He who is the soul, will and messenger of the Many-Angled Ones, and servant to That which I now know awaits for me - and awaits ravenous for us all - at the end of all things.
Tonight I expect to be taken bodily through the Gate, from whence the Strange Dark One, acting as ny guide, will lead me on the back of a great Shantak bird to the nighted throne upon which is seated that bubbling, blasphemous Thing which writhes mindlessly and eternally to the atonal piping of nameless flautists. Beyond time and the angles, in that chaotic abyss hidden at centre of all creation, I will be presented at the Imbecilic Court to the nuclear chaos, daemon sultan, Lord of All, blind idiot god - Azathoth!
Thus I go now to meet my He Who is the Author of all things, and from which all things flow. I cannot imagine what awful transmutations my body and soul shall endure at the end of my voyagings, but this is not a journey from which I expect to return.