And Where Nyarlathotep Went, Rest Vanished, For

Maybe, Just Maybe, I Should Not Have Used The Word "eldritch" So Many Times Now That I Think About It.

When I Say That I Can Write Nothing But Weird Fiction, I Am Not Trying To Exalt That Medium But Am Merely Confessing My Own Weakness. The Reason I Can't Write Other Kinds Is Not That I Don't Value & Respect Them, But Merely That My Slender Set Of Endowments Does Not Enable Me To Extract A Compellingly Acute Personal Sense Of Interest & Drama From The Natural Phenomena Of Life.

May The Merciful God, If Indeed There Be Such, Guard Those Hours When No Power Of The Will, Or Drug That The Cunning Of Man Devises, Can Keep Me From The Chasm Of Sleep. Death Is Merciful, For There Is No Return Therefrom, But With Him Who Has Come Back Out Of The Nethermost Chambers Of Night, Haggard And Knowing, Peace Rests Nevermore.

It Is Better To Laugh At Man From Outside The Universe, Than To Weep For Him Within.

It Was From The Artists And Poets That The Pertinent Answers Came, And I Know That Panic Would Have Broken Loose Had They Been Able To Compare Notes.