Tell us about yourself and how many books you have written.
From the Author
I attempt to be somewhat distasteful of my own writing, as the quality of my compositions should always be carefully monitored and edited. In my endeavor to find a singular placement for the experiment of language, my writing has been transmogrified and distorted until it has become etched. I find it daunting to write simple sentences. As I have encountered a wider range of obstacles pertaining to the final disasters of an author’s process, I have found that the range of required discovery for these immense battles consists of both more penetrating philosophical study and of the broader appreciation of literature.
I am secretive about myself because A.R. LaBaere is a character as well as my author’s persona. The majority of my characters are both nameless, genderless, and sexless, having first person narratives. My aims are somewhat at a clash, as Cosmicism usually calls for the pismirization of characters, and a lack of identity accomplishes this stupendously. However, I take an interest in my personifications as persons with human pathos, which should make the ultimate epiphany of Cosmicism all the more chilling. Gender identity and romantic orientation are crucial aspects of identity, and rarely conform to common portrayals in respected societies. I hold an immense duty in keeping my identity from the majority, although I want to share this further with you. While I trust your intellect and intentions, I must advise you that certain criteria must yet be met. As we grow nigh, I hope to become a nearer companion.I am ill with the loneliness that inevitably comes with severe trauma. I see the multiverse alone through my consciousness, and I never arrive at a single notion of identity. I have not found an exact nature of myself amidst the notions of each straining division, and I cannot hold any cohesive structure of myself. As I am trapped with the solitude of my worst expectations and of my further nightmares in the past. I am also hollowed with the longing always present in my empty bed. I have no Ligeia, no Berenice, no Eleonora, and no Poe. I agonize with the need to share lengthy discourses on Bataille and on ‘Pataphysics in the late hours, to scream about m theory and higher dimensions, with an arduous debater. I have never been a part of a family, and I am at a legacy of only my words. When I perish, I will no longer exist, as Rene Descartes, and I will never know the future of my accomplishments. I am aging and destitute, and the immense void of each day brings no relief for the agonies of cruelty.
What is the name of your latest book and what inspired it?
Rene Descartes Does Not Exist peals with the undercurrent of plangent chimes in a forgotten gloaming… There persists a revelation which cannot be defined, but which is captured by the crude eyes of certain dolls. Within are Tsalalic, broken staircases which lead to nowhere, untidy, resistentialist galaxies of dark stars… A Ligottian antinovel, a surrealist literary criticism of House Of Leaves, Psalms Of The Silent, Fictional Observers, and Untidy Starving Shadows, it creaks and creeps… Suspirias susurrise among howling passages… The pages resonate with groaning undercurrents of masking things which are what they would not be, a mask for pandemonium… Within are phantasms, mirrors, burrowing universes… The unheimlich volume is a Borgesian unreality of lambent crookedness, a resistentialism of untidy tailor’s dummies which resonates with the eidolon of murmuring, garish laughter… It is crookedly peculiar…The words are upside-down, tenebrously untidy, a cosmic incantation, the tome a grimoire, a The King In Yellow of magick, a doppelganger… The manuscript tolls queer thoughts, things monstrous… vaguely, vacantly glimpsed… Unlighted candles migrate within That unheimlich volume, a Babel of lambent unreality which resonates with eidolons of laughter… A Mimicrying, metafictional criticism of House Of Leaves, The King In Yellow, Cosmicism, The Thing, and The Untidy Starving Shadows, the tome creaks and creeps… It resonates with twin mirrored Houses, untidy, unfamiliar shapes in the darkness… It is very strange; the words are clandestine, unreal, tenebrously untidy, as though… the work were hazy, a foggy, peculiar looking-glass- curious words that seemed to keep some secret, monstrous if one only knew.
Crucial Notification Regarding This Eighth Hundredth,
Exhaustive Edition
Eighth Hundredth And Final Edition
Rene Descartes Does Not Exist has been released within its final edition as of The Thirty-First Of December, Two Thousand And Twenty.
This final edition is the eighth hundredth edition of the work. No material has been destroyed or significantly altered from the work’s original publication as The Abyss Laughs. Alterations to the work now accompany a significant increase of the work’s length. The work has been incorporated with significant elements regarding its outer material, its metafictional nestedness, and its various poesies. The work now includes significant text upon its cover.
The work’s ergodic typography and experimental style have been restored to its original format, and text which was previously present upon the tome’s previous front covers has been entirely restored and expanded to this edition’s artwork. All attempts have been made by the author to preserve its format.
The structure of the platform’s format dictate the exclusion of divergent fonts, hues, watchers, and blank pages. Precautions have been made to translate the work as it would appear within a printed tome. The work’s expansion has been carefully curated to adhere to the concepts of the original manuscript. A declaration was previously promulgated regarding the expansion of Rene Descartes Does Not Exist. All changes to the work have now been set, and expansions of the tale will occur only through further instalments.
The antinovel’s sequel will be released upon The Twenty-First of August, Two Thousand and twenty-two, and will be available for pre-order upon The Twenty-First of August, Two Thousand And Twenty-One.
What are you working on now?
Biography
A.R. LaBaere is a publishing house which resides within the bizarre, the outlandish, and the Ligottian. Its focuses include Cosmicism, pessimism, the absurd, and the Weird. The author seeks to reproduce texts which deconstruct logic and enhance the Weird. A.R. LaBaere strives to disseminate literature to all readers.
Its next release shall be the epic The Abyss Laughs Book Two, a fiction. It is to be distributed to the public upon August Twenty-First, Two Thousand And Twenty-Two. The Abyss Laughs Book Two will be A.R. LaBaere’s second publication by author A.R. LaBaere.
The author’s Rene Descartes Does Not Exist will be incorporated into The Abyss Laughs Book Two, along with other works. A.R. LaBaere seeks to scribe a collapsing multiverse and paracosm in the completion of unreality.
The Abyss Laughs Book Two will combine literary criticism, pessimistic discourse, academia, and fiction. With Rene Descartes Does Not Exist, the novel shall explore Cosmicism, poesy, and allusion in a richer demesne.
Rene Descartes Does Not Exist is the inspiration of the epic novel, The Abyss Laughs. An antinovel of solipsism, Cosmicism, negligence, and illogic, Rene Descartes Does Not Exist does not exist.
The Abyss Laughs is currently being expanded to a million words. This cosmic horror opera is grown from a reality-bending tome, ever expanding.
Reality is a thin layer over something truly alien. The only kind turn of the cosmos may be the prevention of the human mind from comprehension of all its truths. The Old Ones are beneath that facade. They are those who were, are, and shall be, not amongst the familiar space and time known to humanity, but far outside the constraints of logic and reason. Entombed within our cosmos and without, They await the proper alignment of the stars, so that They may once again stalk the spaces between. The Old Ones cannot be comprehended by the human mind, for They exist in infinity beyond understanding.
These beings are served by religious sects devoted to their return to life, from the Brotherhood of Hastur to the Deep ones of Dagon and Hydra. Still yet more disastrous awaits the cult of Yog Sothoth, the All in One and One in All. Azathoth, Yog Sothoth, and Shub Niggurath are not Old Ones, but rather Outer Gods. When the music in the Court of Azathoth ceases, so too shall all things.
Beyond even the Old Ones lie the Outer Gods, beings who are to the Old Ones what the Old Ones are to the lesser species. These deities encompass all of space, time, and other fabrics of reality, and yet exist wholly outside of it. These deities were the first beings in existence, creating many of the Old Ones and one another long before the birth of reality.
An obscure horror author, Lovecraft, penned a supposedly fictional world of alien lore, prehuman nightmares, and inhuman races. For all of these terrors, the cosmos is not one of malevolence, but of stark indifference to any species. The Old Ones and Outer Gods are not cruel nor psychopathic; rather, Their psychologies and motivations are entirely beyond the comprehension of humanity.
Lovecraft wrote of their histories and mythologies in works disguised as fiction, creating a mythos of the supernatural, cosmic, and unknown. He recorded tales of prehistoric gods bubbling at the center of all infinity, and of partly human alien races the world over. His narrators live on, forever scarred by their forbidden knowledge as they await the End.
Presently, a concerned publishing agent investigates the mysteries of The Abyss Laughs, a self-referential work of cosmic horror in the vein of Lovecraft. The novel evokes inconsistent effects, from awe to derision at its pastiche. The novel’s narrative becomes the publisher’s own, as the characters and locations of cosmic horror seem to become reality. Narrative after narrative of the postmodern work become more obscure, unwinding the agent’s every sense of reality and reason. Nested within a complex narrative web of psychic visions and intertwined fates, The Abyss Laughs is no book.
In the apparently fictional work of cosmic horror authors previous, only a portion of truth is revealed. There are Outer Gods beyond the Outer Gods, and Outer Gods beyond this. With each revelation, logic and reason as we comprehend it fades into black seas of infinity, and the return of ultimate entropy draws nearer. This is the culmination of Lovecraft’s accounts of the vast cosmos beneath our own. The demented cultists have laid in wait for their gods, the Outer Gods have created Their spawn upon the Earth to walk amongst humanity, and the ancient texts have appeared to ordinary men. With a series of bizarre natural catastrophes, the oceans tumble into seismic upheaval. The minds of many are fevered by unnatural, maddening dreams.
Lovecraft wrote that the Old Ones would one day return, but never wrote of Their coming. At last, after untold aeons, the cosmos begins to align. The final rites are prepared, the prophecies come to fruition, and the foundations of reality begin to revert to their original state. And, beneath even this, something so incomprehensible as to be an informational void stirs.
The Abyss Laughs.
A.R. LaBaere is a lucubrant and intellectual of the night. The author is an oracle of the Old Ones, spreading madness and mayhem throughout the cosmos. Beyond the literary, LaBaere consumes theoretical physics, philosophy with an emphasis in nihilistic pessimism and antinatalism, and The Method of Loci. LaBaere strives to fictionalize and spelunk such topics into cosmic oddysseys and discourses.
The author’s inspirations include Thomas Ligotti, H.P. Lovecraft, Mark Z. Danielewski, Jon Padgett, Wilum Hopfrog Pugmire, David Searcy, Rasu Yong-Tugen, Baroness de Tristeombre, Brian Aldiss, Navidson Tudor, Jorge Luis Borge, and a library of others.
The author’s work has been hailed as being convoluted, opaque drivel, as a profound transmogrification of Cosmicism, as being peerlessly ambitious, unkempt, baffling, and rambling, as folderolical, as disillusioned, as disturbing, as atrabilious, and as being nonexistent.
The A.R. LaBaere assemblage may be contacted via the Trystero: a.r.labaere@gmail.com
A.R. LaBaere’s
The Abyss Laughs
An Introduction
Welcome, weary traveller, to your unexpected destination. I am A.R. LaBaere, Cosmic horror author and philosophizer. Here, dear reader, is the realm of the Old Ones. Here, you will find a brief history of the genre, author information, and an explanation of Cosmic horror.
Brace yourself, dear reader, for as Fredriech Nietzsche wisely warned: “If thou gaze long into an abyss, the abyss will also gaze into thee.”
Who is A.R. LaBaere?
I am an avid Writer and reader of tales from beyond.I focus much of my effort upon analyzing existential crises in literature, film, and other fiction media. I have penned short stories and poems, along with my work-in-progress novel, The Abyss Laughs.I aspire to bring the obscure Cosmic horror into light, along with forgotten authors such as H.P. Lovecraft and Robert W. Chambers.
I aspire to share my passion for literature, storytelling, and all things unthinkable through fiction and nonfiction alike. As a nihilist and atheist, I share many of the views presented in the works of Lovecraft and others.
The Fear of the Unknown- and the Unknowable
Cosmic horror is a genre containing elements of horror, science fiction, and fantasy. The genre invokes the terror of Incomprehensible forces beyond humanity’s control.Rather than empowering characters and placing significance on human action, Cosmic horror places the focus on what lies beyond one’s frail egotism. Humanity constantly teeters on the brink of extinction, unable to find meaning or safety in a fundamentally indifferent cosmos. Godlike entities from other universes, the cults which honor them, ancient alien races, and madness brought on by quests for forbidden knowledge are staples of the genre.
What are the Origins of Cosmicism?
Cosmicism and its elements have existed since the dawn of literature.The supernatural is a critical ancestor; a necessary element of Cosmicism is the absurd contrast between unknowable forces and mundane life.
Edgar Allan Poe truly began the journey to modern Cosmicism, followed by Robert W. Chambers, author of The King in Yellow. Lovecraft truly completed the evolution, leaving behind thousands of pages and the Cthulhu Mythos, a universe which continues to be expanded upon by countless authors.
The Cthulhu Mythos
The Cthulhu Mythos is a fictional univrse created by H.P. Lovecraft.The mythos is composed of characters, locations, and events interconnected by the threat of ancient deities and forces. Commonly used characters in other works include alien races such as the Migo, the Elder Things, the Shoggoths, the Night Guants, and the Deep Ones.
Deities of the mythos include Cthulhu, the very source of humanity’s fear, Azathoth, who dwells in the center of our cosmos, Yog Sothoth, who is one with all of time and space, and Hastur, commonly known as the King in Yellow, an enigmatic entity which spreads through the reading of the eponymous play.
What Older and Modern Works are Cosmic?
The writings of Clark Ashton Smith, August Derleth, Ambrose Bierce, Algernon Blackwood, Robert E. Howard, and John W. Campbell often contain elements of the Cosmic; several of these authors have contributed to the Cthulhu Mythos.
Many modern works contain existential dilemas, nihilism, madness, and forces from beyond.John Carpenter’s Apocalypse Trilogy, the Amnesia series, the first two Alien films, The Evil Dead, Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining, the writings of Clive Barker, Shirley Jackson, Neil Gaiman, Ramsey Campbell, and many of Stephen King’s works involve incomprehensible forces from beyond.
Mission Statement
My goal is to provide my readers with quality literature in all areas, building on the aspirations of other authors, as well as creating new horizons. I will serve the Old Ones to the best of my ability, bringing madness to the Earth.I will show the world the power of authors long forgotten, ensuring that their efforts were not in vain. I will bring the Outer Gods ever closer to resurrection, until I am eaten along with the rest of humanity.
In-Depth Terminology
The Cthulhu Mythos is a complex mythology, added to by many writers over the past one hundred and eleven years. Countless authors have contributed to it, including myself. The characters, locations, and events of the mythos are expanded upon here. Various sources are used, including my own contributions. Owing to the innumerable contributions to the Mythos, this list is by no means exhaustive.
Further Explanation on the Cthulhu Mythos
GHysolui- An unknown entity even by the obscurity of other Outer Gods.
The Abyss- The Abyss laughs.
Azathoth- Parent of many Outer Gods, including Yog Sothoth.
Shub Niggurath- An entity on level with Azathoth and Yog Sothoth. Also known as the Black Goat of the Woods With a Thousand Young.
Hastur- Also known as The King in Yellow, the Unspeakable, and the Unnameable. A deity which spreads through the Yellow Sign, along with the play The King in Yellow. Resides in Carcosa, a damned city upon a black hole. Hastur has the ability to project avatars and possess corpses.
Cthulhu- The High Priest of the Outer Gods, residing dead but dreaming in R’lyeh, a sunken city in the Pacific Ocean.
Ubbo-Sathla- Entity dwelling beneath Earth’s surface, forever exuding new life. May be the source of much of life on Earth.
Nyarlathotep- The Crawling Chaos; attends Azathoth in his court.
Ithaqua- Wind deity, widely ingrained in Native American legend.
The Conquerer Worm- an entity which burrows beneath all things; associated with Hastur.
Entities of the Cthulhu Mythos
Alien Races of the Cthulhu Mythos
The Deep Ones- Hybrid species between humans and wholly alien Deep entities. Commonly populate the town of Innsmouth. They are heavily associated with Devil’s Reef, Dagon, and Cthulhu.
Migo- Commonly known as Fungi from Yuggoth, inhabiting Yuggoth (Pluto.) Resemble fungal crabs. The species keep the brains of many races alive in jars. Commonly inhabit caverns in the hills of Virginia.
Night Guants- Mounstrous, winged entities inhabiting the Dreamlands, consuming various species. The species communicates through shrieks.
The Great Race Yith- Entities who achieve time travel through exchanging bodies with those in the future or past. Their original forms resemble bright light.
Colour Out of Space- Microbes of impossible, maddening colors, feeding upon the life-force of surrounding areas.
Dhole- Worm-like entities of the Dreamlands.
Byakhee- Servants of Hastur, once a sane extraterrestrial race. Dwell in Carcosa. Resemble a mixture of moles, bats, and rotting corpses.
Cats of Ulthar- Creatures dwelling in Ulthar in great numbers.
Elder Things- First life Earth, and creators of the first microorganisms. Also created the Shoggoths.
Shoggoths- Slave race which became sentient, attacking the Elder Things. Still living in the Mountains of Madness, feeding upon blind albino penguins. Attack William Dyer and Danforth Blair.
Locations of the Cthulhu Mythos
The Dreamlands- a universe entered through sleep. Home to Night Gaunts, Ghouls, Dholes, the Cats of Ulthar, and several Outer Gods. Compose many of Lovecraft’s tales.
Carcosa- a city upon the black hole Hastur, prison of Hastur. Appears to those who have seen the Yellow Sign.
Arkham- A human city in Massachusetts, home to Miskatonic University, along with the Coulor Out of Space.
Miskatonic University- Infamous university specializing in underground occultism. Hirer of Emily Marsh.
The Compound of the Brotherhood of the Yellow Sign- A French structure dedicated to Hastur.
Ulthar- City in the Dreamlands, populated by felines. May contain the Pnakotic Manuscripts.
R’lyeh- Prison of Cthulhu, located in the Pacific Ocean.
Court of Azathoth- Location of Several Outer Gods, including Azathoth, Nyarlathotep, and many servants.
Devil’s Reef- Enigmatic structure off of the Innsmouth shore; place of many Deep Ones rituals prior to the 1928 bombing.
Plain of Leng- Region in Dreamlands, home to a form of Hastur kmown as the Yellow Veiled Llama.
The Mountains of Madness- Appearing and disappearing region in Antarctica, containing the cyclopean city of the Elder Things. Contains largest mountains on Earth.
Events of the Cthulhu Mythos
1.8 Billion Years Ago- The Elder Things colonize Earth, creating the microbes which will eventually evolve into modern life.
Cthulhu and his star spawn arrive on Earth at this time, along with the Polyps and Yith.
192? It is around this time that efforts to eradicate The King in Yellow play fail spectacularly.
1928- Government bombing of Devil’s reef in Innsmouth, followed by the capture and imprisonment of many locals.
1931- Disastrous expedition to the Antarctic is mounted by Mikatonic University.
1982- A mysterious species is unearthed in Antarctica.
1983- Death of William Dyer.
2ooo??? The Relic is discovered.
2000??? The Brotherhood receives a new Prophet.
2000??? The alignment of the cosmos begins.
Humanoid Characters of the Cthulhu Mythos
Brotherhood of the Yellow Sign- Cult born long before the creation of our universe, dedicated to serving Hastur. Are also connected to the Conqueror Worm.
Randolph Carter- Man who encountered many misadventures in the Dreamlands, along with distant planets in our cosmos.
William Dyer- Head of disastrous expedition to the Antarctic, and one of two survivors.
Danforth Blair- Second survivor of Antarctic expidition, residing in Alhaz Asylum following his breakdown.
The Prophet- Chosen avatar of Hastur in his quest for resurrection.
Howard Phillips Lovecraft- Author of extensive accounts of the Old Ones, often treated as fiction.
Emily Marsh- A remaining descendant of the Marsh line. Holds obscure position at Miskatonic University, along with unknown cults.
Father Thorn: Mysterious priest of Hastur; may hold other loyalties as well.
Wilbur Whateley- Spawn of Yog Sothoth and human Lavinia Whateley, brother to the Dunwhich Horror.
Lavinia Whateley- Tempory mate of Yog Sothoth; mother of Wilbur and the Dunwhich Horror.
Black Stars/Carcosa Appears- Signifies that one has fallen under the influence of Hastur, or that Hastur’s power waxes.
Objects of the Cthulhu Mythos
The Necronomicon- Occult tome written in the year 700 A.D. by the Mad Arab, Abdul Alhazred. May invoke madness in its readers; contains information and rites on the Old Ones.
The Pnakotic Manuscripts- Lost manuscripts, thought to be hidden in Ulthar. Contain information on the Dreamlands, along with other secrets.
The King in Yellow- A portion of Hastur in the form of copies of a forbidden play. Reading the play opens the reader to Hastur’s influence, while performing the play will summon Hastur. May originally be French.
The Yellow Sign- A character forming Hastur’s name in the Yellow language, perhaps resembling Hastur’s true form. Seeing or possessing this character opens one to Hastur’s influence. The Sign is used by the Brotherhood to signify membership and is used in rituals.
The Relic- Key element in the alignment of the cosmos.
Gold Items of the Deep Ones- Strange items crafted by the Deep Ones, and originally traded by Obed Marsh.
The Pallid Mask- Mask commonly seen upon Hastur; seeing what lies behind damns one to madness.
Philosophical Terminology
Nihilism- A philosophy stating that significance, purpose, and morality are only constructs created by the human mind. Theories often taken for granted, such as the existence of others from the self, the uniqueness of the human race, and others are meaningless and possibly false.
Existential Crisis- a destabalizing series of revelations involving one’s perception of place in the cosmos, along with a loss of certainty in facts one once knew to be true.
This frequently occurs following maddening experiences with eldritch abominations from beyond.
Solipsism- The belief that the thinker is the only person in existence. The existence of anything outside the mind cannot be proven; as best said by Rene Descartes, “I think; therefore, I am.”
Cosmicism- Horror genre involving the inevitanbility of mortality, doom, and fate. Revolutionized by Lovecraft, the genre involves forces beyond imagination with advanced strangulated delirium…
Post From Beyond: My Journey to Solipsism
My Journey to Cosmicism
We are alone- separated by the far gulfs of the mind. The black seas of infinity separate us from one another- each mind lies in the prison of impotency.
We do not have any real power. Why do we believe we have any hope?
The world is a place which is not our own. We believe ourselves to have ownership over the world and our lives, but we are under an influence beyond our comprehension.
Our lives are under the influence of something too indecipherable for rational thought. If we were to understand those forces, we would no longer be human.
What makes the human mind? That is a lingering enigma.
What mystery faces us today? What do we face today? What awful things lay in the awful voids between time and space? We cannot know until fate has us in its indifferent grip.
Fate stalks us, and today is one day nearer to that empty end… Alas! Such is our lot in time and space. We did not have the choice to exist- and yet here we are. This is the power of the unknown rulings of the universe. These things are the power of the beyond.
Welcome, dear readers, to a personal reflection. Today, we examine the life and times of yours truly. The adventure upon which we are about to embark… Is a dark one. This journey is not one to be taken lightly, for many reasons. We have much to discuss, and so little time. The mechanisms of time are sinister and in revolt; shadows from beyond infiltrate and warp our reality. The stars hide terrible secrets in the depths of far space. The chill of the night is unparalleled, but the day is infinite in terror as well.
Today, we must face the nightmare of the backstory- that most weighty and cumbersome literary burden. This is something which embodies character and curses- that awful mystery eventually revealed. The curse of a family, a legacy, or an amphibian mutation are all fair game. These things will eventually be revealed- by an old man, by a transformation, an ancient book, or an Outer God. These things are inevitable in the mystery of the Cthulhu Mythos.
My own journey through fate is something twisted and nonlinear. The confused workings of fate are something which are not to be cheated.
I have learned this lesson many times before- life often has many twists and turns, and these may be fatal. The awful and unrelenting nature of the world works against us. We are not simply people- we are animals lf the smallest kind. The awful nature of this revelation is something not to be shared… These things are dark and impossible.
My rambling path to cosmicism has been a long one. I admit it was not love at first sight- no, the road to Carcosa was much longer. It often takes time to find the ruins in the mountains of madness.
There are awful tragedies in life, and sometimes there are no answers. These things are inevitable, and sometimes incurable. I don’t know what to think about those spots of painful, shining lights sometimes. The wounds of the past can be impossible to heal.
I know well about the terrors of our existential comsmos, and the endless pondering of those questions- nihilism is often an awful and brooding thing, filled with the irreconcilable doom of meaninglessness. What are we to do if we are to except ultimate futility?
Change is an inevitable part of life, as always. One day, we will all die. I will be gone forever- when the signals of the brain die, so does the person. The awful reality of death is strong- we are given a few years of existence- and then, Alas!- we are gone. We are lost in the nightmare of religion and delusion- the nightmare of desperation. I know that I will stop existing, but I have difficulty accepting it. The awful reality of life is something I would not wish on anyone. The nature of existence is painful, and an awful
I’ve had a lot of changes in my life – some good, most bad. One of the biggest changes was a complete one eighty. Who would think it? That can be the trouble with human nature- the Jekyll and Hyde duality.
When I was much younger, I was frightened by a lot of things. Anything even slightly spooky, or even meant to be goofy but spooky nonetheless, could stick with me for weeks. Worse still, I was often petrified of the basement at night and sleeping in the dark. However, I was never afraid of monsters – the fear was just there.
The dark is full of possibilities, as I would eventually find out. There are infinite possibilities, both good and bad.
Before I had my realization about the wonderful world of horror, I looked down on it. I definitely didn’t loathe it, but I didn’t see it as a genre like fantasy or drama. The opinion largely came from my parents, who didn’t “get” it.
While I have been surrounded by religion and narcissistic belief in human superiority and purpose, I have always leaned towards the nihilistic side of things. I often thought of nihilism as darkness and depression, I would eventually come to see it as freeing from unquestioned assumptions and obedience. The ordinary conceptions of life have never sat right with me.
When I was ten, my father bought me the complete fiction and poetry of Edgar Allan Poe. I was instantly taken by the gruesome, haunting tales. The poetry was exquisitely morose and melancholy, and the whole burned an impression forevermore.
These things are the foundation of something incredible and a part of who I am, and I am forever in the debt of those who have helped me along the way.
That was before I really got into the darker side of fiction. I can’t trace it exactly, but I believe it continued with “The Phantom of the Opera,” my favorite book and musical from a young age. From there, I went on to A Nightmare on Elm Street and Scream, then bad slashers, and then classics.
John Carpenter’s The Thing was my first real film foray into the Lovecraftian. I was instantly taken by the film- it was a completely new experience, both visually, musically, and in the mind-expanding story and cosmic implications.
And yet, at the time, I did not fully appreciate the film. It would take several more years to truly appreciate all the film has to offer. The Thing remains a great influence on my work to this day.
Of course, I would soon enough arrive at my discovery of the infamous Lovecraft. That discovery would come nearly half a year later.
I was led to it inadvertently, through a series of articles online. My curiosity piqued, I read about the Cthulhu Mythos. And then it slipped from my mind… For a while. As with the Thing, it lay dormant, waiting to strike. That is the devious scheme of literature- it strives to survive however it can, in the minds of many.
Does literature possess an unknown life? Something of sentience? Something brilliant? What lies in the very essence of ink on the page? These thoughts are an essence of cosmicism- the thought of life completely alien to human perception. Can there be life so alien that we would not recognize it as life?
None of these thoughts would occur to me for years, until my perceptions were widened by the cosmic.
The first time I read H. P. Lovecraft was not a cataclysmic event. Like a food which tastes fine the first time which will later become a favorite, it was another good story.
All right, I’ll admit it – I didn’t finish the first time. I just sort of forgot and went on to other things less than halfway through. Like Lovecraft’s Old Ones, it was buried until the stars became right.
Times have changed, and we are able to appreciate the past more fully. Disasters, nightmares, possession, terror, and extraterrestrial invasion can happen in the span of a year. Lives are rethought, options reconsidered, and lives destroyed. We are often lost in the realities of unbearable upheaval. Such is the awful nature of our tiny world.
Such mysteries do not make for pleasant speculation, and do not inspire hope. They go unspoken, and yet are astoundingly common. These things remain just out of sight, and crawl and fester in the dark.
Then, a year or so later, during a dull and unhappy period, I found it again. I gegan to read it on my ipod – my small, cramped ipod screen. The background was black and the lettering white. Ever since that time, it would always strike me as fitting that the traditional colors were reversed – the fiction of Lovecraft had a nearly nonsensical sweep which defied all the usual notions of sense and reality. At the Mountains of Madness was a long read, and thick in prose, plot, and scientific detail. It began with a desperate plea taking place after the main events – a plea not to send another research team to Antarctica. From there, the story described the findings of the first expedition team.
The unreality of events nightmarish and full of foreshadowing. Slowly, the pieces came together. Relics of another time appeared, and I was drawn into the cold world.
It was night when I began, and my room was dark. Everything seemed perfect, as I prefer the dark.
I had background on the Cthulhu Mythos, the collections of interconnecting characters, events, and places of Lovecraft’s stories. The references to other stories in Mountains of Madness created a powerful fascination.
The language conveyed a sense of doom and inhuman legend through to the point but elegant, rich language. The lack of dialogue and character interaction created a world of surrealness and pain.
Site Directory
Home- Contains an overview of the website’s purpose, along with providing information on my goals and Cosmicism.
The Abyss Laughs- contains information, excerpts, concepts, and interesting facts about my upcoming novel.
In-Depth Terminology-Explains key concepts of the Cthulhu and LaBaere Mythos, along with philisophical terminology.
Author Information- Explains more about myself.
External Links- provides access to blogs, literature, and events.
The Abyss Laughs- contains information, excerpts, concepts, and interesting facts about my upcoming novel.
In-Depth Terminology-Explains key concepts of the Cthulhu and LaBaere Mythos, along with philisophical terminology.
Author Information- Explains more about myself.
External Links- provides access to blogs, literature, and events.
From Beyond- provides Cosmic readings of different fiction, along with day-to-day reflections on the Cosmic.
Reader Reviews- Contains comments from readers pertaining to the site, along with my fiction
Reader Reviews- Contains comments from readers pertaining to the site, along with my fiction
Works- Contains a selection of my fiction.
For Questions, comments, or business inquiries, please write to:
a.r.labaere@gmail.com
Have You Seen the Yellow Sign?
“If though gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into thee.”- Friedrich Nietzsche
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https://www.markzdanielewski.com
What is your best method or website when it comes to promoting your books?
www.amazon.com/A-R-LaBaere/e/B01M051FID
What’s next for you as a writer?
The Oblong Music-Box
Amid the narrative,
the narrative of The Abyss Laughs,
the absence and fugue swirls as prolific,
sterling, screaming
stars.
Found amidst singing looking-glasses, spirals ebullient, ebony,
the stranger
within.
In the place of peculiar supellectiles, there dwells the extraordinary gardeviance.
Hours, decrepit, senescent, and jewelled, a music box dancing of some ebony
wood , which looks as if it has that hardness of a jewel
and is florid with strange designs that beguile,
at once distinct and impossible to focalize.
It is a small music box, like a miniature treasure chest,
made of some dark wood which looks as if it has the hardness of a jewel.
This surreal object is antediluvian, very old.
Slowly, as sempiternally before, it creaks open into its plangent well,
obtuse, oblong, that starry silhouette.
Slowly, its lid draws back, which is ornamented by black-diamond radiances,
as black stars ornate.
It holds no breath, the inorganic muse, glassy and listening to a still colder music.
It is drawing eyes into itself, sucking looking-glass walls within,
the darkness an unheimlich darkness.
The crisp little notes that arise from the box are like stars of sound
coming out in the twilight shadows and silence of the House.
The crisp little notes that billow atrabilious within,
tenebrous, are as screaming
stars
of sound billowing out in the twilight umbras and silence of the dummy-House.
The storm is sempiternal, leaving the auditing world outside muffled by wetness.
The tornado rumbles, base, tossing the notes within, muffled by wetness.
Within those closed rooms, which might now ever be transported
to the brink of a chasm
or deep inside the earth,
the music glimmered like infinitesimal flakes of light in that barren decor of dead days.
Within these neglected chambers, which might now regress to
drooping walls hyperbolic, peeling paper humid, there, deep within those sealed
apartments, music regresses to uncanny caterwauling,
where light forgets, moulders, that barren décor of dead days.
Nothing hears that venous swell, amidst breathing and breathless flumes, pools of
the starving shadows.
Resistentialism charms with enchanted immobility.
Lo, silence stretches starving shadows, Tsalal, walls breathing,
and even the starving shadows behind the universe are crooning
with enchanting malignancy.
Everything holds for a moment to allow the wandering music from the box
to pass on toward some unspeakably wondrous destination.
Everything stenches the world into a greater blackness,
malignantly melodious,
malignantly useless,
Truth sung sublimely on toward some sublimely terrible destination.
Voices might be heard to murmur within the yellowish haze of the room
and deep into the darkness that presses against the walls,
and then deeper into the darkness between the walls,
sighing narratives spiral outward, unlit—
through the yellowish haze of the Dead Masks,
deep into the darkness that presses against the walls,
and then deeper into the darkness between the walls,
then through the walls and into the
then through the walls and into the unbordered red spaces,
unbordered spaces where those silvery tones ascend and quiver like a
swarm of insects,
where those silvery tones ascend and settle as true stars.
There tenebrous time stretches out forever and loses itself in the suppurating,
soothing mirrors of infinity.
Even at that point one feels one could lose oneself in the vastness spreading
before it,
this tenebrous expanse rich with unknown exploits.
There dwells still pulchritude in this vision,
however tinged it is with the sinister.
But then something is stirring,
Within that mirror-maze, something is stirring,
irrupting like a disease,
irrupting like a disease,
poking its horribly
colored head through the cool blackness . . .
poking its horribly-coloured head through the cool blackness…
and chasing one from vague, broken spiral staircases,
and crooning one into further mirrored whispers suspiria.
What is your favorite book of all time?
House of Leaves
Mark Z. Danielewski
Years ago, when House of Leaves was first being passed around, it was nothing more than a badly bundled heap of paper, parts of which would occasionally surface on the Internet. No one could have anticipated the small but devoted following this terrifying story would soon command. Starting with an odd assortment of marginalized youth — musicians, tattoo artists, programmers, strippers, environmentalists, and adrenaline junkies — the book eventually made its way into the hands of older generations, who not only found themselves in those strangely arranged pages but also discovered a way back into the lives of their estranged children.
Now, for the first time, this astonishing novel is made available in book form, complete with the original colored words, vertical footnotes, and newly added second and third appendices.
The story remains unchanged, focusing on a young family that moves into a small home on Ash Tree Lane where they discover something is terribly wrong: their house is bigger on the inside than it is on the outside.
Of course, neither Pulitzer Prize-winning photojournalist Will Navidson nor his companion Karen Green was prepared to face the consequences of that impossibility, until the day their two little children wandered off and their voices eerily began to return another story — of creature darkness, of an ever-growing abyss behind a closet door, and of that unholy growl which soon enough would tear through their walls and consume all their dreams.
Songs of a Dead Dreamer and Grimscribe
Thomas Ligotti
www.amazon.com/Songs-Dreamer-Grimscribe-Thomas-Ligotti/dp/0143107763
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