posted on Jul, 13 2005 @ 07:05 PM
I still write poems but I once pondered at the thought of writing short stories like my most favorite author did. Please be gentle for I do not what
will come of this journey. And decend with me into the crawling chaos.
As I looked back upon that horror of my life, when my youth was bound with senseless joys and wonders, I think of the times I spent by myself
listening to the winds. Sitting in the gentle breeze of a cool summer night listening to the whispers of secrets long beheld and even longer
misunderstood. Nights like that were so blissful that they brought me into deep slumber. Slumber so deep that I trod the dank cyclopean walls of the
dreaded city that dwelt in chaos where that mad sultan Azathoth gnawed in the dark hideously. Such was that dreaded lord a sight that a mere man would
turn into a gibbering fool at first glance. For some reason I felt comfort in this presence of chaos, this lack of form and manner truly horrifying to
the uninitiated mind.As I delved deeper into the maddening cycle, I felt as with something within grew. The layers upon layers of madness receding,
falling like pieces of a puzzle. My head was not throbbing with the visions of unnatural curves or lines. My mind reeled forward digesting
information, of a prenatural era. Of time long forgotten, when all was without form and direction.When darkness lived and moved, along the endless
As I closed my eyes and opened them again, my vision sharpened. A once beautiful sunny day slowly phased out, shifting to a dull grey of a barren
landscape. I was barely able to breathe, before the lovely view of a park disolved in front of me, only to be replaced with a dull grey flat plane.
Where trees once were, there was only stillness. Where laughter was once heard, there was only silence. I started to take my first step into this
world, my foot sunk deep in the grey plane.
[edit on 13-7-2005 by Azathoth]
[edit on 14-7-2005 by Azathoth]