September 23rd, 2005


Initiating Contact

Phew... middle of my nightmare Capstone Essays for my MLIS - a perfect time to start a livejournal. Still, I'm on track to graduate this December.

My body is suffering from caffeine overload, and my sleep is fitful, restless. I look for ways to distract myself and avoid my work, as is my way. Procrastination only improves my results. Planning hampers by spontaneotronic drive.

I really want to play the new Incredible Hulk game on my Xbox, but since I moved a few weeks ago, the connection is all screwed up.

Hhhmhmhmhmhmhm. So, I need to ask somebody out. Somebody smart, cool, groovy. Admittedly, I have strange tastes and interests, but last night I decided that I should ask some Lady of Interest out to either A) Serenity or B) MirrorMask. I'm considering posting to Craigslist and asking, but frankly that's a bit scary. Still, SOMEONE is going to get asked. Do they live in fear? A fear they do not understand, as they have not been ASKED BY THE KING OF GEEKS? Yes, I am a geek, a six foot one geek, weighing 175 pounds, with a shaven head and a menacing glare. What are my odds of landing a date, a groovy chica, to go to one of these films? I have the advantage over other geek's I've come across of bathing regularly and not being a tubby wee man. Of course, maybe that's just the GenCon SoCal crowd. Bleh.

SO, what sort of person do you ask to each? Could you turn that question into an impromptu personality test? "Oh, she's definitely Serenity." What are you, dear reader?

Ok. More later, as I muse.


I've been spending a lot of money on food this week due to the week long triple essay MLIS dealio I'm working on. If all goes well, all the rough drafts will be done tonight, and I'll revise tomorrow. Anyhow, food, yeah. I live in a pretty good area for food, but this week I was slumming it - a lot of Samurai Sams, a LOT of Jack in the Box breakfast burritos and monster tacos and chocolate milkshakes. Tonight I'm going to Cook on Wok, the better of the three Chinese restaurants in the area but more importantly the one I have a coupon for. SO, tonights meal:

Seafood combination (because I love scallops)
Lettuce Cups
Vegetable rolls

Odds are I will crawl out for some sort of caffeine in the wee AM.

Speaking of woks, woks can almost magically make a bachelor guy look like he can cook. I've bought a lot of cookbooks, it's a weird reflex I have - but most of my cooking I do on the wok. I mean, the wok's schtick is... IT'S REALLY GODDAMN HOT. How can you screw up? I regard the hot sting of burning oil droplets like some sort of war scar to be shown off with pride. Stirfry vegetables, marinated chicken, or simmering sauces from Trader Joes from India or Morocco. Good tastes, and easy.

Now, the BEST thing I've made was a Hungarian Mushroom soup from the Moosewood cookbook. It's really neat seeing how a soup comes together and transforms. The Hungarian Mushroom one sort of generates it's own base in a cool alchemical process and more importantly, it tasted GREAT. Get the recipe - it will kick your ass.

Soon, some fictiony-roleplaying related fiction I did that I'm sort of proud of. Featuring Cthulhu sort of, and also, hillbillies. And other stuff.

Now, share good recipes, people. Give them to ME!

End of Meal Report. Also, Cthulhu...

Ok, so the shiny livejournal newness will wear off and I'll eventually write once every thirty months, but for now, humor me. Meal was ok. Overordered as usual. Fortune cookie said: Be daring. Try something new.

Burn in hell, Peking Noodle Company.

Anyhow, here's some stuff born of a thread on which was talking about how the Cthulhu Mythos was sort of... tired. It wasn't scary, it had lost its unknown aspect, and was now McCthulhu. SO, people started writing about something to take up the same mental space as the "Cthulhu Mythos".

Here's what I wrote. I took out any other posts, coz I don't have the poster's permission, and I'm a narcissist.


Ya know, I once thought that the old movie "Prince of Darkness" was moving in this direction.

"You will not be saved by your false god, plutonium."

Seems a little cheesey now, but hey.

I'm more interested in horrors of science and perception. What if the new Mythos consumes the way you see things. Suddenly the world makes a lot of sense.

What if the world is full of this new Mythos, but we've become jaded too it, as it works its will. What about all that spam... the ones with a few words and then gobbledigook? Is that something trying to communicate, or a spammer losing it to something else.

Horrors of mathematics... what if there is an Anti-Life Equation, and it wants to be discovered, wants to be solved.

Space telescopes: are there signals we never get told about?

Today a word is missing: You know it, but everyone else seems to think you're crazy. It was in your favorite book, but when you read it now, the word is missing... it's a common word... but no one agrees with you.

What would eat words?

There is a thing in cities that looks for a name. The name is important, the name is a key. It hunts at night, by day appearing as piles of innocuous bricks scattered in alleys. At night the legs come out, the eye opens... and it hunts for the word. When it finds a person, it eats their words, their language, leaving them a mumbling, babbling wreck. People think they've gone crazy, but they've just had their language consumed. The thing has not yet found the word.

But someone has to have it. Perhaps that hacker. Perhaps that university professor. Perhaps the old man on the edge of town who worked too long at the radio telescope... the man who has a morbid fear of rubble and refuse.

Today I reinvent myself with mathematics. I have worked out the electrical output of the brain. The formula is here. I have tattooed it on my skin. I have other formulas. They are correct, and they improve myself. Each day I chant them, and each day I feel the new formulas take over my body. They hum with new truth as I refute the old truth of my body and mind's limitations. I will be the seed of the future. I will tattoo my children thus. They will be more true. In my dreams we see the future unfold, and there is a word. The Word - a word unuttered, a word that is a key that unlocks, that opens the future like an incomprehensible flower. Our family of Truth will walk forward, and the Truth will be on our lips... tattooed there. The Word will open the way, and our new bodies and minds will sing with it. In my dreams new cities are built by walking bricks that speak to us the Word. Our bodies will be new, our arcology will sing to us, and the future will be good.

Three asterisks to split


Today I build my god. These three asterisks are the beginning of the new god. I reject the religions and differences of the world. I now make my own god. Today it is three asterisks. I print them out and eat them as my communion. The laser printer's ink is holy as it dissolves within me. The new god is born.

Today I improve my god. I have put the asterisks on every surface of my home. The house is devoted to him - I have checked out a book on feng shui, and modified what seemed pertinent - from the old teachings will the refined god arise, all bad ideas expunged. I write of him, I give him a secret name. He will make my life important. The three asterisks will be The Three Asterisks. This street, of his birth, will be The Street. I will not be me, I will be Priest, and Beloved.

Today his temple is built. The house is in perfect alignment, and my god has become so much more than three asterisks. I live and sleep with my god around me. I know his secret name. I go to work in the public library, I do my job, but I sing his praises as I do so. My real job is midwife to the new god I have created. My real job is to be his first and only priest. I feel him stir within me, within me but apart.

Today a man came looking. Tatoos peeked beneath his clothes and on his lips. He was waiting for me, watching for me, and as I passed him on the street, he tasted the air. He tastes my new god.

Today I call in sick to the library. My god needs me. Three asterisks - a humble beginning. In the house we are protected, but we see him outside. The tattooed man. Piles of bricks are on the street - I do not know why.

Today he waited again. He pretends to wait and wander about the house, but we know. My god groans as he gets near. The arrangement of the silverware was the clue. It told me to go and kill the tattooed man, the infidel, the foreign divinity - for when my god grows strong, when I have brought more believers to him, there will only be room for one god in this world. But now he is a babe, a newborn. Three asterisks. From the divine arrangement of the house I have been given a steak knife. I will skin the tatooed man, and give his skin unto my growing god. I will look up a suitable prayer of sacrifice - perhaps something from the East?

Today we will have holy war.


If I run a Cthulhu game:

Cthulhu will be a flickering stream of blue light that splits and reconnects as it slowly passes through the air. Those that are touched by it are... off, somehow. Not quite right. They dream of him, of it, of the blue light that comes and goes. At night it flickers behind their eyes. The light becomes more beautiful everyday. More beautiful than a human can stand. Perhaps trepanning will fix the painful beauty?

The fuck? - my players will say. "That's not Cthulhu!?!"
Oh, but it is now.

The hounds of Tindalos. They look like dogs. But they never eat. They seem to have no home, and this is true. Their home is gone gone gone - a fancy that fell out of a story told in days past, and they do not understand this one. So they hid, in the skin of the slave race they made so long ago, the canine lineage imagined specifically to keep an eye on YOU, the inheritors of the real world. And when the call goes out, they will rise, and die for the greater glory of Tindalos - the unperfected, uninvented city, the city of the barrow hound. When the teeth and claws kill the city's inhabitants, the city will be a step closer to perfection. When the dog-slaves themselves die after all the carrion is gone, the city will finally be perfect, and the Tindali can come forth from the skins of the slaves they made SO long ago, and revel in a life now free of the imagination of meat.

And the players will say "But I plastered over all the corners in the house, and these stupid dogs just ate me when I took out the trash."

And I say "Yes. They're the hounds of Tindalos."

The Shoggoth is an ever-expanding bubble wherein the laws of physics revert to their true state. We live in the untrue state, a bubble of buggy physics that is slowly being fixed by the shoggoths. When finally it is done, and the pain subsides, we will have forgotten all our meat-lives, and become painfully beautiful blue light that slowly splits and reconnects as it passes through space. We will have become better, become what we truly should have been all along, were we not trapped in this abhorrent bubble of glitchy physics. Plato had it right. Do not run from the shoggoth! It will set you free! Do not cling to this physical sham! We are glorious light!

And my players will say "We're not playing Call of Cthulhu!"

And I'll say "We're not playing *your* call of Cthulhu. This is what you get for making me run all the fucking games!"

  • Current Music
    Foetus/TheyMightBeGiants/Firewater on RANDOM, baby.

More of the New Mythos

I respond to some guy in the thread:

Oh, I totally agree with that! It's the most pants-shitting terror you can make, the disjunction between the thing you know and the thing that is doing not what it should - HELP!

I sort of was thinking when I wrote that quote, about the misery of stat blocks and quantifiable abilities that plague a horror RPG game. How can you be scared when you know all the numbers that make up a creature? All the trouble to make a monster mechanically sound works for D&D. It subverts horror, though, so all these numbers and so forth become a crutch, become the 'familiar 25HD shoggoth' or whatever. Yes, I understand there's good money in shoggoth stat blocks, but is there good fear? People just run instinctively when they see a shoggoth. They know what it is. A deep one seems equally WTF, but they know its stats and say "Hey, a few shotgun rounds should bring this bastard down!"

So, it's a bit harder to run the 'familiar shoggoth/what the hell is that shoggoth doing?' scheme when there are all these mechanical crunchy bits that players will cry foul over because they see the rules as a contract.

I'm sort of rambling here, but in the Deep One scenario, my first instinct is to make the damn thing dissolve into tiny tiny Deep One tadpoles that run up your legs and burrow into your bloodstream, where they swim and make their new city in your kidneys. You become their live-giving saviour, and in dreams see them worship your name. Do you tell your friends, the investigators that you now harbor cell-sized deep ones within you?

So, yes, I agree.

Now, if I find a shoggoth in my room and instead of eating me, it runs away, and I discover all of my mail is missing, and all the photos of my family... that scares me in a bit more of a lingering way...

Mythos As Sham

They move in the dark beyond our dimensions, like silent blind sharks of brobdingnagian size. They do their work, fulfill their agendas, weave their plans, make their children.

Occasionally, some particle physics experiment breaches their eternal midnight sea, eternal rainbow sea...

They take a modicum of notice, and to avoid discovery, they eject shadows, chaff to confuse the little ones who might accidentally stumble upon them as they rewrite and recode reality.

Deep Ones.

All dreams, fantasies conceived by the minds beyond the veil. Dreams that walk in our world, to keep attention from their world. Nightmares taken roost in the sensitive intelligent minds that the great swimmers do not quite fear, but rather do not approve of. These broadcasts from powerful, evasive minds take the form of madness, sometimes scribed into tomes. All serving a greater purpose: deception.

One day they will be done, and the Mythos they have created will blow away like mist on a morning lake, as something infinitely more terrible hatches forth and grows into our dimension.
  • Current Music
    You Taught Me How To Vibrate - Foetus

In Response to *** and the Idea of Homemade Gods:


And so did Tajnata'll say unto The First Richard "You have served me long and well, and made me as I am. For this shall I treasure you."

And also did Tajnata'll say "But sadly, as you watched 'What Not To Wear' on the television, and I scurried through your skull, I realized that though you were the First Priest who made and worshipped me, you were not the best dressed or most sociable. You're a bit of a misfit really. And if my worship is to spread, I'll need more savvy and cosmopolitan people who can network, rather than skulk in basements. The time for skulking is over, I am born, and now must spread my divine word and care to others."

And thus did Tajnata'll conclude "So, Richard, my faithful one, my most adored conceptualizer, I found someone who has an even bigger idea of what I can be, as well as a $10,000 wardrobe. Richard Oberk, meet Sebastian St. John - my new high priest. Bye bye Richard. Kisses."

And the Beauty and Radiance of Tajnata'll left his life...


Self-made mythos entities as unsatisfied girlfriends...

Intercepted via Radio-Telescope


Data Record-Think Active/Awake:

We are the Hecatonchires.
We are barely able to make ourselves understandable to you. So much nuance, so much we know is lost in translation/death.

Long have we warred/loved across the heavens/dimensions. Our battles have caused time. For this and other things we apologize.

We war against the Freyr. They are enemies/lovers. We fight over a matter of importance/aesthetics.

We are beyond you. Our battles destroy centuries, obliterate dimensions, scorch realities. We build weapons that orgasm as they destroy, hypercognizant art-weapons. We admire/analyze the colors of the nebula their destruction leaves. Just prior to the sending/remembering of this message, our battles obliterated the color tryrellian from all reality. The Freyr love tryrellian.

To our point: in a skirmish/orchestra, we deployed a volley of minor grade multi-aggromeme cognowarhead became unstable. Before we could fire it as the Freyr's armada/exhibition, it developed a low level of hypersentience - no danger to we,the Hecatonchires, but disruptive to the harmony of our war/coupling. We immediately ejected the cognowarhead to a burned out waste-strata in a lowgrade reality coded ^!!^^***.

We salute you, ultraprimitive inhabitants of ^!!^^***. Again, we apologize for time. We send this message to ask you of our faulty cognowarhead, 1A/1A Cthulhasturothsothathoth.

How did it turn out?

Is it pretty?

Please beam your reply via tachyon emission to the terminally collapsed gravitic anomaly in (M87).

All Hail:
The Hecatonchires


More tomorrow. Must write. Procrastinatron is GO!