As my brothers and sisters of the (Anti-)Cathar$ist Order have urged it, and as it is the sacred duty of every Anti-initiate to the cult of the Horse Tooth God to record for the generations the secret triumphs of our most defiant heresy, I here record what I did see with my own eyes and mind within Brother Thomas's legendary visions of Bosch on Ice, on the first day of March, in the ninety-second year since the Breaking-Forth.
Brother Thomas found himself in a garden of ice, and verily this garden was wondrous strange: all smoothe and white like a plane of marble; giraffes, their flanks flapping in the wind like the sail of some great vessel, caroused with haughty knights tossing their bosch-balls lightly through the air as they glided easily over the ice on their scaled steeds. To and fro they wandered, slid, skated, and hurried, as the spirit of their God wafted over them like a chilly breath of perfume.
Meantimes, we stealthily made our way round the walls of this garden with our arms and legions, and waited until they lie down to take sustenance and rest their arms, not knowing that we awaited them.
The forms floating about Brother Thomas's seven senses shifted then, like the rays of the sun upon the surface of a still pool when the water has been stirred by the appearance of a fish with both top-fin and tail breaking the surface, moving in such a way as to send the water coursing, gently however, in several opposing directions; and settled into a vision of the whole of the Earth, condensed and reduplicated, as if it were a stone in a crucible. Again the knights caroused, the beasts turned somersaults, humans ran about, in quest of the bosch-ball, in endless strife over its possession, birds caught it and tossed it about in their beaks, dropping it to the ice again like the pellets of the Roc.
At a certain signal, the Brutes fell upon them.
We were dived into two parties. The first Anti-legion sallied forth with a bold shout, led by the mighty Miss Ricketts, ripping and snarling, curling like a serpent swiftly across the ice, heedless of the many and savage blows of the Humans as she wreaked havoc among them. It is said that she crushed the bones of no less than four-hundred and twenty angels, fish, and leopards that day; among their number six princes, twenty mounted knights, and a bishop.
The second legion, among whom I myself was numbered, was ranged behind the formidable vessel A.A. Ariel, our Ship of Fools which cut courageously across the ice from the facing direction, as an uproar of Bars and Anti-s and Kamogs resounded upon the wind. The vessel was cruelly buffeted by the sticks, balls, sleds, tails, and feet of our enemies (for they are all of them our enemies) and soon it foundered and was hurled back and forth across the ice, the sharp cracks of its destruction splintering the air. Hideous was the crying out of the bold and diminutive admirals, seamen, soldiers, first mates, orangutans, merchants, rats, stowaways, pirates, and monkeys as they died on the ice.
Nonetheless, our forces pressed on, locked in sanguine combat. I do verily believe that our enemies had no notion of who we were or why we were attacking and tormenting them. So great is the power of the Anti- that it veils our intentions from the eyes of all.
During this combat the daring comrade Tomislav was given from mysterious forces a great horn, whose blast he was told would drive men and women mad, and win them over to our cause. And truly its voice spoke a babel that was understood by many. We formed a solemn procession, following in file where the Rubber Chicken, sent from below to guide our steps, showed us the way. And it is true, for I saw it with my own eyes, that as our procession continued to the joyous notes of this horn, we were joined by the beasts of the earth and the sea, and by soldiers of both teams as they threw down their weapons and ran to us.
Soon all was chaos, and many of the adorers of the Horse Tooth were gathered in the centre of ice, beating the big drum; and it was at this time that the event took place, which has already been carried far and wide upon the lips of every one. For Hector Clam was cruelly set upon by treacherous rogues, and flung mightily against the ice in a woeful manner, and at terrible length. In vain he screamed and struck right and left with his hooves; in vain his comrades tried to reach him. It is said by many that he was hurled against the ice no less than for-thousand five-hundred and sixty times that day; though there are others who say the number was but two-thousand eight-hundred and seven. Likewise some say the great Clam was slain by a man, and others by a woman. But whatever be the truth, word of his fall spread rapidly amongst the children of the Horse Tooth God, and among our number all fell to our knees, awestruck, and wailing pitifully at our misfortune. But Comrade Reid called out to us saying: Think ye that Hector is dead? That the great Clam Horse can be so easily destroyed? O, ye men and women of little faith, behold! For he liveth yet, and succor may yet be given to him! Whereupon the forces of the Anti rallied, and gathered about the fallen Hector; and comrade Reid sealed his wounds by means of a mighty art. Hector Clam rose up again; and though his head was full metamorphosed by wrath, he led us from the field for a respite, serpents coiling about his gleaming body.
Truly the Gnosis was served this day, for it was well proven that the Earth is indeed Hell incarnate, and that all of the terrors numbered by the Orthodox among the terrors of Hell are verily here with us, and that we are ourselves the actors in these fearsome rites.
Therefore it was truly said that when Brother Thomas' vision shifted once more, it was not Hell that he beheld--for verily, it was much less terrible than the Earth, as he had himself insisted, for he owned that worse than Earth would try his sanity quite sorely--but merely the funeral for the condemned and abandoned Earth.
Once more the Orthodox danced to and fro across the ice, gliding or falling, shouting or snarling, in imagined safety. And after some time of this we solemnly made our appearance, the bodies of our slain piled high on our wain, which we dragged steadily to the centre of the ice, accompanied by ancient rites in hieratic costume, to the dirge of the big drum. And on either side of us the people parted and we proceeded on our way. After which our number dispersed in every direction, and many heroic feats are told of this day, and many more remain untold. With my own eyes I saw the Rubber Chicken immolate itself upon the steel teeth of the big drum, wielded in ecstatic frenzy from Comrade Tsubasa. And many other things occurred, of a number I cannot recount. And the Orthodox abandoned the field, and we retired to long celebration and jovial revelry that lasted deep into the night.
And this is a true account of Bosch on Ice, given from my own lips, who was there in that place and in that time.
And thus may it be, always and never. Sic Semper Absurdus. nemA.
Frater-Comrade Olchar.
Doctors Fry, Dolnak, Lindsann, and Butkivić gather round the operating table to examine the horribly-mangled Anti-Tom.
Drs. Butković & Fry work on the Anti-Tom in the Staple Room, as Dolnak and Salazar observe.
Dr. Steve Dolnak coping with the pressure.
The newly reconstructed Anti-Tom
A close-up of his luv-er-ly new face.
Miss Ricketts, sans tongue!
Miss Ricketts on the table, a Familiar-sized bottle of 'anesthetic' beside her.
Dr. Butković with that other rubber chicken.
Comptroller Needleman goes under the cosmetic knife.
After the surgery, he demands more 'anesthetic'.
Take a look at your new face, Comptroller!
After seeing his new face, he goes back to the bottle again.
Hector Clam's state as s/he entered the emergency room
Hey, that new snake-tail has to be put on there somehow.
And then there was hot wax for some reason.
Hector's mane is now a beard, and his broken jaw is still strong enough to grasp a paint brush!
The recovery room: plenty of soft string and hard ice.
