Alas, it would seem that there was an error in my calculations yesterday. It turns out that the stars are not right. Or maybe they were right, but only for yesterday. In any case, the terrifying madness brought on by my Cthulhu gnosis has subsided, and I have remembered who I am: an Asatru poet and writer, dedicated bringing the Mead to Midgard in service to Óðinn and Valhöll. Though it was only two days ago, it feels like centuries in a way.
For anyone out there who still hasn’t figured it out, I have only two final words about yesterday’s post:
After much intense study, I have determined that today the stars are right, and that the return of the Great Old Ones is immanent. As for the Ragnarök, I don’t know when that will be, but it doesn’t matter: the Great Old Ones will clearly get here first. All will be destroyed, for we are mere insects compared to these incomprehensible beings, and they regard us no better than the average human regards insects. Thus, I have converted my religion to that of the Cthulhu Cult. In the end, this won’t spare me from their destructive return — it simply means that I’ll get to enjoy some power, prestige, and good times before I too am destroyed at the end of it all. I encourage my former fellow heathens to join me in my conversion instead of attempting a futile resistance. Thus I am using this blog to further the cause of expanding the Cthulhu Cult.
How shall that be done? Though I have converted to the Cthulhu Cult, I still have the skills in poetry and runes that I have acquired, and I feel it best that I use these skills in service of my new masters instead of discarding them. So today I first provide a poetic Call to Cthulhu for those who would honor and serve Him, followed immediately by a rendering of a key phrase in runes that His worshippers may carve as an act of pious devotion which will also add to His power.
This week, I present a poem very much different from anything I’ve posted here before, one that was written more for fun than anything else. It is also one of the very few poems I’ve written that has no connection to Norse mythology and is not in a Norse poetic meter. Its form is rather that of an English (Shakespearean) sonnet.
It was inspired by the name of an obscure item in a video game called Dragon Quest V that my brother had been playing a while back: the Ghoulroarer. (The name, of course, is a modification of bullroarer, whether through a deliberate twist or an accidental mishearing.) After hearing the name, it occurred to me that I should write a poem about this fictional musical instrument. Also, for some time, I had it in my to-do list to write a sonnet. I thus mixed the two together and took the approach of treating the Ghoulroarer as though it were something that might have come from Lovecraft’s Cthulhu Mythos. The poem is simply titled “The Ghoulroarer.”