The universe foundations of the spiral arm appear open before me; as if some precipice daring me to cross. Calling me need me a trill wire in the blood. But this portal is only crossed grimly, casting off this for the next. The warm sanity of the clean and knowable thrown aside in favor of the slimy stars imagined by minds of grandeur.
I have take the door; bolstered myself with a breath, and strode forward. My tempts in contacting Mr. Yeats have proven fruitful. He has brokered a meeting in some nights time. Thought I fear my escape is not to be. The author has assured me the headlong charge the only course. I steel myself as I inscribe this message.
I further labor through books and fill my study with perfumes and fragrant strange. The green nimbus power seems to be at my fingertips as well. I feel the reality between it and I scared and pulpy. As if with a dull scratch it may well up. Though I confess no knowledge on how one would paint themselves an army of this extra corporeal light.
If I am straddling an even greater chasm
Your very truly