The Moon is Always Full

My days sway between the mundane pleasantries of the Palaeozoic Musuem and an endless series of fresh atrocities and wonders. I seem always to be working, and Miss Paine is usually away on some secretive ramble or another. I dare not even guess where she goes and what she does.

Two large saurians from the Lower Lias are now installed in the Gallery: Mary Anning's Plesiosaurus dolichodeirus of 1821, and a fine German Stenopterygius specimen, displayed beneath Edouard Riou's illustration of these beasts. There was some confusion, initially, with the plesiosaur skeleton, and I mounted the Plesiosaurus macrocephalus before I had realised my error. Of course, the specimen had to be pulled down and swapped out, and the macrocephalus slab repacked and returned to the attic. I never used to make such silly mistakes.

We have spent much time in the company of Capt. Susenko and Miss Maertens since the recent matter of our mutual revelations. But I could write entire volumes and only scratch the surface of those conversations. His ideas are so bizarre and phantasmagorical to be at least equal to the impossibilities of this place, and he talks as though he possesses foreknowledge of my world and time. For instance, only last night, he described to me the life of a man yet to be born, a man named Alan Turing, who will try to build intelligent machines. Not mere automata, but thinking machines.

And is that not what I am, Father? Is that not all I ever have been? Capt. Susenko argues I am a spiritual being possessed of a mind and a soul, and his words would seem like truth, but for.... — I am too tired, again, to write these thoughts.

The nightmares, the visions, my physical metamorphosis...all these things continue. The entity that stalks my nightmares...

I bury myself in my work. It is all I have left of sanctuary.