Y e diary of a madman
( Annotated by Jacob Strauss, Magus of the Shining Hill)

None are innocent.
There are only those weak enough to believe they are.
And those strong enough to revel in the knowledge
that they are not.

~Jacob Strauss, Magus of the Shining Hill, London 1940

T o be a black magician is perhaps the most dangerous thing one can attempt, for you risk not only your life and mind but your essence -- what simpler minds call the "soul" -- as well. You may beat the odds and become a god, but most likely you will go mad.

Or -- and this may be worst of all -- you may do both.

Oh thou who wrote of evil things remember : they always are inspired by the Evil Ones you shall meet after your passing, so turn your dark thoughts to repentment and prather since the road to Hell is much shorter than what you believe : do not let you wicked soul to become as dark as this page.

We hunt a horror that feeds on human tears . . .

After the western horizon's blood turns black, and all through the dusky hours, I, in my solitude, roam the far flung realms of time. In ancient halls with brazen censers smoldering, strange shadows dance across vaulted ceilings and curtains of rich velvet. And those stone chambers ring with echoes of the twisted language of conjuration, lighted by the glow of otherworldly powers. The walls meet at impossible angles and there tread unearthly fiends that are deranged nightmares come to life. Frozen by fear, I remain unseen. And ere a tint of rose in the east heralds the coming dawn I am released from my nocturnal wanderings and am allowed to return from whence I came beyond the wall of sleep. Only then do all those things vanish and be gone with the morning mist until my awakening once again gives them life.

While traveling from island to island, I heard many tales of ancient and forgotten lore. Although I dismissed many of these stories as nonsensical superstitions, I found the tale of Orobla singularly significant. It evoked half remembered feelings that I had not felt since I had slept in the ancient city of many pillared Irem.

Hearken unto the incessant prattle that constantly spewed forth from the many mouths of Orobla, the Beast of the forgotten lies,

"Does the horrid face of Boac-Treth tolerate frail human cowardice? You know that it can not. Such is its nature. So why, I say again unto you, why do you not arise and strike down the blasphemers who would deny the ultimate truth? You know your cowardice will not be tolerated. the wrath of the Old Ones will surely fall upon you all! Do you not feel the dreams of the one who sleeps beneath the waves? Do you hope that he will be pleased by your payetic nature when his harsh gaze falls upon you? No. Surely, he shall devour you with all of the others who have forgotten the way! How can you continue to behave in such a frail and inconstant manner when all of you have seen the wondorus lens of the moon and the crucible of eternal vitae? You puny beings are as worthless as so much excrement. I will laugh with joy when Yog-Sothoth and his favored son appear. They together shall set aright all that has been mislaid. I shall dance upon many legs when the cloven feet of the Goat with a Thousand Young pounds the infidels back into the dust from which they arose. I will be as one with the dark minion himself, the one who walks abroad in the form of a man, but is not a man. I speak of he whose faces are as numerous as there are stars in the heavens. His vicous rage needs not be mentioned for his way is known to all men. You should fear evoking his wrath for he is the left hand of the center, the voice of the ultimate destruction."

Such was the way that Orobla would speak. It had expounded in this incessant manner for hours and days and thears unnumbered, always cursing the reticent nature of its many followers. Until that fortold day when the moon was as crimson and flaming steel fell from the stars. Upon that very day, when the ruddy sphere hung at its apex like a severed head, the Beast of forgotten lies was silent. Orobla has not uttered a sound since. His priests,who hide amongst the men and women of Crete, reverently proclaim that when Orobla speaks again the world shall be undone. They claim that R'leyh shall be hurled into the sky and Cthulhu and his kind shall be freed to rule once again.

I know not if I should believe all of the strange tales they told me, but the previous legend was told with such conviction that I felt compelled to record it.

between the dark and light
between heaven and hell
between dream and wakefulness
between the heavens and earth
there is only us.

It is still bright, but for how long?..

There is something of heaven in death.

Because I could not stop for Death
he kindly stopped for me
the carriage held but him and me
and Eternity

I live, I will die, I will leave, I WILL come again.

Through the ages I have lived, secluded under the impass- able mountains of the unknown Kaddath, but now having dis- pelled the arcane powers that kept me imprisioned, I have returned, and I am here to wreak fiery death and chaos upon your lowly race. Behold the Power of Axn-Xcamr the all power- ful Keeper of the yellow Sign, he who is dead yet lives!

Nay! Dead Cthulhu lies not dreaming, rather, listen to the rhythm of the waves, for they tell the fell story of a noisome day to come, when Cthulhu shall spew forth from dead R'lyeh to lead his minions on a rampage of slaughter throughout the unsuspecting world....
I can no longer tolerate the slap slapping of the sea, for I hear the cries, feel the vibrations......waving tentacles deep down pound out an ancient rhythm, hordes of batrachian mouths gibber fiendishly....oh that I would never see the ocean again!!! Ia! Ia! Shib Niggurath save me! The goat with 1000 young have mercy.....nay, evn as I grovel on the floor of this rented tenement, I feel the walls close in about me..... is it? could it be? I hear them....the Hounds....the Hounds come and I am doomed... Mna 'Fth'ngui Fgthan......

Humans are such foolish creatures.... They know not of the Dark, of the Things Within, of Nyarlathotep, Cthulhu, or Shub-Niggaroth.

Few of the foolish creatures, Bolder, if less sane than the rest, Choose to learn, to understand. To find the secrets of the Night, to learn that which none should know.


There will come a day when they will walk amongst you. They will not be able to be seen for what they are by normal folk. Only those amonst you with true faith will be able to detect their evil and be able to stop them.
Do not fail as the fate of the world rests in your hands and as such, if you fail, the human race is doomed.

The night things are called forth
The time draws nigh
To find out what a man's soul is worth
In these trying times

Death calls and a new journey am I become
An empty shell is left under the lonely sun
All that is, was and ever shall be
Are in one spirit, a single journey

If I should while I am awake
My soul is gone, my body is fake
Down into those endless depths I fly
Where imagery of dark being are cast on a star lit sky

All these things I have seen
And even farther have I been

I am become
I am

The Darkness waits, the febrile moon
Casts arcane shadows. I do not dare
To utter your cursed name; I soon
will meet the Watcher standing there
At the Abyssal Gates. I pay my toll
In blood-red gold -- the veil parts, dim
and spectral lights illume my soul,
and my dream-dark master calls me to him.

Ia! Io! Mine eyes are rent by glorious destruction!

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