I am writing to any and all who may, or will, find this.
This is a warning.
Straining as I am writing this, and struggling to portray this factual story, my form is haggard and insomnia, probably rooting from angst, panic, and dismay, is haunting my body and my soul. I am as if I am slowly changing. But still, I will allay to you all that I think I must and what I can. But, for you and I both, nothing additional.
I always thought that this world’s most kind, gracious, and forgiving condition was in our inability to know most or all things. But what if you or I found a full truth? Random afflictions could kill us, or absurdity, stupidity, lunacy, and mania would soon control us all on our own volition! I say this with my grim and graphic background in mind.
On a Thursday morning of July 1945, as if a hungry Fortuna was calling, a madman’s final words containing wisdom without bounds found its way into our Pittsburgh radio station building. It was a linguistics monograph and in writing it this madman had found a disturbing truth. This was our damning’s origin and what I find most worrying about this calamity was that no warning was found nor had...as it turns out, candid horror has no warning, no timing, and no sympathy.
A curious work of packaging had shown in our mail Thursday morning. It was from a Dr. Rob Anton Vowl. A mailroom administrator found this work as strikingly odd and took it straight to our story curator.
Our curator stood in shock not many words into his look through of that work. Its front in gigantic, bold, and cautious handwriting said:
A Lipogrammatic-Structuralism Analysis of Our World
In a gross, thick, maroon and dissimilar handwriting was an additional inscription: I cannot run from this abnormal, occult horror, but do not allow this Bloodthirsty Void to kill my words!
Our curator, first adjusting his bifocals, quickly ran scans on who this Dr. Rob A. Vowl was and within two calls found that Dr. Vowl was found hung in his living room. His passing on was our only warning of this malicious void... a thing that is unsaid...a particularly imposing law...a substantival law or notion that is not full...not outright known.
I don’t know! I cannot find words for it, for what this is. Not with my lacking vocabulary. But can any vocabulary possibly portray what this is? I do not know! Only now did I find out that Dr. Vowl’s hanging was probably a product of a trilogy of odd mishaps in his family. Unsurprisingly, our curator, Arthur, a man of gall and opportunity, saw this as a good shot at a story! For Dr. Vowl, as was soon found, was a man of philosophy and a world famous man of philosophy at that! And his final work, a linguistic monograph, was in our hands.
“Can you possibly know just how much this book could assist us?” Arthur had gaily said. Atticus, our radio stations charm, chiming in said, “No doubt. Though first, I should study this, to accordingly allay his final words.” Atticus took Vowl’s infamous last words to his study that day. Atticus was a man that did not know how to miss a day of work; truly an idol and an outstanding symbol for our station, but this following day Atticus would not go to work.
...Tragically, Atticus had a croup that brought about a fatal asphyxiation. In front of his own child too! And this was a man who was, no doubt, a body in good condition!
Mary, Atticus’ companion and now only guardian of Atticus Jr., was still in mourning, but had paid us a visit whilst bringing back Vowl’s God awful book. Not a body in that building could know how horrid this book truly was.
This visit was swift, but Mary told us how Atticus would look at this book. It was normal to start, but as hours ran by Atticus would start to look at Vowl’s monograph with a major passion. Mary said that Atticus would go long without blinking and his mouth was ajar through all of it. As it turns out, Atticus had his fatal croup as Mary took him away from his stupor. Atticus Jr. was playing with a toy car in that room as his wailing mom caught his sight. Naturally, Atticus Jr., at that point, too was howling and sobbing as his dad took his fall.
Arthur graciously took back Vowl’s monograph as Mary got up to go. Arthur looking in my vicinity put out an inquiry as soon as Mary was away, “Good ol’ Atticus would want us to push forward with this story, right?”
I simply said, “I do not know. It is a possibility.”
“Okay. I will try to study this work at my first opportunity.” Arthur would say, taking Vowl’s monograph, and got back to work. Arthur would show to work that following day, but did not look fit nor any bit hardy. Simply and languidly parading around with a blank look and a curious pallor, Arthur probably did no work that day.
I thought I had to call him a doctor, but as soon as I did Arthur took his last gasp of air. A cardiac standstill took him away. In his hands was that monograph.
Arthur was not last to fall victim to that book...Jim, Atticus’ right hand man during broadcast, and Lucy, our typist, also could not avoid this unknown, grim, and imposing law. Taking Atticus’ position, Jim brought up Atticus’ motion to study Vowl’s monograph. Lucy, as a typist, also took on this mission, though, might I add, Jim and Lucy had a continuing affair. (Probably from working jointly so
It took two days for this following chaotic calamity to occur, but it was truly outlandish and horrifying. Jim had shot up abruptly from his room and was shouting about saving Lucy from this “crazy, horrific world”. Jim was swiftly striking Lucy with his import yatagan, a small Ottoman sword, which was proudly lying aloft his work spot. I had always thought it was a prop! It was a thing I had always found odd to own, but it had that sort of quality and spirit that had us pay it no mind.
Jim had a mad and unnaturally crimson optic whilst turning his tool onto and into his body for a ritual akin to Samurai
...hara-kiri was it?
His final words, following a maniacal laugh, “Why allow this God?! I know why!” would not and will not stop turning about in my mind. Jim was laughing until his final gasp. This brought down our radio station almost instantly. I was actually happy to find that out, as it was too ominous working in that building. Right away I thought I could carry on and look forward. I was wrong. I still had to turn back for my things...
Whilst packing, I had found Dr. Vowl’s monograph thrown out. It was lying in a trash bin. I am just a man who works with our radio apparatus so I hadn’t had an opportunity to skim this infamous monograph. Almost instantly, curiosity, invading my mind, had my arms pick up that corrupt...villainous
work. I took a look at it lying in my hands, as if holding a book of divinity and sanctity...
Vowl, starting simply, said, “Communication is strongly lacking and is sadly hurting with instability. This is known by a signs lack of clarity. If I say ‘Faith’, what do you think of? Of your faith in God? Of a girl known as Faith? How about if I say ‘Dr. (X)’? Do you think of your otorhinolaryngologist (or any ‘ologist’) or do you think of a man who has a Ph. D? (Such as yours truly, Dr. Rob Anton Vowl.)”
Moving forward, it got impossibly difficult to follow...to fathom. Its vocabulary was silly, its grammar, just so ridiculous, and his pacing was prolix, capricious, and oft circumlocutious! Vowl also had this odd symbol which would allow his writing of original words and formulations. Or so I think, as my schooling had not brought forward any knowing of such symbols. This man had lost it.
I almost quit my analysis as I was looking at such a part saying things such as, “At that, how can anybody possibly know that our world, our cosmos, is lipogrammatic in form if our world has always had that constraint? Or is it particularly a constraint that humanity is simply stuck with? What can humanity do, knowing this?” In his writing, this particular word would always show up: lipogram or lipogrammatic. It was as if this was his ludicrous finding. But what kind of lipogram it was that Vowl found I could not and cannot say.
Now...I had to laboriously look up in my own library much of what Vowl said so as to gain a working grasp of it all. That is not what Vowl said word for word, but that is much of what I got from it.
But a discomforting alarm took control of my body and I just had to quit studying Dr. Vowl’s monograph. I know that I am wanting no part in grasping his point, but I think that I possibly hit a point of which I cannot run from.
For I did find a troubling conclusion about what was going on...
As I am struggling writing this, I think and worry that I may still fall victim to this grim damning or that my giving you a small sight of this situation has put you in harm’s way. You must not, DO NOT, look to find what it was that Vowl found, for it was not a thing that anybody should find. If you do find it, it will turn into your undoing.
I will say it again: I ask that you not fall to this fatal folly that is curiosity and lust. I pray that you will not sardonically brush off my information and my consultation. What this man found is not worth this risk!
And still...I want to know! Oh God, grand author of this world, why? Hung for finding an unfamiliar truth? Or a victim of mania, a malady, or a calamity, just for pursuing facts, as any normal human is wont to do? What do you want?! What is this world? Is this dramatist production all a product of your wrath? Of a sick humor? Why am I still living? Oh God, oh grand author...is it your want that I burn this atrocity?
That, I may not know, but I do know of a way to run from this bloodthirsty void...
Oblivion is bliss