Through The Ghoul-guarded Gateways Of Slumber, Past

I Love To Dream, But I Never Try To Dream And Think At The Same Time.

I Was Nearly Unnerved At My Proximity To A Nameless Thing At The Bottom Of A Pit.

For Although Nepenthe Has Calmed Me, I Know Always That I Am An Outsider; A Stranger In This Century And Among Those Who Are Still Men. This I Have Known Ever Since I Stretched Out My Fingers To The Abomination Within That Great Gilded Frame; Stretched Out My Fingers And Touched A Cold And Unyielding Surface Of Polished Glass.

I Am So Beastly Tired Of Mankind And The World That Nothing Can Interest Me Unless It Contains A Couple Of Murders On Each Page Or Deals With The Horrors Unnameable And Unaccountable That Leer Down From The External Universes.

When The Last Days Were Upon Me, And The Ugly Trifles Of Existence Began To Drive Me To Madness Like The Small Drops Of Water Torturers Let Fall Ceaselessly Upon One Spot Of Their Victim's Body, I Loved The Irradiate Refuge Of Sleep. In My Dreams I Found A Little Of The Beauty I Had Vainly Sought In Life, And Wandered Through Old Gardens And Enchanted Woods.