellos de clarividencia que traspasan el vulgar velo del empirismo chabacano.”

“A veces menguaba la sensación de caída mientras sentía que el universo o las eras se desplomaban antes mí. Mis sufrimientos cesaron repentinamente y comencé a asociar el latido con una fuerza externa más que con una interna. También se había detenido la caída, dando paso a una sensación de descanso efímero e inquieto y, cuando escuché con mayor atención, fantaseé con que los latidos procedieran de un mar inmenso e inescrutable, como si sus siniestras y colosales rompientes laceraran alguna playa desolada tras una tempestad de titánica magnitud. Entonces abrí los ojos.”

“Ahora conocía la diabólica fabula que portaba aquel dorado esplendor, ahora evitaba la tétrica luz que antaño admiré con fervor; y un miedo espantoso y mortal ¡Ha apresado mi alma para siempre!”

“[…] cuando somos niños oímos y soñamos, albergamos ideas a medio cuajar y, cuando al hacernos hombres intentamos recordar, nos vemos estorbados y convertidos en seres prosaicos por el veneno de la vida.”

“Para mí no tenían nada de
grotescos los huesos y los esqueletos esparcidos por las criptas de piedra
cavadas en las profundidades de los cimientos. En mi fantasía asociaba estas
cosas con los hechos cotidianos y los hallaba más reales que las figuras en
colores de seres vivos que veía en muchos libros mohosos.”

“[…] la belleza. Cuando la verdad y la experiencia no se la mostraron, se volvió hacia la fantasía y la ilusión, hallándola en sus mismos umbrales, entre los nebulosos recuerdos de los cuentos de su niñez y entre los sueños.”

“Algo me incitaba a buscar en el cielo algunas nubes, ya que se había apoderado de mí una inexplicable aprensión acerca de los infinitos e insondables espacios etéreos.”

“mejor
era vislumbrar un instante el cielo y perecer, que vivir sin haber contemplado
jamás el día.”

“One of those creatures wrote you once, ‘do not call up any that you can not put down’.”

“It was from the artists and poets that the pertinent answers came, and I know that panic would have broken loose had they been able to compare notes.”

“The end is near. I hear a noise at the door, as of some immense slippery body lumbering against it. It shall not find me. God, that hand! The window! The window!”

“Sometimes I believe that this less material life is our truer life, and that our vain presence on the terraqueous globe is itself the secondary or merely virtual phenomenon.”

“There are black zones of shadow close to our daily paths, and now and then some evil soul breaks a passage through. When this happens the man who knows must strike before reckoning the consequences.”

“I am, indeed, an absolute materialist so far as actual belief goes; with not a shred of credence in any form of supernaturalism—religion, spiritualism, transcendentalism, metempsychosis, or immortality.”

“I am a student of life, and don't want to miss any experience. There's poetry in this sort of thing, you know--or perhaps you don't know, but it's all the same.”

“When the stars were right, They could plunge from world to world through the sky; but when the stars were wrong, They could not live.”

“In relating the circumstances which have led to my confinement within this refuge for the demented, I am aware that my present position will create a natural doubt of the authenticity of my narrative.”

“The Thing of the idols, the green, sticky spawn of the stars, had awaked to claim his own. The stars were right again, and what an age-old cult had failed to do by design, a band of innocent sailors had done by accident. After vigintillions of years great Cthulhu was loose again, and ravening for delight.”

“However—the crucial thing is my lack of interest in ordinary life. No one ever wrote a story yet without some real emotional drive behind it—and I have not that drive except where violations of the natural order… defiances and evasions of time, space, and cosmic law… are concerned. Just why this is so I haven't the slightest idea—it simply is so. I am interested only in broad pageants—historic streams—orders of biological, chemical, physical, and astronomical organisation—and the only conflict which has any deep emotional significance to me is that of the principle of freedom or irregularity or adventurous opportunity against the eternal and maddening rigidity of cosmic law… especially the laws of time…. Hence the type of thing I try to write. Naturally, I am aware that this forms a very limited special field so far as mankind en masse is concerned; but I believe (as pointed out in that Recluse article) that the field is an authentic one despite its subordinate nature. This protest against natural law, and tendency to weave visions of escape from orderly nature, are characteristic and eternal factors in human psychology, even though very small ones. They exist as permanent realities, and have always expressed themselves in a typical form of art from the earliest fireside folk tales and ballads to the latest achievements of Blackwood and Machen or de la Mare or Dunsany. That art exists—whether the majority like it or not. It is small and limited, but real—and there is no reason why its practitioners should be ashamed of it. Naturally one would rather be a broad artist with power to evoke beauty from every phase of experience—but when one unmistakably isn't such an artist, there's no sense in bluffing and faking and pretending that one is.”

“Sometimes when earth's gods are homesick they visit in the still of the night the peaks where once they dwelt, and weep softly as they try to play in the olden way on remembered slopes.”

“The very fact that religions are not content to stand on their own feet, but insist on crippling or warping the flexible minds of children in their favour, forms a sufficient proof that there is no truth in them. If there were any truth in religion, it would be even more acceptable to a mature mind than to an infant mind—yet no mature mind ever accepts religion unless it has been crippled in infancy. … The whole basis of religion is a symbolic emotionalism which modern knowledge has rendered meaningless & even unhealthy. Today we know that the cosmos is simply a flux of purposeless rearrangement amidst which man is a wholly negligible incident or accident. There is no reason why it should be otherwise, or why we should wish it otherwise. All the florid romancing about man's "dignity", "immortality", &c. &c. is simply egotistical delusions plus primitive ignorance. So, too, are the infantile concepts of "sin" or cosmic "right" & "wrong". Actually, organic life on our planet is simply a momentary spark of no importance or meaning whatsoever. Man matters to nobody except himself. Nor are his "noble" imaginative concepts any proof of the objective reality of the things they visualise. Psychologists understand how these concepts are built up out of fragments of experience, instinct, & misapprehension. Man is essentially a machine of a very complex sort, as La Mettrie recognised nearly 2 centuries ago. He arises through certain typical chemical & physical reactions, & his members gradually break down into their constituent parts & vanish from existence. The idea of personal "immortality" is merely the dream of a child or savage. However, there is nothing anti-ethical or anti-social in such a realistic view of things. Although meaning nothing in the cosmos as a whole, mankind obviously means a good deal to itself. Therefore it must be regulated by customs which shall ensure, for its own benefit, the full development of its various accidental potentialities. It has a fortuitous jumble of reactions, some of which it instinctively seeks to heighten & prolong, & some of which it instinctively seeks to shorten or lessen. Also, we see that certain courses of action tend to increase its radius of comprehension & degree of specialised organisation (things usually promoting the wished-for reactions, & in general removing the species from a clod-like, unorganised state), while other courses of action tend to exert an opposite effect. Now since man means nothing to the cosmos, it is plan that his only logical goal (a goal whose sole reference is to himself) is simply the achievement of a reasonable equilibrium which shall enhance his likelihood of experiencing the sort of reactions he wishes, & which shall help along his natural impulse to increase his differentiation from unorganised force & matter. This goal can be reached only through teaching individual men how best to keep out of each other's way, & how best to reconcile the various conflicting instincts which a haphazard cosmic drift has placed within the breast of the same person. Here, then, is a practical & imperative system of ethics, resting on the firmest possible foundation & being essentially that taught by Epicurus & Lucretius. It has no need of supernatualism, & indeed has nothing to do with it.”

“That cult would never die till the stars came right again, and the secret priests would take great Cthulhu from His tomb to revive His subjects and resume His rule of earth. The time would be easy to know, for then mankind would have become as the Great Old Ones; free and wild and beyond good and evil, with laws and morals thrown aside and all men shouting and killing and revelling in joy. Then the liberated Old Ones would teach them new ways to shout and kill and revel and enjoy themselves, and all the earth would flame with a holocaust of ecstasy and freedom. Meanwhile the cult, by appropriate rites, must keep alive the memory of those ancient ways and shadow forth the prophecy of their return.”

“I am only about half alive—a large part of my strength is consumed in sitting up or walking. My nervous system is a shattered wreck, and I am absolutely bored & listless save when I come upon something which peculiarly interests me. However—so many things do interest me, & interest me intensely, in science, history, philosophy, & literature; that I have never actually desired to die, or entertained any suicidal designs, as might be expected of one with so little kinship to the ordinary features of life.”

“I was obviously floating in the atmosphere; companioned not only by the strange child and the radiant pair, but by a constantly increasing throng of half-luminous, vine-crowned youths and maidens with wind-blown hair and joyful countenance. We slowly ascended together, as if borne on a fragrant breeze which blew not from the earth but from the golden nebulae, and the child whispered in my ear that I must look always upward to the pathways of light, and never backward to the sphere I had just left.”

“There is no field other than the weird in which I have any aptitude or inclination for fictional composition. Life has never interested me so much as the escape from life.”

“I screamed aloud that I was not afraid; that I never could be afraid; and others screamed with me for solace. We swore to one another that the city was exactly the same, and still alive…”

“Theosophists have guessed at the awesome grandeur of the cosmic cycle wherein our world and human race form transient incidents. They have hinted at strange survivals in terms which would freeze the blood if not masked by a bland optimism. But it is not from them that there came the single glimpse of forbidden eons which chills me when I think of it and maddens me when I dream of it. That glimpse, like all dread glimpses of truth, flashed out from an accidental piecing together of separated things — in this case an old newspaper item and the notes of a dead professor….”

“I found myself projected against an obstacle which I could not penetrate. It was like the others, yet incalculably denser; a sticky clammy mass, if such terms can be applied to analogous qualities in a non-material sphere.
I had, I felt, been halted by a barrier which my friend and leader had successfully passed. Struggling anew, I came to the end of the drug-dream…”

“I do differ from you radically in respect to familiar things & scenes; for I always demand close correlation with the landscape & historic stream to which I belong, & would feel completely lost in infinity without a system of reference-points based on known & accustomed objects. I take complete relativity so much for granted, that I cannot conceive of anything as existing in itself in any recognisable form. What gives things an aspect & quasi-significance to us is the fact that we view things consistently from a certain artificial & fortuitous angle. Without the preservation of that angle, coherent consciousness & entity itself becomes inconceivable. Thus my wish for freedom is not so much a wish to put all terrestrial things behind me & plunge forever into abysses beyond light, matter, & energy. That, indeed, would mean annihilation as a personality rather than liberation. My wish is perhaps best defined as a wish for infinite visioning & voyaging power, yet without loss of the familiar background which gives all things significance. I want to know what stretches Outside, & be able to visit all the gulfs & dimensions beyond Space & Time. I want, too, to juggle the calendar at will; bringing things from the immemorial past down into the present, & making long journeys into the forgotten years. But I want the familiar Old Providence of my childhood as a perpetual base for these necromancies & excursions—& in a good part of these necromancies & excursions I want certain transmuted features of Old Providence to form part of the alien voids I visit or conjure up. I am as geographic-minded as a cat—places are everything to me. Long observation has shewn me that no other objective experience can give me even a quarter of the kick I can extract from the sight of a fresh landscape or urban vista whose antiquity & historic linkages are such as to correspond with certain fixed childhood dream-patterns of mine. Of course my twilight cosmos of half-familiar, fleetingly remembered marvels is just as unattainable as your Ultimate Abysses—this being the real secret of its fascination. Nothing really known can continue to be acutely fascinating—the charm of many familiar things being mainly resident in their power to symbolise or suggest unknown extensions & overtones.”

“Some terror in the swishing tall grass seemed added to that of the diabolically pounding sea, and I started up crying aloud and disjointedly, "Tiger? Tiger? Is it Tiger? Beast? Beast? Is it a Beast that I am afraid of?"”

“It is only the inferior thinker who hastens to explain the singular and the complex by the primitive shortcut of supernaturalism.”

“In infancy I was afraid of the dark, which I peopled with all sorts of things; but my grandfather cured me of that by daring me to walk through certain dark parts of the house when I was 3 or 4 years old. After that, dark places held a certain fascination for me. But it is in dreams that I have known the real clutch of stark, hideous, maddening, paralysing fear. My infant nightmares were classics, & in them there is not an abyss of agonising cosmic horror that I have not explored. I don't have such dreams now—but the memory of them will never leave me. It is undoubtedly from them that the darkest & most gruesome side of my fictional imagination is derived. At the ages of 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, & 8 I have been whirled through formless abysses of infinite night and adumbrated horrors as black & as seethingly sinister as any of our friend Fafhrd's [a nickname Lovecraft used for Fritz Leiber] "splatter-stencil" triumphs. That's why I appreciate such triumphs so keenly, I have seen these things! Many a time I have awaked in shrieks of panic, & have fought desperately to keep from sinking back into sleep & its unutterable horrors. At the age of six my dreams became peopled with a race of lean, faceless, rubbery, winged things to which I applied the home-made name of night-gaunts. Night after night they would appear in exactly the same form—& the terror they brought was beyond any verbal description. Long decades later I embodied them in one of my Fungi from Yuggoth pseudo-sonnets, which you may have read. Well—after I was 8 all these things abated, perhaps because of the scientific habit of mind which I was acquiring (or trying to acquire). I ceased to believe in religion or any other form of the supernatural, & the new logic gradually reached my subconscious imagination. Still, occasional nightmares brought recurrent touches of the ancient fear—& as late as 1919 I had some that I could use in fiction without much change. The Statement of Randolph Carter is a literal dream transcript. Now, in the sere & yellow leaf (I shall be 47 in August), I seem to be rather deserted by stark horror. I have nightmares only 2 or 3 times a year, & of these none even approaches those of my youth in soul-shattering, phobic monstrousness. It is fully a decade & more since I have known fear in its most stupefying & hideous form. And yet, so strong is the impress of the past, I shall never cease to be fascinated by fear as a subject for aesthetic treatment. Along with the element of cosmic mystery & outsideness, it will always interest me more than anything else. It is, in a way, amusing that one of my chief interests should be an emotion whose poignant extremes I have never known in waking life!”

“I beheld such a sight as I had never beheld before, and which no living person can have seen save in the delirium of fever or the inferno of opium. The building stood on a narrow point of land — or what was now a narrow point of land — fully three hundred feet above what must lately have been a seething vortex of mad waters. On either side of the house there fell a newly washed-out precipice of red earth, whilst ahead of me the hideous waves were still rolling in frightfully, eating away the land with ghastly monotony and deliberation.”

“My uncle, it seems, had quickly instituted a prodigiously far-flung body of inquires amongst nearly all the friends whom he could question without impertinence, asking for nightly reports of their dreams, and the dates of any notable visions for some time past. The reception of his request seems to have varied; but he must, at the very least, have received more responses than any ordinary man could have handled without a secretary.”

“When the last days were upon me, and the ugly trifles of existence began to drive me to madness like the small drops of water torturers let fall ceaselessly upon one spot of their victim's body, I loved the irradiate refuge of sleep. In my dreams I found a little of the beauty I had vainly sought in life, and wandered through old gardens and enchanted woods.”

“I thought with a shudder of what Old Castro had told Legrasse about the Old Ones; "They had come from the stars, and had brought Their images with Them."”

“Madness rides the star-wind… claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses… dripping death astride a bacchanale of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial…”