In his house at R'lyeh dead Cthulhu waits dreaming

On the 15th of March 1937 a strange, thin and ignored man passed away in Providence. This man was born in the wrong century, it is said now. He should better have lived in the victorian age or with Edgar Allan Poe, we affirm. Cause this man did not fit at all with his 1920s and 1930s. But, as every damned artist, he was sent to build up something. Creating mythos like Cthulhu or Dagon, exploring the Universe and his theory further than Einstein, challenging Freud on dreams and matching his dark influences and his nightmares, he engendered the basis of dark fiction: fantasy, fantastic, science-fiction.

Howard Phillips Lovecradt died at the age of 46, humiliated in pulp and unknown in "high litterature" (you can't be Fitzgerad or Steinbeck as easily as you're minding it) suffering both physically and mentally; he died as a gentleman, as he nearly always had been, never complaining, seeing from high things like money and modernity. Yes, sure he was racist. And his hatred inspired him some of his text that are the best in supernatural fiction. But apart from this he was a great man, a great writer.

Howard Phillips Lovecraft passed away 80 years ago. Happy death anniversary to the one who is Providence.