From footnote 17 to Lovecraft's The Horror at Red Hook (Penguin Classics), excerpted from Lovecraft's correspondence. He's describing one of his neighbors, from when he lived
here.
[O]nce a Syrian had the room next to mine and played eldritch and whining monotones on a strange bagpipe which made me dream ghoulish and incredible things of crypts under Baghdad and limitless corridors of Eblis beneath the moon-cursed ruins of Iskatar.
Blatant racism? Plum-purple prose? Random imaginary place names? Lovecraft himself provided us the perfect template for mocking him. God bless you, H.P., wherever you are...