I observed in the herbage a number of weather-worn stones,
evidently shaped with tools. They were broken, covered with
moss and half-sunken in the earth. Some lay prostrate, some
leaned at various angles, none was vertical. They were
obviously headstones of graves, though the graves themselves no
longer existed as either mounds or depressions; the years had
leveled all. Scattered here and there, more massive blocks
showed where some pompous or ambitious monument had once flung
its feeble defiance at oblivion. So old seemed these relics,
these vestiges of vanity and memorials of affection and piety,
so battered and worn and stained -- so neglected, deserted,
forgotten the place, that I could not help thinking myself the
discoverer of the burial-ground of a prehistoric race of men
whose very name was long extinct.
Ambrose Bierce
Thursday, January 15, 2015
Carcosa
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3 comments:
That story reminded me of the little graveyard from the 1800's that was found by a church near me that was all over grown.
Rot the Carcosa from True Detective totally reminded me of your work. A terrifying place of branches, roots, filth, and evil. :)
"The Black Stars Rise..."
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