You want Zen?
You can’t handle Zen, motherfucker.
Whatever you call them, you are wrong.
Whatever they call you, they are wrong.
Now, dear one, tell me: where do you call to? And to whom?
The true call is silent and there is no misunderstanding it
once your ears are tuned to hear it.
channeling the late, lamented and demented Robert Anton Wilson
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I’ve been meaning to steal this from Samaha for months now. It’s a gorgeous song, a lament for the victims of Srebrenica and Potocari, and is performed by Alma Ferovic.
You can read the translation here.
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There goes the last of my childhood heroes. All I can say is, wow, that must have been quite the party. Can’t wait for the first grainy cellcam footage to show up on YouTube.
Actually, who am I kidding? Nancy had a stick up her ass the size of the Washington Monument. Trixie Belden was the cool one.
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What do you people think? Is he going after Cthulhu this time?
It’s just too bloody perfect, you know. The protagonist in The Call of Cthulhu was an aging archaeologist with a reputation for doing things his own way. With his trusty buddy, Inspector Legrasse, he crosses the globe, attempting to puzzle out the mysterious connection between a precious religious artifact, a cannibalistic cult of Louisiana swamp dwellers, and a vicious tribe of Greenland Esquimaux.
Blowing away forever all pretence to cool I may once have possessed, I have re-edited Howard Phillips Lovecraft‘s immortal Gothic tale The Call of Cthulhu, and placed at its heart a certain Midwestern academic who is, himself, no stranger to the strange.
Right-click, Save As:
Indiana Jones and the Call of Cthulhu: complete text by raincoaster
Also: Indy in a hat. Still hawt?
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raincoaster 