This was Melanie’s book. I could tell it was either laid open or looked at often on the page where two people are hugging but the lower half of one isThis was Melanie’s book. I could tell it was either laid open or looked at often on the page where two people are hugging but the lower half of one is melting away. I believe it reminded her of her sister who passed away. It’s always an extremely personal, connecting experience for me when any book opens automatically to a certain page. It’s like sharing a secret we’ve never said out loud. Rest In Peace, Melanie. Truly, Rest In Peace. ...more
I’ve heard this was meant to be a comedy but I found it to be more of a satire of society and government. Allowing the wild, cunning, vicious tigers aI’ve heard this was meant to be a comedy but I found it to be more of a satire of society and government. Allowing the wild, cunning, vicious tigers and animals to live among society with their nefarious ways, yet the leader attempting to imitate their ways by disguising himself as a human, camel, lion and leopard beast seemed to appease the wild part of society plus provide hideous excitement for the human society. The people followed in pure blindness to the point of presenting his accolade for only his promise to win the next competition. This guy is every American president since George Washington. That’s what I took from this story, whether Poe meant it that way or not. Perception is subjective. ...more
I understand that people who experienced the camps don’t like this book. Nobody was given freedom to roam around and make friends. Knowing it was fictI understand that people who experienced the camps don’t like this book. Nobody was given freedom to roam around and make friends. Knowing it was fiction and unrealistic at times, I still felt the bizarre and shocking impact. The camps were full of horror and the end of the book was, too. ...more
Even though he’s grotesque, I can’t help but feel great sympathy for him. The story is predictable yet surprisingly shocking. Lovecraft’s writing stylEven though he’s grotesque, I can’t help but feel great sympathy for him. The story is predictable yet surprisingly shocking. Lovecraft’s writing style is so different. If I hadn’t known he was the author, I never would’ve guessed it was him. It read with an 1850’s style.
Excerpts:
Unhappy is he to whom the memories of childhood bring only fear and sadness. Wretched is he who looks back upon lone hours in vast and dismal chambers with brown hangings and maddening rows of antique books, or upon awed watches in twilight groves of grotesque, gigantic, and vine-encumbered trees that silently wave twisted branches far aloft. Such a lot the gods gave to me—to me, the dazed, the disappointed; the barren, the broken. And yet I am strangely content, and cling desperately to those sere memories, when my mind momentarily threatens to reach beyond to the other.
I was not sorry, for I had hated the antique castle and the trees. Now I ride with the mocking and friendly ghouls on the night-wind, and play by day amongst the catacombs of Nephren-Ka in the sealed and unknown valley of Hadoth by the Nile. I know that light is not for me, save that of the moon over the rock tombs of Neb�
I found this to be a perfect example of the subjective nature of perception. No two people have the exact same perception so if all eight million peopI found this to be a perfect example of the subjective nature of perception. No two people have the exact same perception so if all eight million people in the world perceive something differently, then what is the reality? We have no idea what the reality is. BLOWS MY MIND.
Excerpt
Men of broader intellect know that there is no sharp distinction betwixt the real and the unreal; that all things appear as they do only by virtue of the delicate individual physical and mental media through which we are made conscious of them
Final:
On a slab in an alcove he found an old but empty coffin whose tarnished plate bears the single word “Jervas�. In that coffin and in that vault they have promised me I shall be buried....more
After that was silence. I know not how many interminable aeons I sat stupefied; whispering, muttering, calling, screaming into that telephon1920
Final:
After that was silence. I know not how many interminable aeons I sat stupefied; whispering, muttering, calling, screaming into that telephone. Over and over again through those aeons I whispered and muttered, called, shouted, and screamed, “Warren! Warren! Answer me—are you there?� And then there came to me the crowning horror of all—the unbelievable, unthinkable, almost unmentionable thing. I have said that aeons seemed to elapse after Warren shrieked forth his last despairing warning, and that only my own cries now broke the hideous silence. But after a while there was a further clicking in the receiver, and I strained my ears to listen. Again I called down, “Warren, are you there?�, and in answer heard the thing which has brought this cloud over my mind. I do not try, gentlemen, to account for that thing—that voice—nor can I venture to describe it in detail, since the first words took away my consciousness and created a mental blank which reaches to the time of my awakening in the hospital. Shall I say that the voice was deep; hollow; gelatinous; remote; unearthly; inhuman; disembodied? What shall I say? It was the end of my experience, and is the end of my story. I heard it, and knew no more. Heard it as I sat petrified in that unknown cemetery in the hollow, amidst the crumbling stones and the falling tombs, the rank vegetation and the miasmal vapours. Heard it well up from the innermost depths of that damnable open sepulchre as I watched amorphous, necrophagous shadows dance beneath an accursed waning moon. And this is what it said: “YOU FOOL, WARREN IS DEAD!� ...more
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