H.P. Lovecraft Teaching Sex Ed is, Well, Terrifying
- Thread starter vansau
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That was ... more disturbing than I care to mention, in a sort of hypnotic way. It was like being mind-fucked by ... whatever that was.
Oh dear goodness...
Well, I've found a way to lower the teen pregancy rate in this country... it's called this video!
I'd say this is probably the scariest thing I'll see all day, except Doctor Who is on tonight.
Well, I've found a way to lower the teen pregancy rate in this country... it's called this video!
I'd say this is probably the scariest thing I'll see all day, except Doctor Who is on tonight.
Pulsating vagina... I'm not sue if i should be laughing or terrified. That image is going to haunt my dreams.
For whatever reason, at 5:45, my mind suddenly clicked "OMG! It's the real-life Shinji!"
This was great!
I remember buying the Necronomicon long ago as a teen. I had only thumbed through it; I hadn't yet tried to read it carefully. Then, in the middle of the night, at roughly 4am, I heard a voice. Actually "heard" is the wrong term. It was more a "knowing" of communication, a thread of thought that commanded me to take that book and go burn it. I was compelled. My heart raced, and there was a sinking feeling deep in the pit of my stomach. My breath was constricted, but yet, my body moved with all due haste. I slipped on some clothes, grabbed the book from the closet shelf where I was keeping it hidden. I then padded softly downstairs so my mother would not hear my motions. I acquired some lighter fluid and matches. Grabbing my keys and wallet(I was 16 and licensed to drive), I quietly left to go burn the book.
I drove 30 minutes outside of town to secluded spot off the road that I knew about. I parked the car and got out. I walked steadily to a small dry patch of earth where I could burn this abomination without danger of causing a forest or brush fire. I soaked the book thoroughly in the lighter fluid, ensuring that each page was saturated to the point of dripping. I lit the match and tossed it upon the soggy pages. A gout of flame shot up from the pool of lighter fluid, and I stood there, in silent relief, watching the evil be purged from this world.
I carefully tended the flame, ensuring that nothing remained but ash. No words, not even a letter was allowed to escape the crucible of cleansing flame. I watched it burn, turning the fiery pages over one another so that they remained completely engulfed in the fullest part of the flames. I let not one spark escape to the brush and surrounding growth, can't have any forest fires starting and can't letter not even one bit of this book escape the judgement which has been cast upon it.
I watched it burn to complete unrecognizable ash.
With the book obliterated, the weight of my heart had lifted. I could return home. Dawn had come some minutes prior, though in deep revere and intent with the book's destruction, I had failed to notice. I got in the car and drove home.
When I got home, I quietly entered back into the apartment. Softly, put away the matches and the lighter fluid, and then crept my way back upstairs to my room. Mom still had not awoken in all this time, and I was careful to remain more silent than a church mouse to avoid waking her( Mom had a nasty habit of asking lots of questions I just did not ever want to answer). I padded softly back into my room, removed my clothes and put back on my pajamas(yes, I still wore pajamas; quit sniggering); then, I slipped back into bed and drifted into peaceful sleep, to pretend that none of this ever happened.
*****
Of course, now that I'm older, I can look back on that incident(yes, that really happened) and understand that it was just me being silly superstitious at the time. I had just let my imagination get the better of me, but that's what happens when you're a young, impressionable teen who's lived a sheltered life in a fairly religious family.
This was great!
I remember buying the Necronomicon long ago as a teen. I had only thumbed through it; I hadn't yet tried to read it carefully. Then, in the middle of the night, at roughly 4am, I heard a voice. Actually "heard" is the wrong term. It was more a "knowing" of communication, a thread of thought that commanded me to take that book and go burn it. I was compelled. My heart raced, and there was a sinking feeling deep in the pit of my stomach. My breath was constricted, but yet, my body moved with all due haste. I slipped on some clothes, grabbed the book from the closet shelf where I was keeping it hidden. I then padded softly downstairs so my mother would not hear my motions. I acquired some lighter fluid and matches. Grabbing my keys and wallet(I was 16 and licensed to drive), I quietly left to go burn the book.
I drove 30 minutes outside of town to secluded spot off the road that I knew about. I parked the car and got out. I walked steadily to a small dry patch of earth where I could burn this abomination without danger of causing a forest or brush fire. I soaked the book thoroughly in the lighter fluid, ensuring that each page was saturated to the point of dripping. I lit the match and tossed it upon the soggy pages. A gout of flame shot up from the pool of lighter fluid, and I stood there, in silent relief, watching the evil be purged from this world.
I carefully tended the flame, ensuring that nothing remained but ash. No words, not even a letter was allowed to escape the crucible of cleansing flame. I watched it burn, turning the fiery pages over one another so that they remained completely engulfed in the fullest part of the flames. I let not one spark escape to the brush and surrounding growth, can't have any forest fires starting and can't letter not even one bit of this book escape the judgement which has been cast upon it.
I watched it burn to complete unrecognizable ash.
With the book obliterated, the weight of my heart had lifted. I could return home. Dawn had come some minutes prior, though in deep revere and intent with the book's destruction, I had failed to notice. I got in the car and drove home.
When I got home, I quietly entered back into the apartment. Softly, put away the matches and the lighter fluid, and then crept my way back upstairs to my room. Mom still had not awoken in all this time, and I was careful to remain more silent than a church mouse to avoid waking her( Mom had a nasty habit of asking lots of questions I just did not ever want to answer). I padded softly back into my room, removed my clothes and put back on my pajamas(yes, I still wore pajamas; quit sniggering); then, I slipped back into bed and drifted into peaceful sleep, to pretend that none of this ever happened.
*****
Of course, now that I'm older, I can look back on that incident(yes, that really happened) and understand that it was just me being silly superstitious at the time. I had just let my imagination get the better of me, but that's what happens when you're a young, impressionable teen who's lived a sheltered life in a fairly religious family.
To me, this has the same problem as Lovecraft's work: it takes so long to say anything at all that the impact is lost in the exposition.
So, to their credit, they at least riffed his style pretty expertly.
So, to their credit, they at least riffed his style pretty expertly.
I am thoroughly disturbed now. Thank God my school never had sex ed. All I needed was some dirty magazines, learned everything I need to know.
Cute, but it didn't quite ring true of the Lovecraftian writing style. H.P. took more time with with his explications, and was more subtle, making inferences rather than spelling them out, and never throwing it in your face. This is like a bad characture that approximates but doesn't truly call to mind the source it tries to emulate.
I agree. The sad element of some of his stories is that it takes too damn long to get to the point that the shock value is nearly gone. This is why I prefer his shorter stories, such as Pickman's ModelTheRocketeer said:
Herbert West Reanimator
and That Thing on the Doorstep
