Azathoth

At the centre of all infinity sits Azathoth, the blind idiot god, the nuclear chaos that bubbles and blasphemes at the heart of everything, kept in uneasy sleep by the thin monotonous piping of a flute and the drumming of mad attendant gods. He does not think, does not plan, does not know. He simply is, and the universe is the dream he mutters while he sleeps.

Azathoth is Lovecraft's ultimate image of a cosmos with no mind behind it, creation as an accident at the court of an imbecile. To wake him is to end the dream, which is to say the world. The Archive gives the sleeping god a slow figure, the piping that keeps the dark from stirring.