THE KINGDOM

The main character in my cosmic horror novel finds himself in a pickle.

I have invented this genre, cosmic horror.

I have invented the main character, an extension of myself, finding himself in a pickle.

The pickle is this.

The poor sap falls victim to a barrage of symbols.

It's true.

Suddenly (yes, suddenly); something like a door opens and everything spills out.


The poor soul experiences true despair in his flux through the Kingdom.

This is what he calls it.

He calls it the Kingdom and he uses it refer to everything, to the universe, to himself.

It becomes something like his catch phrase.

He says it so many times that by the end the phrase has gathered a momentum.


I read a story about singing lions yesterday.

The story went something like.

The lions find themselves in a pickle.


The cosmic horror genre suffered a serious blow in 1986 when I was born and grew up to inevitably invent it.

The cosmic horror genre used to be locked up behind something like a door.

The door was opened and the cosmic horror genre is what spilled out.

I turned my hand into a lock and opened the door.


Cosmic horror literature is marked by hands turning into locks.

And people bent over slinging their hand locks.

Cosmic horror literature is marked by the power of decision and also by the flux of the Kingdom.

The flux of the Kingdom is a central theme in cosmic horror.

Only when a character turns his hands into locks and comes to terms with his ever-changing identity within the flux of this Kingdom, is he allotted a new amount of horror with which to come to terms.


Now I am in pickle: when my character falls victim to a barrage of symbols the poor sap gives up.

He chooses to discontinue his learning in the universe.

He choose to turn his back on the Kingdom.

So in the end his dad is crying over his bruised body.

Beating his lock hands on his son's stupid unlearned body

Repeating:

"Boy, is this a pickle...."