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!