He has died…yet his words live on! In Unholy fashion!
On this date, August 20, in the year 1890, H.P. Lovecraft was born. Or, at least, entered the World!
His Father went suddenly Mad, and destroyed himself. His Mother likewise went Mad, and was committed to the same asylum his Father had briefly been confined to. After a lifetime of writing, he died poor, in a grimey little house in his native Providence. He was born in a mansion on Angell Street. Falling from grace, he died in want, of cancer & malnutrition, on March 15, 1937.
But he was a true Artist, & his words live on, to horrify us all.
Happy Birthday, Mr. Lovecraft. But please: no need to return our visit.
You didn’t get much in life, but you got a great cameo appearance in a fine pulp novel this year (“The Chinatown Death Cloud Peril”), and the Library of America saw fit to preserve your words.
Plus some great film adaptations (“Re-Animator” All right, a sort-of adaptation).
Not exactly. Onlytwo really good ones. The others were unspeakable eldritch necrophagous blasphemous abominations from the deepest tenebrous crevices of elder night, and not in a good way, either!
Naah. They’re still checking with their law firm about Lib’s contentions about them having a valid claim to all real estate. Why bother directly horrifying with eldritch profanations when you can get a lawyer to do it for you?!
