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Acolyte, v. 2, issue 4, whole no. 8, Fall 1944
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He loathed sea food, yet he took me to Pawtuxett (Rhode Islanders please check) for the famous steamed clam dinner. After ordering for me, to be sure I got the super-deluxe, he said, "While you are eating that God-damned stuff, I'll go across the street for a sandwich; please excuse me." Those are his very words. And for HPL, that grant Puritan those were unusual; unique, I believe. His "damns" were for state occasions; this utterance could only come in the presence of a supreme horror, such as a man eating sea-food! In the space allotted me, I cannot begin to touch the details of that week-end in Rhode Island, and of the ride, in my Ford, to parts he'd never visited because of lack of bus or street-car connections; a ride which made him frankly admit that his aversion to motor cars had been a bit out of order. He named the Model A, after his fashion, "Great Juggernaut". And ever thereafter, writing me, he ceremoniously inquired after the health of Juggernaut, as well as concerning that of my cats, Nimrod and Kiki. We were both cat lovers and cat respecters. I left Providence early one morning. He rode with me to guide me out of town. His return afoot would be one of those walks he loved. There was not yet any traffic. I pulled up, finally, for him to alight. I do not remember what words we exchanged. I remember only how he stood there, a hand raised, to wish me good luck. And, though I did not then know it, that was the last time that I was ever to see Howard Phillips Lovecraft. Only the other day, I found an old highway map and tried to deduce the location of the spot approximately, but time has tricked me, and all that I can certainly remember is the man and the morning quiet. ****************************************************** DESTINY A flaming star is newly made-- within the womb of placid time conceived, and born in cosmic pain. An empire rises with the sun-- and with it sinks beneath the sea, its glory and its beauty slain. A million wonders of infinity that rise and live, then fall. What purpose? Three old women. . . weaving. . . in a dark cave. . . ---Banks Mebane. **************************************************** (Extract from The Black Book of Clark Ashton Smith) THE PHILOSOPHY OF THE WEIRD TALE The weird tale is an adumbration of foreshadowing of man's relationship--past, present, and future--to the unknown and infinite, and also an implication of his mental and sensory evolution. Further insight into basic mysteries is only possible through future development of higher faculties than the known senses. Interest in the weird, unknown, and supernormal is a signpost of such development and not merely a psychic residuum from the age of superstition. --19--
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He loathed sea food, yet he took me to Pawtuxett (Rhode Islanders please check) for the famous steamed clam dinner. After ordering for me, to be sure I got the super-deluxe, he said, "While you are eating that God-damned stuff, I'll go across the street for a sandwich; please excuse me." Those are his very words. And for HPL, that grant Puritan those were unusual; unique, I believe. His "damns" were for state occasions; this utterance could only come in the presence of a supreme horror, such as a man eating sea-food! In the space allotted me, I cannot begin to touch the details of that week-end in Rhode Island, and of the ride, in my Ford, to parts he'd never visited because of lack of bus or street-car connections; a ride which made him frankly admit that his aversion to motor cars had been a bit out of order. He named the Model A, after his fashion, "Great Juggernaut". And ever thereafter, writing me, he ceremoniously inquired after the health of Juggernaut, as well as concerning that of my cats, Nimrod and Kiki. We were both cat lovers and cat respecters. I left Providence early one morning. He rode with me to guide me out of town. His return afoot would be one of those walks he loved. There was not yet any traffic. I pulled up, finally, for him to alight. I do not remember what words we exchanged. I remember only how he stood there, a hand raised, to wish me good luck. And, though I did not then know it, that was the last time that I was ever to see Howard Phillips Lovecraft. Only the other day, I found an old highway map and tried to deduce the location of the spot approximately, but time has tricked me, and all that I can certainly remember is the man and the morning quiet. ****************************************************** DESTINY A flaming star is newly made-- within the womb of placid time conceived, and born in cosmic pain. An empire rises with the sun-- and with it sinks beneath the sea, its glory and its beauty slain. A million wonders of infinity that rise and live, then fall. What purpose? Three old women. . . weaving. . . in a dark cave. . . ---Banks Mebane. **************************************************** (Extract from The Black Book of Clark Ashton Smith) THE PHILOSOPHY OF THE WEIRD TALE The weird tale is an adumbration of foreshadowing of man's relationship--past, present, and future--to the unknown and infinite, and also an implication of his mental and sensory evolution. Further insight into basic mysteries is only possible through future development of higher faculties than the known senses. Interest in the weird, unknown, and supernormal is a signpost of such development and not merely a psychic residuum from the age of superstition. --19--
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