Editorial
With the storm comes a flood. A flood of emotions, of problems, of solutions, of questions and answers. The ratios vary, it’s true. Worst of all, I have called the storm all by myself. Bit by bit one wrong decision after another.
There were not many decisions to be made. Simply, they were all the ever-so-slightly wrong ones. One might generously simply call it incompetence of life. One might also be correct. Who is in the right to say.
I have been noticing a trend. A trend in which I am tired, and yearning, and despising, and wanting, and postponing, and simply trying.
I am not sure I want to try anymore.
Art of London
A colleague of mine and I have recently had an exchange of ideas. So splendid his proposition was, I had decided to (with his permission) share it with you, our dear readers. Without further ado, a contemplation on the Correspondence and Art with Arthur Nethell.
[The letter is decorated with a sigil of Correspondence, meaning “To its receiver” – one of the rare symbols safe to put on paper.]
[An expression in Quander – most likely, the receiver’s name, or term of address.]
Dear [The receiver’s name is smudged out with a splotch of light blue ink]!
Two years ago, my friend and I have visited a honey-den for the first time. We weren’t of any significance: we were amateur artists, writers, musicians… Bohemians. People of the art. This art is what I want to talk to you about.
As you may know, I am currently a professor of the now-unnamed Department of the University. I study the Correspondence. The Last Alphabet. The language in which the laws of the world are written, and the language in which you, too, are a renowned expert.
A year ago, I have arranged for a performance in the Magohany Hall: a symphony designed to convey a feeling of nostalgia. The song poisoned those present: the performers and the audience alike. The xylophonist, whom you might have known as [REDACTED], incinerated himself with a box of sunlight – and miss [REDACTED], who was in the first row, attends the Hall’s performances each Thursday, as if waiting for the symphony to play again.
[Pictured below: an oversimplified Correspondence sigil for “An old orbit, formerly remembered.”]
This is the expression I have played. Well, its most debased form – the one that is safe to inscribe – in a form that allows it to be inscribed. There are other forms to express this particular symbol – and each of them will carry the same meaning: “An old orbit, formerly remembered.” We interpret this meaning as nostalgia.
I am a Correspondent: my undertaking is the study of those expressions. I can write the glyph, compose a symphony, describe a dance or assemble a delicate glass artifice to refract the light just so – and all of those shall speak nostalgia to the observer. I could, in theory, say it out loud if my vocal chords were suitable. An expression of Correspondence is as much a statement as it is a command: not only does it convey nostalgia, it induces it. Even a cricketeer who knows the movements can, in theory, induce the effect – this, I reckon, is what transpired on the February of ’97.
I still create works of art, even to this day, with and without Correspondence.
[Pictured below: an oversimplified Correspondence sigil for “A shadow which is the light that casts it”]
A poem which carries a symbol for sorrow within it may drive a reader to tears, but so can a skilled poet who knows nothing of the Last Alphabet. An opera which conveys glee with such a command is of the same nature as an opera which does not employ Correspondence – differing merely in potency. A song which enrages need not compel its reader with the language in which the laws of the world are written to enrage.
Our work, our art, our passions are mere shadows of their celestial versions – and yet it may not be denied that these shadows are the same as the light which casts them, merely lacking in intensity.
Are we not gods on our own? Do we not live immortal in our works? Do artists not command the observers with what they create? When a child learns to write, their scribbles are unwieldy yet clear.
Is the work we conduct, in essence, said scribbles?
Are artists – are we – nascent gods?
I would love to hear from you on this.
Yours truly,
Correspondent Arthur Nethell.
[Another expression in Quander.]
Dear Arthur,
What magnificence, what nuance, what splendor! Upon reading, rereading, contemplating, and recontemplating your letter, I must say I cannot contain my further interest. I am nearly ashamed that I myself had not thought these thoughts sooner. We are, of course, not all perfect, and I must bow to your excellence.
I applaud and thank you for removing the thin veil between the language of Law and language of art. It is not all uncommon for those inclined to our profession to create art with the concepts, meanings, even symbols and theorized phonetics of the Correspondence; yet I feel that the use itself is not often discussed.
They way one weaves the Law into one’s work, or weaves the work itself to fit or break the Law. The way that skilled artists need not rely on the Law, for they themselves understand their craft so well that by breaking the rules of it, they might as well be breaking the Chain itself.
I would like to bring to your attention a poem by one N- [The next several paragraphs are there and have a meaning, yet while reading them and the Correspondence symbols intercutting the words, the mind slips and eyes slightly sting.]
– it was a bold move, yes, yet the fellow once told me he does not regret the exile. In my own humble opinion, the power was not in the Correspondence there. Perhaps it brought the work to the attention of the authorities, yet it was the ideas themselves that helped reach its true potential.
Perhaps we are gods, yes. I am never one to refute greatness. Perhaps not all artists can reach such potential, yet all artists have it within them.
Yours delightfully,
R.
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Electorial News
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The Goosey Gazette Electorial Candidate Popularity Survey;
Results Are In
We would like to thank you, our dearest readers, for your contributions towards our survey. The results are truly quite intriguing, and we are aching to share them with you.
A small foreword – do not despair if you have missed the vote, or voted against your current ideals, as the second round for the election proper can be found in the middle-page spread once again.
Without further ado, the results:
Currently, the Tentacled Entrepreneur is a clear leader in popularity, followed by the Viscountess, with F. F. Gebrandt trailing behind. While science is a concern of all, many of our readers, understandably, are intrigued by the possibility of a non-human candidate in the office.
Just as Londoners are split on the popularity of candidates, so are they split on which way to cast their vote. More of our readers are inclined to vote for the Viscountess than the Entrepreneur, by a small yet noticeable margin. The supporters of the arts and the rubberies are rather strongly poised towards the respective candidate, however more are indeed concerned with the safety of their dreams. Sorrowfully for F. F. Gebrandt, her platform seems to not incite much excitement.
The voting populace is also rather indecisive about whether they would change their votes, were secrets revealed. Perhaps this is all a matter of the weight of the secret – after all, no price is too big sometimes. Still, there are those intent on changing their minds, as well as those who insist on their first choice an do not plan to budge.
For the division of popularity and voting choice – those who like F. F. Gebrandt are nearly equally likely to vote for either of the other candidates; those who most like one of the other candidates, however, more often choose to vote for Gebrandt instead.
Furthermore, the Tentacled Entrepreneur has strongly committed supporters, with more than twice as many voters not wanting to change their vote for him. Gebrandt and the Viscountess have proportionally similar rates of voter commitment, though the Viscountess wins by a small margin.
Such are the results of this poll – and to remind you again, take the second survey which you can find in the middle-page spread!
News of Art, Art of News
Art Of Axile – Rubbery Artform On The Rise!
We have touched on the art of the Rubbery Folk – or rather lack thereof – quite a while ago. Back then, it was true that the Rubberies in their communities had tangible nor visible nor audible art. Though there were a few who gladly lend their talents to a pre-composed performance, be it dance or music in most cases, there was simply no art that Rubberies themselves had created. For a long time there were no further developments, yet it seems that something had stirred in secret after all.
As we all know, the Tentacled Entrepreneur’s platform is that of the arts; more specifically, the arts of Axile and the Rubbery Folk. The most prominent of these arts seems to be sculpting. The Rubbery artists shape amber into quite magnificent shapes that, while indescribable, or at least incomparable to any human analogues, elicit strong and precise emotions. Whatever methods the artists use, they must truly give their all into their work.
Some may describe such art as primal, akin to the painted walls of cavemen, yet we see something more. This is no mere sudden discovery; the art of the Rubbery Folk is a deep meditation on their own emotions, refined in its roughness, and thoroughly beautiful.
As you all know, we do our damndest to stay apolitical here at the Gazette, yet from this week’s survey results, we want to highlight a few lines from a certain prominent citizen:
“Ever since the Bazaar arrived in the Neath, the Rubbery Men and their Fluke creators have been persecuted by all manner of denizens and monsters due to their peculiar nature. Lacking the social grace of the devils of Hell and the ability to integrate with humans like their Snuffer cousins, the Rubberies have been hated and feared for apparently no reason. Even now, in a city more tolerant and accepting than any other in human history, us Londoners have yet to appreciate the value and promise that the Rubberies bring to our society and would destroy them at a moment’s notice. […]
Should a Rubbery Man win this election, even one as capitalistic as the Entrepreneur, its mere inauguration into the mayoral office will be the catalyst of a greater change than the combined policies of all previous mayors. It will force not only the xenophobic masses, but perhaps the Bazaar herself, to reevaluate their standards of decency and widen their perspectives for a glorious future unbound by one’s shape, into something better. Next, it will allow us to forge diplomatic relations with the Flukes at Flute Street, a potential ally when dealing with their Lorn brethren and the Fathomking, whose ties were previously botched by the Admiralty and led to the dreadful Agreement of Nothing of Consequence Beneath the Zee.”
With that, we encourage you all, dear readers, to visit the Tentacled Entrepreneur’s galleries, the ones officially held on Ladybones Road, as well as the ones established by his supporters in various parlours of Veilgarden.
Ask Mother Goose
Dear Mother Goose,
For once, rest.
M
Dear M,
And so it shall be.
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