Oh lord, we’re heading down the Drummond-hole again.

Pity your poor, diligent and bow-spined scribe, friends. He scrivens and drafts, he rattles and hums, forcing the vibrations of his over-clocked imagination down to the tips of his fingers and into his magical glass scrying-plate, trusting in energies and magicks he only dimly understands to transmit these electrical functions into a form which makes some sort of—if not sense than at least, legibility. 

It’s a rough game, but one your pal needs to stay on top of. Because he never knows when the boss will fire off a demand for some writing, usually stacked on top of a giant info-dump which needs to be transcribed, translated from the Dominic into English, sifted and reformed into something readable. 

Enclosed for your approval, then, the latest update from Dom-world. A tale of art and concept, underpasses and over-reactions and as ever, a bit of promo. An attempt has been made to channel the following into a logical flow—but let’s face it, logic has little hold here. Stick with us, it’ll all fall into place at the end.