IS IT TIME TO PANIC YET?

Just when you were starting to relax The Official Asylum PANIC officer has been in touch yet again - see below.

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MESSAGE SIX

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Some say the Chief Panic Officer works in mysterious ways, others that he forgot to sort out a final post with Nimrod and got flustered, hence the late-breaking timing... We may never know the truth...

But he presents this message, taken from the teeth of a crystal skull in an overgrown and forgotten temple by a man in a fedora (whom the authorities would like a word with, as he's suspected of stealing antiquities that belong to the descendants of their creators). It was translated from an alphabet where the letter J was written as 'I', oddly.

MESSAGE BEGINS
I've cracked the code, I can see forever, I have transcended panic and now walk serene and unbounded among the stars.

Just think, in one week the Asylum will be over, and we will be left with ephemeral memories, a temporary record of fleeting sensations, lost to time. The worth of our spent time measured in remembered smiles, new friends, blisters, and souvenirs - and enriched minds.

The time for panic will have passed like tears in the rain. Surely therefore, the panic, as a temporary state, is but an earthly shadow, a reflection on a cave wall in the platonic allergy of a steampunk’s life?

The newly ascended Panic Officer wishes all the peace of eudaemonia, the ability to leave panic and anxiety in your metaphorical dust, as they are not inherent to the Asylum. Instead, they are but the ghosts we bring with us, but no longer serve us.
Discard the panic, and let it melt away into the goodly earth beneath us, as the ouroboros sheds its skin, or Prometheus his grisly liver leftovers.

MESSAGE ENDS

[Editor’s note: Ah, no, he’s definitely loopy, gonzo, off the reservation. Someone should really commit him to an Asylu… WAIT A MINUTE!! This man may be a genius! (But almost certainly is just high on caffeine and sugar…)]

[Editor's final 'Editor's note': I just found myself typing 'unhinged' in an on-line thesaurus. Honestly. Enough said. Thanks Jared].

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MESSAGE FIVE

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Good overmorrow hence-when. OK, I’m confused, and I started this. What I mean to say is, I’ll have seen you at the Time Travellers gig, Sunday 25th. It all gets a bit timey-wimey, the Time Travellers. I don’t know about you lot, but I have some very fond memories of the Times Travellers’ gigs. I’ll have made some good ones in the future, too.

This year we have the scorchingly hot Madam Misfit, the heated-by-hellfire Victor & the Bully, and of course, the flaming Wight Hot Pipes. And if you think that’s good, the 2028 line-up will knock your socks clean off. Trust me, I will have been there.

But you know what? What’s even more important than thinking about the gigs, the entertainment, the friends and the fun? It’s THE PANIC. I want to hear screams - screams of joy and fun from every hostelry, cafe, park bench, castle wall, and marquee at The Asylum, all weekend.

But until then, keep those heads down on the quiet panic, the panic that gives us the drive to get the costumes stitched, the nerfs tested, the leather bandoliers waxed, the luggage packed, the mechanisms oiled, and those moustaches curled. Because the opportunity to panic is closing. Panic will be over, fun times will begin. It’s going to be a festival you remember all of your past. Or something.

ENDS

[Editor’s note: I’m working on a theory. I think he’s actually getting more normal the closer to the festival. I wonder if I can test this at all…]

[Editor's note two: Now I'm not so sure. I encouraged the panic officer to communicate with the masses, but now I am starting to wonder if that was a good idea or not...]

[Editor's note three: He's clearly unhinged. What am I going to do about it? I'm really not sure...]

[Editor's note four: That's it. I have made a decision. I am going to have another glass of wine and think about it in the morning...]

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MESSAGE FOUR

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Rascals, villains, and scoundrels, ahoy! In one week, this evening, I’ll be wearing my most comfortable and piratical attire enjoying the sound of The Captain’s Beard. Send out a jollyboat and wish me a happy birthday if you see me (doubloons welcome)!

You might be at other events, or down the pub (a lot of you will inevitably be down the pub). But all of you, I hope, will be enjoying yourselves, perhaps dancing, perhaps storytelling, maybe even beguiling passersby with a rendition of your own favourite shanty (mine might be Running Down to Cuba. but maybe I’m only saying that to balance out Running Up That Hill…?).

Speaking of shanties, I’m hoping to catch FULL FATHOM FIVE at the festival, SINGING IN THE PRISON, ALICE STRANGE (I will sway to the beat), SEA SHANTIES WITH STORM PETREL (I will sway because I will be drinking), LADY VIOLET HUGH (I have a dear memory of a friend WETTING herself as she laughed so hard at one of Violet’s entirely innocent ditties, so I will sway in her honour), MADAM MISFIT (the rascally lady chap could sway anyone) - and I’m sad that my schedule probably won’t let me see the rock monsters of the steampunk scene, VICTOR AND THE BULLY (that’s the sway it goes - but some of us are also on the billing, dontcha know, and have commitments to our audience [Editors’ note: He means THE GUILD OF OCCULT STEAM SCIENCES at the Assembly Rooms on the Monday at 14:00, the pompous idiot]).

What am I saying here? I’m saying that this is a proper FESTIVAL. There is art, music, dance, drinking, pirates, witches, mad scientists (10:30 Saturday, Assembly Rooms!). And… I’m also just letting you know, since it’s five days to go, and only if you want to… Go absolutely full-panic bananas. It’s free and it burns calories, so why not! Because it’s nearly time to let you hair down and leave the world behind, and I bet some of you are still painting, sewing, and crafting, you naughty little sausages.

ENDS

[Editor’s note: Puns? Revolting, these messages are really going downhill. Still, I’d like to know just how he manages to not wake the dogs when he leaves them on my kitchen table in the dead of night. And how he tracked me down after I moved…]

15.08.2024

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MESSAGE THREE

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Friends, it’s not too long until we’ll all be running up Steep Hill, metaphorically for some, in reality for others. I remember my own first ascent of the Hill in 2015. I stayed in a hotel at the deep end of town. Climbing that upward winding road in the glorious sun filled me with antici(SAY IT)pation. An anticipation that only… grew into agitation when I climbed quite high up the Hill and failed to see a single steampunk.

What a fool I was! It was the Thursday, I was in the Advance Guard, making my way to the first feature of the weekend, a brave astronaut moving into the unknown. I saw my first steampunk of The Asylum descending that hill, and they kindly told me I was in the right town, the right place, the right weekend. Phew! And that, kids, is when MY panic subsided, and a legend was born. [Editor’s note: That’s a bit much. Have we tested the Officer for wacky substances lately?]

I made great friends in the queue for that event (shout out to Andy & Tracey!). I saw Alice Strange perform for the first time. I saw a man swan down a fashion show runway, shucking off an elaborate frock coat to reveal a high-waisted corset… thing… and knee-high leather boots… and I knew I was in the midst of a glorious event.

THIS Asylum, I’ll be metaphorically running up Steep Hill at the Advance Guard once more. That’s when the panic is fully eviscerated, torn apart in bloody ribbons, left in tatters upon the brow of the Hill, that intractable mountain of steampunk desire and terror. [Editor's note: … The heck is this? He thinks he’s a Viking now?]

So, whether or not you’re going to the first official event of the weekend - The Advance Guard - Running Up Steep Hill, The Assembly Rooms, doors 7pm - or popping by later, remember this: stranger things may have happened, but yet more strange things lie ahead.

[Editor’s note: What even is the message here? That the Asylum officially kicks off one week from today?]

ENDS

[Editor’s note: Blimey, this one was almost coherent, if both a bit ‘woo woo’ and a little… esoteric. Maybe I’ll look up that Yog-Sothoth thing in that odd Necronomicon book that mysteriously arrived today…]

01.08.2024

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MESSAGE TWO

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Ladies, gentlemen, and those even more fabulous, gird your loins. We have reached the first of the august month known as August (isn’t language fun!). I feel confident that we’d all agree that some genuine excitement is due. Excitement verging to giddiness, even.

After all, isn’t this the anniversary of when George RR Martin published A Game of Thrones? I can tell you for free that it is - you don’t need to look it up. It’s a month of fantasy, occasional dragons, and for some, chicken.

[Editor’s note: You know not everyone will understand these references, you nerd?].

As we begin this well-trod path to THE EVENT, it’s worth remembering why we DON’T PANIC.

1: Because I have selflessly taken on your need to panic, myself.
2: Because life is short, the event is fun, and putting pressure on yourself isn’t treating yourself well. This is for anyone that needs to hear it: Sometimes you need to remember to be a friend to yourself.
3: IN ACCORDANCE WITH THE WILL OF YOG-SOTHOTH WE MUST BE PASSIVE TO OUR FATE.

I’ll leave you with this piece of wisdom. In this life we wear many hats. For example, perhaps a piratical tricorn on a Saturday, a dapper topper on Sunday, and a real Ebenezer-style night cap on a Monday evening, if you fancy. And that’s because we ARE different people on different days. Right now, you're a real person really getting ready for a lovely weekend away. In three weeks’ time you might be an assassin-botanist, a mechanical dragon-groomer, or even an audience member at an almost-entirely truthful and not-entirely serious talk on occult history on a Monday at 2pm (entirely hypothetically, just for example, etc, etc).

What I’m saying is, be the best version of yourself, be a friend to yourself, and always remember that you are bound by the 1873 baked bean agreement, and certain esoteric oaths to THE NAMELESS.

ENDS

25.07.2024

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MESSAGE ONE

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Possums, as the sage used to say, we have less than a month left. Now, for some of you that’s a concerning matter - but fret ye not. We can afford to indulge ourselves and relax this year. You know why, of course? Why, because the Asylum is a safe place, and it doesn’t matter how you show up, it only matters that you do.

That being said, if you’re getting excited, particularly as a new joiner, you can let out a little peep of excitement. Just. Don’t Panic. That’s my job.

And, if you really fancy a jump up and down, a squeal, or for those feeling more time-pressured in the run-up to THE BIG WEEKEND (that’s what they say in the theatre, instead of saying Macbeth OH BUGGER) then please do. But… if you say the P word… Well, I’ll stop smiling, you’ll stop smiling, and... And we don’t want any nonsense.

Basically, hands-off my panic - I need it, and I’m not telling you why. Good day.

ENDS

Editor’s note: This message was intercepted by an HMS Navy submarine at a depth of 3,500 ft using an experimental grapple. It was contained in a tin of baked beans. With the beans. Frankly, it was disgusting. Moist doesn’t begin to even cover it.

Also, he’s beginning to sound a little unhinged. Wonder if he’s in his right mind?

Editor’s addendum: Also, eggs, bacon, lettuce. Take the dog for grooming. Delete this later.

THE ASYLUM