Tag: fire

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“The trouble with him was that he was without imagination. He was quick and alert in the things of life, but only in the things, and not in the significances. Fifty degrees below zero meant eighty-odd degrees of frost. Such fact impressed him as being cold and uncomfortable, and that was all. It did not lead him to meditate upon his frailty as a creature of temperature, and upon man’s frailty in general, able only to live within certain narrow limits of heat and cold; and from there on it did not lead him to the conjectural field of immortality and man’s place in the universe.”
― Jack London (To Build a Fire)

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‘“None have understood it, not even those who experience the like. It is a chillness, a want of earnestness, a feeling as if what should be my heart were a thing of vapor, a haunting perception of unreality! Thus seeming to possess all that other men have, all that men aim at, I have really possessed nothing, neither joy nor griefs. All things, all persons,—as was truly said to me at this table long and long ago,—have been like shadows flickering on the wall. It was so with my wife and children, with those who seemed my friends: it is so with yourselves, whom I see now before one. Neither have I myself any real existence, but am a shadow like the rest.’
–Nathaniel Hawthorne (The Christmas Banquet)

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Yet, are we mistaken, as he fades in and out, in curious time as the arcs of lightning?
As you smell the scent of rain, sea, and something ancient and dead, you hear ghastly laughs around you as the storm continues to approach. Shadows continue to whisper. There is no escape and no reprieve from the whisperers beyond.
Out of the singed heart of cosmic horror, and electrifying arcs of slime, we introduce you to the terrifying dimensions of the mortal immortal, Isaac Abramovitch in “The Masque of Death”.
William Blake captured Isaac’s nightmarish world so poignantly in the verses below.

Cruelty has a Human Heart
And Jealousy a Human Face
Terror, the Human Form Divine
And Secrecy, the Human Dress
The Human Dress, is forged Iron
The Human Form, a fiery Forge.
The Human Face, a Furnace seal’d
The Human Heart, its hungry Gorge –William Blake (A Divine Image)

Follow on children of horror through winding, spiraling, dark dimensions as we journey ever on into thunderheads on sandy shores, shadowed waterways, fog-foetid bayous, and amongst the darkness of decayed swamp without torch, flashlight, or candle flame with only electric arcs to light our way.
Those distant, shadowed whispers you hear are nothing to fear. And the tentacle monstrosity climbing out of a ripped dimension circling you can’t be a d—, or can they? There’s no such thing of course.