Greetings, dearest readers. As has become the custom for this blog, it is I, Parciloquy the Peculiar, Pleonast of Bleak-on-Vomir, Thaumaturge of the Aurantian Concordat, CEO of Interdimensional Business Machines, Inc., along with far too many other titles from a variety of different worlds to list here.
I am writing this warm Cascadian day in response to a query I received through electronic mail querulously expressing disbelief in my claims that, though I wear the mild-mannered body of Happy Valley resident Lancelot Squib,1 I am in fact Parciloquy the Peculiar of the aforementioned titles (along with many others left unmentioned), a wizard of the 69th Aeon of the Inevitable Realm of Atlass.
I have written this disquisition in response to the most salient arguments found within the electronic mail. Whilst I am an adventuring wizard and have often to resort to roguery to further my aims, I am at heart of a genteel nature, so I shall not disclose the identity of my captious detractor. However, I will mention that those around her typically refer her as “your majesty.”
First, I find it difficult to believe that you are a being from another world. Seriously? And you are supposed to be from the "69th Aeon?" Ha ha, we get it. That's the sex number.
I will attest that I am, in fact said wizard and affirm that the Inevitable Realm of Atlass is a world much like your own, though wholly different. Or, at least it was much like your own for the first hundred thousand years of civilized habitation by intelligent beings usually humanoid in nature.
Having been inhabited by civilized beings for such a long time, the history of the Inevitable Realm of Atlass must be divided up into more manageable portions for those of us whose research makes knowing obscure historical trivia important. With so many ages and epochs to sift through, it only makes rational sense, no?
You might be surprised to learn the number “69” has almost identical sexual connotations in our world as it does yours. Sophomoric jokes aside, the other members of the Aurantian Concordat2 and I had actually hoped this constant reminder might help spur the flagging humanoid populations of Atlass. Nothing seems able to cure the existential malaise that rules the peoples of the world, alas. Before this current visit to your world, I would place a liberal estimate (including humanoid creatures such as deodands and vampires) of the population of Atlass around only a few million beings.
The population of more “authentic” humans as is common on Earth worlds, could not be more than a several thousand at most. One of the goals of the Aurantian Concordat is to repopulate the earth with authentic humans, but there is little reason to have children when the world may literally end at any moment and the cloning tanks can only produce so many.
So you claim that you already know about Earth because you've spent hundreds of years studying it? But you also claim you've only been here for a few years. So which is it?
I also affirm and attest that there are dozens more alternate versions of Atlass which coexist alongside dozens of alternate versions of your own Earth. I have visited a number of these versions of Earth, several of which were almost identical to your own, so indeed I can quote Shakespeare or Shakira although I have been inhabiting my manservant’s body in your world for only a few short years now.
And finally, I'm supposed to believe that you are running some multinational corporation that is building illegal particle colliders, fusion-powered space stations, and sentient computers? And all of it in secret? Oh, you've got a great mind for sci-fi, but if you think I'm going to believe any of that, then you're nuttier than L. Ron Hubbard.
As I have said before, it matters not to me if you or any of your fellow inhabitants of this dimension know about my so-called insouciant machinations. Indeed, I hope you don’t since schadenfreude is a guilty pleasure of mine. And when Laddys Fermille and I are finally able to create the dimensional rift between our universe and yours… well, that day is going to be a bad day for every living thing on your planet. And some (such as those of you humans who aren’t already homicidal sociopaths), are going to have a much rougher go at it than others. C’est la vie.
But even if you do believe me in earnest, attempting to stop us will prove quite futile. While you can kill or imprison Mr. Squib, shut down our secret research facilities, and dissolve Interdimensional Business Machines if you like, you will find yourself quite powerless to stop Xir Fermille and myself from returning to your world again whenever we choose.
Considering your lack of knowledge of even the very existence of thaumatadiastatic energy,3 the mightiest of your nation states can’t do much even with the extreme paucity of magical energy my associate and I are able to access.
Indeed, I am already aware of the various infiltrations by various organizations such as the CIA, GRU, the Church of Scientology, Ordo Templi Orientis, and a few others. Your universe does have enough residual magical energy to give us access to “paranormal powers of perception” as I believe many of you call them. In fact, on a world such as ours abilities like remote viewing, telekinesis, telepathy, and the like are so basic that even the most isolated and primitive of the authentic humans have access to them in varying degrees.
And most of you don’t even believe such abilities exist! Do you think I’m going to have that difficult of a time finding another body to possess, transmuting more precious metals, and in the end doing the same thing all over again? I think not, my dear humans of Earth Prime.
Just like other Internet hoaxes, your stories are pure fiction. I don't even need to prove your claims false, since they are flatly bizarre. But I guess that's common with cult leaders like yourself.
I shall close this piece by assuring you that I do not care if you believe me or not, for it matter little. Much like those of you who do not believe the climate of your Earth is changing – your opinion matters little in the face of objective fact.
You may choose to believe me someone with an over-active imagination, or a schizoid with bizarre delusions, or even as the product of a strange and misguided disinformation campaign. But my associate l’Xir Fermille and myself know different. And when our insouciant machinations finally reach fruition, then you too shall no longer have the bliss of your ignorance to cling to.
And on that note, I believe it is time to end this disquisitory examination of my first (and only) piece of fan mail. I am so delighted that I have touched the imagination of at least one you here on Earth Prime; after all, it must have taken her majesty at least ten minutes to come up with “insouciant machinations.” Perhaps if those of you reading this survive the initial purge, you shall be one of the lucky few we enslave to help repopulate the Inevitable Realm of Atlass.
Yours Truly,
Parciloquy the Peculiar
L.L. SQUIB’S POST SCRIPT:
Any more, I’m used to these strange notes left on top of the Macbook when I “wake up” after weeks of lost time. I’ve come to accept my new reality, I guess.
I looked for the email mentioned by Parciloquy, but the only emails in my inbox were Facebook notifications. After I checked, I had the strangest premonition, though. I move the refrigerator from the wall and there was some sort of a screen embedded into the back. It seemed to be attached to the refrigerator with little arms made of flesh and bone. Like something from a David Cronenberg movie.
I don’t know where it came from, and none of the writing on it was English (it looked like Greek, actually). Looking at it flickering in the middle of pulsing flesh made me feel ill, so I pushed the refrigerator back against the wall and got myself a glass of milk from inside.