I was reading the introduction of “The Dream Cycle of H.P. Lovecraft: Dreams of Terror and Death” by Neil Gaiman in the middle of the night, not sure what time. It was late after the full moon. I think my claws were beginning to retract after some strange dreams. There is an italicized bit at the end mentioning a “World Fantasy Award” for the best short story for Sandman #19. He mentions that you can’t get it anymore. Aawh! Now I want one!
Ever notice how that works? I have a list of things I can’t get anymore that I am going to find when I get my first time-machine. It keeps getting longer. One of the things on the list is a case of original Coke in a wooden crate. The stuff with the real coke. I want to see what all the fuss is about. See? When you can’t get it . . .
I also want a Ted’s Burger, you had to have been there, a honey bun from Daylight Donuts, the ones with the white frosting and crumbled peanuts. Again, you have to have been there at three in the morning when they were fresh out of the grease. I really do not want to go back in time to kill Hitler or save the Titanic. I have read those stories, seen those movies; it doesn’t end well. I’m sure the fulfilling of my past desires will be the same.
I guess it is a good thing I can’t get a time-machine. Aawh! Now I want one!
After writing this . . . I turned to “Azathoth”. It is only a fragment of his works, but somehow it seems to be a prose poem to me.
take from “Some Notes on 21st Century Sorcery”.