Imagine being feared, to bring dread into the hearts of soft, weak, sheltered women, craven men and their cowardly, lying rulers. Imagine how addicted a man could get to aggression once he came to know the thrill of the sissy world sending up signals to announce his coming?
Kind of like being a black man in urban America in 1990, when all he had to do was cross a city street at a red light to elicit the sounds of three dozen cars doors clicking locked.
And perhaps, once the whimpering, whining, mewing babe that has become of the pale-faced races has been reduced by multitudes to a hunted remnant, perhaps then our kind will once again strike fear into the hearts of whatever degenerate race has inherited the ruins of our soul-slaying civilization.
One might dream, as a man once wrote:
“From the sullen cliffs and the grim fiords
Where the naked shorelines frown
We turned our prows toward the sun-spun south
Where a weak king held the crown;
Past the scarlet sand of Helgoland
The dragon-ships swept down.”
Read the entire poem by purchasing A Word from the Outer Dark at the Robert E. Howard Museum in Cross Plains, Texas
A Well of Heroes: Two:
Literary Impressions of the Prose and Verse of Robert E. Howard
