The Syntax of the Abyss
AI image generated by the Bytesized Studio The Syntax of the Abyss If Lovecraft taught Grammar In the beginning was the Word— not a warm word of hearth and breath, but a colder utterance, ribbed with rules, a fossil pressed silent into the shale. Before there were oceans, there were clauses— dependent as barnacles, clinging to the hull of some unspeakable sentence that sails still through blind depths of thought. I have seen it. In lamplit hours, when ink grows viscous as old blood and the page yawns like a pale, unblinking eye, I hear the scratching of infinitives split upon the rack— their halves writhing, still grammatically correct. Nouns breed in the dark. They name things that should not be named. Each syllable is a key cut to fit a door in the marrow of cosmos. Pronounce it properly; with accent marks like hooked claws and the lock turns. Verbs move. Oh God, how they move. They conjugate through tenses like eels slipping between eras— past perfect, future anterior— as if time ...
