In Praise Of Cthulhu

Hail to the R'lyeh dominance sleeping beneath the

Pacific waves of salt.

Master of the Great Old Ones resting patiently for the

days of global territorial reclamation, fulfilling the

legacies of all the world's forbidden manuscripts.

One day he will come as the Armageddon Angel leaving

in his wake the sunken ancient continent and the black

city's towers pointing towards his birthplace Vhoorl;

the Cthulhi spawn flying out with the monsoon winds

spreading their terror over the lands of man,

slaughtering all which lacks the divine blood.

Telepathically I link into the cryogenic glacial

substance beneath the planets floating salt and

descend into the being's hostile dreamland, the

Chorazin outskirts, where I am considered an interim

temporal occupant with exceptional privileges and

unmatched skills.

Beings except me as their master obeying their

creator, but descended from another branch of gods;

admiring me with a sharpened edge of jealousy.

Cults follow my path, while others burst down in

litany.

I am their alien messiah, hated and adored.

Ashen gravel whirls around under my feet, as I fly

myself towards the liquid pantheon, centered in the

forbidden sector of the extensive Cthulhu id.

A transparent shape, pulsating at the rhythm of the

synaps, rises in the land where dawn and dusk are

one.

My followers have stopped along the way, afraid of the

destruction that awaits them in this region.

But my soul has reached the temple and my hands have

touched the membrane of the sphere.

And I step in.

The Chorazinworld now savagely distorted, by the

treacly substance that eddied around my skin, but

never touched it.

I know where I am, though it's all unknown to me.

I know now what to do, and I render the awakening.

In praise of Cthulu, the gatekeeper is here! And I cut

the astral cord, embedded in the awakening God, and

rose above the surface of the dark Pacific Ocean.

R'lyeh has returned!