nebelhex

Three poems, three poets, one prophecy.




(William Butler Yeats: The Second Coming)

Turning and turning in the widening gyre the falcon cannot hear the falconer; Things fall apart; the center cannot hold; mere anarchy in loosed upon the world, the blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere the ceremony of innocence is drowned; the best lack all conviction, while the worst are full of passionate intensity. Surely some revelation is at hand; Surely the second coming is at hand. The second Coming! Hardly are those words out when a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi troubles my sight: somewhere in the sands of the desert a shape with lion body and head of man, a gaze blank and pitiless as the sun, is moving it's slow thighs, while all about it reel shadows of the indignant desert birds. The darkness drops again; but now I know that twenty centuries of stoney sleep were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle, and what rough beast, it's hour came round at last, slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

(Robert E. Howard: Silence Falls on Mecca's Walls)

silence falls on mecca's walls and true believers turn to stone; a granite wind from out the east bears the rattle of bone on bone, and to the harlot of the preist comes one no man has ever known.

Black stars fall on mecca's walls, the red stars gem the pallid night; the yellow stars are hinged in gray but ammon-hoteph's stars are white. Who weaves a web to hold at bay the castled king of Mekmet's light?

Darkness falls on mecca's walls. the cressets glimmer in the gloom; along the cornices and groins the scorpion weaves his trail of doom. A woman beres her pulsing loins to One within a shadowy room.

The star-dust falls on mecca's walls, the bat's wings flash in Mekmet's face; The lonely fanes rise black and stark. What brought what shape from what strange place, across the gulf of utter dark, to span the void of cosmic space?

Silence falls on mecca's walls like mist from some fiend-haunted fen. Stars, shuttles in a demon's looms, Weave over mecca, dooms of men.

A woman laughs-and laughs again.




(H.P. Lovecraft: Nyarlathotep)

And at last from inner Egypt came the strange dark one to whom the fellahs bowed; Silent and lean and cryptically proud, and wrapped in fabrics red as sunset flame. Throngs presses around, frantic for his commands, but leaving, could not tell what they had heard; while through the nations spread the awstruck word that wild beasts fallowed him and licked his hands.

Soon from the sea a noxious birth began; Forgotten lands with weedy spires of gold; the ground was cleft and mad auroras rolled down on the quaking citadels of man. Then, crushing what he chanced to mold in play, the idiot chaos blew earth's dust away.



creepy


Quest Ions

1) That was boring shit, ehh?

(No way.)

2) What becomes of the dreamer when the dreamer cannot dream?

3) What becomes of the sleeper when the sleeper cannot sleep?


(Hint: the answers are in the questions.)

4) If you could give yourself a name, what name would that be?

(I would name myself "Names", that way you could call me Names and I could get all pissed off... "Stop calling me Names, you bastard")

3,856.25) Would you rather dig a hole or climb a tree?

(What I would do, seeming how I'm a silly fucker, is dig a hole undernieth a tree and then climb the tree and jump in the hole, that way I could climb out of the hole and up the tree witha broken leg and start all over again as to see if I could break my other leg.)