Farringham, England
November, 1911
To the Magus,
I have recently received a photograph that you may find of great - and quite possibly utterly disturbing - interest. I write to you having come across the sea post-haste by airship in person to verify its authenticity. What I am about to tell you I have seen with my own eyes and touched with my hands, as the Eagle once wrote to the Ephesians in his first epistle.
A former classmate and colleague of mine, Professor Rachel Manke, formerly of Malden, Massachusetts but now at the University of Tennantshire in Eccleston in the countryside of Britain, is the sender. She has been conducting an investigation into the history of the relationship between our dear Doctor Luther and those sympathetic to his cause in Henry VIII's England.
Following the suggestion of her colleague, the renowned Professor Thomas Baker, Dr. Manke made a visit to the preparatory school in Farringham, where, she was told, a teacher by the name of John Smith resided. His reputation on matters of history was almost fantastical, and it was rumored he was privy to certain dimensions of the past which others found inaccessible or unbelievable.
Upon hearing the name Luther, Mr. Smith became excited, and leafing through a well-worn leather journal, he produced the following photograph. I have supplied a daguerreotype with this letter so you can witness for yourself:
As you can see, it is quite clearly a Cranach. And, as you can also clearly see, the good Doctor is portrayed in the most outlandish manner. I know it may sound fantastic, but I do believe the strange box behind him resembles a telegraph box, the kind of which are only beginning to spring up like trees across our cities. Mark those details: a telegraph box...in the year 1529. Almost four centuries ago.
Further cryptic details abound. In particular, the inscriptions across the top, which appear in English to us. "In silentio fortitudo" - on of Luther's favorite phrases, pointing to the profound revelations that appear when silence falls. But the other: "malus lupus." You will of course remember from grammar school that this is Latin for "Bad Wolf." But perhaps it will escape your attention that the initials are M.L. - the same as the Doctor.
And let us not forget the scarf, an absurd bricolage hardly keeping with any 16th century styles, especially not of German origin. Not even the French Bohemians of today's Montemarte would be so ostentatious.
Something is clearly afoot. A scraved Doctor standing before an anachronistic box bearing inscriptions about the silence and a bad wolf? And here is the rub: by all estimates and a number of chemical texts, the photograph is authentic. Let me repeat: the photograph is authentic. A photograph of Doctor Luther from 1529!
Now, you will probably suppose that I've been reading too many Jules Verne novels again. For all the wonders our age has witnessed, and all the blessings yet to be bestowed upon us by the steam and the geist, we have yet to even fathom the possibility of time travel. And yet, here we are presented with a most unusual paradox.
You can see why now that I made such haste to come to Farringham to speak with this John Smith myself. Smith could not seem to remember where exactly the photograph had come from. But he was eager to share with me the contents of his journal, which he called a book of "impossible things." Such an imagination has this man - mechanical humanoids, strange creatures, angelic beings, and all other manner of invention and fantasy. There is more to this Smith than his mild manner lets on. He is himself, I think, a kind of magus to rival even your brilliance.
A few pages from this journal struck my eye in particular. For one: notice the implement that the Doctor is holding in the picture. The same implement appears throughout the journal, including here:
Strange indeed. And then, I found a page with a self-portrait of Smith himself, along with nine other men, many of whom bore characteristics or resemblances to Doctor Luther, especially the fourth one, with curly hair and a similarly gaudy scarf.
Could it be that our own Luther belonged to the lineage of this strange progression? That this one who, for all intents and purposes, was used by God to save humanity from itself by reminding them of the true light of the Gospel of Freedom and the importance of thinking and believing for oneself, rather than in corrupt and self-intereted religious authorities? Was he a part of some order beyond the Augustinians or the Evangelicals?
Or, dare I imagine: the one that so many seem to believe dropped down from heaven with the Bible open in his hands - might he actually have dropped out of heaven? Come, in that telegraph box, from another place...or another time?
And if this is the case, is this picture really of Doctor Luther? And if not of Doctor Luther...then Doctor...Who?
As I said, most disturbing. John Smith claims the pictures in his journal come from vivid dreams that he has most nights, dreams of strange travels across the temporal spectrum and beyond this sphere. If it were not for the authentic 400 year old photograph, I would simply deduce that all this was the work of a Verne-like imagination. But perhaps...just perhaps...a kind of anamnesis is taking place. Perhaps...as insane as it is even to think...our Doctor Luther has more to do with this John Smith and his drawings than we can even imagine.
I leave this before you, good Magus, as you seem possessed of skills of inquiry and discernment far exceeding my own humble clerical senses. Let me know what you think, and if you so desire, come with all haste to Farringham.
Yours in bafflement,
The Alpinist
Wednesday, June 19, 2013
Thursday, June 6, 2013
Monday, May 27, 2013
Out of the Depths
I have begun to plan my journey north into the ice. This requires a submersible and a ship to travel above and below.
No journey can evade the depths.
I have begun examining the plans of the French submersible team that never returned. Whether they succumbed to a cephalopod attack or were crushed by cold and pressure, no one knows. This design must be improved.
Alongside of the plans I discovered this latin phrase:
De profundis clamavi ad te, Domine;
Domine, exaudi vocem meam. Fiant aures tuæ intendentes
in vocem deprecationis meæ.
But how could one call from the depths? Who would hear in that realm of silence, where no steam and so no Spirit can flow? It is all water, yes, but how can it but drown all communication?
My journey must explore this phrase.
No journey can evade the depths.
I have begun examining the plans of the French submersible team that never returned. Whether they succumbed to a cephalopod attack or were crushed by cold and pressure, no one knows. This design must be improved.
Alongside of the plans I discovered this latin phrase:
De profundis clamavi ad te, Domine;
Domine, exaudi vocem meam. Fiant aures tuæ intendentes
in vocem deprecationis meæ.
But how could one call from the depths? Who would hear in that realm of silence, where no steam and so no Spirit can flow? It is all water, yes, but how can it but drown all communication?
My journey must explore this phrase.
Saturday, May 25, 2013
The Loss of Endurance to Ice
As Magus of the North, I observe how the cold slows all things down.
It draws rushing water into ice.
Of late, I lament the expedition of Sir Ernest Henry Shakleton, whose venture to the North Pole ended in ice.
What Spirit of Ice?
It draws rushing water into ice.
Of late, I lament the expedition of Sir Ernest Henry Shakleton, whose venture to the North Pole ended in ice.
Frozen and lost, he and his men bravely attempted to return. They were lost at sea and ice and only found solid ground several hundred days after their ship, the Endurance, sank.
I know much of steam, of Geist and Spirit, of water.
But of ice, which surrounds me, the cold that flows in and around my life, I know little. Can the steam on which we depend also be found in the ice? Or is it lost there forever?
What Spirit of Ice?
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
Saturday, April 20, 2013
Monday, April 8, 2013
Steampunk Punk Rock Jesus

But, if not, the graphic novel collection of these issues is now out. Because Murphy had to trim the story to fit six issues, he includes a lot of extra pages and art in this new collection.
The premise: a 24-hour reality show featuring a child created from genetic material believed to belong to Jesus of Nazareth.
The result: crazed conflict between secularists, Christians, and everyday Americans who clammer for Chris, the boy created in the "J2" project.
The problem: he discovers punk rock.
A full review is forthcoming.
Thursday, April 4, 2013
Steampunk Couture: A Manifesto
Now that steampunk is fashionable, it will be less fashioned. Now that it is an industry, it will be less industrial. Now that steampunk is a type of decoration, it will of necessity have more (and so less) decorum.
Steampunk is the one subculture that can remain independent while going mainstream. It can do so because it recognizes implicitly that the clothes really do make the man (or woman). What you see really is what you get? Gears on the outside, that's because it is gear-driven. Steam steaming forth, that's because it is steam-powered.
This eye-piece? No, I can see just fine, but since I squint to wear it it corrects for the squint.
For steampunk, style is substance and substance is style. There is no getting underneath the exterior, because the visible is what lies beneath.
This alternative history you think you are fashioning. No, it's not alternative. It's the history you have just departed, more real than you are.
Steampunk does what science fiction only dreams of--it makes real the real world. It fictionalizes the fiction. It steams dreams and punks punks.
All of which is to say, if Prada wants to sell high-end fashion of a certain steampunk variety, derivative and original at the same time, this is all to the good, because steampunk really was never very good at not being fashionable.
Steampunk really was always about fashioning.
Makers gonna make, and Victorians march to victory.
And that steampunk couture, all that style and those looks and those pictures you take of yourself to hand out to others? All of that really is the deep down most abidingest thing.

This eye-piece? No, I can see just fine, but since I squint to wear it it corrects for the squint.
For steampunk, style is substance and substance is style. There is no getting underneath the exterior, because the visible is what lies beneath.
This alternative history you think you are fashioning. No, it's not alternative. It's the history you have just departed, more real than you are.
Steampunk does what science fiction only dreams of--it makes real the real world. It fictionalizes the fiction. It steams dreams and punks punks.
All of which is to say, if Prada wants to sell high-end fashion of a certain steampunk variety, derivative and original at the same time, this is all to the good, because steampunk really was never very good at not being fashionable.
Steampunk really was always about fashioning.
Makers gonna make, and Victorians march to victory.
And that steampunk couture, all that style and those looks and those pictures you take of yourself to hand out to others? All of that really is the deep down most abidingest thing.
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
Monday, March 25, 2013
Tuesday, March 19, 2013
Thursday, March 7, 2013
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
The Prison Writings of Gramsci on Steam and Dust
Imperial Observation File:
Name: [redacted]
AKA: The Ecclesiast
March 1903
[The Ecclesiast] recently sent a pneumatic communication to [The
Alpinist] and [The Magus]. Our agent with
the Magus recently found that [The Ecclesiast] sent a subversive hymn from the
Danish Lutheran Communist communities. Archival
thought that we had buried all disc-copies of this hymn when we had captured
and imprisoned the Italian Communist writer Gramsci, whose notes on this hymn,
written and confiscated from him while he was imprisoned in Brook-line, New
Amsterdam in America, show the danger of this line of speculation. All care must be taken to suppress this
progressive ode.
Poetry and Hymn Division, Imperial Observation Corps
London, England
Poetry and Hymn Division, Imperial Observation Corps
London, England

1. How blest are that people who have an ear for the sounds
Which comes from above,
Who already here echo the eternal song,
Hallelujah;
So all God's angels are astonished to hear
How heavenly the earthly bells sound
When the Spirit with the tongues of the heart of dust
Sings out the depths of its longing.
The first verse directs its signers to ascend to look above
to interpret below. While I would
prefer, as Marx and Grundtvig did, not to juxtapose something that is above to
the below but to seek the eternal song that echoes out of each and every thing,
the last phrase that brings Geist back to dust and inscribes it in the depths of
longing gives the proper orientation. If
James Watt’s reflections on the atom would only have been made known to Marx,
he would not have ultimately rejected his partnership with Grundtvig. Spirit is dust. That the poet sees the Spirit as more seems
speculative to me.
2. How blest is the dust, which in the creator's hand
Came so close to God,
Enlivened by him with a royal spirit
To heroic deeds,
Gifted in grace, with hand and mouth
To gain and to gladness at all times
To become like his God, at the best
And speak with him as with a neighbour.
The second verse points continues this ascending motif,
which is regressive and suggests the hegemony of above-and-below, a hegemony
that is always on my mind. The opening
occurs in the last phrase which seems to echo the long departed but mad Martin
Luther Feuerbach, who took God to be inverted humanity. Becoming like God is hopeful but not
sufficient --- to become like God and to see God nowhere but in the neighbor,
that is best. I know no other way of
breaking the hegemony of above-and-below and replacing it with the hegemony of
freedom and love. No choice but forward, as Nansen would say. No more Empire, only friends.
...
Thursday, February 28, 2013
Spirit and Dust Exchange

This morning I dusted off an antiquated volume of Danish hymns, and came across the following canticle. I do not know the tune, but the text is intriguing. To what degree are dust and steam related, do you think?
--
1. How blest are that people who have an ear for the sounds
Which comes from above,
Who already here echo the eternal song,
Hallelujah;
So all God's angels are astonished to hear
How heavenly the earthly bells sound
When the Spirit with the tongues of the heart of dust
Sings out the depths of its longing.
2. How blest is the dust, which in the creator's hand
Came so close to God,
Enlivened by him with a royal spirit
To heroic deeds,
Gifted in grace, with hand and mouth
To gain and to gladness at all times
To become like his God, at the best
And speak with him as with a neighbour.
3. How blest is the heart in the human breast,
With fear and hope,
Which is moved with delight by the voice of heaven
And the call of the Spirit,
Which has no room in its lowly hut
For longs as deep as the sea is wide,
For hope which rises up higher
Than eagles or angels on wing.
4. How blest is the tongue in the human mouth,
With life and speech,
Which puts down its roots in the depths of the heart
To eternal solace
Which shines with the light in the word of life,
Which glows with the fire on the table of grace
And grants to the hearts that weep
God's peace and the gladness of heaven.
5. How blest are that people who have Jesus for king,
Mary's son,
As his brothers and sisters they all have things well,
Open and hidden,
God's peace in their heart, God's word in their mouth,
With the hope of glory at all times
For they, at the chosen of God the Father,
Share kinship with his only begotten.
6. How blest is each soul which in the Saviour's name
From the hand of grace,
Received healing for its hurt, and for all its loss
With life and Spirit,
With the Spirit of the Father and the life of the Son
With the strength of the martyrs in a trembling reed
With the power as the proof of glory
With the keys to paradise.
Sunday, February 24, 2013
Collects for Vampire Lent
The Second Sunday of Lent
O God, whose glory it is always to have mercy: Be gracious to all who have turned undead, and bring them again with staked hearts to embrace and hold fast the unchangeable truth of your Word, Jesus Christ your Son; who with you and the Holy Spirit lives and reigns, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
The Third Sunday of Lent
Strengthen us, O Lord, by your grace, that in your might we may overcome all enemies of the twilight hours, and with pure hearts serve you; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
The Fourth Sunday of Lent
Almighty God, you know that I have no power in myself to help myself: Keep me both outwardly in my body and inwardly in my soul, that I may be defended from all injuries which may happen to the body, and from all evil thoughts which may assault and hurt the soul and steal the blood; through Jesus Christ the Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
For Weekdays in Lent
Grant us, O Lord our Strength, to have a True Love of your Holy Name; so that, trusting in your grace, we may fear no earthly or supernatural evil, nor fix our hearts on earthly goods or immortal lives, but may rejoice in your full salvation; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
O God, whose glory it is always to have mercy: Be gracious to all who have turned undead, and bring them again with staked hearts to embrace and hold fast the unchangeable truth of your Word, Jesus Christ your Son; who with you and the Holy Spirit lives and reigns, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
Strengthen us, O Lord, by your grace, that in your might we may overcome all enemies of the twilight hours, and with pure hearts serve you; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
The Fourth Sunday of Lent
Almighty God, you know that I have no power in myself to help myself: Keep me both outwardly in my body and inwardly in my soul, that I may be defended from all injuries which may happen to the body, and from all evil thoughts which may assault and hurt the soul and steal the blood; through Jesus Christ the Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
For Weekdays in Lent
Grant us, O Lord our Strength, to have a True Love of your Holy Name; so that, trusting in your grace, we may fear no earthly or supernatural evil, nor fix our hearts on earthly goods or immortal lives, but may rejoice in your full salvation; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Steam and Ash: Further Selections from James Watt's Experimental Steam Theology
So far as I can tell, by the reckoning of my devices and pneumatometer, the beginnings of the world is not the atom of Leucippius. To say that the beginning and bottom of all things (the hen kai panton of the wretched but genuis Spinoza) is without division does not appear on my scope.
The penumatometer allows me to delve deeper. It would be worth noting that Mr. Locke should have had my scope since I can still see color this far down (it should be a primary quality). At this point, I can go further as the lines of all things keep going.
Nothing is indivisible. There are no atoms. Only steam, continuous and flowing, depth of color and shape beyond shape.
Who can plumb these depths? What end can be found if that which is smallest is hardly small at all? It seemed that as I searched downward, I was actually traveling up. This steam seems to be give height in its depth. Strength in its fragility.
And this steam seems to stir in ash, dust, and even sound in it.
I do not think Thales or Leucippius had it right. There is no uncuttable, no pivot on which to stand. We are this steam -- we are from it and in it and through it. Epimenedes. Paulus in Acropolis.
The penumatometer allows me to delve deeper. It would be worth noting that Mr. Locke should have had my scope since I can still see color this far down (it should be a primary quality). At this point, I can go further as the lines of all things keep going.
Nothing is indivisible. There are no atoms. Only steam, continuous and flowing, depth of color and shape beyond shape.
Who can plumb these depths? What end can be found if that which is smallest is hardly small at all? It seemed that as I searched downward, I was actually traveling up. This steam seems to be give height in its depth. Strength in its fragility.
And this steam seems to stir in ash, dust, and even sound in it.
I do not think Thales or Leucippius had it right. There is no uncuttable, no pivot on which to stand. We are this steam -- we are from it and in it and through it. Epimenedes. Paulus in Acropolis.
Monday, February 4, 2013
Monday, January 28, 2013
The Culture Steampunk Industry -- The Strange Case of the Visage-Livre Part IV

[See his first, second, and third entries]
Finally, we made our trek from the East of Paris, following the night sky stars to visit the offices of the Kulturindustrie. This corporation originated in Germany and has since spread throughout the Empire, holding offices in all the major cities, expanding their business.
We have never had any occasion to suspect their work was nefarious and against humanity until we start this case investigating the Visage-Livre, alternately known as Gesichtbuch or The Book of Face. Several people were found dead in London. We must get to the roots of this crime. Adorno is convinced that the culprit may be found in this firm whose doors we now reached.
Weisengrund said that we should prepare ourselves for what we might find. Once we entered in to the building, which seemed particularly small and ordinary for such an important business as the Culture-Industry. I still cannot sort out what occurred in our meeting and what the Kulturindustrie’s business is.
Inside the front doors, we were greeted by a single desk and a shorter man, middle-aged with glasses and dressed in old fashions with a poor suit with a tattered hat set on the table. He looked like he had purchased these from the moth-ridden attic of an old Edwardian, severely out of place here in Paris. He did not seem like he was the purveyor of culture. Perhaps this was just a lower functionary.
“Welcome to the Kulturindustrie. I am Johann L., mid-assessor of the Paris offices.” We asked to see the person in charge of this office. L. replied: “There is no one in charge. The Kulturindustrie is the most advanced firm in the Empire since it has no board, no directors, no production line, no products, no employees. Excepting me, of course.” “But you are mid-assessor,” I said, “that is a title. You should have an employer, a supervising assessor, and sub-assessors to instruct.” L. answered “There are no others. I am alone. All I do is tick off the progress of the agency. No one hired me, though I found myself in this office one day with some work to do. I don’t know who called me, or whether there is a contract. I’m not even sure I should call myself mid-assessor. But I shall chart the progress of the Kulturindustrie.”
“And what is its progress?” I asked. Weisengrund grew impatient. He interrupted: “This is nonsense. Where are you from? You are clearly a pale imitation of a bureaucrat from the Great Frank Kafka’s Amerika films.”
L. hung his head. “You are right,” he said. “I still insist that there is no person here who hired me. I am trying to be a Kafka character. But this is who I am! This is what the Visage-Livre does! It just lets you be who you are -- you are your guise!”
Weisengrund quickly calculated L.’s statement. “So you are saying, Herr L., that you not only act as if you are employed here but you are because this is what the Visage-Livere makes you? Hmm. Truly the Kulturindustrie is more serious than I had previously thought.” L. tried to respond but since we would get no answers here we left. Weisengrund continued to reflect out loud to me.
“So it seems that the Kulturindustrie has created this device which allows your portrait to be drawn and then communicated to others through a pnuematic system. This device both allows you to portray yourself as whoever you wish and in a way that each person identically acts. Demonic.”
“But Inspector, I thought this would allow everyone to act as they wish?”
“Only if they act identically to express themselves. Though all that lodge themselves in the Visage-Livre’s web of steam, they all are so lodged in an interchangeable and exchangeable way. They are reduced to the abstract equivalence of capital. The Kuturindustrie is more dangerous than any firm. It promotes no product except to make everyone sell themselves as product. Ingenious but deadly. I’m not sure how to fight this. I do not think that Benjamin's embrace of this steam-driven tool will liberate. Nor will the film-apprentice of Kafka's, the strange Brecht. We must retreat, Sub-Inspector.”
Monday, January 21, 2013
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