Howard Phillips Lovecraft - Ex Oblivione.pdf

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Ex Oblivione
Ex Oblivione
Lovecraft, Howard Phillips
Published: 1921
Categorie(s): Fiction, Short Stories
Source: http://en.wikisource.org
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About Lovecraft:
Howard Phillips Lovecraft was an American author of fantasy, horror
and science fiction. He is notable for blending elements of science fiction
and horror; and for popularizing "cosmic horror": the notion that some
concepts, entities or experiences are barely comprehensible to human
minds, and those who delve into such risk their sanity. Lovecraft has be-
come a cult figure in the horror genre and is noted as creator of the
"Cthulhu Mythos," a series of loosely interconnected fictions featuring a
"pantheon" of nonhuman creatures, as well as the famed Necronomicon,
a grimoire of magical rites and forbidden lore. His works typically had a
tone of "cosmic pessimism," regarding mankind as insignificant and
powerless in the universe. Lovecraft's readership was limited during his
life, and his works, particularly early in his career, have been criticized as
occasionally ponderous, and for their uneven quality. Nevertheless,
Lovecraft’s reputation has grown tremendously over the decades, and he
is now commonly regarded as one of the most important horror writers
of the 20th Century, exerting an influence that is widespread, though of-
ten indirect. Source: Wikipedia
Copyright: This work is available for countries where copyright is
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When the last days were upon me, and the ugly trifles of existence began
to drive me to madness like the small drops of water that torturers let fall
ceaselessly upon one spot of their victims body, I loved the irradiate
refuge of sleep. In my dreams I found a little of the beauty I had vainly
sought in life, and wandered through old gardens and enchanted woods.
Once when the wind was soft and scented I heard the south calling,
and sailed endlessly and languorously under strange stars.
Once when the gentle rain fell I glided in a barge down a sunless
stream under the earth till I reached another world of purple twilight, iri-
descent arbours, and undying roses.
And once I walked through a golden valley that led to shadowy
groves and ruins, and ended in a mighty wall green with antique vines,
and pierced by a little gate of bronze.
Many times I walked through that valley, and longer and longer
would I pause in the spectral half-light where the giant trees squirmed
and twisted grotesquely, and the grey ground stretched damply from
trunk to trunk, sometimes disclosing the mould-stained stones of buried
temples. And always the goal of my fancies was the mighty vine-grown
wall with the little gate of bronze therein.
After awhile, as the days of waking became less and less bearable from
their greyness and sameness, I would often drift in opiate peace through
the valley and the shadowy groves, and wonder how I might seize them
for my eternal dwelling-place, so that I need no more crawl back to a
dull world stript of interest and new colours. And as I looked upon the
little gate in the mighty wall, I felt that beyond it lay a dream-country
from which, once it was entered, there would be no return.
So each night in sleep I strove to find the hidden latch of the gate in the
ivied antique wall, though it was exceedingly well hidden. And I would
tell myself that the realm beyond the wall was not more lasting merely,
but more lovely and radiant as well.
Then one night in the dream-city of Zakarion I found a yellowed pa-
pyrus filled with the thoughts of dream-sages who dwelt of old in that
city, and who were too wise ever to be born in the waking world.
Therein were written many things concerning the world of dream, and
among them was lore of a golden valley and a sacred grove with
temples, and a high wall pierced by a little bronze gate. When I saw this
lore, I knew that it touched on the scenes I had haunted, and I therefore
read long in the yellowed papyrus.
Some of the dream-sages wrote gorgeously of the wonders beyond the
irrepassable gate, but others told of horror and disappointment. I knew
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not which to believe, yet longed more and more to cross forever into the
unknown land; for doubt and secrecy are the lure of lures, and no new
horror can be more terrible than the daily torture of the commonplace.
So when I learned of the drug which would unlock the gate and drive
me through, I resolved to take it when next I awaked.
Last night I swallowed the drug and floated dreamily into the golden
valley and the shadowy groves; and when I came this time to the antique
wall, I saw that the small gate of bronze was ajar. From beyond came a
glow that weirdly lit the giant twisted trees and the tops of the buried
temples, and I drifted on songfully, expectant of the glories of the land
from whence I should never return.
But as the gate swung wider and the sorcery of the drug and the
dream pushed me through, I knew that all sights and glories were at an
end; for in that new realm was neither land nor sea, but only the white
void of unpeopled and illimitable space. So, happier than I had ever
dared hope to be, I dissolved again into that native infinity of crystal ob-
livion from which the daemon Life had called me for one brief and desol-
ate hour.
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