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27th of January 1897


If there is one thing we strive for here at the Gazette, it is consistency. It is integrity. We want our readers to know they can rely on us, trust us. We do not want to be just another pawn of the Ministry, or a fading nub on the metaphorical Rubbery of the journalism industry. We want to make our mark on the world by bringing the artists of the Neath together.
For this reason, no artist shall be excluded, and for this reason, as promised last week, we are bringing to you a poem from a Blemmigan-inspired poet. For this reason as well, this edition took a day longer to publish, as the poet insisted on utmost secrecy – and, let me tell you, dear readers, blindfolded meetings at a musty basement of a Spite brothel are the peak of secrecy.
However, I ask you not to panic, dear readers! As the word spreads and the community becomes tighter, the Ministry shall not pursue us anymore! The Society shall not hound us anymore! There will. Be. Freedom. For the Arts!

Kindly yours,

Art of London

Letters From The Surface, Part II
More Postage
by Sir Wensleydale of Hardwick

That night, I trudged over to the junction of Bad Monkey and Takepenny. I had arrived fifteen minutes early, so I watched spies running like maniacs, under orders of players.

The mailman saw me, again, and brought me a second letter. I would read it once I got back to my Townhouse.

I waited. And waited. A hunger broke, but I waited still. A silhouette approached myself, and I felt a fear.

“Come on, you know I bite less than you.”

Shadowy is increasing…
Austere is increasing…
Steadfast is increasing…
Suspicion is increasing…
An occurrence! Your “Letters From the Surface” Quality is now 2!

by an Anonymous Blemmigan-inspired Poet

Streets lit by candles, together
We tread, breath laced with wine
But drunk from each other,
Your bed we soon find.

Our thighs so plump with want,
Arms yearningly entwined,
Lustily I drink your taste part
of you now in me inscribed.

“Oh, lover, ah,” your name on my lips, a moan,
We are a spectacle for the audience of us,
In a private performance our bodies we join.

Secret wish, can these moments never pass?
An eruption, Aphrodite rising from foam,
Our breaths still together as we draw our last,

And prepare for the second act.

News of Art, Art of News

Tristam Bagley’s unfinished masterpiece – a brief review of The Bell and the Candle

Not too long ago, one of our reporters was present at the Empress’ Court during the premier of one Tristam Bagley’s forgotten opera, The Bell and the Candle, revitalized years since cancellation. Our reporter has at last recovered from the experience; they gained back the control of their left eye and the spontaneous fires on and around their body have ceased. Another of our reporters has interviewed them and compiled their thoughts on the play into this brief review.

The Bell and the Candle is unlike any other piece previously seen, at least within the Earthly sphere. Incredibly tantalizing, joyfully titillating, and infinitely erotic, the play is sure to provoke deep thoughts as well as metaphorical (and literal) fires in your heart.
Reportedly, the metaphorical fires are rekindled with unforeseen passion; our own reporter has found themselves among no less than six barely-clad aristocrats with red cheeks (and not only).
The music truly shakes your whole being. Despite the peculiar choice of instruments, mostly glass and bone, the sounds of strings and drums echo within your being for days after. The two leads, titular Bell and Candle, performed magnificently. Their voices were strong and sure, and, despite the serious blood loss, they have performed to the very last tone.

The seven hundred and seventy seven members of the orchestra, as well as the cast, are making swift recoveries, hopefully returning to their homes by the end of the next year.

Ask Mother Goose

Dear Mother Goose,
I am gazing into eyes I shouldn’t gaze into. Eyes behind cosmogone glasses. They may not be strictly forbidden, but I know there will be a painful end. What should I do?
Please, answer.

Dear F,
Life is to be enjoyed, and love doubly so. Don’t run away from happiness now only because it may not be there later. In the long run, the happiness will outweigh its lack. Follow your heart, whatever path it may lead you down to. However, beware of the secrets these eyes may know. Secrets behind mirrors are dangerous ones, and those eyes may be the lights of guidance or of misleading.


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