On the Texts of Nag the Mad Poet By Blake Sidewalker

As far as anyone can tell, the poet we know as Nag suffered from extreme mental illness, but seemed to delight in it, going as far as venerating “Naierolathotopo”, some kind of chaos God who favors maniacs, drunks, and necromancers. His obscure language seems to be some kind of Indo-European patois; even the symbols he writes in appear to bridge a Canaanite abjad to the Greek Alphabet. There is evidence of Canaanite/Phoenician and Etruscan translations of the original scripts that Nag wrote on papyrus in an Egyptian brothel with an ink that contained a blood of indeterminate origin. Some of the texts were said to contain poetic instructions on how to please specific prostitutes at the establishment, but most scribes were after his Biebola Lumla. The majority of involved scholars agree that the Biebola Lumla is his most enigmatic work. It starts like a math equation. The structure of the verses for the first chapters can’t be anything but the Fibonacci sequence, which is insane as the text predates Pythagoras. Most translations agree that the first chapter is a creation myth. An illuminator, “Aomon”, emerges once an abyss, “Abzhu” becomes self aware, unleashing the sound of creation “om” from the abyssal nothingness of zero, “um”. Nag’s humor is present throughout the text. Another popular volume of his was the Biebola Zhenieda, said to have been stolen in the early eighth century by his biggest enthusiast, Abdul Alhazred. A scholar known as Theodorus Philetas was the originator of this theory. Theodorus Philetas was the scholar who translated Alhazred’s Al Azif into the Necronomicon. In modernity, strange cultists have compiled untranslated texts, and attempted to “skry” into them. The only one we could find went by the name, “Well Pharaoh”, but refused to comment, leaving us with our only lead, a video on YouTube with the Nagite script scrawled over an unsettling image, going by the title, “Altars of Shaw ‘Hiex’”. When we questioned Mr. Pharaoh about the video, he began to approach us aggressively with a machete, and we had to leave. Translations of the symbols have appeared on Google Images, but are quickly taken down. It is said that Nagite symbols and words are saturated with eerie powers. Egyptian scribes of old, when they were in the know, were fond of the phrase, “To know Nag is to know madness. To know Nagite is to be madness.”

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Night Brings Charlie: An Analysis and Review

Image
There’s a certain grit to The Night Brings Charlie , a low-budget slash through the fogged-up window of late-’80s slasher cinema. You don’t watch it; you stumble into it, like a roadside dive at last call, half-expecting regret, half-hoping for salvation. The film itself is the cinematic equivalent of a rusted blade—coarse, unapologetic, and more effective than it has any right to be. Directed by Tom Logan, this is no highbrow deconstruction of the genre, no satirical smirk. It’s a grimy piece of work, a slash-and-dash pulp novel in celluloid form, as honest in its ambition as it is shameless in its execution. Our killer, Charlie Puckett, is an enigmatic silhouette. A landscaper turned murderer, wielding a tree-trimming mask and hedge clippers with a kind of perverse solemnity. He is less man, more myth—a shadow painted in broad strokes, purposefully vague yet somehow indelible. Like Tosches’ portrait of Dean Martin as a ghost haunting his own myth, Charlie looms larger ...
Read more

Saturday Morning Cereal: Welcome Freshmen & Student Bodies

Saturday morning, bowl of sugary cereal in hand, flipping channels between cartoons and live-action weirdness, because that was peak ‘90s TV. Somewhere between Doug and Are You Afraid of the Dark?, Nickelodeon tossed out Welcome Freshmen, and a few years later, the world gave us Student Bodies. Two shows about high school, but completely different flavors—one like a slapstick gum commercial, the other like a comic book that accidentally got cool. Welcome Freshmen (1991-1993): Nickelodeon’s Half-Sketch, Half-Sitcom Brainchild First season? A fever dream. Skits, absurd teachers, surreal school nonsense—almost like You Can’t Do That on Television had a cousin who got detention for being too weird. Then suddenly, someone in a suit said, “Let’s make this a real sitcom,” and—bam!—we had a slightly goofier, low-budget Saved by the Bell. It was messy, it was awkward, but wasn’t that what being a freshman felt like? The humor was that weird, random early-'90s Nickelodeon energy where everyt...
Read more

End Of Year for the Wasted Wanderer Without A Name

Ah, breaking the cycle. The phrase itself is deceptively simple, isn’t it? Two words, innocuous on their own, but together they sound like a hammer on an anvil, like a declaration of war against...what exactly? The ghosts of family dinners past, the chain-smoking uncle with his cryptic wisdom, the matriarch who ruled her home with an iron will and a ladle? The sins of the father, as they say, but not just his—also the grudges of the mother, the envy of the cousin, the apathy of the sibling. And somehow, these legacies, tangled as fishing nets, fall into your lap. It starts small. You’re 8 years old, standing in the living room as your parents argue for the fifth time that week. You think, "When I grow up, I’ll never shout like that." Fast forward, and there you are, 30 years old, voice hoarse, trying to explain why you’re late for dinner again. The cycle, it seems, has you in its grip. It’s not some grand Shakespearean curse, but rather the quiet, relentless habits that seep ...
Read more