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Call it crossover. Call it mash-up. Call it cash-in. Or call it a revelation.
“THE MOST MERCIFUL THING IN THE WORLD, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents.”
“Fhtagn! Ebumna fhtagn! Hafh’drn wgah’n n’gha n’ghft!”
“How very dashed cynical of you.” “Cynicism is simply realism with a veneer of irony.”
You British have built an empire on empiricism. You pay lip service to religion and the mysteries of the divine, but it is cold, hard fact that you really worship. You look upward with your telescopes and downward with your microscopes, and there, in space and water drops, the stars and bacteria, do you find God.”
“A god,” he said, “is not some benevolent, omnipotent being who created us as an expression of his love. That is an anthropomorphic fallacy, brought about by man’s craven desire for an ineffable father figure to pat him on the head every so often and tell him he is doing well.
That was how it felt: as though he had slipped into the gap between the tick and the tock of the clock.
Between Cthulhu and his half-brother Hastur the Unspeakable, for instance, there will never be anything other than hatred.”
Great Old Ones, Elder Gods, Outer Gods
Cthulhu. One of the Great Old Ones. The greatest, some say. Son of Nug. Half-brother of Hastur. Husband of Idh-yaa. Father of Ghatanothoa, Ythogtha, Zoth-Ommog, Cthylla and Shaurash-Ho. Grandfather of Yogash the Ghoul. Great-grandfather of K’baa the Serpent.
“Ph’nglui mglw’nath Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn!”
“In his home at R’lyeh, dead Cthulhu waits dreaming.”
“One way to rid the mind of unwanted tenants is to occupy it with something else, something practical.”
An addict of any kind is always on the lookout for newer, more intense experiences. After a time he builds up an immunity to the rush of sensation he receives from his addiction. He seeks greater heights, higher stakes.
That is not dead which can eternal lie, And with strange aeons even death may die.
