On a lilting cosmic wind this Month of Augustus I did ride, traversing o’er the Stygian wastes, skirting the very crest of reality itself to descend bodily upon the mystical Republic of Massachusetts. There, in the anagogic metropolis of Somerville, wherefrom the cabal of Nine Elders reign o’er this nation and its diversiform peoples, I did partake of the annual Ignite celebrations of a Saturnsday afternoon.

Lo, I did rejoice in the cacophonous exaltations thereof. Such voluminous outputtings of instruments both percussive and brass’ed would have one thinking the muses deigned to summon the crimson king Ba’al Zubaab himself!
And such tastes there were in metieritous employ, from every farflung nation of this unassuming planet, so as to sate any untam’d tongue.

I sit now, feeling withdraw’en and shocked at my return to mundanity here in my celestial bedchamber. My appetite teas’d, I long for the forthcoming fete of HONK!, now scarcely two months hence, and can I surely be blamed? Though fleshless and incorporeal, I still maintain the machinations of a soul…-The Emperor