Cthulhu

I seem to have this growing obsession with Cthulhu, that lovely beast conjured up by Lovecraft. I don't think that any figure of literature has as large of a cult following as Cthulhu, yet no one can agree on what he looks like. The general rules stay the same, green, tentacles, claws, big, but that is about it.

How is it that so popular a figure can be so indefinite? It makes me wonder what we insignificant little people, tiny compared to Cthulhu in both stature and fame, could hope to expect in terms of recognition. Will anyone remember me after I die? Does anyone know what I look like once I've left the room? How many people know which scars are where, which ear is missing its helix.

All these things about me seem significant...

to me. I wonder if they're significant to anyone else. How many people look at me and say, "Gee I didn't know that was there...". How many of those people see me every day? How many people truly know who I am, what I do, what I want? Out of those people who know, who really gives a damn?

It's more than slightly overwhelming. My entire life has been a struggle to make myself known. I've always wanted to be important, somehow, someway. 17 years of effort thus far and all I have to show for it is a handful of friends, a girlfriend, and a mediocre musical ability. Woohoo...

When I think about this I realize now why Cthulhu was so evil. He was always so unknown, the x factor, the transient, the nobody. Nobody paid much attention to him, unless he was going about doing his evil deeds. He wasn't truly evil, he was just someone looking for a little fame, looking for someone to recognize him. It's times like these that I can't help but feel sorry for the poor brute.