to plumb abysses…


The little poets sing of little things:
Hope, cheer, and faith, small queens and puppet kings;
Lovers who kissed and then were made as one,
And modest flowers waving in the sun.

The mighty poets write in blood and tears
And agony that, flame-like, bites and sears.
They reach their mad blind hands into the night,
To plumb abysses dead to human sight;
To drag from gulfs where lunacy lies curled,
Mad, monstrous nightmare shapes to blast the world.

Poem: Musings, Robert Howard
Image: favim

Doing?  carving a pumpkin….

there are far, far worse things…



“Oh,” the girl said, shaking her head. “Don’t be so simple. People adore monsters. They fill their songs and stories with them. They define themselves in relation to them. You know what a monster is, young shade? Power. Power and choice. Monsters make choices. Monsters shape the world. Monsters force us to become stronger, smarter, better. They sift the weak from the strong and provide a forge for the steeling of souls. Even as we curse monsters, we admire them. Seek to become them, in some ways.” Her eyes became distant. “There are far, far worse things to be than a monster.”

Excerpt: Ghost Story, Jim Butcher
Image: as noted – Dr Jack & Curtis

Doing? Getting out the monster’s sound tape…

Halloween Countdown Day 3

cityragflyMonsters come in all shapes and sizes, Some of them are things people are scared of. Some of them are things that look like things people used to be scared of a long time ago. Sometimes monsters are things people should be scared of, but they aren’t…

Source: Neil Gaiman, The Ocean at the End of the Lane

Photo: City Rag

Inky’s Thoughts: The above photo is of a vintage Halloween costume.  Impressive, rather frightening, and goosebumpingly creepy.  I found the photo at City Rag among their vintage photo collection of past Halloween costumes.  I can honestly say that many of the photos have a nightmarish quality, evoking uncomfortable squirming, and furtive glances to the darkness beyond the open window, and behind me in the room.  The only illumination the weak light of the monitor.

It wouldn’t be so bad, if the cat didn’t stare unflinchingly out the window, ears straight and taunt in the quiet.  I’m listening but all I hear is the steady drip of drizzling rain, the low howl of the neighbor’s dog across the meadow, and the deep breaths of the cat.  Hmmm lights, I need lights…

I’ll be right back…