Let me exorcise this paltry woe from out my soul--and fly with thee, oh music of cold starlight. There, there -- I taste your echo on my liquid eyes, and sigh as vibration sinks beneath that tissue of my orbs to chill my brain with ache of vision. Ache, ache -- free my palsied mind, let me swim to cosmic night, where freedom rings. It rings, it rings -- between the spaces of the stars -- as I evoke the cosmic blur that knows my name. I cannot name the nameless thing, to which I would conjoin, with which I would stalk between the spaces of the stars with poet of Providence. There, there -- I see the pages of the void, scattered from some Rue d'Auseil in pandemonium of Zann -- yellow leaves like jaundiced masks onto which black ink has wept.
Don't awaken is my cry -- lead me not to sanity and calm -- Howard, take my hand, tug me to a delirium of dreaming. Howard, my exorcist, etch your Elder Sign with thumbnail into my brow, wash my dull eyes with wound's bubbling trickle. Let me see the world through horror. Haunt the dark there in my skull, plant the phantoms of daemonic euphoria that is the seed of creativity. Let me taste of ecstasy of Lovecraftian horror, that potent power that feeds my fancy, fearfully. Teach me, Howard, as only you know how -- to write.