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"Captain Blood, Rafael Sabatini: Kindle Screensaver"
with similar deviations.
Innsmouth girl She's been living in her Innsmouth world I bet she's never had unchanged guy I bet the Marshes never told her why
I'm gonna try for an Innsmouth girl She's been living in her black reef world As long as anyone with fine gills can And now she's looking for a Arkham man That's what I am
And then she knows what He wants from His Sign And then He'll wake up And shake up her mind
She'll see I'm not so tough Just because I'm in love with an Innsmouth girl You know I've seen her in her Innsmouth world She's getting tired of her sea port's noise And all her trinkets from her Innsmouth boys She's got a choice
Innsmouth girl You know I can watch her gills unfurl. But maybe someday when my ship comes in She'll understand what kind of guy I've been And then I'll swim
And when she's changing She's looking so fine And when she's swimming She'll say that it's time
She'll say I'm not so tough Just because I'm in love With an Innsmouth girl She's been living in her black reef world As long as anyone with fine gills can And now she's looking for an Arkham man That's what I am
Innsmouth girl She's my Innsmouth girl You know I'm in love With an Innsmouth girl
I was in a shop that was playing 'Uptown Girl' when my sniggering brain substituted "Uptown" for "Innsmouth" and "downtown" for Arkham. It should have ended there, but the more stupid an idea is, the harder I find it to resist...which explains a lot.
'Uptown Girl' belongs to Billy Joel, you can find the video here: [link] Although Westlife covered it too: [link] "Shadow Over Innsmouth" belongs to HP Lovecraft: [link]
The title is a play on the old nursery rhyme "Sing a Song of Sixpence" which has the line "four-and-twenty blackbirds baked in a pie". The rhyming scheme is kind of similar to it! I'm not sure how that happened...hmm
Anyway the actual "Sing a Song of Sixpence" has been interpreted in lots of different ways. Most of these old nursery rhymes often have more significance than it seems.
"Edward was thirty-eight when he met Asenath Waite. She was, I judge, about twenty-three at the time; and was taking a special course in mediaeval metaphysics at Miskatonic. The daughter of a friend of mine had met her before–in the Hall School at Kingsport–and had been inclined to shun her because of her odd reputation. She was dark, smallish, and very good-looking except for overprotuberant eyes; but something in her expression alienated extremely sensitive people. It was, however, largely her origin and conversation which caused average folk to avoid her."
Extract from HP Lovecraft's 'The Thing on the Doorstep'
My life had always been painted in sombre greys. In death, how it blossoms!
When the rains come, the watery drops fall like tears of ink: echoing and dancing across sparkling sapphire puddles. The sun, a golden mystic orb, shedding its beauty on all it touches. I see rustic weather-beaten cragged faces of the old, set with eyes of faded blue. I behold bright smiles and blushes upon the fat cheeks of the young. My ears prickle with the twirling thousand-noted song of birds. The beauty of all these things I never observed in life, now bursts upon my ripened senses - in death.
In a trance I view this new-found paradise. Life, I have come to realise, is most beautiful to the spectator. The spectator has no need for understanding or judgement.
I look upon a derelict dilapidated street, filthy with squalor. I cast my eyes over the crumbling paintwork of rotting window frames, housing broken panes. Here and there sickly weeds break through mouldering masonry.
Oh what a picture, what a spectacle! What art!
Withered creatures scuttle furtively from one festering doorway to another, or limp painfully by with deep frowns creasing their ruined faces.
Do these not serve as fitting embellishments of the picturesque vision?
The scene still stirs my emotions, but now they are disconnected, as if stimulated by a fictitious tale. I see only a backdrop and actors, they exist only for my entertainment. These people have no significance and do not suffer, they only present that aspect so that I might take interest in this intricate scene.
The dead watch the living: detached, separated, segregated. The living prattle along giddily in their little bubble, or wearily toil. To them, I am just another face in the swirling crowd of humanity. To me, they are enchanting little fishes swimming in a beautiful aquarium.
I have been blessed with the capacity to appreciate withered beauties and fresh blooms alike. Recently I have become enamoured and allured by a wondrous thought. I dream of breaking this brittle-glassed world, to witness a new beauty. As mocking reality was shattered and destruction crashed righteously through their fragile world, how gorgeous would it be? Just imagine all those pitiful fishes lying splintered, gasping - bedecked with shrapnel diamonds and rubies of crimson blood!
Yet I am not malicious. It is not their pain in which I will take pleasure. I have no capacity to relate, no sympathetic feeling. What spurs me onward is the anticipant joy, as of viewing a new painting - a new aesthetic delight! Can this be understood? Can the living understand the dead? It is of no consequence. I write for myself, for my own enjoyment.
Yet that is not strictly true...if you are that most rare of specimens. If your mind is surpassingly strong and beautifully magnificent, if your mind is resplendent with art and gorgeous with glory - then it is of great consequence!
She, sacred Angelic Death, shall come some soft starless night. She shall come serving deliverance from the shackles of a beating heart. Encased in a necromantic embrace, within her baptismal arms of gleaming ivory - you shall be honoured at last.
You, like I, shall awaken dead - dead among the living!
The protagonist is dead. He possessed such an exceptionally artistic mind that Angelic Death thought him worthy of the gift of a necromantic embrace, so that he may walk dead among the living, and appreciate the full beauty of the world unconfined by life and morality.