Men like Poe or Lovecraft , can only be associated with loneliness. Not so much, or rather, not just a physical level alone, but in a Lonely Morale. They are different men, that have little to do with the ways of their society, they are strangers, and so their characters.
propose here The Outsider , L 'Stranger , written by Howard Phillips Lovecraft in 1921 and published in' April '26 in the magazine Weird Tales .
The protagonist is just one of these lonely men in search of light.
Lovecraft himself wrote of 'work' It Represents my literal though unconscious imitation of Poe at the ITS very height. - represents the 'pinnacle of my literary imitation, though unconscious, of Poe. "
That night he dreamed the Baron many misfortunes, and all guests
warriors, in form and appearance
witches, fat grubs and worms burials,
A long plagued his dreams.
KEATS
unhappy childhood who has only memories of fear and sadness. Unfortunate people who, looking back, does not see that lonely hours spent in rooms large and melancholy, hung with curtains and file exasperating gloomy old books, or desolate twilight vigils in dense forests of huge trees covered with grotesque herbs, stir up quiet the twisted branches.
Tal fate the gods have given to me ... To me, the dazed, the disappointed, the abandoned, the broken. Yet, strangely satisfied, so I cling to these pathetic memories faded in the moments when the mind threatens to overwhelm remember to call the "other.
I do not know where I was born: I only know that the castle was infinitely old and infinitely horrible, full of dark hallways and high ceilings where the eye met nothing but shadows and cobwebs. The stones of the crumbling corridors seemed always hideously slimy, and everywhere hung an abominable stench, as bodies piled up under a system of death generations.
There was never light, so sometimes I used to light a candle and the flame cover for comfort. Or ever the sun shone outside, the trees grew higher than the giant highest tower that was accessible. A single tower, black, rose up above the trees, being able to penetrate the unknown sky, but inside was ruined and could not ascend if not risking an almost impossible climb along the bare wall, stone by stone.
In that place I have lived for years, but I can not measure the number. Someone had to provide some of what I had to, but I am reminded of other human beings outside of me or of anything except the mice live quiet, bats or spiders. I believe that those who brought me up had to be frightfully old, since my first idea of \u200b\u200ba living being was something that so I looked like a caricature, but that was deformed, wilted and falling like the castle.
I could not find anything grotesque in the bones and skeletons in a crowded part of the stone crypts deep underground. In my fantasy, those things are common to everyday events, and felt much more natural colored pictures of human beings who could see in many of moldy books.
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