The Cthulhu You Never Knew; the final fate of H.P. Lovecraft

The Creeping Realization...

While searching the library stacks of old Miskatonic University I began to experience a growing dread that welled higher and higher into my throat until my tongue almost swelled to the size of an unholy kumquat and blocked my windpipe. Man was never meant to ponder such things as exist beyond our daily vision even with glasses or contacts and those poor souls who do oft are driven mad! MAD! What was it that created such terror as had never been experienced by a living man outside of the stomach of one of the Old Ones? It was the question that was burning in my mind, threatening to paralyze me and rob the last vestiges of my sanity, though admittedly that would only be a misdemeanor - NO stay focused. Could it indeed be true? The fright is almost too much to bear but before I succumb I will struggle to share my tale with those who might one day be able to find the answer where I have not.

It is an old one and it reaches to the very heart of creation itself – Is The flying Spaghetti Monster the modern manifestation of Cthulhu? There I have said it. I hope that by breaching a wall not meant to be scaled that I have not doomed you as well through the knowing - well not the knowing exactly, more just the mentioning. There is probably little time left but before I am swallowed whole either in the vile tentacles of a herring-breathed monster or nurtured in the loving embrace of His noodley appendages I will rush to complete my story. Please forgive me for my haste and lack of a cogent story line. But man's terror when eying the abyss does not lend itself to linear narrative.

Could Cthulhu be primitive man’s attempt to describe TFSM? It stands to reason. Consider for a moment that the ancients had not yet tasted of the wheaty bounty that is pasta. Seeing his Noodley appendages might they not have mistaken them for the tentacles of a sea creature? Perhaps a faint hint of anchovies in his divine pesto made them wonder. Or might the name Cthulhu itself be spaghetti in an ancient tongue when one's mouth is filled with his bounty? The mind screams with the implications of it all. To see his strange visage gliding among the clouds they no doubt might have feared the worst. Having eaten so many spaghetti o's as a child I know that I would! Perhaps his attempts to communicate with them were misinterpreted. When he tried to explain the joys of national talk-like-a-pirate-day, did they think he meant for them to make war on their neighbors? Did the tense of 'to eat' get mistranslated leading to all those stories of souls like so many jelly beans? One hopes against hope that this is not so.

But you no doubt wonder about the dichotomy that threatens this dread theory. Cthulhu is considered evil (or at least extremely nonchalant about all those souls he devours...) while TFSM is benignity and creator incarnate - defender against evolution. How could such a thing be reconciled? Wait! Maybe we could separate the ancient accounts of Cthulhu’s hatefulness, recurrent smiting, and unfortunate appetite for souls and TFSM’s benevolence into separate accounts or books. One could be a testament to the old and one the new. No, alas this could not work for surely no rational being would believe that two such differing personalities could be the same. Or would they? Is there no precedent for this? My mind fails me for somewhere in a dark corner, a flicker of remembrance comes and then is gone. No matter, I have no time to write such stories of sufficient length and complexity that there internal inconsistencies might be missed. Perhaps extensive family tree discussions might cloud their minds and cause people to miss any discordant facts.

Alas the union of Cthulhu with TFSM will take the efforts of greater men than I. Perhaps Asylum Seeker or Ste Brian will succeed where I have failed. For now I take solace in but one thing – since I do not live in Afghanistan, I can record this saga in the comfort of knowing that 20 years in prison is not the best for which I can hope…

Oh my! He is here now and more terrifing than an HR Giger painting, or even more terrible - trying to explain having an HR Giger painting to your mother. I am doomed. What's that you say great tentacle-faced Old One? Gear Head ED shall suffer greatly for spoiling your surprise. Perhaps he will be trapped in one of your gastric diverticuli so as to be digested even more slowly?... EEWWW! Or, even worse, OH NO NOT THAT - forced to work in the G.W. Bush library until he reaches the post meltdown retirement age! My mind snaps, and darkness ensues...

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HPL-2

Happy Halloween!