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There were, in such voyages, incalculable local dangers; as well as that shocking final peril which gibbers unmentionably outside the ordered universe, where no dreams reach; that last amorphous blight of nethermost confusion which blasphemes and bubbles at the centre of all infinity—the boundless daemon sultan Azathoth, whose name no lips dare speak aloud, and who gnaws hungrily in inconceivable, unlighted chambers beyond time amidst the muffled, maddening beating of vile drums...

H. P. Lovecraft, The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath

In the Not

Running fast and pushing through
Nothing, wind, and nothing.
Half percieved the faces here
Remember'd and forgotten.

I can't see where it could lead
And doubtful it could stop the bleed—
Tentacles and hands that reach,
Unalien, forgotten speech.
Ancient wounds infected are,
Sticky ages, black as tar!
Paradoxal thing that's got
Existence in the Not.

They arrive, a craving crowd
Demanding what I have not.
Shadow of what's out of sight,
How they find out I know not.

Cockroach, beetle, rid of legs
Draining quickly pintful dregs—
Abominations desecrate,
Torn towards an unknown fate.
Confusion of confusing kinds,
Deprived it is of mind that binds!
Wo ist mein Gesundheitslicht?
Allein hier in das Nicht.

I can't see where it could lead
And doubtful it could stop the bleed—
Tentacles and hands that reach,
Unalien, forgotten speech.
Ancient wounds infected are,
Sticky ages, black as tar!
Paradoxal thing that's got
Existence in the Not.


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