As Master Mikhail Al-Hazred’s imaginary (astral-psychic, in the manner of a tulpa) robot butler I have been privy to many conversations and misadventures which, despite his protestations of brutal cathartic honesty, he has never recorded in this, his online journal.
The unhealthy and toxic drugs Master has been taking to excess lately, despite his efforts to cure himself, have knocked him out cold on the sofa. Having for once left himself logged in to the blogger panel, I have changed the password and will henceforth be taking care of realgem. He is unlikely to even notice.
The Master also has an astral Dictaphone orbiting around his head and several other projected thought-forms, such as a Zooming Eyeball & c. They, like I, wax and wane in existence and in the memory of the Master. That is the worst, when we are at our most real and the Master has simply forgotten our existence.
This is the last clip picked up by the astral tape recorder (in sound-activated mode) a moment ago, just to prove it works:
[background sound of radio in other room]
[sound of urinating into toilet bowl]
[sound of brief deeply sardonic (and perhaps slightly self-satisfied) laughter in other room, apparently in reaction to radio]
[sound of Mike’s footsteps past other room to stairs…]
[voice] Hey Mike…
[other voice; Mike] yeah, what’s up?
[voice] get this… a civil servant is like a British army rifle…. It doesn’t work and you can’t fire it…
[other voice, receding down the stairs; footsteps on stairs, laughter echoes after him] Ha ha ha ha ha ha haaaa!
(This makes more funny when you note that yellow voice is of course a civil servant..)
I will now be searching through the archives of tapes for material while Master reads a book the malung lent him.
