The Voice In The Bones

[Nemonymous]

THE VOICE IN THE BONES

"...a great nexus of shadows, a birthplace and perhaps also a graveyard where things without substance waited, a realm of first and final dreams."

That pendulum over the pit again, the oscillation between first regret and final dread. Here mingled with Moxton's earlier skeletons, a blending of black shadow and pale bone. My own man of bone and fame, here again with his countless disgorged books, plus a wrist furled back like a glove, a man addressed, in turn, as Mister Ha-ha, Mister Tick Tock, Mister Fizzle, Mister Thump, amid shadows oozing like "black suet". I cannot explain or cohere all these images, but they seem to be absorbed as "tenebrous harmony" by the mind's sump and stay there haunting you. A Brueghel painting painted by Whistler? A journey through a molten building with Kafkaesque escorts.

"Yet as he studied with greater intentness this mass of wild marks, he began to receive a few splinters of its theme, to read the wreckage..."

Today, this story takes on additional meaning about those fellow humans who have embarked on that wreckage's "unknown adventure".

"...the echoing clamor of strange shrieking multitudes."

I feel the truth in my bones; I hear their shadows in my bones.

(Above is an extract from the on-going review of my re-reading NOCTUARY.)

[Nemonymous]

Quote Originally Posted by Nemonymous

THE VOICE IN THE BONES "...a great nexus of shadows, a birthplace and perhaps also a graveyard where things without substance waited, a realm of first and final dreams." That pendulum over the pit again, the oscillation between first regret and final dread. Here mingled with Moxton's earlier skeletons, a blending of black shadow and pale bone. My own man of bone and fame, here again with his countless disgorged books, plus a wrist furled back like a glove, a man addressed, in turn, as Mister Ha-ha, Mister Tick Tock, Mister Fizzle, Mister Thump, amid shadows oozing like "black suet". I cannot explain or cohere all these images, but they seem to be absorbed as "tenebrous harmony" by the mind's sump and stay there haunting you. A Brueghel painting painted by Whistler? A journey through a molten building with Kafkaesque escorts. "Yet as he studied with greater intentness this mass of wild marks, he began to receive a few splinters of its theme, to read the wreckage..." Today, this story takes on additional meaning about those fellow humans who have embarked on that wreckage's "unknown adventure". "...the echoing clamor of strange shrieking multitudes." I feel the truth in my bones; I hear their shadows in my bones. (Above is an extract from the on-going review of my re-reading NOCTUARY.)

Rationale: Le NŒUD de Ligotti - THE NIGHTMARE NETWORK