What did We Find at the Airport?

It is too much for words, so I am not going to try to use them to describe the majesty. Please, behold:








Alright, take a moment to really absorb what's depicted above.

Okay. There are a number things worth noting, and a few questions:

• A cactus with sunglasses appears on every completed page
• The cactus with sunglasses is not the narrator
• The credited author is Willowbelly Conbreast. Willowbelly Conbreast!
• The Gliding Spider Wheelchair: organic or not?
• While obviously incomplete, the book is stapled and numbers 30 pages
• What is the significance of the Canoe Ride?
• In the first non-cover illustration the narrator appears to be holding open his coat, which contains scissors, a hammer, and an unidentified object that could be either wrenches or a plasma lamp.

I encourage any and all readers to share their thoughts/speculations/reactions about/regarding/to this remarkable find. Thank you. YOU'RE WELCOME


p.s. - or - I can't stop thinking about this.

We googled everything in this text - Willowbelly Conbreast, gliding-spider-wheelchairs, hidden shows at bonfires, Eh·o'nites, canoe ride uncertainty - all to no avail. We picked apart every page looking for clues, debating aspects of every illustration, and questioning the motives and reliability of our narrator. I know that this story has remarkable potential, and I hope that by some internet miracle we are able to establish contact with Mr. or Ms Conbreast. If such hopes go unfulfilled, however, can I in good conscience continue what has been started?

What did I Discover?

A kinetic water sculpture in the sink. So what if I spent what few waking hours I had today lying on a floor eating peanut butter while wanting for serotonin - at least this happened.



You're welcome, as usual.

Here is How the Situation has Improved

I guess I owe the world some kind of apology, or at least a retraction. Maybe not the world, as it had very little to do with what’s happened, but you get the idea. You see, the Problem I informed you about on Wednesday has seen a kind of resolution. Thanks to the dutiful efforts of one AK, The Place is now thoroughly pumpkin’d. I plan on butchering sometime in the evening, but we all know how plans go. I know I should take occurrences like this one as evidence that the world is not a looming, terrible, monstrous place that is dead-set to ruin everything, so I will. This is called [some kind of] irony, and was all anybody wanted to write about in the nineties.

Information on my success or failure to craft a view-worthy jack o’lantern will be shared as it becomes available, though this coming weekend will be a time of little respite as zombie movies and this endeavor* devour the better part of my time. Also, like so much of the Mac-having, glasses-wearing, obesity-afflicted Internet I am excited for This in a way that poses substantial danger to my heart and capillaries.

*for more fun Information about this go Here.

Here is Another One of Those Many

There is so much potential for this piece of electrical equipment, but I lack so many of the necessary skills to make it entirely functional. It is worth noting, however, that the radio and the speakers are both in excellent condition, and produce a very serious amount of sound with a somewhat serious amount of hissing.

Here is Some Information about That Record Player

Just over half an hour ago I received a transmission from my good friend regarding the existence and location of an Electric Phonograph on the sidewalk in front of a house on a street less than thirty yards from The Place. I took the initiative and went on a salvage mission, returning with the piece of equipment. Here:



There are two things that I find particularly interesting about this record player/am/fm radio. The first is that all of the cords coming out from the player (both speaker channels and the power cord) have been cut, obviously by scissors that can deal with fairly serious quantities of wire. What's strange is the fact that the amputated sections of the player's wiring, including the plug of the power cord, were in the box along with the item itself. It's as though someone deliberately maimed the machine before setting it out for pedestrians of the area.

The second detail I'm particularly enthralled with is the fact that the warning on the back of the record player seems to feature the epitaph for Stephin Merrit's heart.



Now you know

Here is That Piece of a Note I Found

Inside of an empty box, which itself was in the lobby of a building in which no one ever seems particularly interested in spending any of their time.



It is unclear who Janet is or where the rest of the information intended for her on the note can be found. I will hope for the best.

Here is that Picture of a Beetle You Asked For