Wednesday, October 12, 2005

Confidence in Nashes Readershippe - Calmative Message - Intermission - Notice from Grimworthe - The Sewers of London

I am very gladde to welcome my adherentes backe onto the crumblyng jalopie of my pryvate lyfe.

The reader who payeth attention to the precedynge episodes wyll note thatte one recent poste concluded wyth the newes that allsurpassyng Sophia the wicked Mother-of Twain had successfully executed her planne to subjugate the entire realm to her Popish whimsy. However, more than one reader wyll no doubt be aghast thatte I have faild at up-datynge hym or her on the nature of thys dictatorshyppe. He or she mighte even have raisd hys eyebrowe at the foot-loose manner in whych apparentlie I continue to go aboute my daily business while svpportyng the insvpportable Yoke of servitude. For thatte conscientious reader I present, by way of intermission from the compellynge narrative of the Murder of Ebeneezer, a shorte account of city lyfe thatte I recyved the mornynge after the Cryme, in a letter from my huntynge acquaintance Grimworthe.

Dearest Nashe,

Another quarry.

The metropolitan railway runneth under my roomes, and the sewer floweth juste beneathe in green grease and fetidness. I have discovered somethynge straunge and luxurious growynge in the tunnels where no light reacheth by. I would lyke you to come hunte it wyth me.

Where I hang my tweed behynde the door I have pinnd a mappe of the routes roundabout my lodgynges and blocke. Connexions branche out into surrounding boroughs and link the tryckles wyth the reservoirs. I patrole in gum-bootes, wyth a headlamp and a shot-gun.

Recentlye, I venturd oute alone, without Oppenheimer. Whilst the skyline was trymmynge the orange sun downe to a slivere, I lit my lampe againste it, and beganne my slowe exit through the floore-boardes. Once belowe the lyghte is broadly killd, of course, wyth the aire.

I layd thread, and gatherd my Barbour aboute me. I beganne my hunt wyth takynge a general surveye of local ratt populations so that I myght determine local feedyng habits. Findynge a local neste deserted, I pricked amongst the danke, ranke avenues awhile and turnd up nothynge whatsoever thereabouts. I emptyd my trappes, and layd poyson and flares.

I was about to return, havynge travelld a good distaunce from home and my worke completed. I pausd at an intersexion beneath Myle End station, where the traynes always rushe o’erhead and the announcements can be heard if the hunter is listenynge. And I noted two younge women sate by, too, alonge the edge of the sewer.

Theyre combined age not more than 45, they sate wyth frying-pannes. I askd what the helle they were doynge, and they replied it was theyre ‘Night Oute’. In the sewer? I protested. They sate there wyth frying panes, filterynge the sewage, and I lookd on wyth a gunne. I presumd they were acktivists of some kynde.

Somethynge very odde is afoot, Nashe. But next tyme we go a-huntynge we might stande a chance of collecktynge a woman too.

Youres feithfully
M. Grimworthe.

Grimworthe unfailinglye provided me wyth some information and some edification, whether or notte he intended to supply either. This small missive provided me wyth some diversion as I studiously avoided the bloudy corpse of Ebeneezer.

My main occupation, though, was the perusal of the booke of Blakke Arts, procurd from the starte in order to thwarte the scheming of the Mother-of-Twain and restore MFI to its former workmanlike adequacy. Younge women pannynge for golde in the sewer systems were quite probably the beginnynge of the New Dawn etc. that the beautiful Sophia had promisd, and Grimworthes news spurrd on my investigations.

I beganne to learne to conjure, wyth some degree of success.

Tuesday, October 11, 2005

PANICK! - Manufacture of Confectionery - Ghastly Coincidence of Orthographie - Poesie - Naked Fear

Nott bankynge on a dede bodie asleep in my parlour thys Monday afternoon, I panickd at firste. I managd to restraine myselfe, though. I even made a small cake for myselfe that helpd me forget what had happend, icynge it in four different colours and writing Nashe. Unfortunaely, the distraction of MURDER was so greate thatte I misspelld my Name for


On the rainbowe. I started to eat the cake up faste for feare. My mynd was flamynge wyth invencioun but I had no means to deploy it for I was sicke to see the body itselfe. I pacd all nyghte in the kytchen where half the rainbow cake stood reading


Whych my clevere braine quickly arrangd into


And I took thatte for the fires of Hell and the endless cutlasses that rush through a man all day by them. The lyghtes of my kitchen seemd lonely and yellow against the darkling garden outside. I sweare thatte not a second passd that nyght whenne I didde not wishe I had never beene to the librarie nor stole the booke of Blacke Arts that now stoode greenly by my sinke nor thoughte to kill Ebeneezer for the sake of it. More ambitiously, very quicklie I beganne to wysh I hadde never seene Sophia the Mother-of-Twain nor fallen so muche in love wythe her incoherent style of parenting whenne I saw her swyngynge her childe in amongst the colourfulle balls. I cursd her persoun also for her evyl scheme that forbade our evere havynge a meanyngfulle relationshippe because it made her a villain and I a hero. But how thatte balance hadde been unstitchd today! What a bloudy failure thys Nashes lyfe has come to! I wrote a poesy in extreme payne.

In kitchen by nyght, wyth mappes unspeakable
Nashe plots a course to forfeit hys handes.
Where thorns hang his skinne up on Sophia’s steeple
Nashe stores hys heart by in a hessian bagge.

To hys hopeless future has he everything subscribd,
Yet Nashe gains a seede of torment to plante.
For when the spring shines, then the soil provides
An earnest of hopelessness yet to advance.

And where the seede wyll sproute, Nashe wyll be couchd
And hys heartlesse blakke flowers, wyll spit the summer oute.

Havynge completed thys worke of pulynge sufferynge, I betooke myselfe to bedde and wept a good deale until the sunne came in to batter me. Preparynge to sett oute as usual to buy a liver for breakfast I quite forgot my deede, my bloudy countenaunce or the state of my clothes but fortunately resignd myself at the last minute to weetabix, that sat sadly in their pinkening milke.

-Where is all this bloud coming from? I demanded.

A litel was trickling round the doore. Gettynge up, I armd myselfe wyth my spoone and brandishd it before me as I followd the streem up the hallway and into the parlour.


was the only word I could muster strong enough to express my horror upon reacquaintance wyth the bloody carcasse of Ebeneezer the librarian, lying wyth hys hede in the fireplace. More terrible thynges I think perhaps I shall never see. I ran for the kitchen and instantly began makynge anothere cake when I realisd I was deepe in Denial.

Thankfully, I spotted the grene book of Blakke Arts on the drainynge boarde. I putte on the rubber gloves, for the booke was fragile, and beganne to read.

Metaphorickal Analysis of the Complex Feelynges of Nashe - Decision to Use Blakk Arts - Interview Wyth A Librarian - "Stop, Thief!" - An Atrocity

Past the acres of crushd, blacknd furze that once I calld my equanimity, I could spy a last miserable glowynge on the orizon where the metaphorickal sun revolvd its way into extinction for the nyght. Problems, mutterd I in my purgatorie. Problems wyth woman.

I draftd a spelle to winne here to my love and betooke me to harvest as many bookes on the Blakke Arts as I koude from Hackneye Booke Depositorie. The librarian on thys day was a hulkynge pirate in the very pryme of lyfe, black-shirted and clean combd wyth a badge readynge ‘Ebeneezer’. I presentd my beloved library carde unto hym and lookd the pyrate in the eye calmly, wyth a hint of impednyng disorder.

-Hello Mr. Thomas Nashe.
I grinnd fiercely then tooke the Retinal Scan.
-And how can I helpe you, Mr. Nashe?
-I’m lookynge for a book. I set forthe my argumente, though already I felt the eggtimer of my patience beganne to trickle.
-Yes, Mr Nashe, which book were you lookynge for? the buffoon askd my suddenly unsmylyng face.
-A booke on the Blakke Arts, I went on.
-Yes, well, Mr Nashe, of course ‘The Black Arts’, do you knowe who the author is?
-I am lookynge for a booke aboute them, I drond.
-Oh I am sorry Mr. Thomas Nashe, cowerd the pyrate.
-I’m lookynge for ISBN 0140430679.
He producd a Record on the white screene and read it very slowlye.
-Yes, I think we do have it, he decyded at laste.

In between the laste C.W. Awdry and the ende of the shelfe there lay a volume bounde in seaweede. Howe longe it hadde been there I didde not guess. Ebeneezer gave it me askynge was it the correckt one? I was very pleasd to inform hym it was. He offerd a private readyng roome and some white gloves that I took with pleasure. I thankd Ebeneezer heartily. However, once I had the booke in hande I whizzd out of the Hackneye Booke Depository and made for my roomes at top speede. Ebeneezer was in hott persuite, puffynge lyke a carthorse and menacynge my styck-thinne body wyth a snappynge, or WORSE it koude have been a shaggynge or snippynge I knew not what he would do.

I slammd the door behynde me but the rear window was open and Ebeneezer the pyrate was clymbynge in, huge and foamynge at the mouth as I clutchd litel my booke to me. I instantly fetchd my rapier and cloke from the clokeroome and stood him offe at the bottom of the staires.

-Stand downe! I broadcast.
-Thief! Cried Ebeneezer, advancynge.

He aimd the first blowe wyth hys mighty beglov’d fiste and I darted into the parlour, leavynge hym to smashe through the glass of the front door.

I crowed from the chaise longue, Youle never take my lyfe.
-You’ll have your library card revokd replied Ebeneezer, and he streightway pickd up a poker and was suddenly the very pickture of a Foaming Asssailant. He lungd about the chaise longue as I leapt from ende to ende. The elecktrick saviour I hadde stoode by the fyreplace so many weeks ago for Lady Maude remaind, and I pickd it up wyth a prayr.
-Thatte is our Lorde and Saviour Jesus Christe, pointed out Ebeneezer.
We both pausd for thought. In the awkward silence that ensued I putte on one of the electrick tunes. We stoppd to consider howe bothe of us were given pause for thoughte. Thenne, sicke of thys idleness, I stabbd hym in the hede wyth my dagger and the bloud ranne out along the skirtynge boarde.

Friday, October 07, 2005

The Kidnappe Continues - A Dialogue Wyth Popery - A Helpless Bearing of Witnesse - A Shy Retirement

-Ah Thomas Nashe, Sophia scornd in her most villeinous voix, and pingd my fastenyngs. I understande you were attemptynge to buye a bedde.

Foolyshly, I tooke thys for a kynde of sexual invitation.

-Although youre husbande is quite deceasd I phancy you have a passynge intereste in Nashe kitted up as he ys in crimefightynge splendour and armd to the teethe.

-You imbecile, Nashe, she growld between clenchd white teethe. I am nott interested in you.

I balked at the prospeckt of a kidnappe situation under anybody’s supervision but my owne.

-What is it thatte you want? I demanded of the demented Mother-of-Twain.

-I worke for the Catholick Churche she explaind, swyngynge her handbagge lyke a hypnotyst’s clocke. I am especially interested in the propagation of its rituals and its Rules for Conduckt. Yet more especially I am strongly objeckted to such Puritanical purchases as the bedde upon whych you are currently stucke and would rather a sense of opulence and grandeur were injeckted into the proceedynges of the lives of each citizen of this United K and I don’t merely mean of religion. Happily, I have payrolld the staffe here at MFI wyth credit from the Pope and Britannia wyll soon see the whole of thys magestick retail chain transformd into a emporium for the purchase of nothynge but good Catholickal opulence and honest glitz.

Thys kind of monstrous behaviour I could not stomache, and beganne to hatche a planne for my escape. My minde racd to aske a difficult question of the Popish harlot.

-When didde you last confesse? I queried hopefully.

-I do not confesse! - she declard happily - I am savynge it uppe for a really good one. But synce you aske there are severale different categories of sinne thatte I feele I have really excelld at and Ide love to fille you inne.

-That sounds superbe! I cryd merrily, playynge for time.

-First of all, beganne Sophia, who was not unattracktive, my first sinne was involvynge the beastes of God’s creation. I dressd them uppe in glamour fashions and sette them oute on a daytrip to Morecambe where they ate 6. Thenne my next sinne was settynge fire to my dogge. Thenne my nexte sinne was cheatynge on my exam and when I was caught I wrote a pamphlette ‘gainst the other girle and she was burnt at the stake. So I got offe quite well. After thatte I cut the legs offe a chaire and sat on it in the middle of the M4 to protest against oil prices.

-You are truly a monstere, I humoured her hopynge she would be delighted. Sure enough she skipped and hoppd like a teenager. I askd after her children.

-They are styll in the colourful ball area where we lefte them earlier Nashe. She gave a litel kisse on my cheke. I admitte I was touchd. Unfortunately she was suddenly wise to my game and began torturynge me most horriblye after an unrelatable fashion

When she had finyshd she reminded me I was about to witnesse the New Dawn &c. and sundrie other tropes I had taken care to insulate myselfe against when I sett oute to become a crimefighter. Thenne she drew backe a red curtain revealynge a clockworke mappe of the UK wyth all MFI’s markd. She set fyre to it and behind was slowly revealed a grandiose paintynge of the Pope as the ashes felle lyke sleet in the springtime before her. The nation wyll be golden and all transactions, behaviours and so on thoroughly ritualised, she proclaimd, and I koude feele her blinkerd and ungodly planne rollynge into axion.

-Sadly nowe we must parte, Thomas Nashe, she sayd. I do not care for Stockholme Syndrome but I have never hadde trouble wyth it before and if you ever try to calle me I will have you detaind indefinitely. But you canne go nowe. She undid me and I was taken home to my rooms by the humped shoppe-boy.

Nothynge remayned that was honest or simple any longer. Confusd and hungry, I tried to continue in a land that was turning to inedible and idiotick golde under the elegantly booted foot of its insane quean.

Wednesday, October 05, 2005

Awakenynge - Nashes Sorrowe - A Dream Related - The Captor - Nashes Indignation

Whenne I came to my hede was as sore as if it had been keelhauld and I phancyd I was missynge a toothe or two. Slowly a darkend roome swamme into dim focus and I realisd I was strappd across the Bed that Maynt be Slept On. Wyth a spirit so broken, I sawe, that one of its enamelled divots did colleckt the tears I hadde wept in my slumber. The particulars of a dreame beganne to come to me that I hadde dreamt as a lay on thatte improbable couche, whiche I here most tearfully sette down as I recall th’extreme sadness and horror wyth whyche I watchd th’events unfolde.

I dreamt my uncle, th’uncle whose handes were soft, was fisshynge by the edge of a goldenne evenynge rivere in whiche there swam a handfulle of blue carnivorous fysh. He hadde a rod and lyne stucke in the grounde where I satte by in the place I shoulde be if I were a boye. I was myselfe howevere, the adulte, nybbling away ‘pon a shippes biscuit he hadde gave me. The yeare beynge 1578 ande the plague not yet descended on the worlde I was very pleasd to see my uncle fyshhynge and no harme yet come to hym. He turnd aboute to me wyth a blue fysshe in a potte and thenne he spoke in a very cleare voix as he brandishd it at youre adult Nashe in the place of the boy.

-You kinde Nashe have no relations. He sayd, whych I understood to mean I was alone in the worlde because everybody else was dede. But he smyled to me where i was, that is in the place of my younger selfe, and I felte a light memory of happinesse come on in me lyke a cable beynge connected.

And thenne he tooke the fysshe from the potte, and he put in in his mouthe whyche I saw was champing & was flashynge wyth pointed teethe, and I ran to the rivere and he hadde turnd his backe, and a saw a fishtail come from hym behynde, and a turn aboute, then I saw hym and the fysshe was huge and eatynge hym instead, and he was a fysshe and his whole hede was in its horrid mouthe. Then I turnd backe to the rivere and there layeth my uncle corruptynge in the marl. In frighte I put my handes to my hede, and I felt the firm silvery flesshe, and I hadde become a fyshhe, and I hadde already swallowd myselfe. I could not weep on the lande for longe, where the other fysh could not hear me, or I shoulde starve me of breathynge. And my uncle seemd long gonne, so I jumped in the water to flicker in there. And I was miniscule in it, and swamme through the eyesockets of skeletons in figures of eight until I forgot what it was that hadde evere changed in my shape or activitie, and I was unquestionably become a fysshe for evere.

Anyway, I awoke in this miserable attitude wyth tears still marking broadly symmetrickal lynes down my chekes and began to make the beste of the situation. I beganne by lookynge to see what might be arranged vis-à-vis liberation. My weapons I koude not finde to revenge myselfe on whatever vile miscreant had so ruind a day that thus far hadde seemd so plesaunt. The apallynge tenor of recent events was cruelly exacerbated by th’entrance of Sophia the Mother-of-Twain, whom I now perceivd had poisond my hotpotte in one of my lesse vigilante moments. I cursd myselfe for the yndiscretion. The bondes beynge so tight, i didde nearly do myselfe myschief in my ambition to slip free my limbes.

Tuesday, October 04, 2005

Arrivynge on the Businesse Parke - The Proscenium for Nashes Shop-Scene - The Creche - The Attracktive Mother-of-Twain - The Shoppe-Floore - The Jigge

I walkd to the perimeter of London carefully fosteryng attitudes of benevolence and welcome to the beste of my abilitye, but they soon slumpd destroyd to the lowest shelf of my temp’rament. Alonge an endlesse Croydon track watchd on by eyelesse buildings, I founde the warehouse stucke in a dead sea of concrete, greye as a monument to the dede and as talle as a Catholick churche. It was surrounded by myriad muted cars & vehicles through whych I pickd my way. MFI, tolled the billboarde, and the ‘MFI’ chillynglye ran down my body like a ball-bearing along my veines. Children cryd in the trolley-parke as innocents, flaming furniture, and serpents streamd entangled from the front of the building. Vultures began to gather on the eaves where signs redeing ‘Special Offer’ hung tatterd and ravaged, and I hadde the distinckt feelynge a syngle eye was watchynge.

I leapt to the fronte of the queue for the crèche and asked to deposit a childe.

-You have no childe, sir.
I asserted that my childe was close at hande and would be present in a twinklyng.
-That is a barefacd lie, he retorted.

I koude have runne hym through but with children presente I was not at liberty, byynge an example for the youthe as a cloakd Vigilante.

-Let me in the crèche then, I said quicke as a cat.

He grudgyngly allowd me into the colourful ball area which I thought tolerable and none too bryght. A nurse attemptd to comfort me when I fell from the blue ladder but I heroickally made for the greene one from whose summit I gave a superb Rendition of ‘Childe Behynde the Bar’ much to the astonishmente of all. However, I was on a commission so to speke and my rooms koude nott furnish themselves, so I bade farewelle to most of the denizens of the kaleidoscopick creche and left with a mother-of-twain namd Sophia, husband dec.

Her lyfe story I wyll not bore you wyth but it shoulde suffice to saye she was starvd of company and we entertaind ourselves wyth banterynge one or two of the other shoppers as we orderd oure Hottpot for Lunch. She was shoppynge for a brekefast barre and a kind of jackhammer I know not what. I strukke me I had not even sett foot on the shoppe floure and yet the peripheral entertainments were disractynge enough thatte I was drivn to wonder how I hadde come to thys Elysium at all excepte by the smyle of Fate.

-You are surely the loveliest Mother-of-Twain I have evere encounterd, eye pledgd across the steamynge Hotpot.

But duty calld. I was enforcd to begin my shoppe withoute so muche as a kisse from her, and I betook my cape and daggers to the chair department.

-The hardest and most incommodious chair you have, Sir. I ordered to the shoppe-boy.
He said he should trye and went to fetch a moste simple and utilitarian chayre which would turn a courtesan chaste.
-Here is one, Sir, he sayd, presenting me wyth the block-lyke thynge.
-This is horrendous, I mutterd. Now brynge the bedde whych maynt be slept on.
-Very well, sir. He trotted toward the cellar and gesturd for me to follow.

We passd through many rooms of chaynes, spykes etc that spoke well of the unprecedented Puritanism of the bedde I was plannynge to buye. Eventually, the shoppe-boy unveild a bedde with a surface lyke a billiard ball, and a contour so discontinuous one could pour rainwater on it and be left with ten or twelve separate pools.

-THATTE is the bedde for me, I stoutly announced.

The shoppe-boy was delighted and scratchd his humpe. He was doynge a litel jigge, I noted.

-Very well, sir, he replyd. He kepte jiggynge, as if he were clockworke.

I didde not know whatt it was but there came a ringynge in my ear lyke a silver bell hadde been sette to tinkle in me. Yet it tinkled out of season, and furthermore too quickly. And further to thatte I felt my balance shakynge and the bell was tollynge and not tinkling more. Thenne I felte the syngle eye on me agayne.

I lookd rounde, whereon I felt a sharpe whacke on my hede and a sense of occluding dizziness o’ertake your wholesome Thomas Nashe.

Monday, October 03, 2005

Burstynge Backe upon the Scene - An Analysis of the Underbelly - A Catalogue of Accoutrements - A Tripp Conceivd

I will not be blunte with you. I remaine confydent that yf literatvre operates at the uery keenest edge of existence, my continving preseunce at its lippe must implye a certeyn sharpenesse in myselfe. Rather thane sitte and be blounted by the vicissitudes and libidinousse styes of the citty, I colleckt uppe my penne and with an Herculean Efforte begyn again to Write on the electrick page.

My terrifyinge sickenesses havynge long passed, and the shippe that was to come in with 'Nashe' writ huge on the side havynge laid long out of harbour and eventually run agrounde on a rocke, I searche the streets for medication or solace in whatsoever measure the metropolis wyll dispence. I speke whyspers into keyholes to gain access to cigarre-chokd boudoirs where ill-dressd ladies desporte in flesshy dock-work and calculatynge men keep tyme wythe their adding-machines. I wryte my narrow pathe on the curlynge street of St John’s Wood where the grotesques shamble twain by fearful twain and I slip from bushe to bushe unseen. Nobody dares cross my pathe, for I carrye an armload of Projeckts and deceits by me, to thwart adventurous sailors or brygandes, fundamentalystes and othere ryders of the Crime-Wave. Lette me, for youre benefitt, catalogue my personal effects.

1. A smalle knyfe that can cutte through a bramble or wire.
2. A biggere knyfe thatte can could trimme a mammouthe.
3. A twelvegram of gunpowder.
4. A flake-jackket or bullette-proofe.
5. One brace duelling pistols by which I challenge assailantes to a duel.
6. One paire leather armbands for shew, wythe embossynges.
7. One crymson cape.
8. One monogrammd cutlasse.
9. One poignard to holde between my teethe.
10. One apple for a snacke.

It wyll by nowe be apparent that Nashe, unsafe in his own familiar neighbourhoode, has chosen to take the lawe into hys Owne Handes and is become the best kind of Hispanick VIGILANTE. Although I doe nat have a special name for myselfe, and neither have I observed some of the 20th-Century’s conventions regardynge tightness of Fitt and so forth, I am yet a fearsome and diabolical opponent wyth a smyle lyke a poisond arrow and a cutlass so trenchant it koude gutte a Bulle Elafaunt.

My roomes reducd to a feathery pulp by my anticking at practice, I aym to restore their Opulence by a tripp to the MFI, a journey whose consequences for the criminal underworlde wyll doubtlesse form the topick and measure of my ensuing poste.

Monday, June 20, 2005

Buchinger Aboard - A Location - A Minor Hitch - The Performaunce - The Gravity of Stardom

Nowe that Buchinger and I hadde formd our groupe, the date was sett for oure first foraye into th'arena. It behoved me to enlighten hym of my formere plight, so that he mighte understande better from whence the lyrickal inspiration for oure new projeckt stemmd, and also that he coulde supply some of the correckt musickal interjeckshuns as and when fit. I explaind what had happend to Jereboam, Lady Maud &c. as beste I coulde; Dr. Harvey I mostly lefte oute for Matthews sake. However, I hadde recently receyvd a peece of news that I hope wyll interest you as muche as it chilld me.

Jereboam M-G, beinge cartd to Bedlamme as I have noted, had founde herselfe, to speke more exactly, in a kind of Hospital for the Criminally Insane. The mere screamers and lycanthropes, it seemeth, remaine in a kind of lowe-security facility, while the truly dangerous such as Jereboam are kept in a special confinement that is designd to keepe them right oute of the publick consciousness. She had writ me a letter from her celle, explaining a most uncanny turne of events. Apparently, her arrest hadde ledde to a period of the cruellest interrogation in which she bawled out Dr. Harvey's name so many times the investigators were fixd on bryngynge him inne and havynge a word. The longe and the shorte of't is: Harvey nowe resided in a cage beside her in Cell Blocke F.

My delighte at the symmetry of eventes was onlye compounded by the realization that Buchinger, beynge suche a major draw, was in grete demande aboute the meetyng-houses, schools and theatres of the regyoun. The there promisd so litel trouble gettynge a gigge was one thynge, but whenne the possibility was raisd thatte we mighte performe in a PRISON, my eyes instantly caught fire. Harvey and Manx-Granville together. If we coulde incite a kynde of riot or similar disturbaunce, they mighte bothe be crushd in the thronge and nobody woulde be any the wyser to my schemynge. I popped Buchinger uppe from the foldynge bedde and tolde hym we coulde really execute a glorious showe.

-Youre beinge drivn by madnesse, Nashe. Whatte do you expeckt me to do. I am but a lighe entertainer.

I brushd aside hys fears like so many cleand bones.

-Buchinger, if we can pleye thys gigge, all thynges mighte be cleand up and you mighte also get a rosette for youre lovely hede.
-A rosette?

Buchinger was a simpel manne.

-Yes. And thatte lovely pinte I have been mentally measurynge beside you for a goode fewe dayes now.
-Yes plese. Youre a crackynge fellowe and a good egge.

So we donnd our capes, mustachioes, poinards, doublets, thonges, wigges and electrick vizors etc and sette off for the local Prison for the Insane.

A straunge younge ladye mette us at the door and thenne begann t'injeckt us wyth chemicals I knowe not whiche. By the ende of the session Buchinger was lyvynge the rock and rolle dreame. A while passd as I recoverd my effects, and I was tunynge my triangle in the lavatory whenne a vaste Guard came in to telle me Buchingere was doynge his make-up in the canteen and was thys close to a beatynge. Rushynge to my co-workers aide, my minde racd alonge wyth me. I realisd Buchinger, seemynge so vulnerable but also, as I hadde learnd in the precedynge dayes, an accredited master of Kung-Fu, Rapiers and God knoweth whatte else, was goynge to playe a crucial role in oure ackt. As I burste into the dinynge halle I sawe hym tryynge on a boa by his reflexion in the lacklustre silverware. I bowled for'ard and took a hold of his stuntd armes, keepynge backe the convicts wyth the speche I ventriloqisd thro' hys frame.

Ho! Ho! Come to witnesse me, the Sherrife of Despaire, later! Ho! In the main Blocke! Ile fit you all, Ile take all of you onne, all of you, come on. Aren't I a funny litel manne. Ho! I am the Sherriffe of Despaire.

The idiottes thought Buchinger was spekynge and boppynge but really it was I manipulatynge from the rear. His neat body jiggld on the table. The convicts wente wilde for't. I kept Buchinger backe and tooke hym to the dressyng-room.

-Do not make yourselfe uppe in publick Matthew it maketh you looke vulnerable.
-I have evry righte, I am a starre.
-Notte yet. Notte yet.

Come the showe, we performd many of oure own songes: 'Car Bus Carriage Highway'; 'The Ballade of Shoe #2'; 'The Roar in Youre Emptye Hede', and oure real hitte was 'Childe Behynde the Bar'. The place was heavynge and Buchinger performd some trickes wyth cardes and dyce durynge th'intermission, in his 'Sherriffe of Despaire' character that I hadde invented. Instede of incitynge violence, he absolutely broughte the house downe. We closd wyth a cover of 'The Nyghte We Calld It a Daye'. Buchinger guested on vocals and blacke cylinder for that numbere, and I conductd the military choir who didde harmony. The climactick note made four prisoners die in the front row, so mighty was Buchinger's voix. Yette Doctor Harvey was nowhere to be seene.

Buchinger was stille holdynge that final note as the roome cleard. He seemd false. There was no emocioun. The lights dimmd and night seepd in where the light was before. Stille Buchinger helde the note. I sate downe and considerd my planne was not so fine after all, but sillye, sillye. No riot woulde begin at oure concerte. Nothynge coulde be unleashd. Stille Buchinger helde the note. Was he alrighte? He was holdynge the note. Coulde he move? Could he see? It seemd holdyng the note was enough for his continued amusement. Stille he helde the note. I was furious and threw him.

Stille he helde the note. I am retirynge, I announced, from thys businesse. It is notte destrucktive enough and there is no meaning at all in't.

I lefte hym there.

Saturday, June 11, 2005

Mysterious Circumstances - Twin Luckes Ill and Good - The Moste Horrendous Thynge - A Desperate Yet Brilliaunt Planne

I am verye muche aware that recentlye I have not been as assiduousse as has been my wont in crankynge oute desckripshuns of my adventures. There is a verye simple resoun to this and it will notte take too longe t'explayne. I have been extremely, extremely drunke. More drunke than I have ever been before. So drunke, in fact, that when I woke uppe this morning on a parke benche in Munich, I hadde not the foggiest Idea what or where I was. Tear-blinded, I fashiond a device to catapault myselfe to the toppe of the tallest parke-tree, so that I koud better guage the Lay of the Land. Imagine my horrour when I realisd from my crows-nest, dear reader, that it was not Munich at all. No. It was Axminster. And I was just rubbynge my hede with confusyoun when I herd a very smalle grey voice some 30 feet beneathe me.

A smalle boy had ta'en up residence at the foote of my litel tree, and was screeching out a list of entertainments, to be playd in the square that a'noon. Occasionally, noisome wordes driftd up to Nashe through the branches, wordes like 'fantastick' and 'exotick' and 'amusynge', which I feare and loathe not lesse than Gehenna. Shimmyynge uppe into the higest branches so as t'escape this unwholesome intrusion uponn my mornynge in Axminster, I happd to falle painfully down th'entire tree and backe to earthe. Satisfacktorily, I crushd the boye, but pulld from his mangld hand a Bill of Fare, if you wille, for the forementioned Diversions, to be taking place in the Square &c. &c. Feelynge that some remorse shld be felte for the pore tykes being so cruelly flattend away, I decided to go and have a jolly goode laugh at whatsoever he was peddlynge.

Arrivynge at the Square about Two, I was mette withe a vaste thronge of people, who clusterd like blackberries about a single geometrick point in the plaza. Yet nothyng appeard to be there; it was as if they were inspecting a minute playe. Blastynge my waye to the front, I came upon a site, whose description the lady reader mighte do beste to averte her eyes from, that filld me with a deep sense of shame and Emptinesse.

[Ladye reader plese averte]

The man could notte have been more than 3 feete tall, yet he was glorious wyde, almoste like to a human ziggurat in the thronge at Axminster. His eyes and face seemd in perfickt proportion, yet to see the rest of him was ghastlye, a twisted pranke by Nature. With hands attachd to his shoulders, and feet to his groyne, he somehow fashiond to play on th'ocarina, singynge out a passable swete tune that missd some of the highr notes and I fancye koud have bene done wyth a litel more vigour. The croud abovt hym were wondrovs pleasd and they were applaudynge his every note, e'en the wrong ones of which, as I have noted, there were not a fewe. Callynge oute 'Matthew Buchinger' at the toppes of theyre voyces, they laughed enchanted as the straunge beest attemptd a bowe which saw him falle flatte on his face.

[Ladye reader plese reverte]

I tooke th'opportunity to congratulate the mis-shapen celebritie at my first convenience; I bagged him uppe and tooke him to my roomes by traine. Proppd on the kitchen table, he made quite a strykynge fixture. But I was notte for matchynge the curtayns with my future companyoun.

-Now, 'Buchinger', although I enjoyd youre performance very muche and woulde lyke to congratulate you with a nyce pinte, firste you shalle teche me everythynge you knowe aboute th'ocarina. Also, the hautboye, the straunge flute, the mezzo-soprano,and any other intrumentes you have tuckd away in that suprizing bulke of yours.

Buchinger did notte speke, but blew a short songe on his flute which delightedde me so thate I hadde to put my brewynge planne out before hym before it beganne to stewe.

-You and I, Buchinger, are goynge to forme a musickal groupe. It wyll be calld 'Thomas Nashe and the Straunge Litel Manne', is thatte satisfactory?

Buchinger playd an f-sharpe, a revoltynge note by whyche he meant his displeasure.

-Howe aboute 'Thomas Nashe feat. the Sherriff of Despaire'

Buchinger agreed. I hadde founde his niche. A few dabbes of eyeliner and a swifte arrangemente wyth my agent and we were readye for a Performaunce.

Sunday, May 29, 2005

Nashes New Veture - the Law Broken - Interview with a Victim of Crime - Another Merrie Execution - The Worke Goeth On

Like a ghastly teen-ager simperynge at hys owne capturd reflexion in an pier-glass, the contents of the rede boxe offerd little more than a self-serving catalogue of fecklesse and forgettable brayinge about its authors shortcominges. I desird to purify the situation in order that I mighte better slepe at night (and when I list, being in the habit recently of taking on deaths counterfeit at whatever hours and at bus-stations, cupboards, shipyards &c.), and decided to RUBBE OUT Lady Mawde as soon as I coulde. The methode I hit uponn was simple. Duryng her absence from the publick eye in her trysts with Harvey, I woulde substitute her Ladyshippe with a brilliant doppelganger who behavd every way like her - and when the Lady found her reputation in rags and tatters after Nashes spurious Maude had disgracd herselfe in the most awfulle ways imaginable, she woulde surely be driven to suicide or worse. Thus removing her from th'equation and leaving Doctor Harvey so love-lorne that he woulde surely knockke hymselfe dede over, and if possible with, her inert bodie.

Firste I needed a patsy, and this was furnishd easily by a tripp downe to the Houses of Parliament where I kidnappd a besuited lady I founde smackd out on a park-benche. She came to in Nashes rooms, stackd in a papier-mache gibbet made from olde pamphlets and pages of invective that I had idly writ againste Harvey and Maude, and wyth a sylver spoon stukke in her mouthe that she streightway spatte oute and berated your humble kidnapper & vigilante proser with the followynge, and in an intolerably excruciating voixe:

-You brazen crimynal y'll hang for thys, I have more than one father and they are Q.C.s all. People lyke you dont deserve to see the lovely birrds nor breathe this sweet air that G-d has gi'en us for nothynge but this (witnesse this) starry entry-stampe that I WEAR upon my SOULE while I see yours is as blanke as a perfickt egge... nor, clystermonger, am I beholden to you to allow myself to be so ridiculously coopd up in the servyce of whatever higgledypiggeldy scheme you mighte be cookynge up in that o'ersizd hede of yours.
-Whye madame, if you wyll lie as if a great human Pen on the universall inkestande of the parke-benche you muste expect to be usd like one.
-Damn youre eyes and please explaine what revoltynge procedures you have shord up against my retaining even the loosest grip on my life or dignity. Ile wager you're to sette me to ransome or on fire or make me into a piece of clip-art or some other devilry, I can see by youre inky hand youre a man of the Pen, I cannot trust those of that colour and certeinly not wyth an eye lyke youres it looketh like a comett smashynge into an eighteen-wheeler.

I approachd her with my pen at fulle cocke and, havynge chargd it with rede inke, drewe a vein-lyne on her tremblynge hande. I swore as her captor that nexte tyme it woulde be reel. She laughd at me.

-You are a pitiful captor. Whats youre name?

A brilliant thoughte strukke me.

-I am Doctor Gabriel Harvey, I proclaimd massively, and th'art an errant...
I was about to storm but founde myselfe utterly loste for thunder. Whats youre name I askd.
-Jereboam she said wyth a twinkle.
-Not Jereboam Manx-Granville, incumbent M.P. for Manchester and bible-eatyng puritan?
-The same.
-Damnd lucke

We continud in this grimm, funcktional manner for some tyme, while I filld her in regardyng the details of my corageous planne. She was to be releasd only upon condition of her takyng on all mannerisms and defeckts of dear old Maud and wearynge the speciall desguise I had procurd for her. Like gods proofreader, I explaind, she would write out Lady Maude's character and in the place of the bumbling ladyshippe would interpolate a new one. We appropriated Mauds mail by brybynge her milk-man, who quyckly putte the poste-man in his pockett and extorted from hym all we needed. Streightaway, we began to worke. She attended the openynge of a garden centre, and Nashe tooke up a guerrilla position behinde the arras, from which I applauded the oeconomical clockworke of my design.

Jereboam steppd to the fronte in her rotting apparatus and in a luxurious, silken tone spoke her speche.

-Speaking on behalf of the board of managers, the investors and the delightful Mrs Tenenbaum, I'd just like to say a few words about how important it is that we continue to invest in Gardens, plants and personal Agriculture. I believe - you know I do! - there was a reason Adam and Eve were only too happy to spend their days gardening [a ripple of knowynge laughter passd through the thronge here as only biblicall humour is wont to provoke in thys daye and age]. It appeals to the most essential parts of what we are. Gardening is more than a pastime or a diversion.

[she begann to waive her hands about dementedly]

Gardening is about slowing down. Keeping ourselves steady. Today, it's difficult even to keep an eye on what's really human.

At this pointe she rushed forward and began to saw offe her owne hede.

General chaos flourishd from th'ensuinge silence like milk bloomyng in liquor. Crowds runninge for safety were pickd off by a gigantick Venus flytrappe that towerd arounde the gate. Already Lady Mauds reputation was seriously damagd and all wede done was dresse up and holde forthe. I was just beginnynge to humm a favourite plainchante when I noticd Jereboam was being strightjacketed and smartly carried off to the local Bedlamme.

I worried, I grit my teeth aboute my tongue backe in my rooms. Who had putte her up to't, they'd aske. But it hitte me like an expresse. All theyde gette woulde be the trouthe.

Doctor Gabriel Harvey.

Tuesday, May 24, 2005

Nashe Speaketh Oute - A Message of Benediction - A Walke in NATURE - The Document - Nashes Furie - Nashes Continued Furie

I settld my rumpe this morning t'unpacke the boxe that sat athwart my deske. But before fallyng on't, I took my sharpest op'ner to th'inboxe of my E-MAIL and read some kinde and glowynge testimonies. I am moste touchd that a remote pamphleteer of youre Nashes mediocre intellect might penetrate so deeply into th'interstices of youre braines and prattle there. Therefore I craue youre indulgence and your rapt attention as I collect aside this flesshy veil of Tyme and encourage you to peer upon the exquisite stage behind, whereon Nashe shall shew you sightes to which oure cleverest ficktioners never yet aspir'd.

I have beene musing much of late 'pon the nature of my relationshippe with Doctor Harvey, and it was inne this blacke disposition that I walked the parke with some of Lady Mauds documents in hand. Iffe the good Doctor saw fit to RUBBE OUTE Nashe then surely his behaviour would be much the more violente. E'en Harueys miscreated genius might summon more invencioun than a flimsy attacke on the level of ingenuity more imaginable in a wooden parsnippe. A man does notte climbe a mountaine of iddiocy with no means to spit downe it, or perhaps Doctor Harvey is cleverere than I thought and is yet at base campe plottying some superingenious ascent to the peke of his imbecility.

As my comprehension whizzd these thoughts about th'interior of my skulle, I oped the first document and was enforc'd to stoppe dede. My tongue witherd lanklie in my mouthe. Infinitizemally, a beed of sweat trickld slowly from my temple down to't, upon which sudden bitterness my tongue reclaimed controul of itself and bawled out volubly a huge and mutilated crye, that shook my eyes to spasms and made them drenche my worthlesse chekes with water. What horror was writ in the letter - for a lettere it was, make no mistake - to confounde Nashes wits and emociouns so? I reproduce it here, all spellynge left untouchd, to communicate the very precise tragedie of th'experience.

My Dere Lady Maude C. de M.-C.

I muste not speke so openly to you in publick - this is why I ranne from you in the bathe-house for my oiling-boy was awaityng me in the slip-room and I wanted a minute or two att his mercye before I coulde fixx a tyme with you privily. Laste tyme we spoke it was so lyke a rhapture I wishd instantly to repeet it and to write an epick poem aboute your wriste which I have done the beginninge of (see below). Whatt I mene to say lady Morte-Croix is thatt I am youre humbleste and moste urgent of admirers and I encourage you to admit me too youre privacy in order we can be together in that happy prelapsarian worlde of whiche we spoke and at the very firste convenience. Yours unrestrain'dly and cak'd in longing Gabirel Harvey PhD.

Here followeth Harveys revolting poesy writ in stile paltry and vulgar.

Slick wriste, slow wriste, see them floppynge in opennesse:
Compete, my tongue, in most earnestest hopelessness!

My ladys wristes are the ripest for show-businesse
Her eyes that're fractal like paralysd rosebushes
Reflect on a sickle to breake me wyth closelessness
So close beyond focus it bombs me with focusslessness
What a wriste what a bangle what sulph'rous verbosity
Could rise to the copying of Patroclus' [?ness ?fuss ?bagpuss?]

[the documente goeth on in numbers yet fouler and wyth a plethora of crossynges-oute but I weep for its transcribing and muste leave off here]

I hadde to stoppe redeing so that i coude be sicke on the grasse. Harvey's poesy was not only nonsensical, incongruous, and in some wayes extremely profane, but it hadde clearly swam in the moste horrid soupe of his braine for muche too longe. I plannd directly to staple a bombe to his catt but i restrain'd myselfe sayeing Nashe that backchattering viper has notte the witte to do youre Lady Maud she is roughe anywey and I do thinke you coulde do bettere but if you were to inflickt some terrible ignominy on Doctor Gabriel Harvey as soone as possible it might be beste.

I realised it was not I was talking but a small boye behind me.

-Away, childe! I bellowed.

The smalle boye remain'd. I decided to take him onne as a kind of helpfull servaunt to my cause and thenne thought bettere of it and threw him to the duckes. My moode was blackere than evere. Both Harvey and Lady Maud hadde bettere watche it. I will discovere them to the publick eye and thenne I shall write the most magnificent poesy yet conceivd about it make no mistake, and thenne my fame wille spredde its mighty winges. No personne shalle ever attempte to subjugate Nashe to the vicissitudes of their hearts without suffering his owne apallynge flavour of renumeration.

Monday, May 23, 2005

Nashe receiveth a Letter - The Contents Reproduc'd - A Visit From her Ladyshippe - The Commision

It was already six o'clock in th'evenynge when eye noted that I was holdinge a letter. It was a creas'd pale envelope with a great smackere of a Stampe, emboss'd with the gigantic crimsom seal of My Lady Maud Cockaigne de Morte-Croix. Lady Maud hadde seen fitt to enclose a locke of her pubick hair, which I discarded. Here follow the contents:

'My dearest NASHE,

It has been my plesure to speke recently with youre agent who has recommended I come to speke with your at youre neareste connvenience my dearest NASHE. However my lumbago has been playynge uppe. It is regardynge your future employmente forre you know as youre patrone Eye must keepe you upp to speeed wyth all flucktyouashuns in the markett and my owne quite horrendous state of health. Youres hole-heartedly and respecktfully,

Ay remaine ever youre student and admiring and awe-paralys'd

Lady Maude Cockaigne de Morte-Croix'

As you can imagyne, I instantly swallowed my tongue. When was she to comme? And Howe? Watt would she bryng? I fidgeted bravely wyth my buckle, before setting out a table, two chairs, a songbird, a pott of tea, a deuce cups and a cushion for my lady's bakkes sake. No sooner hadde I finish'd the assembly of my litel tea-time than I was smash'd o'er the hede by a huge blakk bible which I took for my conscience. I then removed the songbirde, and replac'd it with a crucificks of Oure Lorde in his Passion, which hadde an electronick voice that sange tolerable well of his LAST DAYS and other such verses as Puritans are fond of.

Lady Maud arriv'd with all due ceremony in a smalle greye helicopter at seven o'clock. I shewed her to her seat and switch'd on the Electrick Saviour, which delighted her no small bit. Indeed, she seem'd so happy that she caste herselfe into the fire-place where almost the length of her right arme was consum'd in the flame. Neverthelesse, she sate down again and sipp'd at her tee with some poise.

-Now Nashe to speke of business.
-Yes Lady Maud.
-Whattt have you beene doinge with your selfe Nashe.
I corrected herr spellynge before replyynge:
-Well Madam I have stuffd a man into a postbox, commemorated the birth of my aunte, been viciously undone by that wretch Docktor Harvey and have revenged the Slight with no less than Epick thoroughness.
-Oh Nashe.

There followd a stiff silence in which we bothe felt for a topick.

-Yes Lady Maud.
-I want you to peruse these documents and fille me in.
-Yes Lady Maud.
-Nashe here is £78,000 do not spende it on prostitutes.
-Yes Lady Maud.
-I must go Nashe I must go.
-Goodbye Lady Maud.
-Thankyou she almost screamed and threw herself at my nekke then begann breathing very harde.

After I hadde watched her to her helicopter and seen her fly off toward peckham I returned to the rede boxe she hadde left, mark'd NASHE. If I did not follow her commands I should lose my house, my livelihood, her friendship and most importantly a chance to effect my aformentioned revenge on Doctor Harvey through a loss of the Right to Publish. As I sitte here beside the unopen'd boxe it dawns on me that it is going to take me a longe time to rede it all. I shalle begin tomorrow.

Sunday, May 22, 2005

Nashes indignation - Hys novel Scheme - Journey to the Alehouse - The Vehicle - The Plot put in Motion - A Memoriall Poesy

Doctor Harvey's despicable assavlte on your most incommoded and unregenerate Nashes dignity has been mark'd and remark'd upon. Nowe I shalle shew how it was that I reveng'd his abominable assailement with a scheme so diamond-sharp in its targetting, so immaculate in its simplicity, and so lustrous in its catholic brilliance that euen the whores of cheape-side wyll regarde their primitive employmente as an incomprehensible cobwebbe by comparison with the all-ingesting radiance of the elementary work that NASHE did set aboute.

Yet first I muste issve an apologia for the lakke of promised musings in my former entry. So furious was I as a smashed at the quayboarde that I quite forgote to sett any downe. But I digresse.

What ravenous boar could I unleash on the precincts of Harvey's braine? Come morning, I walk'd out with the intencioun of finding some meat for my invention. And haply, just as I stepp'd in the door of the Blakke Swann alehouse, my prayers were answer'd. From a screene that sate at the end of the barre, there issued a tremendous bawling of engines and a flickeryng streame of ymages that denoted vehicles shootyng aboute a circular and labyrinthine trakke. I fainted dede awaye and was beaten badlye in the alehouse, but betook myselfe backe to my rooms to work at my scheme. Already a hadde an Inklyng of what I should do.

I would drive myselfe directly into Doctor Gabriel Harvey's hede.

Harvesting from the surrounding streets a portion of scrap, a dede dogge, a zimmer-frame, a leather gloue, a cheste freezer, a mousetrappe and a vaste barrell of oxyacetylene, I proceeded to build my Carriage. It look'd like the dede dogge - the dede dogge was the chassis - but it roared like a beast blinde and crazed, and very muche alive. When it was finyshed, I flew it into Doctor Gabriel Harvey's hede.

Nashe does not take pity. He does nott weepe for the unfortunately crippl'd Doctor Harvey. I have writ a poesy for hys downfalle.

In hopeless booke did Harvey write:
The page that kept his life was white.
His empty braines were plateaux streight,
So Nashe he prick'd to compensate.
Yet Nashe end-stopp'd and turn'd to gain
The pique which Harvey would inflame:
In paying like for like in like
Nashe turn'd his day clock-wise to night;
Now Harvey roils in just reward
For Nashes fame is right restor'd.

Nashes Journeye to the Fronte Door - Doubts in the Night - Nashe openeth the Front Door

Another most inauspicious event has transpired, which my minute yet elite readership will find transcribed herebelow, together with some most realisticall musinges of youre Nashe vpon the meaninges and Providences at worke in the backgammon of CONJECTURE.

Lookyng up from my evenings entertainments I noted, oozing from below the doorway to my study, a distinckt and improper orange light. I directly swivelled my plastick chair diametrickally away from my deske, and threw myselfe screaminge into the door, furious that I shoulde have been so disturbed by an errour in Nature.

My house is not on fire! I bellowed enragedly.

After bracing myself againste the opposite wall like to a star-fishe at the opening of a plunging crevasse, I recovered composure sufficient to advance on the door, which had not yet caught fire. Opening it a crakke I noted that nor hadde the hallway. Nothing burn'd, yet light was all about me, oranging me. What coulde I do? Orange glinted on my smoothe for'hede as I advanc'd on the front door. In a wanne side-roome, my clocke read 'three'. It was the very witchyng houre of nighte, and your humble narr. was whipp'd by his own fancy into a kinde of ecstatic phrenzy. What daemonry was this, that rous'd me from perusal of my favourites? Why did light thus derangedly pour from the furrow'd glasse of the door? The spyhole did wink at me. I rais'd a trembling hande and turned it in the lighte. Behind me, in the study, my candle burn'd horrid and dim in the faintess.

I conjectured the entire world must be ablaze. Yet heroically Nashe, trapp'd between a vision of gehenna and a false bedtime amongst unspeakable night-terrors - for returyng to my bookes was impossible by now - chose th'apocalips. My hande reached for the knobbe of the front door, as I clos'd my lungs and eyes to the awful consequence. My toes scrap'd the toppes of my schoes. I flunge the door open.

With an almightye crash, thirty-two pounds of o'er-ripe eggs, biscuit, and prostitutes felle on my hede.

I thinke Doctor Harvey is behinde this. When I have revenged this catastrophic slight I shalle publishe cross-sections of his manhood in a Limited Edition.

Monday, May 09, 2005

The womanne and the beast - the poste-office clerke - Nashes returne in misery

I telle you, it has been a murie day in my hede. Twice have I ensconced a lady, and in furtherance of her have squandered sixteen pounds on a donkey on which to place her. She lookes magnificent astride't. I sit atyping clad in veal-meat and bandages after this morning there befell me a most horrid incident that I shall forthwith relate unto you.

I had my handes open to recyve into them a packet of no small importt, it being the birtheday of my aunte in 1596, and I was standing crookedly at the bar of a post-office. I was sendynge her a Frenche litre of scotche, for my aunte is a heroine amongst the squalid of her borough through her abilities of swilling away pintes by pintes of the stuffe. Then, counfounde it, the clerke saw my handes were sullied with inke, and suspected me of my intencioun.

-You are sendinge Inke into Hakneye? (cunnynglye, I had labeled the packet 'Inke' with my broadest quill)
-Ay. There is a shortage.
-Of Inke?
-Ay. Now poste it, confounde you.
-I cannot post inke.
-Nor can I hear the wimpish maunderings of milk-bred intellect. Post the Inke or I shalle poste you.
-I cannot, it is clearly to spille in the poste-man's sacke.

I knew the packet did not containe Inke, for I had pack'd it earlier with Scotch. But I could not let on. If he were to open the packet it should spille oute.

-If you do not poste that Inke I shall stab thee, I menaced.
-Pshaw! replied he. There is a Glasse Wall between us.

I destroyed the Glasse Walle with my hede, and stuff'd the whole sorry combobulation, clerk, Inke and all, into the poste-boxe.

I awoke at my terminalle wrappd, as I saye, in veale-mete and blake bandages. My lady is still astride the donkey i'th corner of the roome. Perhaps she and I may have ourselves a little chattere over a cupp of hot milke.

Sunday, May 08, 2005

Nashe cometh - Apology for Nashe - Statement for Orthography - Statement of Intencioun

Howeuer otherwise you might think it, I Thos. Nashe am liuing and well in this anno domini of 2005. This is the way the purgatorial biscuit has seen fit to dispose itself and the way your humble narr. shalle dispose hymselfe. I shall keepe my blogge well up to date with news of suche matters as infuriate me, Thomas Nashe, in this century of high-speed muttering of chickenfat and elecktrick wires. And it is you, my most magesticall readers, who shall indulge me. Isn't it? Ay.

My spellynge might seeme a little unstable, for whiche I craue youre patience as i update myselfe. My first idea in producing this modern steam-pamphlet is to unclose the great web of strings in which my brain wriggleth, and loose it yamping and bitinge amongst the infant musings of lesser intellects, and all othere concernes muste be secondarie. I shall not reste untill I have crack'd at least in six the notion of my 'Death'.

Youde better watche it.

Nashe, 8/5/05