#and writes

[...]

[...] It's the strangest text so far. As I decipher and translate it, it keeps rearranging its characters. It annoys the crap out of me. The glyphs describe and can be used as an easy hook. That was the purpose of the Wayrest colleagues if I reckon and I think the project is about the same here. Among the non-orthogonal lines, I'm beginning to glimpse discreet characters impregnated with subreptice. They have an unpleasantly familiar aroma that I can't quite put my finger on yet. When I touch these irregular arrangements of symbols, they dance, belch and nauseate me. It's a putrid smell. I don't know what it's doing here, but keeping these sentences isolated from the rest might come in handy. I have an inexplicable certainty about it - the feeling that it will be useful to us. I should think about bringing him a bouquet of flowers. I think he'd like it and it would help us get back on track. We can't stay in this situation.

Have returned to the text. The sketches I've isolated have stopped moving and describe a phenomena that can barely take shape in our reality. I can easily deduce that they break the laws of the Veil and obey only their own. I'm intrigued, but I won't say anything to the others for the moment. I wait until I've finished the task and understood everything before sharing the news. The other stuff? Simple, wordy equations about transliminality. They'll be useful for those who need to be reminded how to count. I wonder when I stopped being impressed by all these signs. I even wonder why I understand them so well. I get the feeling that they're speaking directly to me, and that the language used on this dusty paper isn't what carries the point. I'm beginning to wonder about the languages of other planes. I read an interesting book the other day that I'd pulled out of the laboratory stash. There are theories about the probable immaterial nature of daedra essence. I'll explain when I'm done with this parchment. He told me today that I look pretty good for someone who lives with an infant. I think it's his disguised way of telling me that he suspects I'm not sleeping at home. I don't like it when he does that. I don't like his eyes. They burn, and the flowers haven't helped anything between us. I'm going to spend several nights back in the attic, until I feel he's less concerned by my absences.

Back this evening. They made progress on my work but didn't feel the potential of the verses I extracted from all the paragraphs. It's only me who feels the call, obviously. I'm tired, and the quality of my writing is suffering. My lines are indecipherable and I have to keep correcting myself. However, they seem satisfied. Before I leave, I should have extracted a new equation. It's like alternating between removing a splinter or pulling a tooth: I operate between the meticulous and the brutal, each time using my pen and fingers as pliers. Sometimes you just have to know how to get respect, even from a piece of paper. “Zymel Hziz.” This is the last nymic I've managed to isolate - a lightning atronach. Decidedly, Oblivion today is convenient in the way it lexicalizes the entities that reside there… It's even suspiciously tidy. Note: don't lock yourself into a general rule. Being taken by surprise isn't always a pleasant experience.

My results have been transmitted and will soon be re-evaluated. I'm waiting for them to come back, stamping my feet slightly but not too much. They don't like it when I'm impatient; I hear it's too decisive a flaw in many cases. To keep myself busy, I pick up these rotten-meat-smelling characters again. I wonder if they're not a formula. I don't recognize any grammatical arrangement that might remind me of an entity, even squinting. I don't think it's a sentence. I'm sure it doesn't say anything and I'm not sure it matters either. Indeed, it says nothing. I've been thinking about it for several nights now, and I think I've finally figured it out. I'll wait a few more hours to flesh out my observations. It may not say anything, but it talks. And when I say “it talks”, I mean it's loquacious. Reading these incomprehensible phonemes is inaudible. I repeat and repeat in front of my colleagues, and they get nothing but annoyance out of it. But as I struggle to pronounce this unspeakable jumble, I'm gripped by a new certainty. I'm convinced that this language finds a way to be universal and selective at the same time. I'm certain that I can understand it because it wants me to. In the meantime, I have to say that it sounds awful. I must pronounce it with a deplorable accent, rather like I pronounce my Altmeri. I must confess that I haven't particularly tried to articulate my Altmeri correctly. Altmeri is good for vomiting. Altmeri is best disgorged from the heart.

Today's demonstration was impressive. I've learned a lot and I'd like to share with them my questions about the nature of this language. I'd like to call it “Skrmblz”. It adds a bit of cuteness to the sordidness, a bit like me. Skrmblz is a bit devious and has poor hygiene. She won't let anyone talk to her, and doesn't let anyone listen to her. Skrmblz has a nasty temper. We've taken turns trying to spit her out, and it's only when I have her in my mouth that I can taste more than bile. In the end, Skrmblz opens up to me with the force of my tongue, like someone stirring in a big mashed potato. It reminds me of good evenings.

Tonight, it's been a week since I've been down to the brothel. I'm in a cold sweat. Maybe I'll spend the next few nights relaxing a bit. I don't care if he's disappointed in me, all he had to do was appreciating my flowers!

I should bake him a cake…

Look, I'm sorry. I think I really am. I wish you'd appreciate them and put them in a vase next to our bed. I guess she didn't let you keep them in our house. I know you're worried and I shouldn't be doing this. I shouldn't have started it, we shouldn't have talked about it and I should have stayed pure and virtuous like you. Sometimes I envy you. I miss you, only caring about that screaming infant and that woman who shrieks like a sow. You know something? You deserve better. When I get rid of all this, we'll be fine. I think with your clarity, you'll have no trouble seeing how happy we can be. You can even keep the baby, for all I care... I understand why you don't want to trust me with it, since I'm about to ransack every one of my synapses.