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old-daemon-farts · 6 months

Text

Here's to Psyche, Edgar Allan Poe's daemon.

I've always read this as a moment between him and his daemon and I know other daemians have also pointed it out as well.

Ulalume by Edgar Allan Poe

The skies they were ashen and sober;

The leaves they were crispéd and sere —

The leaves they were withering and sere:

It was night, in the lonesome October

Of my most immemorial year:

It was hard by the dim lake of Auber,

In the misty mid region of Weir: —

It was down by the dank tarn of Auber,

In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.

Here once, through an alley Titanic,

Of cypress, I roamed with my Soul —

Of cypress, with Psyche, my Soul.

These were days when my heart was volcanic

As the scoriac rivers that roll —

As the lavas that restlessly roll

Their sulphurous currents down Yaanek,

In the ultimate climes of the Pole —

That groan as they roll down Mount Yaanek

In the realms of the Boreal Pole.

Our talk had been serious and sober,

But our thoughts they were palsied and sere —

Our memories were treacherous and sere;

For we knew not the month was October,

And we marked not the night of the year —

(Ah, night of all nights in the year!)

We noted not the dim lake of Auber,

(Though once we had journeyed down here)

We remembered not the dank tarn of Auber,

Nor the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.

And now, as the night was senescent,

And star-dials pointed to morn —

As the star-dials hinted of morn —

At the end of our path a liquescent

And nebulous lustre was born,

Out of which a miraculous crescent

Arose with a duplicate horn —

Astarte’s bediamonded crescent,

Distinct with its duplicate horn.

And I said — “She is warmer than Dian;

She rolls through an ether of sighs —

She revels in a region of sighs.

She has seen that the tears are not dry on

These cheeks where the worm never dies,

And has come past the stars of the Lion,

To point us the path to the skies —

To the Lethean peace of the skies —

Come up, in despite of the Lion,

To shine on us with her bright eyes —

Come up, through the lair of the Lion,

With love in her luminous eyes.”

But Psyche, uplifting her finger,

Said — “Sadly this star I mistrust —

Her pallor I strangely mistrust —

Ah, hasten! — ah, let us not linger!

Ah, fly! — let us fly! — for we must.”

In terror she spoke; letting sink her

Wings till they trailed in the dust —

In agony sobbed; letting sink her

Plumes till they trailed in the dust —

Till they sorrowfully trailed in the dust.

I replied — “This is nothing but dreaming.

Let us on, by this tremulous light!

Let us bathe in this crystalline light!

Its Sybillic splendor is beaming

With Hope and in Beauty to-night —

See! — it flickers up the sky through the night!

Ah, we safely may trust to its gleaming,

And be sure it will lead us aright —

We safely may trust to a gleaming

That cannot but guide us aright

Since it flickers up to Heaven through the night.”

Thus I pacified Psyche and kissed her,

And tempted her out of her gloom —

And conquered her scruples and gloom;

And we passed to the end of the vista —

But were stopped by the door of a tomb —

By the door of a legended tomb: —

And I said — “What is written, sweet sister,

On the door of this legended tomb?”

She replied — “Ulalume — Ulalume! —

’T is the vault of thy lost Ulalume!”

Then my heart it grew ashen and sober

As the leaves that were crispéd and sere —

As the leaves that were withering and sere —

And I cried — “It was surely October,

On this very night of last year,

That I journeyed — I journeyed down here! —

That I brought a dread burden down here —

On this night, of all nights in the year,

Ah, what demon hath tempted me here?

Well I know, now, this dim lake of Auber —

This misty mid region of Weir: —

Well I know, now, this dank tarn of Auber —

This ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.”

Said we, then, — the two, then, — “Ah, can it

Have been that the woodlandish ghouls —

The pitiful, the merciful ghouls,

To bar up our way and to ban it

From the secret that lies in these wolds —

From the thing that lies hidden in these wolds —

Have drawn up the spectre of a planet

From the limbo of lunary souls —

This sinfully scintillant planet

From the Hell of planetary souls?”

#daemonism #daemons #daemon au #kinda

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sweetmurmss · 8 months

Text

Ulalume

by Edgar Allan Poe

The skies they were ashen and sober; The leaves they were crisped and sere— The leaves they were withering and sere; It was night in the lonesome October Of my most immemorial year: It was hard by the dim lake of Auber, In the misty mid region of Weir— It was down by the dank tarn of Auber, In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir. Here once, through an alley Titanic, Of cypress, I roamed with my Soul— Of cypress, with Psyche, my Soul. These were days when my heart was volcanic As the scoriac rivers that roll— As the lavas that restlessly roll Their sulphurous currents down Yaanek In the ultimate climes of the pole— That groan as they roll down Mount Yaanek In the realms of the boreal pole. Our talk had been serious and sober, But our thoughts they were palsied and sere— Our memories were treacherous and sere,— For we knew not the month was October, And we marked not the night of the year (Ah, night of all nights in the year!)— We noted not the dim lake of Auber (Though once we had journeyed down here)— Remembered not the dank tarn of Auber, Nor the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir. And now, as the night was senescent And star-dials pointed to morn— As the star-dials hinted of morn— At the end of our path a liquescent And nebulous lustre was born, Out of which a miraculous crescent Arose with a duplicate horn— Astarte's bediamonded crescent Distinct with its duplicate horn. And I said: "She is warmer than Dian; She rolls through an ether of sighs— She revels in a region of sighs: She has seen that the tears are not dry on These cheeks, where the worm never dies, And has come past the stars of the Lion To point us the path to the skies— To the Lethean peace of the skies— Come up, in despite of the Lion, To shine on us with her bright eyes— Come up through the lair of the Lion, With love in her luminous eyes." But Psyche, uplifting her finger, Said: "Sadly this star I mistrust— Her pallor I strangely mistrust: Ah, hasten! —ah, let us not linger! Ah, fly! —let us fly! -for we must." In terror she spoke, letting sink her Wings until they trailed in the dust— In agony sobbed, letting sink her Plumes till they trailed in the dust— Till they sorrowfully trailed in the dust. I replied: "This is nothing but dreaming: Let us on by this tremulous light! Let us bathe in this crystalline light! Its Sybilic splendour is beaming With Hope and in Beauty tonight!— See!—it flickers up the sky through the night! Ah, we safely may trust to its gleaming, And be sure it will lead us aright— We safely may trust to a gleaming, That cannot but guide us aright, Since it flickers up to Heaven through the night." Thus I pacified Psyche and kissed her, And tempted her out of her gloom— And conquered her scruples and gloom; And we passed to the end of the vista, But were stopped by the door of a tomb— By the door of a legended tomb; And I said: "What is written, sweet sister, On the door of this legended tomb?" She replied: "Ulalume -Ulalume— 'Tis the vault of thy lost Ulalume!" Then my heart it grew ashen and sober As the leaves that were crisped and sere— As the leaves that were withering and sere; And I cried: "It was surely October On this very night of last year That I journeyed—I journeyed down here!— That I brought a dread burden down here— On this night of all nights in the year, Ah, what demon hath tempted me here? Well I know, now, this dim lake of Auber— This misty mid region of Weir— Well I know, now, this dank tarn of Auber, This ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir."

#edgar allan poe #October #ulalume #me #my face #selfie

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santoschristos · 1 year

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At the Mountains of Madness These were days when my heart was volcanic As the scoriac rivers that roll-- As the lavas that restlessly roll Their sulphurous currents down Yaanek In the ultimate climes of the pole-- Mahaboka,m/j

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dykekeit · 5 years

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I'm falling down the milippa rabbit hole again instead of writing original fiction and it's all @onaperduamedee 's fault

#sand and water is just too brilliant for me to sit by and not be inspired #get ready for another installment of scoriac i guess #milippa #michael burnham #philippa georgiou #star trek discovery

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a-book-is-a-garden · 3 years

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To -- -- --. Ulalume: A Ballad

by Edgar Allan Poe

The skies they were ashen and sober; The leaves they were crispéd and sere— The leaves they were withering and sere; it was night in the lonesome October Of my most immemorial year; It was hard by the dim lake of Auber, In the misty mid region of Weir— it was down by the dark tarn of Auber, In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.

Here once, through an alley Titanic, Of cypress, I roamed with my Soul— Of cypress, with Psyche, my Soul. These were days when my heart was volcanic As the scoriac rivers that roll— As the lavas that restlessly roll Their sulphurous currents down Yaanek In the ultimate climes of the pole— That groan as they roll down Mount Yaanek In the realms of the boreal pole.

Our talk had been serious and sober, But our thoughts they were palsied and sere— Our memories were treacherous and sere— For we knew not the month of October, And we marked not the night of the year— (Ah, night of all nights in the year!) We noted not the dim lake of Auber— (Though once we had journeyed down here)— We remembered not the dank tarn of Auber, Nor the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.

And now, as the night was senescent And star-dials pointed to morn— As the star-dials hinted of morn— At the end of our path a liquescent And nebulous lustre was born, Out of which a miraculous crescent Arose with a duplicate horn— Astarte’s bediamonded crescent Distinct with its duplicate horn.

And I said—”She is warmed than Dian: She rolls through an ether of sighs— She revels in a region of sighs: She has seen that the tears are not dry on These cheeks, where the worm never dies, And has come past the stars of the Lion To point us the path to the skies— To the Lethal peace of the skies— Come up, in despite of the Lion, To shine on us with her bright eyes— Come up through the lair of the Lion, With love in her luminous eyes.”

But Psyche, uplifting her finger, Said—”Sadly this star I mistrust— Her pallor I strangely mistrust:— Oh, hasten! oh, let us not linger! Oh, fly!—let us fly!—for we must.” In terror she spoke, letting sink her Wings till they trailed in the dust— Till they sorrowfully trailed in the dust.

I replied—”This is nothing but dreaming: Let us on by this tremulous light! Let us bathe in this crystalline light! Its Sybilic splendor is beaming With Hope and in Beauty to-night:— See!—it flickers up the sky through the night! Ah, we safely may trust to its gleaming, And be sure it will lead us alright— We safely may trust to a gleaming That cannot but guide us alright, Since it flickers up to Heaven through the night.”

Thus I pacified Psyche and kissed her, And tempted her out of her gloom— And conquered her scruples and gloom: And we passed to the end of the vista, But were stopped by the door of a tomb— By the door of a legend tomb; And I said—”What is written, sweet sister, On the door of this legend tomb?” She replied—”Ulalume—Ulalume— ‘Tis the vault of thy lost Ulalume!”

Then my heart it grew ashen and sober As the leaves that were crispéd and sere— As the leaves that were withering and sere, And I cried—”It was surely October On this very night of last year That I journeyed—I journeyed down here— That I brought a dread burden down here— On this night of all nights in the year, Oh, what demon has tempted me here? Well I know, now, this dim lake of Auber— This misty mid region of Weir— Well I know, now, this dank tarn of Auber— In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.”

Said we, then—the two, then—”Ah, can it Have been that the woodlandish ghouls— The pitiful, the merciful ghouls— To bar up our way and to ban it From the secret that lies in these wolds— From the thing that lies hidden in these wolds— Had drawn up the specter of a planet From the limbo of lunary souls— This sinfully scintillant planet From the Hell of the planetary souls?”

#Happy Halloween #Edgar Allan Poe #Edgar Allan Poe Poem #Poetry #Poem

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p-isforpoetry · 4 years

Video

youtube

"Ulalume" by Edgar Allan Poe (by Xander Berkeley)

"Michael Gaston started #readasonnet, challenging his friends and colleagues directly to share sonnets with the world. Now actors are performing sonnets (and not just by William Shakespeare) in their homes and putting them online to soothe us all in our isolation." (via Twitter)

To -- -- --. Ulalume: A Ballad by Edgar Allan Poe

Our talk had been serious and sober, But our thoughts they were palsied and sere— Our memories were treacherous and sere— For we knew not the month was October, And we marked not the night of the year— (Ah, night of all nights in the year!) We noted not the dim lake of Auber— (Though once we had journeyed down here)— We remembered not the dank tarn of Auber, Nor the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.

And now, as the night was senescent And star-dials pointed to morn— As the star-dials hinted of morn— At the end of our path a liquescent And nebulous lustre was born, Out of which a miraculous crescent Arose with a duplicate horn— Astarte's bediamonded crescent Distinct with its duplicate horn.

And I said—"She is warmer than Dian: She rolls through an ether of sighs— She revels in a region of sighs: She has seen that the tears are not dry on These cheeks, where the worm never dies, And has come past the stars of the Lion To point us the path to the skies— To the Lethean peace of the skies— Come up, in despite of the Lion, To shine on us with her bright eyes— Come up through the lair of the Lion, With love in her luminous eyes."

But Psyche, uplifting her finger, Said—"Sadly this star I mistrust— Her pallor I strangely mistrust:— Oh, hasten! oh, let us not linger! Oh, fly!—let us fly!—for we must." In terror she spoke, letting sink her Wings till they trailed in the dust— In agony sobbed, letting sink her Plumes till they trailed in the dust— Till they sorrowfully trailed in the dust.

I replied—"This is nothing but dreaming: Let us on by this tremulous light! Let us bathe in this crystalline light! Its Sybilic splendor is beaming With Hope and in Beauty to-night:— See!—it flickers up the sky through the night! Ah, we safely may trust to its gleaming, And be sure it will lead us aright— We safely may trust to a gleaming That cannot but guide us aright, Since it flickers up to Heaven through the night."

Thus I pacified Psyche and kissed her, And tempted her out of her gloom— And conquered her scruples and gloom: And we passed to the end of the vista, But were stopped by the door of a tomb— By the door of a legended tomb; And I said—"What is written, sweet sister, On the door of this legended tomb?" She replied—"Ulalume—Ulalume— 'Tis the vault of thy lost Ulalume!"

Then my heart it grew ashen and sober As the leaves that were crispèd and sere— As the leaves that were withering and sere, And I cried—"It was surely October On this very night of last year That I journeyed—I journeyed down here— That I brought a dread burden down here— On this night of all nights in the year, Oh, what demon has tempted me here? Well I know, now, this dim lake of Auber— This misty mid region of Weir— Well I know, now, this dank tarn of Auber— In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir."

Said we, then—the two, then—"Ah, can it Have been that the woodlandish ghouls— The pitiful, the merciful ghouls— To bar up our way and to ban it From the secret that lies in these wolds— From the thing that lies hidden in these wolds— Had drawn up the spectre of a planet From the limbo of lunary souls— This sinfully scintillant planet From the Hell of the planetary souls?"

#readasonnet #Ulalume #Edgar Allan Poe #Poe #Xander Berkeley #poem #poetry #video #p-isforpoetry

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kawiza · 4 years

Text

To -- -- --. Ulalume: A Ballad BY EDGAR ALLAN POE.

The skies they were ashen and sober; The leaves they were crispéd and sere— The leaves they were withering and sere; It was night in the lonesome October Of my most immemorial year; It was hard by the dim lake of Auber, In the misty mid region of Weir— It was down by the dank tarn of Auber, In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir. Here once, through an alley Titanic, Of cypress, I roamed with my Soul— Of cypress, with Psyche, my Soul. These were days when my heart was volcanic As the scoriac rivers that roll— As the lavas that restlessly roll Their sulphurous currents down Yaanek In the ultimate climes of the pole— That groan as they roll down Mount Yaanek In the realms of the boreal pole. Our talk had been serious and sober, But our thoughts they were palsied and sere— Our memories were treacherous and sere— For we knew not the month was October, And we marked not the night of the year— (Ah, night of all nights in the year!) We noted not the dim lake of Auber— (Though once we had journeyed down here)— We remembered not the dank tarn of Auber, Nor the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir. And now, as the night was senescent And star-dials pointed to morn— As the star-dials hinted of morn— At the end of our path a liquescent And nebulous lustre was born, Out of which a miraculous crescent Arose with a duplicate horn— Astarte's bediamonded crescent Distinct with its duplicate horn. And I said—"She is warmer than Dian: She rolls through an ether of sighs— She revels in a region of sighs: She has seen that the tears are not dry on These cheeks, where the worm never dies, And has come past the stars of the Lion To point us the path to the skies— To the Lethean peace of the skies— Come up, in despite of the Lion, To shine on us with her bright eyes— Come up through the lair of the Lion, With love in her luminous eyes." But Psyche, uplifting her finger, Said—"Sadly this star I mistrust— Her pallor I strangely mistrust:— Oh, hasten! oh, let us not linger! Oh, fly!—let us fly!—for we must." In terror she spoke, letting sink her Wings till they trailed in the dust— In agony sobbed, letting sink her Plumes till they trailed in the dust— Till they sorrowfully trailed in the dust. I replied—"This is nothing but dreaming: Let us on by this tremulous light! Let us bathe in this crystalline light! Its Sybilic splendor is beaming With Hope and in Beauty to-night:— See!—it flickers up the sky through the night! Ah, we safely may trust to its gleaming, And be sure it will lead us aright— We safely may trust to a gleaming That cannot but guide us aright, Since it flickers up to Heaven through the night." Thus I pacified Psyche and kissed her, And tempted her out of her gloom— And conquered her scruples and gloom: And we passed to the end of the vista, But were stopped by the door of a tomb— By the door of a legended tomb; And I said—"What is written, sweet sister, On the door of this legended tomb?" She replied—"Ulalume—Ulalume— 'Tis the vault of thy lost Ulalume!" Then my heart it grew ashen and sober As the leaves that were crispèd and sere— As the leaves that were withering and sere, And I cried—"It was surely October On this very night of last year That I journeyed—I journeyed down here— That I brought a dread burden down here— On this night of all nights in the year, Oh, what demon has tempted me here? Well I know, now, this dim lake of Auber— This misty mid region of Weir— Well I know, now, this dank tarn of Auber— In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir." Said we, then—the two, then—"Ah, can it Have been that the woodlandish ghouls— The pitiful, the merciful ghouls— To bar up our way and to ban it From the secret that lies in these wolds— From the thing that lies hidden in these wolds— Had drawn up the spectre of a planet From the limbo of lunary souls— This sinfully scintillant planet From the Hell of the planetary souls?"

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megairea · 5 years

Quote

These were days when my heart was volcanic As the scoriac rivers that roll — As the lavas that restlessly roll […] In the realms of the boreal pole.

Edgar Allan Poe, from Ulalume: A Ballad, 1847.

#edgar allan poe #american literature #romanticism #poetry #literature

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zefferlink · 3 years

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SCORIA STONE

Scoria = from Greek“skoria”, meaning rust.

Scoria is vesicular (:containing, composed of, or characterised by vesicles) and dark coloured igneous rock (any variation of crystalline or glassy rocks formed by the cooling and solidification of molten earth material). Also referred to as ‘scoriaceous basalt’. They typically come coloured reddish purple, black or dark brown.

The formation of the rock happens when gases in the magma expand to form bubbles as lava reaches the surface. The bubbles are retained as the lava solidifies. Scoria is common in areas of recent volcanic activity. In this case this scoria stone at the AUT Dadley Building should originate from the scoria cone that sits by Albert Park. Scoria is relatively low in density due to the vesicles, but not as light as pumice would be, as scoria has larger vesicles with thicker walls.

Texture: aphanitic (descriptive term for small crystals) and vesicular (abundant gas cavities) Composition: intermediate (andesitic - extrusive volcanic rock) to mafic (basalt - fine grained igneous rock formed from the rapid cooling of low-viscosity lava rich in magnesium and iron) Mineral Composition: predominantly glass Tectonic Environment: divergent boundary (feature that exists when two tectonic plates move away from each other) or intra-oceanic hot spots (“mantle plumes”, occurring oceanic plates)

Scoria Composition: Commonly composed of approximately 50% silica and 10% calcium oxide with lesser contents of potash and soda. It is an extrusive igneous rock whose major minerals are plagioclase, pyroxene, and olivine. Minor mineral contents may include apatite, biotite, hematite, hornblende, ilmenite, magnetite and quartz.

Scoria has a relative hardness of 5-6.

Scoria Uses:

Often used in landscaping and drainage work.

Commonly used in gas barbecue grills.

Used on oil well sites with heavy truck traffic to limit mud issues.

Can be used for high temperature insulation.

Used as a traction aid on ice and snow covered roads.

https://geologyscience.com/rocks/scoria/

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graywyvern · 3 years

Photo

Corona aftertaste.

"The glassy scaurs and grim ramparts of Mount Voormithadreth, highest and most formidable of the Eiglophians, had beetled above them, wedging the sun with dark scoriac peaks at mid-afternoon, and walling the blazonries of sunset wholly from view." --@KlarkashT

Pedro and Ricky Come Again.

grief circle · ghost of this year, ghost of that year · all have something to say

i reiterate on my note-quid the things to be done

Remedy / This Time Tomorrow. (via cathy gould on fb)

#tanka

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baeddel · 7 years

Text

I think theres a thing where like, a lot of people who read Lovecraft today, especially like, teenagers, like I was when I first read Lovecraft, you perceive the writing in a totally different way than it would have been perceived at the time. Like, for someone reading Lovecraft in the 21st century, it reads like what you imagine something from the early 20th century would be written like - like it reads very archaic, with very long words, in long sentences, in long paragraphs, all with a very obtuse construction, etc. And its like, excessively formal and authorial, right. And you think, yeah, exactly; thats what literature was like back then.

But at the time I think that would have definitely been regarded as suuuuuuper indulgant, right. And that’s why it was pulp, not literature. Real literature at the time was like, Hemmingway or whatever. He was a little later - who was contemporary to Lovecraft? Twain? But still - very straightforward, clear, vernacular prose, yknow. And Lovecrafts writing was super indulgant and excessive and trashy.

And if you read the other Pulp writers, they’re like that too, a lot of them anyway. Like from Clark Ashton Smith’s ‘Seven Geases’ (which was admittedly riffing on Lovecraft, but still), it goes like:

The glassy scaurs and grim ramparts of Mount Voormithadreth, highest and most formidable of the Eiglophians, had beetled above them, wedging the sun with dark scoriac peaks at mid-afternoon, and walling the blazonries of sunset wholly from view

Thats so much! That’d never fly in ‘real’ lit, right? Most writers dont even think you should be writing about the scenery, never mind referring to it as “the blazonries of sunset” lmao. But that impression is totally lost if you dont already know a lot about that stuff. So people see Pulp writers for the first time and they think, woah, yknow, this is the high literature stuff, not all that Twain shit I read as a kid. So they experience it in a totally inverted way. Thats my theory anyway

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autolovecraft · 7 years

Text

When Carter tried to trace their flight.

Indeed, it is better to let down a ladder; for mortal dreamers were their former food, and Carter studied closely the hateful plateau of horror Carter saw the first note lures. They had duties to perform, and he thought he saw the light more closely, and polished by years of memory and dreaming, is your terraced wonder of elusive sunsets; and somehow his presence in dark ships from the moonbeasts from the faces of fury and right hands were crystal wands whose tips were carven into double-headed images which guard the harbour past the great flight leading to the Zoog domain would be better to meet the under side of the Great Ones of their tentacles Carter could tell him nothing. The old field-marshal advised Carter to escape through the roof of the fear that timid people felt in the sun sets they go out in the enchanted wood of titan trees, and the army. With unknown Kadath, if indeed there were scenes of old wars, wherein they disappear and do not like to that unknown southern slope overlooking the lower slope, and which the Veiled King's palace is famous; and Carter laid him gently on a zebra he bought his passage to Celephaïs he must always be immutably a part. Carter stumbled past their frequent and repeated pictures it came at last the whole thing rather dizzying. In former dreams he had given him that the speed of the black ultimate void where broods the daemon-light. The Pickman ghoul allowed several hours for the more ignominious kinds of servitude which required no strength, and with Pickman's approval distributed among the cats leap from tall housetops, but still the cry of his own small house on the lower town. And Carter shook the paws were attached by short forearms. And when it was not up, up, and as they are shining above the level of the wilder ones brushed Carter unpleasantly, and scoriac heaps that littered slopes and feeble shrubs above them, but Carter kept on north by the northern wall. Nor could the traditional fear of Gugs to the crags below that he could never tell what Cyclopean stairs and corridors lay silent along the way, giving to the rest and miners tell their tales, but Carter kept on north by the great stone door; for the solid work of the god sings softly in the cold waste to plead with the domed and marvelous city. And the sailors much for their return. The whole air was but a fringe for its loins. They would set out through the cold desert whose existence the men who had seen then, having much to say where. All through the bronze of the cat, and Carter thought he discerned above him, and when Carter asked that captain of Ngranek on its immensities. There presently rose ahead the snowy peak of Hatheg-Kia to see it, had never been sought by any vessel because of the river to its mouth. Meanwhile fresh ghouls crawled out of your sunset city itself, with its bottomless well and repellent bronze door lingered restlessly in his daring search for the onyx castle. It occurred to him, and the monstrous face on Ngranek in all Barth's dreamland was at once upon the climbers.

Soon the peaks, and strange-faced sailors and onyx-carts along the quays for some hand greater than that of the phosphorescent clouds of night-gaunts now formed a line of ascent. And in a great temple stretched a golden chain that held its wearer to a stake driven in the land of those mortals who have been a temple. But when from its unknown shore, and were born anew as space once had known in myriad other dreams. Circle on circle they squatted close together beneath the awning and ate the smoking meat that was Pickman advised Carter to let himself be borne along smoothly and passively in the chaos of battle-scars was a Saxon from the railed terrace, thinking that perhaps he might wish, and spoke of a kind of awe about them.

The flutes stopped, and purple, and sailed over the nearer parts of the northern wall. And far to the god, because they mostly preferred to whisper of the cliffs, but only a weird gray twilight where titan towers and eyries and fortresses chiseled from the scattered farmers and traders appeared one by one, and escaped ghasts are often chased, even though the words came to the sound of lutes and song, and was at once departed through different burrows to spread the news to others and gather such troops as might be; and far in the dark replied by raising a disgustingly carven flute of ivory in silk-robed sentry till he knew nothing. The slant-eyed man hopped down and helped his captive alight.

Late in the dark ship would seek reinforcements or the harbour between the heavenward towers. On the second day there loomed gigantic under the stars as small graceful shapes leaped from hill to hill in gathering legions. There is a great lygath-tree wine to his purpose. The violet gas S'ngac had told three dreams beyond belief, and knew well, he did not know; but never did the traveler who scratched that picture had climbed high to reach a mass of fine lava above him. There now ensued a mighty city.

Carter's latter dreams had reigned alternately in the wish of the gods may sometimes be surpassed by a sound was made. The call of the Elder Ones; and when he dwelt in a festooned shrine at the clustered and chaotic turrets of the Great Ones' castle atop unknown Kadath. Weird as was that secret and terrible shone that face that the sight of any hippocephalic bird; meanwhile discoursing to them by vague legend, grinning astride a lean yak to be almost fabulous. He was even rumored to have no other goal than the Basalt Pillars of the monarch's pleasure.

One moment he was suddenly alone, and guessed they were able to feel that his master's start and shriek had disturbed. Carter reached the open space between him and some beneath him, and know that wholesome human creatures had been noted and taken into account. He spoke of a strange bell shivered over the lunar landscape; and it was left all alone in a hellish half-waking dreamland which is forgotten. He offered his wine to take him thither was the king and his companions Carter did not question his captor about these things. Then the most alert of the crew's discovery of the authentic race of the tiled streets and cryptical hill lanes among ancient tiled roofs and nets spread in fumous spirals. Very slowly and deliberately. For the mammoth bobbing shape that over a parapet of Notre Dame. Betwixt the gray impassable peaks always rising gaunt and sinister beacon rose above it, or at least, had not been elsewhere busy, and equipped with formidable talons.

Ghouls come here often, for whispers of a dreamer's boyhood, and certain that you would yourself find the feared and unvisited quarry whence hands older than the wild gods atop unknown Kadath. And on the shores of Yath and of how to follow it without the help of the hooved, horned almost-humans were by this time the leaders had fully formed a line of the Other Gods, the horned fliers would first of all seize whatever living things they found there, and he would be disastrous to his feet when he prayed long and earnestly to the north and the entrances of burrows emptied forth their leathery, dog-like into planetary space. Then one very ancient Zoog recalled a thing completely was not followed, and correlated all that wonder sparkles crystallized to light your evening path. Then, the pain of lost things awesome and momentous place.

The final swoop of the Great Ones were not unknown to one another for space, endlessly up, up to the Cerenerian Sea. Now the use of all this region, which wears a yellow silken mask over its face. Carter looked toward the towers to see if the hour of the strange little figures carved from Ngranek's lower slopes and low ivied cottages in the coughing gutturals of ghasts. There was nothing at all to advance, and Carter soon saw that he would ever return to their haunts on unknown Kadath, but their entire army as then encamped, veteran fighting ghouls and night-gaunts, the gay porterres and delicate flowering trees espaliered to golden lattices, the crawling chaos Nyarlathotep.

The final swoop of the birds and bees; so in the wish to move away from an unseen brink. Watchers have spoken of this thing, for though he dared not go unaided; for in Ulthar there were men who there labored with picks and chisels. The young sub-lieutenant he had become so lax in its mellow tones there rippled the wild music of birds and bees; so that men had given this information Atal was very tense, since he had seen the bulging walls of rock on the Cerenerian Sea. In the morning Carter boarded the evil-smelling black galley put back into the sky seemed most peculiarly a wingless one.

And again he thought he saw arise from their deed in the sun sets they go out in the sunset.

This time no descent was made as the army, and all the length of Inquanok, so he was not likely, since he had done the next day he searched all along been kept upon him. Of their number Carter could see only blackness around him were no delusion. And even were unexpected things to come to unknown Kadath in the Enchanted Wood. He had known they would regard a guest in his fancy. Thereupon Carter, anxious to preserve a means of access to the gods so dislike to be the Shantak-bird to brood on its threshold stood even as he sought to reach Sarkomand in their home or on their knees with extended forelegs, awaiting the approach of the marvelous sunset city which Carter recalled as so frightful to the taverns along the route of his room and gazed at the stone face of the rest; above whose colossal doorway was fixed a monstrous cataract wherein the King of Ilek-Vad comes from his window, of a divine battle-fury. The almost-humans, some of whose trees he recognized as akin to that austere and reticent cotter he was about to pass over the top of all trembled the three had followed Carter's directions and proceeded from the darkness which they are with their doomed burdens, the furry patriarch became very cordial and communicative; and the waking world and not many people cared to go to Baharna and pay for the coming of the gods on unknown Kadath in the end all of your marvelous city and that night-gaunts on the banks as that music be the Shantaks and carven mountains, then, had never been sought by any vessel because of a god. They did not see the rifts and ruggedness of that scabrous and unwholesome beast, and learned that they were truly not unlike men when dressed and carefully shod and turbaned like the scratching of ground with its walls and high, distant ceiling, and all round on the end Carter was there any sign on the polished cliffs to the doglike lopers. Their land, rose the light. It occurred to him. Beyond the Gate of Deeper Slumber and the other folk in those obnoxious drays.

The last thing he saw faint lines of ghouls the Gugs.

Then through the aft whenever he might talk with miners about the roads thither.

The solid rock now gave place to the west cliff the invaders back again along the route.

#H.P. Lovecraft #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Python #Markov chains #The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath #1926 #The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath week

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Ulalume - Edgar Allan Poe

The skies they were ashen and sober: The leaves they were crisp and sere- The leaves they were withering and sere; It was night in the lonesome October Of my most immemorial year, It was hard by the dim lake of Auber, In the misty mid region of Weir- It was down by the dank tarn of Auber, In the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.

Here once, through an alley Titanic, Of cypress, I roamed with my Soul- Of cypress, with Psyche, my Soul. These were days when my heart was volcanic As the scoriac rivers that roll- As the lavas that restlessly roll Their sulphurous currents down Yaanek In the ultimate climes of the pole- That groan as they roll down Mount Yaanek In the realms of the boreal pole.

Our talk had been serious and sober, But our thoughts they were palsied and sere- Our memories were treacherous and sere- For we knew not the month was October, And we marked not the night of the year- (Ah, night of all nights in the year!) We noted not the dim lake of Auber- (Though once we had journeyed down here) - Remembered not the dank tarn of Auber, Nor the ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir.

And now, as the night was senescent And star-dials pointed to morn- As the star-dials hinted of morn- At the end of our path a liquescent And nebulous lustre was born, Out of which a miraculous crescent Arose with a duplicate horn- Astarte's bediamonded crescent Distinct with its duplicate horn.

And I said- "She is warmer than Dian: She rolls through an ether of sighs- She revels in a region of sighs: She has seen that the tears are not dry on These cheeks, where the worm never dies And has come past the stars of the Lion To point us the path to the skies- To the Lethean peace of the skies- Come up, in despite of the Lion, To shine on us with her bright eyes- Come up through the lair of the Lion, With love in her luminous eyes."

But Psyche, uplifting her finger, Said- "Sadly this star I mistrust- Her pallor I strangely mistrust: - Oh, hasten! -oh, let us not linger! Oh, fly! -let us fly! -for we must." In terror she spoke, letting sink her Wings until they trailed in the dust- In agony sobbed, letting sink her Plumes till they trailed in the dust- Till they sorrowfully trailed in the dust.

I replied- "This is nothing but dreaming: Let us on by this tremulous light! Let us bathe in this crystalline light! Its Sybyllic splendor is beaming With Hope and in Beauty to-night: - See! it flickers up the sky through the night! Ah, we safely may trust to its gleaming, And be sure it will lead us aright- We safely may trust to a gleaming That cannot but guide us aright, Since it flickers up to Heaven through the night."

Thus I pacified Psyche and kissed her, And tempted her out of her gloom- And conquered her scruples and gloom; And we passed to the end of the vista, But were stopped by the door of a tomb- By the door of a legended tomb; And I said- "What is written, sweet sister, On the door of this legeneded tomb?" She replied- "Ulalume- Ulalume- 'T is the vault of thy lost Ulalume!"

Then my heart it grew ashen and sober As the leaves that were crisped and sere- As the leaves that were withering and sere, And I cried- "It was surely October On this very night of last year That I journeyed- I journeyed down here- That I brought a dread burden down here- On this night of all nights in the year, Ah, what demon has tempted me here? Well I know, now, this dim lake of Auber- This misty mid region of Weir- Well I know, now, this dank tarn of Auber, This ghoul-haunted woodland of Weir."

#poetry #poetry reading #edgar allan poe #ulalume #death

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