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Wild
"LOVECRAFT"
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Name: |
Lovecraft Howard Phillips, 44/Male
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Last login: | over 3 weeks ago |
Local time: | 7:59 AM |
Join date: | 16 years, 5 months, 5 days ago |
Location: | Chile
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"I LOVE CRAFT !!!" |
About me:
• I was born at 9 a.m. on August 20, 1890, at my family home at 454 (then numbered 194) Angell Street in Providence, Rhode Island. My mother was Sarah Susan Phillips Lovecraft, who could trace her ancestry to the arrival of George Phillips to Massachusetts in 1630. My father was Winfield Scott Lovecraft, a traveling salesman for Gorham & Co., Silversmiths, of Providence. When I was three my father suffered a nervous breakdown in a hotel room in Chicago and was brought back to Butler Hospital, where he remained for five years before dying on July 19, 1898. I was informed that my father was paralyzed and comatose during this period, but the surviving evidence suggests that this was not the case; it is nearly certain that my father died of paresis, a form of neurosyphilis.
• With the death of my father, my upbringing fell to my mother, my two aunts, and especially my grandfather, the prominent industrialist Whipple Van Buren Phillips. I was a precocious youth: I was reciting poetry at age two, reading at age three, and writing at age six or seven. My earliest enthusiasm was for the "Arabian Nights", which I read by the age of five; it was at this time that I adapted the pseudonym of “Abdul Alhazred,” who later became the author of the mythical Necronomicon. The next year, however, my Arabian interests were eclipsed by the discovery of Greek mythology, gleaned through Bulfinch’s "Age of Fable" and through children’s versions of "The Iliad" and "Odyssey". Indeed my earliest surviving literary work, “The Poem of Ulysses” (1897), is a paraphrase of the "Odyssey" in 88 lines of internally rhyming verse. But I had by this time already discovered weird fiction, and my first story, the non-extant “The Noble Eavesdropper,” dates to as early as 1896. My interest in the weird was fostered by my grandfather, who entertained me with off-the-cuff weird tales in the Gothic mode.
• As a boy I was somewhat lonely and suffered from frequent illnesses, many of them apparently psychological. My attendance at the Slater Avenue School was sporadic, but I was soaking up much information through independent reading. At about the age of eight I discovered science, first chemistry, then astronomy. I began to produce hectographed journals, The Scientific Gazette (1899-1907) and The Rhode Island Journal of Astronomy (1903-07), for distribution amongst my friends. When I entered Hope Street High School, I found both his teachers and peers congenial and encouraging, and I developed a number of long-lasting friendships with boys of my age. My first appearance in print occurred in 1906, when I wrote a letter on an astronomical matter to The Providence Sunday Journal. Shortly thereafter I began writing a monthly astronomy column for The Pawtuxet Valley Gleaner, a rural paper; I later wrote columns for The Providence Tribune (1906-08) and The Providence Evening News (1914-18), as well as The Asheville (N.C.) Gazette-News (1915).
• In 1904 the death of my grandfather, and the subsequent mismanagement of his property and affairs, plunged my family into severe financial difficulties. My mother and myself were forced to move out of our lavish Victorian home into cramped quarters at 598 Angell Street. I was devastated by the loss of my birthplace, and contemplated suicide, as I took long bicycle rides and looked wistfully at the watery depths of the Barrington River. But the thrill of learning banished those thoughts. In 1908, however, just prior to my graduation from high school, I suffered a nervous breakdown that compelled me to leave school without a diploma; this fact, and my consequent failure to enter Brown University, were sources of great shame to me in later years, in spite of the fact that I was one of the most formidable autodidacts of my time. From 1908 to 1913, I was a virtual hermit, doing little save pursuing my astronomical interests and my poetry writing. During this whole period I was thrown into an unhealthily close relationship with my mother, who was still suffering from the trauma of her husband’s illness and death, and who developed a pathological love-hate relationship with me.
Horror Pictures at satanspace.com
Free Metal layouts at SatanSpace.com
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About you:
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Looking for: | Friendship and dating |
Orientation: | Straight
| Herds (lead): | "Altars of Madness" | Herds: | GOTH and METAL HEADS |
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Perplexed
Unknown
"Mo Ha Med"
4811 pts
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Lovecraft's tales
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Help... help... can anybody help me now? Help... help... my mind is lying on the ground I don't know, I just don't know if I'm still alive I see the sun, the sun is up again, another day of just the same I'm slowly going mad, emptiness is all I have I see the sun, the sun is up again, another day of just the same Help... help... can anybody help me now? Help... help... my mind is lying on the ground In the mirrors on the walls, with the crosses standing tall I see misery take another hold of me I'm hanging on to a memory... I'm hanging on to myself The wine is turning sour, I'm longing for my final hour Never to be free, cursed for eternity I'm hanging on to a memory... I'm hanging on to me Be it God or Satan, whoever you are You're hiding in the shadows You cursed me with the Devil's mark I'm hanging to a memory... I'm hanging on to myself The wine is turning sour, I'm longing for my final hour Never to be free, cursed for eternity I'm hanging on to a memory... I'm hanging on to me Help... help... I'm slowly going mad Help... help... emptiness is all I have I smash the mirrors... the mirrors on the wall I have to smash them all before they crush my soul Help... blood... I'm bleeding now, Help... I'm bleeding bad I'm bleeding on the floor Help... help... I can't take this anymore
Lovecraft Howard Phillips "LOVECRAFT" Wild
- 16 years, 27 days ago
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– Warren! Warren! Answer ! Are you there? And then the culminant horror went up to me: The unspeakable, unthinkable, incredible horror. I right now have said that eons after you threw Warren his seemed to pass end desperate warning, and that only my of one's own shouts broke the dreadful silence. But you heard a crack in the recipient after some instants and I tightened the ear to listen. I shouted again: «Warren, are you there?», And I heard what you sent the dark cloud on my brain in answer. I will not try to describe that voice, gentlemen, since the first words started up my conscience and they created a mental vacuum that stretches out until now in that I woke up at the hospital. What would he say? That was voice empty, deep, gelatinous, remote, supernatural, inhuman, incorporeal? The ending was that to my experience, and it is the ending of my history. I heard it, and I do not know nothing else ... I Heard Her in the meantime you stayed petrified in that cemetery disclaimed at the bottom land, between the eaten-away gravestones and you knock them over in ruins, the exuberant vegetation and the miasmatic vapors ... I Heard Her rising of the abysmal depths of that damned grave opened, while you contemplated some amorphous and necrophagous shades dancing under a pale waning moon. And this was what you said : « Imbécil! Warren is dead !»
Lovecraft Howard Phillips "LOVECRAFT" Wild
- 16 years, 3 months, 19 days ago
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—¡Warren! ¡Warren! ¡Contesta! ¿Estás ahí? Y entonces llegó hasta mí el horror culminante: el horror indecible, impensable, increíble. Ya he dicho que parecieron transcurrir eones después de que Warren lanzó su última desesperada advertencia, y que sólo mis propios gritos rompieron el pavoroso silencio. Pero al cabo de unos instantes se oyó un chasquido en el receptor y tensé el oído para escuchar. Grité de nuevo: «Warren, ¿estás ahí?», y en respuesta oí lo que envió la oscura nube sobre mi cerebro. No intentaré describir aquella voz, caballeros, puesto que las primeras palabras me arrancaron la conciencia y crearon un vacío mental que se extiende hasta el momento en que desperté en el hospital. ¿Qué podría decir? ¿Que la voz era hueca, profunda, gelatinosa, remota, sobrenatural, inhumana, incorpórea? Aquello fue el final de mi experiencia, y es el final de mi historia. Lo oí, y no sé nada más... La oí mientras permanecía petrificado en aquel cementerio desconocido en la hondonada, entre las lápidas carcomidas y las tumbas en ruinas, la exuberante vegetación y los vapores miasmáticos... La oí surgiendo de las abismáticas profundidades de aquel maldito sepulcro abierto, mientras contemplaba unas sombras amorfas y necrófagas danzando bajo una pálida luna menguante. Y esto fue lo que dijo: «¡Imbécil! ¡Warren está MUERTO!»
Lovecraft Howard Phillips "LOVECRAFT" Wild
- 16 years, 3 months, 19 days ago
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CTHULHU
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