This last week was a tsunami here at home. Not a literal tsunami, neither in the sense of torrential rain nor the production of vast amounts of literature. No, rather it was a metaphorical tsunami comprised of stressful events. I was busy is what I am trying to convey. The dark heart of the matter, beating with the corrupting energy of old “friendships” was a vist from one of my Eldest acquaintances. Let me offer you some advice right off the bat: If Nyarlathotep ever asks if he can crash at your place for a weekend, you tell him firmly and flatly to find a hotel. Granted, I’m sure that none of you will ever have the opportunity to host even a minor celebrity and sometimes-envoy of the Blind Idiot God who seethes at the center of the universe, but I’m sure the thrust of my argument can still be understood by those less important than I am.
Nyarlathotep is, as I’m sure many of you know, the taller of the two Daft Punk musicians. He also performs solo as a Disque Jockulator (or DJ in the more common parlance) under the stage name “The Crawling Chaos”. I can’t say that I am a huge fan of his recent work. I was a big fan of his older work using light projectors and electrical apparatti, spreading insanity among the well-to-do and going by the nom de plum “The Egyptian”. He just feels too commercial these days. Hardly more than one in four of the people attending his shows goes even temporarily insane. It just feels so… safe now, he stopped taking chances with his work; something that I promise you I am still taking in Dreams of R’lyeh. HIs current tour was doing a show here and town and since he had been blacklisted from the hotels, due to something about a wrecked room and a fish and the disappearance of some hotel staff into a sidreal dimension of eldritch horror, he needed a place to stay. Naturally, he reached out to me and I, being the excellent host that I am, graciously allowed him to stay the weekend. I now realize that this was a mistake and feel that perhaps my new kitten is continuing to affect the functioning of my mental faculties in ways I had not fully prepared for.
I have matured in a many ways in the strange aeons since Nyarlathotep and I used to hang out together. I’ve had to learn to deal with setbacks like the dispute with the Old Ones and all those millennia I had to spend under the Pacific Ocean. Nyarlathotep has never really had to deal with the responsibilities of running a city or keeping up a blog, he’s always been annoying carefree. He managed to get a job early as the errand-boy for the Demon Sultan Azathoth and he’s been living off that ever since. I had to work hard to get what I have now, he’s just a privileged snot. So when he showed up all he wanted to do was party, hit the clubs, fill some randoms with the nameless dread of the cold, inhospitable void that is coming to swallow them all. The usual stuff that I would have been into back when I was as young and idiotic as he was. But I have responsibilities now. I have a job, I have my kitten, I have a Netflix queue that keeps growing. Still, I’m a great host so I did take him out on the town.
We bounced from club to club, having some drinks and picking up the usual trail of slack-jawed followers moaning for release that celebrities like us tend to attract. But then we got to the third club and the night took an unfortunate turn. Arissa was there. Routine followers of this column will know that Arissa is the morning barista at the local coffee shop I go to. She also helped convince me to get my kitten and inspired me to drive the horrible kitten-mill breeders into the sea, freeing the poor animals they had been abusing to frolic in their natural environment of the deep ocean. Arissa and I are friends, just friends, and that’s all I’ve ever wanted. I definitely have never wanted to date her. That being said, she was looking very good and she immediately caught Nyarlathotep’s eye. And, unfortunately, he caught hers. I mean I get it, he is, I guess, conventionally “good-looking” with his dark skin and his human appearance. Kind of boring really, no tentacles or even bat-wings. Just… boringly handsome.
I assured Nyar that I wasn’t interested in Arissa. Because I’m not. Definitely not. I didn’t really expect anything to happen; Arissa always seemed to together and I didn’t think she’d fall for Nyar’s played-out charms. Maybe I should have given him more credit because before long we were all going back to my apartment. Me, Nyar, Arissa, the horde of wailing and raving admirers. When I got home, we realized that we didn’t have anything that Arissa could drink that wouldn’t blast her mind and her sanity to splinters. So I, again being the good host, went out get some vodka and juice (organic of course). When I got back they had both left the living sanctum. The door to the guest abattoir was shut and I could hear music but I didn’t try and listen in. Sad that my “friends” would disappear on me like that I went to bed.
I got up early the next morning but Nylar slept in. When he did get up, finally, he was alone. I never did see Arissa leave but I have my suspicions. Nyar never said anything and I didn’t bring it up. It was, I’ll admit, a cold and tense breakfast and he left that afternoon. He hadn’t even made the bed, which I think tells you everything you need to know about his level of respect. Arissa wasn’t at Starbucks the next morning; the manager told me that she hadn’t taken a sick day to visit an asylum. So I had to deal with another barista who spelled my name wrong and forgot to get me an extra-long straw. Very frustrating.