My Fellow Gentlemen
My efforts have proven successful! A queer visit was paid to my abode by a Ms. Hirsig, a secretary of sorts for Mr. Crowley. The woman claims to have traveled with Crowley abroad, specifically mentioning the location of Cefalu, Italy. The tale she told involved the establishment of a monastic retreat. Crowley, though is scheduled to return in a weeks time and was well accepting of my request to meet. Ms. Hirsig even delivered a fine bottle of red as complements of this Crowley. I find myself more swayed to this man that my less than favorable dealings with Mr. Yeats.
This woman was odd if I am to tell the whole truth of the matter. She seemed to veil herself in vague affectations of mysticism. To others this gown of the occult would be ill fitting and childish. But on she it seemed something felt to the bone. Lived in and well worn, even thread bare. And in truth their was a wicked or foulness about her. It was as if chaos and pestilence wormed their way through her flesh. This abattoir presence lingered long after her egress.
These strange milieu call to me as Orpheus lyre. Beguiling at the edge of perception and calling one to follow. But are they as sirens song?
Your very truly
J.L. Reichl
My efforts have proven successful! A queer visit was paid to my abode by a Ms. Hirsig, a secretary of sorts for Mr. Crowley. The woman claims to have traveled with Crowley abroad, specifically mentioning the location of Cefalu, Italy. The tale she told involved the establishment of a monastic retreat. Crowley, though is scheduled to return in a weeks time and was well accepting of my request to meet. Ms. Hirsig even delivered a fine bottle of red as complements of this Crowley. I find myself more swayed to this man that my less than favorable dealings with Mr. Yeats.
This woman was odd if I am to tell the whole truth of the matter. She seemed to veil herself in vague affectations of mysticism. To others this gown of the occult would be ill fitting and childish. But on she it seemed something felt to the bone. Lived in and well worn, even thread bare. And in truth their was a wicked or foulness about her. It was as if chaos and pestilence wormed their way through her flesh. This abattoir presence lingered long after her egress.
These strange milieu call to me as Orpheus lyre. Beguiling at the edge of perception and calling one to follow. But are they as sirens song?
Your very truly
J.L. Reichl
No comments:
Post a Comment