It appears I - The Drowned Man - have offended my strict taskmasters at Company House, London. I must confess there are times, suspended between non-existence and alien psychic-incorporation that I forget my manners and speak crudely and without thought.
If I have behaved in such a way then please accept my deepest apologies. I have no wish to startle the seasoned Psycho-geographers, Psycho-naturalists, or Pyscho-botanists of the Royal Society with my lurid domestic life, as they sip port in their members rooms off the Strand.
Those who on a nightly basis wrest with the twisted forces that range beyond the abysmal void of Gog-Solgoroth deserve a quiet supper with their favourite publication. Seasoned by the mental struggle between alien abominations and pure British pluck, these hardy patriots should not be scandalized by the obscene revelations of a drowned and defeated fellow.
Forgive me if I sound bitter...but... just a few seconds (centuries?) ago I looked up, but casually - into a 5th dimensional visual aberration - and found myself gazing through the reverse side of my wife's bedroom mirror... It was as if I was standing behind the wall looking through an oval aperture into her boudouir.
 | |
| my beautiful angel...in moral jeopardy! |
And...Begads! What did I see.. but Abigail... sat languorously by her coiffeuse...chatting casually... WITH A MAN. A man braced in the doorway!!
His skinny bookish frame and leering posture identified him instantly as my neighbour at 12 St James's Place ... Dr. Reginald Penrose. A weak-calved Physician employed by degenerates and Liberal MPs to tend to their diseased loins.
Wealthy yes? But an honest son of Empire? I think not and my very trans-human aura vibrates with rage at the thought of him paying court to my darling Abigail.
But...enough.
...to please my 3-dimensional employers in Company House I will turn to perhaps more pleasant matters and deliver a series of lectures about what constitutes life and pastimes beyond the abysmal void of Gog-Solgoroth. These posts will be delivered shortly. I thank you for your patience.
Yours dutifully,
The Drowned Man
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