Diatomic Disaster

WTF!

Did no one think that it was strange that I hadn’t been seen for a while? Did none of the highly-paid mooncalves that clutter Museum of Dust stop, for just ONE nanosecond, and thinks “Golly I wonder where the Director has got to?”

You would think that panic would ensue after the first day or so and that no effort would have been spared in a frantic attempt to ascertain my whereabouts. You’d think that a top-to-bottom search of the museum would have been the obvious first step, with a worldwide coordinated rescue effort planned if that failed.

You’d think.

Instead I’ve been trapped in the Oubliette for what seems like an eternity but turns out to have only (!) been a couple of months. I’m finally released by Inky, who has, at last, returned from the Space Race against Republic of Tinsleman (victorious I’m sure – although I’ve yet to hear his report), and discover that the place is deserted. Worse; I find the place strewn with evidence that El Cacaracha Libre seems to have moved in. He was MEANT to be managing the situation in RoT, instead he seems to have abandoned the whole thing to fritter his time festooning MY museum with pointless placards.

I’ve a good mind to invest in some Blackflag or other air-borne nerve gas…

Not to mention sacking the entire sorry bunch of useless oxygen-thieves who masquerade as museum staff. Especially Administration, who I specifically informed that I was ducking into the Oubliette to work on my magnum opus, a mural composed entirely of diatoms depicting Inky’s spectacular space victory with side panels celebrating peak moments in my favourite arachnid’s career. There I was, carefully positioning a rosette of dinoflagellate (Karenia brevis to be precise), revelling in the improvement that purchasing a Klaus Kemp Micromanipulator had made compared to the old pig’s-eyelash brush I’ve been using, when BANG! Not only had the door slammed shut but somehow it seemed to have locked and bolted itself. No matter how much I hammered on the door, shouted and even screamed, no one seemed to hear me. Perhaps I shouldn’t have made the soundproofing quite so industry-standard… Still you would imagine that SOMEONE would have come looking for me.

My incarceration has been a disaster on every level. Not only have the staff blatantly abandoned their duties, El Cacaracha Libre scuttled wild, and Dog only knows what has become of poor RoT without my benign protection, but I was forced to survive by eating my entire diatom collection. You have no idea how long it took to compile and what microscopic rarities it contained. Not to mention the sheer beauty of the mural that will now never be seen. I simply don’t have the heart to start over…

I’m attempting to comfort myself by reviewing our Haekel diatom exhibit – what would Art Nouveau have been without his inspiration? – and I suppose I’ll think of something.

Oh well, I suppose I’d better put on my happy face and go hear how Inky’s mission went.

Ernst Haeckel: Kunstformen der Natur 1899-1904 >

Giorno Nuovo Haeckel lithographs >

Addendum: I have discovered the direct supplier for my diatom micromanipulators and Zrax patented diatom mountant! MicrAP Enterprises >

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