castirongoldfish

www.hello-cthulhu.com

It strikes me here, for months past, a realm not unlike that of Dagon, of Azazoth, or Narly himself. I imagine this blog, resting as it does, beneath the hoary waves, occasionally a bubble encapsulated snore rises up the the frost tiped crests. He rests, thinking about all night drive throughs and deep fat fried souls. Cthulhu, not the writing project. The project instead is left to ponder what it is to ponder, which direction it is to travel what path is its path and, most importantly, does it have a plot yet. There are those who debate this point. They have mostly been rounded up and their spouses awake with only a mint on the pillow in their place, but for now, it slumbers without sleep, dreams without rest, seeks to be that which it should be yet cannot hold form for it is not on paper, not in being, a gossamer shift shluffed off by electrons. Rest, so you know not yourself, for in self knowing such things, can such a thing be.

It is, in review, an undeniable fact that there is whole insufficient totals of those things essential for the success of a blog. Among those things which I can appropriately post (being my present geography prevents certain web amblings) I profer Cthulhu (and His Mythos [like a band, isn't it]), heaping plates of (filled with buttery wholesomeness), and I guess there should be some slashdot reference, but sadly I am not that kind of geek.

# posted by Drunkilluminati : 2:56 AM  0 comments

This is not dead
This is not gone
It rests now, on the surface,
and beneath it undulates,
More words have been born
More thoughs stalk the page
We just haven't made it here