[ OT ] Sunday Free Write : The Elder Gods Edition

I feel like Lovecraft got a lot of his influence for tone and atmosphere from EAP, and despite having less than a tenth of the skill of either I'm still going to have a crack at describing an Eldritch landscape! 
 
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 Buried in a paralysed cardinal sky was the empyrean of long suppressed dreams. Etches of blood upon the dripping, fearful walls of our stone sanctuaries from eons long gone carried stark detail of the truth. The pervasive itching whispers that bid us to sleep, that command us to rise and control our daily thoughts are but remnants of a power since committed to slumber, and hencely can only be walked in such ways again. 
 
 The correct dosage of valium must be measured with an embaphium and administered with the utmost of care. Too deep a dream will keep one locked in a tidal battle of insanity, whereas too little an imbibing will result in a reverie more regular than revelationary. It's considered highly advisable, from those who sit on the Board, that one has an attendant to commit to paper the babblings and imagery that one utters whilst walking the dreamscape. It is also requested that such writings be delivered by hand to the Columbia University. 
 
 Upon accepting the cool embrace of a world long discarded by man's advancing mind, you may feel a jarring inertia before a swift rise into an abyss so complete that even breath and sound seems to be obliterated. The form of your body will feel attached at all points, but any exercise in attempting to acquire empirical evidence will swiftly appear mundane and leave one feeling the creeping, sharp fingers of idiocy. As if lifting the rotting, damp remains of a thick branch rife with scuttling energy, the blasted dimensions of a world long existent but many millennia in languor will fold into your vision, warping any lingering sense of solidity that you had. 
 
 The threatening spires of angles innumerable, the moving sands with a lack of atmospheric breath, and the deep rumbling of something that has slept here since the light of the universe began shall all at once become tactile to your current incorporeal form. A writhing consciousness has you in its predatory gaze, never blinking, but never seen. A deep maw lies somewhere in this world. It's hot stink sends curls through you, and a perplexing desire to throw oneself deeper into the pit begins to chip. 
 
 All things around you are at once solid, liquid, gaseous and formed of pure energy. Everything has the appearance of decrepit age, and yet exceeds our very understanding of what is physically possible in our world. Constant blaterations rise to a cacophony. Submission becomes a dream, and one may soon find themselves quickly wishing to retreat...
