Now of my never-been home I sing;
Ah, how I miss you, Plains of Leng
Wedded to thee, without a ring;
How I miss you, Plains of Leng.
I feel distinctly out of place;
Lost in neither time nor space
I want to hide my heart and face;
Lost in neither time nor space.
I can hear familiar screaming
In the Vortex, swirling, streaming
My heart sings; my teeth are gleaming
In the Vortex, swirling, streaming.
All my fears and troubles gone,
I’m trapped in the Necronomicon
I don’t have to put my body on,
Trapped in the Necronomicon.
In other words:
If my mind seems in a steaming froth,
I’m trying to bring forth Azathoth,
If I dance with trance-like, hazy slow-step,
I’m wishing for Nyarlothotep.
If I pray for storms where foulest winds blow,
I beseech the coming of Yomagn’tho.
How I want to live under the muted sun, which
Rises weakly over thrice-cursed Dunwich!
If, in short, all my life, I’ve prayed and ranted
Into Other Dimensions, where Mankind’s doom is planted,
A misfit could spend all life’s days
Trying to learn regular human ways,
Spend your life fitting in, and what do you get?
The same trivial fears, and some student debt.
Better to end, with horrified awe
In a Mi-Go’s embrace, or Shudde M’ell’s maw;
Better to be cast out by the Other Gods
Than have faith in humanity; just check the odds.
Who wrote this world? It’s far too first-draftian!
Forget it, and call forth horrors Lovecraftian!
Sure, we’ll all die in pain, ‘midst unspeakable insanities;
But—at last!—humans won’t be
the source of all inhumanities.
I’m not a misanthrope. Because I don’t miss.
(I don’t know what that means, but I imagine it being recited in a deep, movie-announcer voice.)
The unspeakable Villainpunk Jeff Mach frequently seeks new, interesting ways to rewrite this part, and then often ends up just shifting a few words around, going back in time to before he wrote this initially, and hitting “Publish”, so that this is technically new. Don’t tell anyone.
Jeff is a writer and creator who has long aspired to be the sort of person who neither needs to promote his other work at the bottom of his short stories, nor need speak of himself in the third person. Sadly, in both regards, he has failed.