Woof...extra crazy one today.


So...there are...voices in my head? Yikes, I sound insane. Absolutely bonkers. You don't have to say it, I know you're thinking it. But I need to explain.


It just...started. I woke up yesterday...and, there was a man in my head. He speaks in very old English, so I'm guessing they're an old spirit of some kind. They spoke so cryptically I couldn't get any information. I can't even begin to repeat what they said. Although I understood it, they spoke in a way no human would. If I weren't a poet, I would have had no idea what they said.

Ahem...anyways, I began to ask questions. He didn't give any logical responses, only locations. Mind you, when I say locations, I'm talking about things such as "The pumpkine patche amongst thyne full moone" or something to the like. Not really a location, but a description of a possible place. Then, the strangest thing happened...he just, left. He said he needed to leave and... skedaddled on with his day?

I began to think. What could that have been? A ghost? A student? A hallucination? Its really impossible to say, even now. They're just...voices.

And yes, there are more than one.

After a few moments passed, another voice popped into my head. She said her name was Charlotte. I tried to ask questions...but...it's almost like they couldn't hear me. Don't get me wrong, they definitely tried to respond to my questions, but it's as if they only heard half of it, or small fractions of it. Like answering my queries wasn't their main objective. She warned me about psyhigh, and something called "The Seven". I assumed it to be worthless gibberish. Sorry, I STILL assume it's gibberish. Maybe my buddy @Herbert West knows a bit more about it?

After six questions, they disappeared once again. It's almost as if they believe they have bodies, or are real beings. In fact, I think they are. But what are they? Propaganda? Spirits? Demons?

But then, just as I was thinking that, a demon did start speaking.

They're name is Abselsius. That's what they said, at least. Abselsius, well, they were different than the other voices. They actually responded to me, logically. They were...surprisingly nice. I'm not sure if it's because of my isolation, but I felt very...happy? Talking to him? I'm fascinated by him. I'm going to ask if the wonderful @Herbert West can search the library for a book that he thinks could have more info.


Anyways, on to other matters. I appreciated the muffin. It was the best food I've had all week. Simply impeccable. Secondly, the letter. I'm not gonna read it. It made me very upset. No letter of the day.


-V the poet

Convenient...I also need bodies. I can't say why, but it seems we both need similar goals. There's somebody very close to me who needs them.


I will supply as many bodies as you need, my friend. I believe this is the start of a long and fruitful partnership.

With love, V

Herbie... Herbinator...there's just one problem.


I don't want to leave my room. If you would be so kind as to personally deliver it ... I would pay you. Just name your price! I wouldn't normally do this, believe me - I'm just very focused on something important right now. I'll say more about it in my next log.


Please?

-V

Yikes...okay. I'll get you a body. But...from where?


Aha! My dead fish!


I know it's not ideal...but maybe it would work?


-V the Poet

I know, I know, posting three times in just one day? A lot, even for a writer. However... I have an interesting development. It appears there is a voice from the beyond, a realm that no longer exists, a realm from which a dead god reigns, speaking to me in my head.

Geez, I sound crazy. But it's true! It's not intrusive or anything, nor does it seem to be using any product placement to effect my dreams. It's just...talking. alone. The last of it's kind. Forced to live even when reality itself decays, and the atoms we are made of no longer exist.

Anyways, I have a big chemistry test tomorrow. I'm trying to get a certain @Herbert West to give me my letter from the watchers. I'm probably not going to write about it's contents. Privacy, and all that.

Sometimes, I feel like I'm not talking to anybody, really. Like there isn't anybody viewing my letters, my posts, but I know that's not true. It's just scary, for all my work to potentially go unseen.

Yikes. Depressing post today.

Sorry folks.

-V the poet

Just to test this, I'm going to respond to the letter of the day in here - this one is from...I can't begin to read this name. Must be an Eldritch student. Anyways...

"V,

Is there any way to get to places in the school really fast? I mean, like some kind of elevator or guaranteed way to move around quick. I keep getting tardies!"


To be honest, I'm not fully sure. I'm not saying I couldn't figure it out, I just...don't travel enough to know. Sorry. If I had to guess, I would say using some kind of underground secret passage would get you from A to B without much traffic. I can't tell you where the entrance is, or the teachers will have my head.


-V the poet

I think it would be easier for me if I directed some of the more urgent requests to the interwebs, so I can respond faster. If you have any inquiries that require my urgent and immediate attention - I implore you to send a message here.


-V the Poet

Why hello there, propieters of Orion ranch!

Is there, perhaps a reclusive, isolated spot in your ranch for a reclusive, isolated poet? I promise I will make it worth your while!

I need a break from my room. I want to go outside. Alone. Free.


What are the requirements for a one week session? Please get back to me ASAP


-V the Poet

@Herbert West


Why, being in THAT organization would allow me to better observe and record the actions of the schools hive mind.

Also, I might have accidentally sent you a letter. Please don't read it if you don't think it's yours. It could be cursed.


Today's letter of the day is from Melissa P.

"Dear Poet,

Why does this school smell so foul! It's like nobody here has ever heard of deodorant! Please answer this for me!"


First of all, call me by my FULL title next time. Disrespectful. Secondly, does anybody remember that scavenger hunt from about two years ago? Well, there are items from the hunt that were never found. One of them produced a particularly...foul odor. It's in one of the vents. Somebody should get it. Additionally, there's a special event occurring in the school involving onions, so pardon me for the wet paper caused by my crying. If you can't handle it...well...just go to the garden? I guess? Most of the place smells good.


Weird how I'm still tired, even though I just slept for months. That happen to anybody else? I think I used all my sick days for all 4 years of psyhigh. Whoops. Sophomore year is going to be terrible!


What can I do.

My goldfish died. I wish I was more sad, but I fell asleep before I could really grow attached. Maybe it's for the best, then. It sucks though. I was actually wondering if anybody would volunteer to dispose of the tank and the body itself. Those bat things keep swinging at it...and it's really REALLY annoying. I will leave it just outside my room. Please, I'm begging somebody to pick it up. I'll do anything.

Ahem... I must also say that, during my sleep, I had a mass writing incident. All the letters on my room were gone. But I don't think the responses ever got to their writers. I'm really sorry. If you think yours got destroyed, try and write another one.

Be mindful of randomly appearing trap doors. They've been popping up everywhere, and nobody is talking about it. I'm worried about one of them leading to the inside of my room, as they seem non-euclidean. I should report them formally...but I'm sure somebody else will do it.

Here's my question of the week - if you could speak any non-euclidean language, which one would you pick and why?

Alrighty, I'm going to sign out. I'll see if I have time to write tomorrow.

-V the Poet

Hello! Salutations! Greetings! Hola! Etc.

Yes, I have returned after my cosmic slumber, ready for more!


If you have any inquiries, feel free to write a letter, send it to the 8th tallest spire in the school.



V the poet