John is safe; are you?

Well, there’s my religion: a Lovecraft chick tract. (I suppose a lower-case “chick” is better when the term’s used in such generic fashion, like xerox/Xerox.)

And to quote that eternal fount of babbling wisdom, me myself, from long ago:

[T]he Lovecraftian vision of men as inconsequential gnats at the feet of cosmic intelligences and urges like gods to us, and towards us wholly indifferent rather than malign — well, that vision is to me a lot better than one of us as a fearful choir for some sadomasochistic dictator of Heaven and Earth, which I understand to be the standard Christian position.

Indeed: indifference would be a better choice than invasive tyranny — but now I’m off to scribble something like “The Old Ones are a dream. They do not exist. I have seen them, but that phrensy by the cenotaph was a mere cresset-lit phantasy — good Ghod! It is behind the window! The window! There is no escape aaargh gargh not the balls glurgle uff.”

(First seen on Pharyngula.)

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