At the core

I pushed upon the door with my soft and uncallused hands (I always felt slightly embarrassed in the local taverns when I took my Pint with these hands, which were clearly the hands of a man who Thought Too Much). The door swung open; all was dark within -- or was it? A dim glow came from far end of the room. How was this possible? Surely all the machinery had been disactivated centuries ago after the Ale bubble burst? I advanced to the other end of the room and saw that the glow came from the walls themselves -- they seemed in fact to come from within the walls. I took out my dog-eared map of the city. I realised that although the map was several centuries out of date it perfectly served my purposes here, for these tunnels were actually constructed well before the Ale-extractions began in this area. In fact, these ancient tunnels followed almost perfectly the lines of the streets above. A map such as this one was largely sufficient to find one's way around, I realised, deep underground. And I saw that there was a tunnel opening just next to where the walls glowed the strongest. I should go there, should I not? My map indicated that this tunnel would lead me directly to the Cathedral. To the centre of the city! I realised, now, that it was the Cathedral Radiation which caused the walls to glow. I supposed they were warm, but placing my hands there I saw that, in fact, they were cold and damp. But the light seemed very strange, it seemed to be a light which came from within the walls. I saw the light was not uniform, but something uneven, there were structures and patterns in this light, they changed and varied. What kind of light was this? Standing there in the tunnel with a few hundred metres of solid rock between me and the early-morning fog, I became hypnotized by this strange light. I found myself thinking of my home-town, far away across the sea (is that not a song?). I found myself imaginging these halls when they were crowded with people. Ore extractions fully underway. Lost, lost time. And then this light coming from within the rock, the ancient rock. I knew I had to enter the tunnel and follow the source of the light to its origin which I knew almost certainly would be underneath the Cathedral. I stepped into the tunnel -- noticing, as I went, for the first time, some interesting graffiti concerning the relative merits of the football team of this town and the next town along. Hm!

Insubstantial glimmerings

The steep slope ravine slopes were very steep indeed. My boots, which had served me well on many a fine sunday afternoon stroll on the commons, were clearly inadequate here, and had difficulty finding purchase on the slopes of the ravine. I would not say that I descended, more than I actually slid. I realised that the soles of my boots were actually flat and smooth from my constant wanderings on city pavements in search of Ales and philosophy. The darkness, already profound, became profounder still. I could no longer see the other side of the ravine. In the distance I could just hear the bells of the cathedral tolling the half-hour (by my estimation it was now 9.30) somewhere behind me and far up the hill. It was becoming slowly warmer and warmer, and I began to perspire. I took off my heavy overcoat, hat and scarf (I had said that I was unprepared for such a descent, did I not?) and attempted to carry them whilst at the same time maintaing my balance as I descended further and further. My shoes were now blackish green from the Ore coating the slopes. I knew that many a fine man had given their lives to retrieve this Ore and assure the operation of the brewery and the livelihood of thousands of townsfolk (for most of the lifetime of the town, almost every able-bodied man was employed in only three different enterprises). I took out my match-book and once more struck a light. Hm! Certainly not a fine idea here, one was certain that flammable spirits were everywhere. But I needed to know in which direction I should take my descent. To the left? Or ... ? The lines of force on my map indicated that a rightward-leaning descent would be more profitable for Science and Art. I went left in any case. Now i saw that the descent levelled off. I reached a small, flat path with narrow walls on either side, and i followed this path to a door which easily opened with a slight push of my hand. I realised that here I must be amongst the heart of the ore-extracting operations. Thankfully inside this room a slight glow came from the walls. It would have been impossible to see further now, except that a slight light glimmered from the walls. I realised now that I must be in the antechamber of the Mining Operations. At one time these halls must filled with workers arriving and leaving from a shifts on the pit-face, which I realised now must be even further down, hundreds of metres below my rought-shod boots. But what in all this could be the source of the disturbance which so affected the generation of the cathedral rays? Where here was the zero-point, the centrality of the disturbance? Standing the semi-darkness, I reflected on the inadequate nature of my knowlege of Biology, Mathematics and Geology. I knew there was a link between everything I had seen and heard here during my years of study but I was just too dull-witted to see it now. If only I could see something! It was far to dark in here for my liking. At the end of the hall I could see the shapes of the vast lift-machinery crouching threateningly in the darkness. I was sure that after decades of inaction they functioned no longer. I started down the hall nonethless, after all one must advance this story in some fashion or another. About half way down the hall I saw small opening in the stone wall -- this certainly seemed like a promising way to proceed, I thought, and I entered. I was sure, I thought, that Ale will be involved.

In search of the hole to end all holes

I clumped along the street in my heavy boots, passing through the narrow tunnel which took me to the other side of the railway tracks. The wrong side, oh yes! Now I was leaving the town behind. I took a scrap of paper from my pocket where I had drawn the principal lines of trigonometric action, superimposed on those famous streets from my map of 1423. Behind me, the towers of the cathedral were only partially visible through the heavy winter fog. It was almost nine o' clock in the morning yet I still had to strike a match to read my map, so dark it was (in these parts, the peak of illumination does not yet arrive until 13.00, when it is possible to read a copy of The Gazette for a full five minutes without artificial illumination).

I hastened along the streets and shuttered shops. To my left, the ground sharply fell away into a deep ravine. Small animals and house cats often vanished into this vast hole without a single trace. An unfortunate byproduct of the town's propensity for delving deep into the ground for the special ore required to brew the ale which made this village famous. Some old brewers in the town often told me that the ravine descends for miles into the ground and furthermore that there are passages which connect this ravine to others scattered over this northern isle.

I struck another match. Hm! I had not realised it, but the lines on my map, although I had not wanted to believe it, were certainly converging to a point some way to the left of where I was standing, and not to the right. Into the abyss! Hm! I checked my pockets and found they contained five kings shillings, an omnibus ticket, and a boiled sweet. I was certainly ill-prepared to make such a descent. But I felt that in this pit I might possibly find the true source of the cathedral rays which caused so much sickness in this town. I looked back once more, towards the towers, and noticed see how birds pointedly did not fly near them. I left the street and started down the steep incline, into the pit, whilst chewing thoughtfully on my boiled sweet.

Distant vibrations and Orphic emanations

Where was I? The Earth has once again (so I am told) circled around our Sun, and I am left here with my story largely untold. I should start again! But unfortunately for several months now I have been locked deep in profound philosophical meditations and have not found time to write in this Book. After my profound discovery, detailed at the end of the last post, I realized rapidly what I would have to do; to visit every tavern and ale-house in the city. Not an entirely difficult proposition I must admit. In each, I descended to the very deepest levels of earth, silver coins in my pocket, and observed the effects on every metallic object on my person, notebook at the ready. Each evening, in my attic flat, serenaded by the distant rumbling of coal-trains heading north, I plotted my measurements on a excellent copy of theobold's 1423 map of the city which I had pinned to my bedroom wall. I dreamed of castles and cathedrals, moats and fortifications, not surprisingly, as I awoke each each morning to see the weak northern light filtering across the jumbled streets of Mr. theobold's famous plan. My labours had determined definitively the contour lines of the radiation which suffused the city. Bien sur, their focal point was the ancient walls of the cathedral. But there was something else -- something amiss. I saw there was a deviation -- a centre, something heavier and deeper which i had not expected. Near the north of the town, far from the old centre. A dark shadow on the convering rays and lines. what did this come from? I would have to investigate. I left my attic lodgings one damp winter's morning, wearing a pair of particularly heavy wellingtom boots, and headed north.

My first unexpected echo

Several days have passed since I wrote those last words: the sun has wheeled across the heavens, or, as I understand science tells us, the Earth has made several revolutions on its axis. Such revelations aside (and they are revelations, no?) I take up my pen -- that phrase is purely a stylistic tic I admit -- and cast myself back to those long-gone underground days near the grey wastes of the North Sea. You remember my story? Well, if not, there are the Archives for that, of course. In search of knowledge, and ales, I had journeyed to the northern edges of the English continent, and had discovered there a town which was suffused by the most unsettling form of radiation, waves constituting a phenomena which (although had it had been described in any detail in scholarly journals) which I termed 'Cathedral Sickness'. I had resolved to find the source, origin and motivating power of this Cathedral Sickness. The rays seem to extend up to several nautical miles away from the foundation stones of that great mediaeval edifice. Barometric and magnetic measurements provided me with no clue or hint as to the origin of the field, although I strongly suspected that my instruments were not reliable. I had read legends of the passage of the Worm in those parts some centuries earlier, and I suspected that such an event would leave a lasting imprint on the soil's character, rendering empirical measurements impossible. Moreover, I was not so certain that a solution to the puzzle of the cathedral rays could be elucidated only by recourse to purely scientific techniques. A breakthrough occurred one evening whilst I was taking a short rest from my studies. I had visited one the taverns in the shadow of the cathedral, and after consuming many litres of the local ale, I felt a strong need to relieve myself: I descended to the facilities which were several metres below ground. It was just as I was leaving, and preparing to mount the stairs again, that I perceived a strange vibration: some coins in my pocket were quivering. I took one such coin from my pocket and found it was hot to the touch: it was also emitting a low hum. I pressed it against my forehead the humming became even louder. But what I found most remarkable was that the amplitude of the humming depended on the direction which my head turned! This was truly remarkable. I carefully marked in my notebook the direction relative to the front door of the tavern for which the amplitude was the strongest, and left. It was only later that night, in my attic flat overlooking the railway lines, that I had time to consult a map of the town. I realised, placing a cross on the map where the tavern that I had visited was, and drawing a line along the axis pointed to by my quivering coins, that this line neatly intersected the cathedral. I had found a way of directly detecting the cathedral rays! I took the coins from my pocket and laid them on my table. They were still and unmoving and did not notice a lone ray from the setting sun as it unhurriedly crossed my desk. Silence. No movement. I realised that this was because here in my retreat I was too far above ground. My attic was a good dozen or so metres distant from the Earth, and it seemed clear to me that the heavy northern soil was essential to channel and focus the rays: too much sky (and, importantly, sunlight) would undoubtedly prove deleterious to their passage, weakening them beyond the point of measurability. But I had a start, a path by which I could possibly understand the cathedral rays. These coins seemed to sensitive to the rays in a which I was not, and earth channeled and reflected sounds from the cathedral in a way I could not. This was -- I subsequently realised -- my first encounter with a cataphonic phenomena. I realised I would have to descend below ground. I would have to visit every tavern near the cathedral, and see if they had underground bathrooms! Perhaps, concurrently with this, I could also use my time to compile a guide of drinking houses in the City. I could imagine creating a detailed map, with vectors and magnitudes, and with this data at my disposal, I might at last understand what was the motivating force, origin -- and possible cure? -- for the Cathedral Sickness.

Introducing myself, Mr. R. Natsah Kindi

From an early age I was intensely curious of all manner of natural and unnatural phenomena. I had already embarked on an extensive apprehension of both Geometry and Physics in before realising that departure from my village was imperative. Although I had attained a respectable level in both these subjects, I saw clearly one day (a saturday, I believe) that true knowledge -- and larger libraries --- were elsewhere. After a journey of several days over land and across the sea, I arrived in the cathedral city of Durham, England. Do you know this town? It is a city which exists almost completely below ground, although it seems at first that this is not the case. It was in this town, during the furtherance of my studies, that i first became interested in what i later learned (and knew to be) 'Cataphonic Phenomena. ' This town, whilst thought by some as being picturesque, is in fact the product of a deadly confluence of geography, geology and ecclesiastical architecture. The direct pressure of the great ancient bulk of the city's norman cathedral on the bedrock of the town produces most unsettling waves and vibrations which I later realised were responsible for many strange effects I had observed in the comportoment of the local inhabitants. Frequently, this only became apparent after the fall of night (or as the air became increasingly opaque, as a certain Irish Philosopher reminds us), although sometimes peculiar phenomena could be observed even at God's own noon. I realised that the extensive undeground network of tunnels which permeated the town were responsible for the collimation of these rays, which otherwise would be harmless to all but the smallest mammals, and this effect, this focussing, I became convinced warranted further study. In the back garden of my lodging house I was fortunate enough to find a deep well, and by carefully studying the appropriate texts, i formulated a plan of diligent observations to by carried out over a period of one calendar month, in the hope of elucidating the nature, origin and (most importantly) frequency of the waves which so afflicted the town's gentle residents. The results of this investigation I will detail tomorrow, or after tomorrow, if my work permits.

Welcome to the Cataphonic Explorer!

A short word of explanation to those of you who may not know why they've come here: well, that's your problem, not mine! The Cataphonic Explorer aims to be an exploration of -- well, those hidden patterns which underly life -- you know, those hidden tunnels with hidden entrances and hidden exits. One minute you are deep underground and pouf! you are in another part of town, one that you have never visited before. How did you get there? Where were you before you went there? Or it could be random musings on the staticky background to life, those shadows glimpsed out of the corners of our eyes which turn out to be much more important than we think, but which we ignore at the time. Or it could be - well, you'll see.