At the Mountains of Madness

At last we had encountered an outpost of the great unknown continent and its cryptic world of frozen death.

∞

. . . and slithering over the glistening floor that it and its kind had swept so evilly free of all litter.

∞

It is absolutely necessary, for the peace and safety of mankind, that some of earth’s dark, dead corners and unplumbed depths be let alone; lest sleeping abnormalities wake to resurgent life, and blasphemously surviving nightmares squirm and splash out of their black lairs to newer and wider conquests.

⋅ Nota Bene ⋅

(“Swept so evilly free of all litter”. …..I want to see how that looks. I want to learn how to sweep dust “evilly”, ha ha. Oh, Lovecraft, that misunderstood, maligned total dork.)

At the Mountains of Madness

Sculptured images of these Shoggoths filled Danforth and me with horror and loathing. They were normally shapeless entities composed of a viscous jelly which looked like an agglutination of bubbles, and each averaged about fifteen feet in diameter when a sphere. They had, however, a constantly shifting shape and volume—throwing out temporary developments or forming apparent organs of sight, hearing, and speech in imitation of their masters, either spontaneously or according to suggestion.

One more for the, er, gelatinous fictional things! I like to call them the precursors of Ditto, ha ha.

Ditto, by extension: a copy, an imitation. Huh. You learn something new every day.