One person’s dream is another’s nightmare. One of my favorite authors has always been H.P. Lovecraft. I couldn’t tell you why I like his stories, or even which is my favorite. I only know that they elicit a gut-level response from me unlike anything else I’ve ever read.
I don’t find them horrible. In fact, I seem to respond to them the same way I do towards my favorite pieces of music. There’s a sense of familiarity about them. A “rightness”, which I can’t explain. They form part of my soul and I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t aware of them at some level.
I’ve found a connection with a group in Second Life. Fellow lovers of Lovecraft, who have a festival to celebrate his life and works each year around his birthday. What a lovely thought: a birthday party for the man who gave birth to my…
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