Tuesday, July 01, 2008


The other night I had a very powerful, enjoyable, and distinctly Lovecraftian dream.

I was driving with my girlfriend, brother, and cousin, around an underground parking ramp looking for a spot. Up ahead I saw a sign which simply read "He!" with an arrow pointing into a dark alcove.

I knew exactly what "He!" meant. It was for Hastur. He who shall not be named. I knew it was an art show featured works by artists influenced, inspired, and affected by The King in Yellow.

I turned and parked and led our group into that dimly lit alcove to a glass door beyond which the gallery stood waiting. Inside it was simply a long hallway that bent at right angles, winding around like a maze. Every inch of every wall was covered with fancifully framed fantastic paintings with images of the Tattered King, the city of Carcossa, the Lake of Hali, Aldebarran, Taurus, the Hyades.

It was thrilling, exciting, amazing. I was ecstatic. My companions were less that pleased. My girlfriend seemed impatient, my brother was bored, and my cousin gibbered madly in a corner.

That was about when I woke up.

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