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Lovecraftiana - Wings of a Faceless Angel by Paintagram

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Blessed Priest by Bogdan Rezunenko

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Merry Christmas CthulhuMas may the Elders Bring us Peace & Happiness this year & may the Cthulhu, who is waiting & dreaming beneath the Dark Sea accept our little sacrifices…Ai Ai Cthulhu Fhtagn!

                    ph`nglui mglw`nafh Cthulhu R`lyeh wgahn`gl fhtagn!

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Sacro sangue (Details), 2016 - Agostino Arrivabene

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An absurd life of seventy years would not necessarily be infinitely absurd if it lasted an eternity. It really depends on the kind of absurdity one has in mind. (I assume here, as before, that an absurd life is a meaningless one.) Some lives are absurd even from various terrestrial perspectives. If they were of infinite duration, they would indeed be infinitely absurd. Thus, immortality by itself it not sufficient to make a life cosmically significant. However, there are lives that are not absurd from more limited perspectives, but are absurd from a cosmic perspective, and they are absurd from that broader perspective in part because there is a temporal limit that they cannot transcend. Those lives would not be infinitely absurd if they lasted an eternity, at least if the meaning could be sustained or evolve over eternity. Instead of the meaning of a life ending, it would continue in some form in perpetuity. Such lives would, at least in this respect, cease to be absurd (that is, meaningless) from the cosmic perspective.

David Benatar, The Human Predicament: A Candid Guide to Life’s Biggest Questions, P. 55 (via blackestdespondency)

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Blob’s Teddy 

by Me (robbinblind)

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by douzen for “A’s Wonderland”

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DESPONDENCY - Part II 

by AustenMengler

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An Update

Hey, sorry for my of posts recently.  A medical issue has really limited my attention, and made it difficult.  Hopefully, I will be able to return my attention to daily posting soon enough.  Thanks for your patience.

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“And through this revolting graveyard of the universe the muffled, maddening beating of drums, and thin, monotonous whine of blasphemous flutes from inconceivable, unlighted chambers beyond Time; the detestable pounding and piping whereunto dance slowly, awkwardly, and absurdly the gigantic, tenebrous ultimate gods” — the blind, voiceless, mindless gargoyles whose soul is Nyarlathotep.—H. P. Lovecraft, Nyarlathotep Got on a Lovecraft groove and Nyarlathotep was such an intimidating figure among the mythos. So I ended up looking at depictions of him and decided I’d give my go at it. 7.5 hours Photoshop

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I offer you the prisca sapientia of the Architect! I offer you the GREAT WORK! Shadows in the corner of the room closed in. Black tendrils dripped from the ceiling, from the chaotic architecture, across the cement floor to the center of the warehouse where muscular strands danced in anticipation of great things. I couldn’t fathom what I was seeing. I tensed in anticipation of scrabbling back out of the tunnel but my world seemed to slow down while the building’s internal geography hastened. The inky appendages quickly congealed into a giant, its head a mass of billowing trash bags, each malformed bubble expanding and deflating repeatedly. Its arms were thick sheets of glass crudely cut into half moon shapes like scimitars, the surface stained and milky as slag glass. The head moved in such a manner it blotted out the space it occupied. Time resumed. I began to crawl backwards but Julia pressed me up against the side of the tunnel. I couldn’t move. The monster vibrated with more intensity. Hairline fractures trickled across its glass arms. Its bulbous head wobbled like a liquid filled balloon caught in the runoff of a storm drain. The bag-heads sang. Plastic sacks sucked into hollow mouths then exhaled boisterous hymns with the voice of klaxon horns. My ears leaked bloody pus. The warehouse reverberated with the screams of a billion decaying cities.

Christopher Slatsky, Alectryomancer and Other Weird Tales

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Untitled (?)

Zdzislaw Beksinski

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The Nebulizer 

by scarypet

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Spaceworm

by giantwood

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It was not a madness: rather it was a too clear and naked perception of the darkness beyond this frail existence, lit by a momentary sun no more secure than ourselves: a realization of futility that few can experience and ever again touch the life about them: a knowledge that turn as I might, battle as I might with all the remaining power of my spirit, I could neither win an inch of ground from the inimical universe, nor hold for even a moment the life entrusted to me.

Barlow and Lovecraft, “The Night’s Ocean”

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Universe 101.

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(via https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lxTywiItvOo)