These pages, the pages I'm reading, they're breathing. Although I have only read 3 of Lovecraft's stories so far—Dagon, The Statement of Randolph Carter, and Beyond the Wall of Sleep—each of them takes me out of the room and into a world that is so unlike anything I've ever read that it makes me feel uneasy. There is something of gothic romanticism, and something of classic horror as penned by the Stokers and the Poes and the like, yet also something of dreamy fantasy and a bit of "emotional" sci-fi that is not so much scientific as it is cosmically subconscious, the inner nucleus of thought thrown out there into the void of infinity and beyond. Of course I have only begun and haven't even gotten to the thick of the Cthulhu mythos, but Jesus Fucking Christ, what a man, what a time, what a tale.