Consume, the Journal of a Dreamwalker: Twelfth Dognacht and Forty-Seventh Totemphatht

TWELFTH DOGNACHT

Days pass, then weeks. I cloister myself in the garret lodging, emerging only to eat or replenish the supply of titan-self. Though magnificent vistas and glorious sights reveal themselves unto me, none are my own dreamcity of youth. 

But as time slips past, I find I no longer care whether I rediscover my childhood haunt. Rather, it seems paramount that the dead titan’s memory be recorded. I delve deeper into the titan-self, purchasing not just from the first deiphagist woman, but from many vendors in back alleys and side streets. The power of a titan sears my mind day and night. And yet. And yet, when I put pen to paper in order that the titan might be revered, all words fail. The experience of titanhood cannot be translated into mere mortal words.

FORTY-SEVENTH TOTEMPHATHT

My money runs low. Already I forgo meals for more titan-self. Try as I might, no words flow. At the same time, the memory of my dreamcity has faded until only the vaguest impression of that crystalline inverted palace remain. 

Consume, the Journal of a Dreamwalker: Twenty-Second Luong

Searching for that childhood dreamcity, I stepped out from the eighty-first gate of the City of Countless Doors into the Void-Between-Voids, and there I saw much which has been forgotten throughout history, and still more which was never learnt.

Cadaver-titanss wallow there, cosmic beings lost to memory before our civilizations were conceived. In the lee of such fallen titans, massless hordes ebb and flow, their cities anthills upon an elephant’s corpse. Eons flow past and yet these long-abandoned corpses linger on, ravaged but enduring. Many memories and nightmares stalk such deiphagist cities, last remnants of souls haunting those who inhabit their remains. Consuming the flesh of a titan even a dead one, is a perilous act, and to huddle in the aura of unimaginable power brings awareness of cosmic secrets vaster than living minds may safely comprehend.

For an unguessable age I wandered amongst the whiteness of the void, searching for the dreamcity of my youth. My footfalls echoed in temples built before the first human left the cradle of Africa, pleasure-palaces of beings even the most ancient of races knew not, cities which were to Olympus as Xanadu is to London, vistas of such exquisite beauty that even my  memories of mother and wife and child greyed in comparison. But still my dreamcity called to my soul and I wandered on.

Consume, the Journal of a Dreamwalker: Seventh July

As a child, I was sickly. A frail constitution, inherited from my father, plagued me into my early teens. I spent many weeks confined to my bed by racking coughs or fever or any number of other ailments. No doubt my parents worried about me a great deal.  

But early on I discovered the secret of dreaming, of stepping into worlds created by the unconscious mind and taking control. The fashion now is to refer to such a practice as lucid dreaming, but at the time I encountered the idea in a popular weird fiction magazine, it was merely known as Dreaming. The capital stood for the control one influenced over the imagined worlds. Dreaming was my escape from countless pokes and concoctions from doctors and faith healers. Indeed, I spent so much time in the lands of sleep that I constructed a city therein, a glimmering city of gold and precious jewels, inhabited by all the heroes and adventures of my waking reading. Conan the Barbarian resided there, and Tarzan, and Sherlock Holmes, all the idols of a sickly boy, alongside my sometime friends and playmates and, later, girls whom I admired from afar. 

Semi-Timely Revue: Dark Souls III

First off, I am a huge Dark Souls fanboy, so this is totally biased. (See the blog header). Seriously--Gothic, Lovecraftian, dark fantasy action RPG? Right up my collective alleys. So let's talk about the third game in that series. (Bloodborne is technically separate).

Right away, this game is gorgeous. GORGEOUS. I'm using screenshots from it as my desktop background for the foreseeable future. Fromsoft have a dedication to little details that make their worlds feel lived-in, and that shines through. Even just the fact that your clothes and face get muddy and bloody--yes, I know, many games do that--feels...right.

Last Month's Books: "She Walks In Shadows, Among Flowers From the Moon and Other Lunacies"

It has been a long last few weeks. That said, things are starting to come back to a semblance of normalcy. Still, though, I'm falling behind on my reading again. These are the most recent books I've read, and they're from weeks ago. Anyway. Let's talk about them. 

Story: "Nameless, Timeless"

"A temple to the faceless god lies within those sands, and with this map I will find it!"

Edgar Hamilton carried himself in that cocksure way only men who know the whole world adores them can. Given his recent discovery of an ancient map, perhaps the world did. However, I hated him, and his awful rose-scented cologne, and his Souvarov moustache. What my brother saw in him, I do not know.

Edgar and Roger--my brother--possessed a shared obsession with ancient religion. Roger lectured on the historical occult at Miskatonic, while Edgar traveled far afield in search of ruined temples. Perhaps this is what Roger admired in that loathsome man. But many  men were archaeologists and also not Edgar Hamilton.

At some point in his friendship with Roger, Edgar mistook my polite dislike for coyness. Since then, I have been quite unable to halt his unctuous attentions.

Last Month's Books: "I Hated, Hated, Hated Some of These Books"

I tried going on a low-carb diet. For someone who centers most meals around carbohydrates--rice, tortillas, popcorn, potatoes--it was hellish. I am not going to stay on a low-carb diet. But I AM going to eat more meat and veg, and fewer carbs. Oh, and no sugar and a drastic decrease in caffeine. That should help a lot. What does this have to do with books? Bugger if I know. Let's talk about books.

Review: THE LIGHT IS THE DARKNESS, Laird Barron

It took me quite a while to formulate my thoughts on Laird Barron’s Lovecraftian-by-way-of-Robert E. Howard novel “The Light is the Darkness.” This was primarily because I try to find good sides of anything I read. (Yes, even Twilight, which had an interesting idea regarding vampirism—if you WANT to be a vampire, you don’t lose control. It’s a mishandled, throwaway line in an awful series, but it IS a bright spot.) Let’s just say it was difficult with Barron.

See, the problem with Barron is that he tries too hard. His writing seems like that of a very excited child who’s been given permission to play with big kid toys. He’s tinkering in Lovecraft’s sandbox (Lovecraft’s antipersonnel-mine-laden sandbox), and he’s so glad to be there that he wants to mention every single Lovecraftian idea Lovecraft, Howard, and every similar writer afterwards has invented. Because I am a singularly boring man, I spent some time picking through the book, finding every Mythos organization or Elder God Barron namedrops.