Halloween Countdown, Day 27
Oct. 27th, 2011 06:42 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
eldritchhobbitI've done several "special segments" in the past during my Halloween countdowns, and while I don't want to repeat myself, I'd like to point out a few favorites, for those who might have missed them:
* Remembering the graveyard of St. John's Episcopal Church in Providence, RI, where Lovecraft and Poe walked.
* You've heard of the "werewolves of London," but what about the "vampyres of Tulsa"?
* My tribute to L'Inconnue de la Seine ("the unknown woman of the Seine") and her "death mask."
* A celebration of Varney the Vampire.
* My retrospective on The Phantasmagoria.
This photo fascinates and chills me. I think it's the hollowness of the angel's eyes.
Text of the Day: Today's text is the haunting short story "A Thousand Deaths" by Jack London (1876-1916).
Excerpt:
I had been in the water about an hour, and cold, exhausted, with a terrible cramp in my right calf, it seemed as though my hour had come. Fruitlessly struggling against the strong ebb tide, I had beheld the maddening procession of the water-front lights slip by, but now a gave up attempting to breast the stream and contended myself with the bitter thoughts of a wasted career, now drawing to a close.
Read the complete short story.
* Remembering the graveyard of St. John's Episcopal Church in Providence, RI, where Lovecraft and Poe walked.
* You've heard of the "werewolves of London," but what about the "vampyres of Tulsa"?
* My tribute to L'Inconnue de la Seine ("the unknown woman of the Seine") and her "death mask."
* A celebration of Varney the Vampire.
* My retrospective on The Phantasmagoria.
This photo fascinates and chills me. I think it's the hollowness of the angel's eyes.
Text of the Day: Today's text is the haunting short story "A Thousand Deaths" by Jack London (1876-1916).
Excerpt:
I had been in the water about an hour, and cold, exhausted, with a terrible cramp in my right calf, it seemed as though my hour had come. Fruitlessly struggling against the strong ebb tide, I had beheld the maddening procession of the water-front lights slip by, but now a gave up attempting to breast the stream and contended myself with the bitter thoughts of a wasted career, now drawing to a close.
Read the complete short story.
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