All efforts seem pointless now. Not depressed, not happy, just numb. I'm tired of waiting for the next nothing to happen. Have you ever sat on the shore? Have you seen the sea swallow the moon? A group of neophytes humble themselves quietly to the sound of "Ia Ia",
Hidden among the basalt halls hieroglyphics tell the tale. As aeons pass the cosmos coincide with the proper alignment, the dead cephalopod wakes from dream, awakens from his lucid death to reward those who follow his madness. Enthralled with the descent into the infinite recursion that is that mystery, we are not to be acknowledged. Ignorance of existance is the reward. "Ia Ia Cthulhu Ftagn" the call of these esoteric neophytes descended from the order of Dagon.
Far flung anti-anthopocentric ideals that send chills down the collective spine of humanity. Watch on as the christians gnash their teeth and the atheists have the gods dropped upon them and pray they will treat them well enough to despise them. To caress the outer film upon the embryo of the mind is to converse with god. A gentle breeze transposing images of the wrinkled surface of our egos; pregnant with connotations of joy.
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