Being the ultimate day, month the first of this the year of our lord two thousand teen-and-four, I took leave of my ethereal perch to descend upon The Arts for Humanity Center in Boston, the pageantry to witness therein.
Learned metaphysicists will attest that this ‘New’ England is the preferred worksite of one Lucifer – Ba’al Zubaab, or Scratch to his closest compatriots – where he purportedly sews supernatural chicanery at the expense of the locals. The carnival of sublime debauchery I stumbled through that evening would seem to bear out that account.
This Boston Circus Guild employs a host of boisterous if occasionally uncouth characters who would stilt, swing, juggle, muse, honk, clattercask, shimmy and sashay through the night, the carouselry brought to a boil in the throng of inebriated lookers-on. Earth days hence, I still cannot shake the vision of acrobats, clowns, cavorters and freakish ladies both bearded and tattoo’ed. At the very moment of my dictating this report, the echoes of thunderous muse continue to reverberate in my emaciated loins. I reminisce on these wonders, and long to be whole again.
I retire now to my gossamer bedchamber behind the wall of reality to a good tome of lister and dialysis of ectoplasm, my intent therefor to recuperate the requisite vitality in anticipation of my next Earthward excursion.