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Accept
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to the server to view the underlying object.
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"content": "XCIV A Terrifying Awakening<br />I must have passed out from the effects of the injection, for, when I came to myself once more, I found myself lying upon the floor of the dining room; bright moonlight was streaming through the open windows, though there had previously been no moon at all. I rose shakily from the floor, and stumbled back to my seat at the table. The Countess had begun to enumerate, while the other of the Dining Room's inhabitants seemed hardly to have changed their positions.<br />\"...twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four...\"<br />\"What?\" snapped the Colonel, \" War?\"<br />\"TWENTY-FOUR!\"<br />The Colonel belched abruptly, prompting the Countess to enquire after his manners.<br />\"Yes where are m' spanners? \"<br />\"Your what?\" the Countess countered, with no lack of malice.<br />The Colonel, whose face now only just cleared the top of the table, as he had shrunk to a height of no more than four feet, produced a ridiculous blunderbuss from beneath his chair, and levelled it at the Countess. \"Well? Where ARE the bloody things? Bloody... If I only had the GUTS to PULL this trigger!\"<br />\"He hasn't,\" the Countess blithely informed us. Presently the Colonel calmed down, forgot about his spanners, and put the blunderbuss away.<br />The Countess had become even more intemperate. The others about the table warily regarded her with nervously smiling faces. She cast about her, then peered into her soup bowl irately, \"Sep-ple-mong,\" she quavered, drawing out each syllable like a dagger, \"my dinner has clotted!\"<br />Sepplemong edged forward from the shadows, and stooped in abject penitence, \"Beg pardon m' lady,\" he apologised, and, throwing himself at her exquisitely tooled, leather ankle-boots, proceeded to grovel in a most revolting manner.<br />\"My Goddess, he's disgustingly servile!\" approved Lady Cynthia.<br />\"Yes, he actually enjoys it,\" the Countess assured us.<br />With great effort, I rose, and falteringly crossed the dining room to where, in an uncharacteristic attitude of transfixed introspection, the Poetess stared out of the south window at the, still visible, plumes of destruction hanging above the distant Metropolis. Softly she spoke in the nearest to prose that was ever to pass her lips: \"The sun is slowly sinking. Darkness is falling over the land,\" she said. \"We are slowly sinking into the sea of history, or oblivion.\"<br />She tore herself from the pitiful sight, and paced the room in her diaphanous chlamys, hugging her fragile frame. Her teeth chattered abysmally.<br />\"Please, my dear,\" I begged her, \"wrap yourself in my cloak.\" To this she replied, \"It is not cold that makes me shiver; it is fear; it is terror!\"...<br /><a href=\"https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B01I0IA6HA\" target=\"_blank\">https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B01I0IA6HA</a>",
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"published": "2020-01-06T15:38:14+00:00",
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"content": "XCIV A Terrifying Awakening\nI must have passed out from the effects of the injection, for, when I came to myself once more, I found myself lying upon the floor of the dining room; bright moonlight was streaming through the open windows, though there had previously been no moon at all. I rose shakily from the floor, and stumbled back to my seat at the table. The Countess had begun to enumerate, while the other of the Dining Room's inhabitants seemed hardly to have changed their positions.\n\"...twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four...\"\n\"What?\" snapped the Colonel, \" War?\"\n\"TWENTY-FOUR!\"\nThe Colonel belched abruptly, prompting the Countess to enquire after his manners.\n\"Yes where are m' spanners? \"\n\"Your what?\" the Countess countered, with no lack of malice.\nThe Colonel, whose face now only just cleared the top of the table, as he had shrunk to a height of no more than four feet, produced a ridiculous blunderbuss from beneath his chair, and levelled it at the Countess. \"Well? Where ARE the bloody things? Bloody... If I only had the GUTS to PULL this trigger!\"\n\"He hasn't,\" the Countess blithely informed us. Presently the Colonel calmed down, forgot about his spanners, and put the blunderbuss away.\nThe Countess had become even more intemperate. The others about the table warily regarded her with nervously smiling faces. She cast about her, then peered into her soup bowl irately, \"Sep-ple-mong,\" she quavered, drawing out each syllable like a dagger, \"my dinner has clotted!\"\nSepplemong edged forward from the shadows, and stooped in abject penitence, \"Beg pardon m' lady,\" he apologised, and, throwing himself at her exquisitely tooled, leather ankle-boots, proceeded to grovel in a most revolting manner.\n\"My Goddess, he's disgustingly servile!\" approved Lady Cynthia.\n\"Yes, he actually enjoys it,\" the Countess assured us.\nWith great effort, I rose, and falteringly crossed the dining room to where, in an uncharacteristic attitude of transfixed introspection, the Poetess stared out of the south window at the, still visible, plumes of destruction hanging above the distant Metropolis. Softly she spoke in the nearest to prose that was ever to pass her lips: \"The sun is slowly sinking. Darkness is falling over the land,\" she said. \"We are slowly sinking into the sea of history, or oblivion.\"\nShe tore herself from the pitiful sight, and paced the room in her diaphanous chlamys, hugging her fragile frame. Her teeth chattered abysmally.\n\"Please, my dear,\" I begged her, \"wrap yourself in my cloak.\" To this she replied, \"It is not cold that makes me shiver; it is fear; it is terror!\"...\nhttps://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B01I0IA6HA",
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"content": "III A Curious Alteration<br />Upon awakening I found myself prostrate in my own library, object of the dubious ministrations of my faithful retainer. A peculiar transformation had come over Insidious. I gazed at his/her impeccable, attire, which was in marked contrast to the stained and creased, ill-fitting uniform s/he usually adopted. S/he had now, evidently, assumed his/her alternative identity; that of Membrane, my faithful, but intolerably presumptuous retainer; this, a not infrequent, transformation being one of the curious side-effects of Insipid's predilection for certain personality altering chemicals.<br /><br />\"My cherished retainee,\" intoned Membrane dryly, \"I shouldn't try to move yet if I were you.\" <br />I shook myself and rose to my feet; regarded the while by my complaisant retainer with a customary haughty reserve. <br />\"Nonsense!\" I protested, reeling slightly, \"Tis nought!\" <br />I found my way to a favourite, overstuffed ottoman, and here sat for some minutes regaining my bearings, while Membrane prepared a large cocaine injection. <br />This the inscrutable retainer presently administered to me via a thick vein in my right calf, together with a little worldly advice: <br />\"Surely,\" Membrane intoned, \"it would be advisable for your excellent personship to venture no further abroad today, your personship.\"<br />After brief consideration of which, I replied \"Were not the awesome feet of fate, 'gainst man conjoined? Piffle! Wouldst thou 'twere!\" This I felt to have been most poetic; somewhat upon the lines Gibarian Shakepole would have written had that playwright not been such a dolt. I sent Membrane head-over-heels sliding along the carpet in order to punctuate it more dramatically.<br />Leaving my over-solicitous functionary lying dazed upon the library floor, I collected my hat, cloak and stick, glided out through the front door, and once more gracefully descended the thirty-nine steps until I had reached the rubber edged pavement immediately below. <br /><br /><a href=\"https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B01I0IA6HA\" target=\"_blank\">https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B01I0IA6HA</a>",
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"published": "2019-11-28T15:01:53+00:00",
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"content": "III A Curious Alteration\nUpon awakening I found myself prostrate in my own library, object of the dubious ministrations of my faithful retainer. A peculiar transformation had come over Insidious. I gazed at his/her impeccable, attire, which was in marked contrast to the stained and creased, ill-fitting uniform s/he usually adopted. S/he had now, evidently, assumed his/her alternative identity; that of Membrane, my faithful, but intolerably presumptuous retainer; this, a not infrequent, transformation being one of the curious side-effects of Insipid's predilection for certain personality altering chemicals.\n\n\"My cherished retainee,\" intoned Membrane dryly, \"I shouldn't try to move yet if I were you.\" \nI shook myself and rose to my feet; regarded the while by my complaisant retainer with a customary haughty reserve. \n\"Nonsense!\" I protested, reeling slightly, \"Tis nought!\" \nI found my way to a favourite, overstuffed ottoman, and here sat for some minutes regaining my bearings, while Membrane prepared a large cocaine injection. \nThis the inscrutable retainer presently administered to me via a thick vein in my right calf, together with a little worldly advice: \n\"Surely,\" Membrane intoned, \"it would be advisable for your excellent personship to venture no further abroad today, your personship.\"\nAfter brief consideration of which, I replied \"Were not the awesome feet of fate, 'gainst man conjoined? Piffle! Wouldst thou 'twere!\" This I felt to have been most poetic; somewhat upon the lines Gibarian Shakepole would have written had that playwright not been such a dolt. I sent Membrane head-over-heels sliding along the carpet in order to punctuate it more dramatically.\nLeaving my over-solicitous functionary lying dazed upon the library floor, I collected my hat, cloak and stick, glided out through the front door, and once more gracefully descended the thirty-nine steps until I had reached the rubber edged pavement immediately below. \n\nhttps://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B01I0IA6HA",
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"content": "II A Bizarre Attack<br />Leaving the door and Insidious gaping behind me, I descended the thirty-eight steps to the pavement below, and was about to set out into our unparalleled Metropolis when I was promptly subjected to the first of the day's curious incidents. <br />No sooner had my not inelegant foot alighted upon the firm iron paving than I was savagely set upon by a rather large, vicious animal, which leapt upon me, throwing me bodily to the pavement. I had scarce recovered my wits, having been stunned by its onslaught, when I observed the canine monstrosity coming at me again, evidently with the intent of burying its huge, drooling fangs into my, no doubt succulent, throat. As it leaped towards me with bestial ferocity, I promptly came to my senses, deftly delivering it a blow to the nose with my left index finger while simultaneously jabbing my thumb between its seventh and eighth vertebrae (an old trick I had learnt in the orient). This operation caused it to perform a spasmodic reflex: it flipped backward violently, and emitted a brief yelp as it crushed its skull against the unyielding, iron pavement. <br />Relieved though shaken, I drew myself to my feet, my satisfaction at the brute's demise second only to the disconsolation of its owner; for, I was in the process of brushing certain particles of detritus from my clothing when I was rudely apprehended by the shoulder, and swung about to face an uncouth person who was saying - or rather yelling - \"Yoo jus' kiwwed moi DOGG!\"<br />I was about to patiently explain that I had merely acted in self defence when this uncivil person, without even the slightest announcement of his intentions, began slashing me about the face with some sort of leather leash, which served as a quite excellent whip. I was further accosted from behind by his cowardly accomplices, and presently found myself, once more, lying upon the pavement - this time having my head energetically trodden on with the aid of the oversize footwear these persons seemed to favour. <br />My situation was, to say the least, unpromising, and a drastic course of action was now necessary. Emitting a Nqubongqii #1 war chant, and summoning the fourth whirlwind of indignation from the depths of my lower being, I rose up like Tisiphone #2, and, with whirling limbs and stinging blows, scattered my vulgar assailants; setting them to cowering in terror, and finally causing them to flee in abject shame and disgrace. <br />I was then, without warning, subjected to one of my blackouts.<br /><br /><a href=\"https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B01I0IA6HA\" target=\"_blank\">https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B01I0IA6HA</a>",
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"published": "2019-11-27T14:10:46+00:00",
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"content": "II A Bizarre Attack\nLeaving the door and Insidious gaping behind me, I descended the thirty-eight steps to the pavement below, and was about to set out into our unparalleled Metropolis when I was promptly subjected to the first of the day's curious incidents. \nNo sooner had my not inelegant foot alighted upon the firm iron paving than I was savagely set upon by a rather large, vicious animal, which leapt upon me, throwing me bodily to the pavement. I had scarce recovered my wits, having been stunned by its onslaught, when I observed the canine monstrosity coming at me again, evidently with the intent of burying its huge, drooling fangs into my, no doubt succulent, throat. As it leaped towards me with bestial ferocity, I promptly came to my senses, deftly delivering it a blow to the nose with my left index finger while simultaneously jabbing my thumb between its seventh and eighth vertebrae (an old trick I had learnt in the orient). This operation caused it to perform a spasmodic reflex: it flipped backward violently, and emitted a brief yelp as it crushed its skull against the unyielding, iron pavement. \nRelieved though shaken, I drew myself to my feet, my satisfaction at the brute's demise second only to the disconsolation of its owner; for, I was in the process of brushing certain particles of detritus from my clothing when I was rudely apprehended by the shoulder, and swung about to face an uncouth person who was saying - or rather yelling - \"Yoo jus' kiwwed moi DOGG!\"\nI was about to patiently explain that I had merely acted in self defence when this uncivil person, without even the slightest announcement of his intentions, began slashing me about the face with some sort of leather leash, which served as a quite excellent whip. I was further accosted from behind by his cowardly accomplices, and presently found myself, once more, lying upon the pavement - this time having my head energetically trodden on with the aid of the oversize footwear these persons seemed to favour. \nMy situation was, to say the least, unpromising, and a drastic course of action was now necessary. Emitting a Nqubongqii #1 war chant, and summoning the fourth whirlwind of indignation from the depths of my lower being, I rose up like Tisiphone #2, and, with whirling limbs and stinging blows, scattered my vulgar assailants; setting them to cowering in terror, and finally causing them to flee in abject shame and disgrace. \nI was then, without warning, subjected to one of my blackouts.\n\nhttps://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B01I0IA6HA",
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"content": "I A Peculiar Awakening<br />Following the most sleepless and listless of nights, I awoke fitfully, and cast about me for some opiative conducant. Laying hands upon my ever-reliable horse syringe, I promptly put it to its most effective use. I then arose, quickly but carefully dressed, and descended to the Main Hall pausing briefly at the hall mirror for the purpose of plucking a wayward eyebrow hair. Here Insidious (my faithful, but decidedly odd, factotum) awaited, as was customary, to hand me, in a most indolent manner, the morning edition. I proceeded into the breakfast room there to indulge in a casual perusal of The Metropolitan Sentinel over an excellent breakfast of okras in buckwheat batter, fried in oil of Ataxan groundnuts.<br />Casting over the usual nonsenses, my attention was unusually drawn to the date printed beneath the title on the front page; this, through some typographical blunder, was out by all of one hundred years! Finishing breakfast I passed into the Hall where Insidious was waiting to hand me a little note, which he had taken the trouble to scrawl in charcoal on a scrap of orange wrapping paper. I accepted it, and, after briefly perusing its barely legible torrent of flattery and adulation, tore it, with considerable disdain, into little, tiny pieces. <br />I then held out my hand to receive my hat, cloak and stick, and gracefully withdrew.<br />",
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"published": "2019-11-26T17:46:56+00:00",
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"content": "I A Peculiar Awakening\nFollowing the most sleepless and listless of nights, I awoke fitfully, and cast about me for some opiative conducant. Laying hands upon my ever-reliable horse syringe, I promptly put it to its most effective use. I then arose, quickly but carefully dressed, and descended to the Main Hall pausing briefly at the hall mirror for the purpose of plucking a wayward eyebrow hair. Here Insidious (my faithful, but decidedly odd, factotum) awaited, as was customary, to hand me, in a most indolent manner, the morning edition. I proceeded into the breakfast room there to indulge in a casual perusal of The Metropolitan Sentinel over an excellent breakfast of okras in buckwheat batter, fried in oil of Ataxan groundnuts.\nCasting over the usual nonsenses, my attention was unusually drawn to the date printed beneath the title on the front page; this, through some typographical blunder, was out by all of one hundred years! Finishing breakfast I passed into the Hall where Insidious was waiting to hand me a little note, which he had taken the trouble to scrawl in charcoal on a scrap of orange wrapping paper. I accepted it, and, after briefly perusing its barely legible torrent of flattery and adulation, tore it, with considerable disdain, into little, tiny pieces. \nI then held out my hand to receive my hat, cloak and stick, and gracefully withdrew.\n",
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"content": "A SERIES OF STRANGE AND INEXPLICABLE EVENTS<br /><br />AUTHOR'S PREFACE<br />The Author wishes to inform you, the Reader, that, in the Author's considered opinion, you, the Reader, are the most despicable and confounded idiot ever to have been suffered to tread a dreary and dismal path upon these glorious shores. You, confounded Reader, are, the Author has little doubt, an intellectual worm of the lowest order, and the Author has neither patience nor consideration for your tastes, inclinations or expectations whatsoever. <br />Furthermore, in the Author's illustrious opinion, the present work in its glorious, architectonic brilliance is completely wasted on the dim, unperceptive and vulgar sensibilities of the sad Reader, and, as far as the Author is concerned, you - the aforementioned dolt of a Reader - can go and insert yourself into whatever unwholesome orifice your unquestionably inferior abilities may be able to secure.<br /><br />APOLOGY *1<br />To you the sane from I the insane. These gifts. Morsels of madness. Lumps of Logic? Misshapen creatures lurking in fog. Call them ravings! Words of brass that would echo from these walls were it not for the padding. (I have sealed each page carefully, in order to prevent the words from escaping, in order to preserve some reason... many days later I return to find more words than I could possibly have written; more lies than I could possibly have invented...)...<br />The score of a concerto interrupted by the ravings of a lunatic. Impossible!? Fantastic!? It is difficult to give credence to the evidence of ones own senses. I leave this for you to judge, but I will state: I am at liberty; there exist no constraints upon my imaginings. The others I have left in that dark world - but I? I walk purposefully through these streets; lurk unseen in these alleyways; prowl; amble thoughtfully through these squares. No my friend, madness is not one of my afflictions.<br />For this I apologise.<br /><br />CONCERTO FOR MADMAN<br />Bom BOM pah pah pah, <br />Bomp bom BOMP pah pah pah <br />Bomp POHHM!<br />Have you seen my monody?<br />PAHH!! (Blapp!)<br /><br /><br /> DIAGRAM A #2<br />/------------------------------------------------------\\<br />| a |<br />| X 11 |<br />| X |<br />| |<br />| b |<br />| X k |<br />| c X |<br />| X |<br />\\------------------------------------------------------/<br /><br />PRELUDE<br />\"But surely,\" exclaimed Sir Reginald Fervent Fortesque-Mallard dismissing a barely essayed Port Royal to the side-salver, \"that which exists, exists whether we would wish it to exist, or not!\"<br />Sir Reginald and I were at the Club and had been partaking of the twin delights of brandy, marijuana and discourse; however, upon this juncture his renowned cantankerance had gotten the upper hand of him. He had reddened somewhat appreciably, his snifter lay discarded upon the walnut porterole which lay between us, and at an angle of some sixty degrees to the braziers; these same merrily blazing and crackling away, as they were, repletely resplendent with the lambent logs of a certain stately fruit tree. <br />With a quizzical arch of the eyebrows I informed the good Knight, in the most delicate, and courteous of forms, that if he truly believed what he was saying, he could only be a most confounded imbecile. And so I took my leave of that portly, steadfast individual.<br />Upon reaching the ancient portal of that most venerable institute #3, I was handed my cloak, hat and sword-stick *4 - in precisely that order - by its equally ancient doorperson, Whithers, and ventured forth into the dense, impenetrable fog which enshrouded the Metropolis like a tinker's lure #5.<br /> Proceeding to the corner of Greater Bacon Street, I bore left at a slow and cautious pace, and with the utmost perspicacity - as it is no exaggeration to claim that on this particular evening the fog lay so thick that visibility was reduced to three and one quarter imperial yards - I turned into Pastry Street, and continued south for some seven minutes and twenty seconds pausing, on a whim, to place two brass coins beneath a rock in Profiterole Park #6. Then, ascending Risotto Rise while humming an atonal melody composed by my late spouse, I turned right, and right again, and, to my complete and utter astonishment, found myself at my own front door! <br />Furthermore, upon entering I discovered certain rather curious circumstances: i) muddy footprints beginning at the foot-mat and mysteriously vanishing at the door to the pantry; b) cigar butts of an unusual variety in the library ashtray; iv) certain articles of clothing strewn about the house - cloak, fotheringale, spats, crinoline, cummerbund and certain exotic undergarments - forming a trail leading up to the master bedroom. <br />And, to cap it all, my faithful and trusted servant had completely disappeared! (Or, more precisely s/he was not in the house.)<br />Later that same evening, I was accosted by a most unusual spectacle; this I shall summarise, in the interest of avoiding tedious description, as strange sounds and accompanying flashing lights; a phenomenon which persisted for some four minutes and twenty seconds, at the cessation of which I found myself completely incapable of pronouncing the letter 'P' - which happens to be my favourite.<br />This was merely the overture to a series of strange and inexplicable events; the which, and as how, I shall endeavour, to the least of my extraordinary abilities, to relate and explain forthwith in those of my remarkable succeeding journals which are hereby to follow-on after.#7<br /><br />",
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"published": "2019-11-25T12:29:41+00:00",
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"content": "A SERIES OF STRANGE AND INEXPLICABLE EVENTS\n\nAUTHOR'S PREFACE\nThe Author wishes to inform you, the Reader, that, in the Author's considered opinion, you, the Reader, are the most despicable and confounded idiot ever to have been suffered to tread a dreary and dismal path upon these glorious shores. You, confounded Reader, are, the Author has little doubt, an intellectual worm of the lowest order, and the Author has neither patience nor consideration for your tastes, inclinations or expectations whatsoever. \nFurthermore, in the Author's illustrious opinion, the present work in its glorious, architectonic brilliance is completely wasted on the dim, unperceptive and vulgar sensibilities of the sad Reader, and, as far as the Author is concerned, you - the aforementioned dolt of a Reader - can go and insert yourself into whatever unwholesome orifice your unquestionably inferior abilities may be able to secure.\n\nAPOLOGY *1\nTo you the sane from I the insane. These gifts. Morsels of madness. Lumps of Logic? Misshapen creatures lurking in fog. Call them ravings! Words of brass that would echo from these walls were it not for the padding. (I have sealed each page carefully, in order to prevent the words from escaping, in order to preserve some reason... many days later I return to find more words than I could possibly have written; more lies than I could possibly have invented...)...\nThe score of a concerto interrupted by the ravings of a lunatic. Impossible!? Fantastic!? It is difficult to give credence to the evidence of ones own senses. I leave this for you to judge, but I will state: I am at liberty; there exist no constraints upon my imaginings. The others I have left in that dark world - but I? I walk purposefully through these streets; lurk unseen in these alleyways; prowl; amble thoughtfully through these squares. No my friend, madness is not one of my afflictions.\nFor this I apologise.\n\nCONCERTO FOR MADMAN\nBom BOM pah pah pah, \nBomp bom BOMP pah pah pah \nBomp POHHM!\nHave you seen my monody?\nPAHH!! (Blapp!)\n\n\n DIAGRAM A #2\n/------------------------------------------------------\\\n| a |\n| X 11 |\n| X |\n| |\n| b |\n| X k |\n| c X |\n| X |\n\\------------------------------------------------------/\n\nPRELUDE\n\"But surely,\" exclaimed Sir Reginald Fervent Fortesque-Mallard dismissing a barely essayed Port Royal to the side-salver, \"that which exists, exists whether we would wish it to exist, or not!\"\nSir Reginald and I were at the Club and had been partaking of the twin delights of brandy, marijuana and discourse; however, upon this juncture his renowned cantankerance had gotten the upper hand of him. He had reddened somewhat appreciably, his snifter lay discarded upon the walnut porterole which lay between us, and at an angle of some sixty degrees to the braziers; these same merrily blazing and crackling away, as they were, repletely resplendent with the lambent logs of a certain stately fruit tree. \nWith a quizzical arch of the eyebrows I informed the good Knight, in the most delicate, and courteous of forms, that if he truly believed what he was saying, he could only be a most confounded imbecile. And so I took my leave of that portly, steadfast individual.\nUpon reaching the ancient portal of that most venerable institute #3, I was handed my cloak, hat and sword-stick *4 - in precisely that order - by its equally ancient doorperson, Whithers, and ventured forth into the dense, impenetrable fog which enshrouded the Metropolis like a tinker's lure #5.\n Proceeding to the corner of Greater Bacon Street, I bore left at a slow and cautious pace, and with the utmost perspicacity - as it is no exaggeration to claim that on this particular evening the fog lay so thick that visibility was reduced to three and one quarter imperial yards - I turned into Pastry Street, and continued south for some seven minutes and twenty seconds pausing, on a whim, to place two brass coins beneath a rock in Profiterole Park #6. Then, ascending Risotto Rise while humming an atonal melody composed by my late spouse, I turned right, and right again, and, to my complete and utter astonishment, found myself at my own front door! \nFurthermore, upon entering I discovered certain rather curious circumstances: i) muddy footprints beginning at the foot-mat and mysteriously vanishing at the door to the pantry; b) cigar butts of an unusual variety in the library ashtray; iv) certain articles of clothing strewn about the house - cloak, fotheringale, spats, crinoline, cummerbund and certain exotic undergarments - forming a trail leading up to the master bedroom. \nAnd, to cap it all, my faithful and trusted servant had completely disappeared! (Or, more precisely s/he was not in the house.)\nLater that same evening, I was accosted by a most unusual spectacle; this I shall summarise, in the interest of avoiding tedious description, as strange sounds and accompanying flashing lights; a phenomenon which persisted for some four minutes and twenty seconds, at the cessation of which I found myself completely incapable of pronouncing the letter 'P' - which happens to be my favourite.\nThis was merely the overture to a series of strange and inexplicable events; the which, and as how, I shall endeavour, to the least of my extraordinary abilities, to relate and explain forthwith in those of my remarkable succeeding journals which are hereby to follow-on after.#7\n\n",
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"content": "This one's for you Rub!<br /><br /><a href=\"https://www.dailymotion.com/video/x5tknff\" target=\"_blank\">https://www.dailymotion.com/video/x5tknff</a>",
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"content": "This one's for you Rub!\n\nhttps://www.dailymotion.com/video/x5tknff",
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"content": "This is disturbing - backwards and slowed down. Al enters from the left as in conventional sitcoms, then speaks like he's on drugs!<br /><br /><a href=\"https://www.dailymotion.com/video/x6my3k1\" target=\"_blank\">https://www.dailymotion.com/video/x6my3k1</a>",
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"content": "Another good reason to get rid of the Tories right now:<br /><br /><a href=\"https://morningstaronline.co.uk/article/b/free-press-advocates-protest-assange-jailing-outside-belmarsh-prison\" target=\"_blank\">https://morningstaronline.co.uk/article/b/free-press-advocates-protest-assange-jailing-outside-belmarsh-prison</a>",
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"content": "The little I knew about Leonora Carrington was gleaned from what I had read in André Breton’s Anthologie de l’humour noir. He described her in these terms: “Those respectable people who, for a dozen years, had invited her to dine in a prestigious restaurant have still not recovered from the embarrassment when they noticed that, while continuing to take part in the conversation, she had taken off her shoes and meticulously covered her feet in mustard.”<br />I also knew she had been the mistress of Max Ernst. When the painter was imprisoned in Spain by the Franco regime, she underwent a crisis of madness. After recovering from this, she described it in her book Mémoires d’en bas. From that time on, she had abolished definitively the walls that separate reason from the realm of dreams. She had a mythic reputation among Mexican painters; she was an incarnation of the most extreme surrealism. During a party, Luis Buñuel, seduced by Carrington’s beauty and emboldened by the notion that she had transcended all bourgeois morality, proposed (with his characteristic bluntness) that she become his mistress. Without even waiting for her answer, he gave her the key to the secret studio that he used as a love nest and told her to meet him at three o’clock the next afternoon. Early the next morning, Leonora went to visit the place alone. She found it tasteless: it looked exactly like a motel room. Taking advantage of the fact that she was in her menstrual period, she covered her hands with blood and used them to make bloody hand prints all over the walls in order to provide a bit of decoration for that anonymous, impersonal room. Buñuel never spoke to her again.<br />- Alejandro Jodorovski",
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"content": "The little I knew about Leonora Carrington was gleaned from what I had read in André Breton’s Anthologie de l’humour noir. He described her in these terms: “Those respectable people who, for a dozen years, had invited her to dine in a prestigious restaurant have still not recovered from the embarrassment when they noticed that, while continuing to take part in the conversation, she had taken off her shoes and meticulously covered her feet in mustard.”\nI also knew she had been the mistress of Max Ernst. When the painter was imprisoned in Spain by the Franco regime, she underwent a crisis of madness. After recovering from this, she described it in her book Mémoires d’en bas. From that time on, she had abolished definitively the walls that separate reason from the realm of dreams. She had a mythic reputation among Mexican painters; she was an incarnation of the most extreme surrealism. During a party, Luis Buñuel, seduced by Carrington’s beauty and emboldened by the notion that she had transcended all bourgeois morality, proposed (with his characteristic bluntness) that she become his mistress. Without even waiting for her answer, he gave her the key to the secret studio that he used as a love nest and told her to meet him at three o’clock the next afternoon. Early the next morning, Leonora went to visit the place alone. She found it tasteless: it looked exactly like a motel room. Taking advantage of the fact that she was in her menstrual period, she covered her hands with blood and used them to make bloody hand prints all over the walls in order to provide a bit of decoration for that anonymous, impersonal room. Buñuel never spoke to her again.\n- Alejandro Jodorovski",
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"content": "The little I knew about Leonora Carrington was gleaned from what I had read in André Breton’s Anthologie de l’humour noir. He described her in these terms: “Those respectable people who, for a dozen years, had invited her to dine in a prestigious restaurant have still not recovered from the embarrassment when they noticed that, while continuing to take part in the conversation, she had taken off her shoes and meticulously covered her feet in mustard.”<br />I also knew she had been the mistress of Max Ernst. When the painter was imprisoned in Spain by the Franco regime, she underwent a crisis of madness. After recovering from this, she described it in her book Mémoires d’en bas. From that time on, she had abolished definitively the walls that separate reason from the realm of dreams. She had a mythic reputation among Mexican painters; she was an incarnation of the most extreme surrealism. During a party, Luis Buñuel, seduced by Carrington’s beauty and emboldened by the notion that she had transcended all bourgeois morality, proposed (with his characteristic bluntness) that she become his mistress. Without even waiting for her answer, he gave her the key to the secret studio that he used as a love nest and told her to meet him at three o’clock the next afternoon. Early the next morning, Leonora went to visit the place alone. She found it tasteless: it looked exactly like a motel room. Taking advantage of the fact that she was in her menstrual period, she covered her hands with blood and used them to make bloody hand prints all over the walls in order to provide a bit of decoration for that anonymous, impersonal room. Buñuel never spoke to her again.<br />- Alejandro Jodorovski",
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"content": "The little I knew about Leonora Carrington was gleaned from what I had read in André Breton’s Anthologie de l’humour noir. He described her in these terms: “Those respectable people who, for a dozen years, had invited her to dine in a prestigious restaurant have still not recovered from the embarrassment when they noticed that, while continuing to take part in the conversation, she had taken off her shoes and meticulously covered her feet in mustard.”\nI also knew she had been the mistress of Max Ernst. When the painter was imprisoned in Spain by the Franco regime, she underwent a crisis of madness. After recovering from this, she described it in her book Mémoires d’en bas. From that time on, she had abolished definitively the walls that separate reason from the realm of dreams. She had a mythic reputation among Mexican painters; she was an incarnation of the most extreme surrealism. During a party, Luis Buñuel, seduced by Carrington’s beauty and emboldened by the notion that she had transcended all bourgeois morality, proposed (with his characteristic bluntness) that she become his mistress. Without even waiting for her answer, he gave her the key to the secret studio that he used as a love nest and told her to meet him at three o’clock the next afternoon. Early the next morning, Leonora went to visit the place alone. She found it tasteless: it looked exactly like a motel room. Taking advantage of the fact that she was in her menstrual period, she covered her hands with blood and used them to make bloody hand prints all over the walls in order to provide a bit of decoration for that anonymous, impersonal room. Buñuel never spoke to her again.\n- Alejandro Jodorovski",
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