Azathoth, or, The Blind Idiot Gods
A tribute poem to Howard Phillips Lovecraft
Can you hear the pipes, the pipes too shrill, At the center of the void? Where the Old Gods dance and, mindless, mill In forms scarce humanoid? Can you see through the gaseous, purple haze That which they dance around? That in their blind, moronic gaze, The sovereign to which they're bound? At the bubbling center of infinity, Where the light rays go to die, Chaos, the void, supreme nullity, The daemon sultan on high. He-who-cannot-be-named, the one Who gnaws at creation's core. Destroyer of all, creator of none, The evil of ultimate lore. Can you not hear the pipes? Be thankful, then, For your ignorance is bliss. For the cosmos at best is indifferent to men, And true knowledge is an abyss. June 8, 2024



Ooh, that’s a good one!
That question "Can you see...?" is so evocative, when done right.
I felt like I was being spun in an eldritch whirlpool toward its dark center...
...
F̴͔͙͖̈́̚H̷̖̀̋T̴̛̝̩͂Ḁ̵̰̪̫̀͜G̵̰̮͖̮͗Ñ̸̠̙̲̰͐͂̂