19th of January 1897


Editorial

What is art? What is art to you, fellow Londoners? A song, heard at the opera? A canvas, splattered with paint in a pattern recognisable to beings of sapience? A book, read under a duvet for fear of being discovered? All of those, and more – and most of all, art is nothing without those who consume it. Such as we would be nothing without you, dear readers. For what is more of an art than a community coming together to celebrate the works of its individuals, revel in their creativity, indulge in artistry.

I am, at last, proud to present to you The Goosey Gazette! The finest purveyor of artistic integrity in the Neath!
Kindly yours,
R.


Art of London

Letters From The Surface, Part I
by Sir Wensleydale of Hardwick

I awoke, the morning after one of Mr Wines’ revels. Thoughts soared through my head. Gant… Wells… Zee…

I heard a knocking at the door of my Orphanage/Townhouse. A letter? Addressed to: Sir Wensleydale of Hardwick, Orphanage at Fiacre’s Foot. Well, it is for me, but my orphanage is on Childcake Street.

I opened the letter:

“Wensley,
You may not escape what you have done. I know where you are.
I know why you are there. I will meet you at the junction of
Takepenny Street and Bad Monkey Row, at Midnight.
We must discuss the plans you have. If you do not turn up, the
Constabulary will know everything you did on the surface.
x”

Oh. Him.

Watchful is increasing…
Shadowy is increasing…
Melancholy is increasing…
Nightmares is increasing…
Suspicion is increasing…
An occurrence! Your “Letters From the Surface” quality is now 1!


News of Art, Art of News

Mycologenes – a rousing star or a fading affair?

The recent Blemmigan fad brought with itself more than just streets filled with beakless fungi. The Mycologenes, as these secretive poets have become known, are the admirers of the Blemmigan-inspired poetry known to be talked about only under one’s breath and recited only in the back rooms of the most scandalous establishments.
Reading through the works of the Blemmigan Poets, one finds themselves asking:
How long before the frail heart of London accepts these great works? (And, immediately after finishing a poem – where is the nearest pair of stockings?)
Well, dear readers, we of The Goosey Gazette believe in progress! We believe in openness! We believe that art, no matter its form, should never be hidden in the seedy backrooms of Mr Apples’ parlours! For this reason, for the first time ever, the next edition of our humble paper will include a poem penned by an anonymous Blemmigan Poet!


Ask Mother Goose

Dear Mother Goose,
have you ever zailed? What do you say of the beauty of the zee?
K.


Dear K,
I have had many a journey on the zee in my time (and many a zailor). The vast beauty of the cruel waves. Stone, Storm, Salt. It is not a safe place, it is not always tranquil, but the zee is like love should be – unpredictable, lethal, oh so irresistible, and absolutely unconquerable.

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