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"Out of the unimaginable blackness beyond the gangrenous glare of that cold flame, out of the Tartarean leagues through which that oily river rolled uncanny, unheard, and unsuspected, there flopped rhythmically a horde of tame, trained, hybrid tentacle things that no sound eye could ever wholly grasp, or sound brain ever wholly remember. They were not altogether penguins, nor squids, nor rouged miliners, nor linux trademarks, nor horror icons, nor a greasy ass-candling suvivalist Barbelith initiation mascot, but something I cannot and must not recall."
--"The Festival" |
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