Guy Fox

Currently holding the Chair of Pataphysics at the Miskatonic University, Arkham, Professor Guy Fox has only recently returned from one of those frequent field trips which he customarily refers to as his "black sabbaticals", having spent the last six months studying the customs, rituals and language of the Anakite tribesmen of Kurdistan, an obscure branch of the Yezidi cult notable mainly for their worship of a figure known as the "Peacock Angel", or Malak Tawus (and one whose apparent identification with the Lucifer of apocryphal and apocalyptic texts of the early Christians, we may note, caused much consternation among the well-meaning but perhaps somewhat naive Victorian missionaries who came into contact with these "Satan-worshipping heathens").

Since Fox remains reticent, even when pressed, on the subject of what arcane knowledge he may or may not have gained from this experience and what relevance this may or may not have to his current work-in-progress, (a new translation of the notorious Book Of The Names Of The Dead from the original Nostratic, with the aim of - as he puts it - "fixing up the bloody botch job done by that dashed Alhazred chap... damn poor show, damn poor show") it remains to be seen if our learned colleague is capable of living up to the promise glimpsed in his doctorate thesis, a study of obscene sexual rituals, hallinogenic narcotics and trance-inducing music within messianic cults from the neolithic near east to the present day, entitled, I Wanna Be Your God. As one of the fortunate few who has had the pleasure to read this text, unexpurgated, replete with illustrations, and in the original crayon, I can only say that I wait with bated breath for my friend, colleague and legal ward to finish his much-anticipated masterwork. To that end, I beseech you all, I beg you: please do not encourage him in his persistant - indeed, intransigent - prevarication on this albeit charming site. The man has serious work to do and, given the sharp increase in the rate of his deterioration since his return from Kurdistan, I fear he may have little time left to to complete his translation before the madness finally grips his mind and drags him down, down into the black pit of the unconscious mind, into that dark place inhabited only by formless monstrosities that churn and crawl like some boiling pot of slime-coated trilobites, of creatures from the time before time and the spaces between, perceptible only to mere humans such as ourselves in the most hidden recesses of our most hideous nightmares as these, these... things slither, giggling, giggling, always giggling, always giggling...

Haliburton Duncan

[Feb 09 2001]

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