H.P. Podcraft.com.

I'm glad you came, said Chalmers.

He was sitting by the window and his face was very pale. Two tall candles guttered at his elbow

and cast a sickly amber light over his long nose and slightly receding chin.

Charmers would have nothing modern about his apartment. He had the soul of a medieval ascetic,

and he preferred illuminated manuscripts to automobiles and leering stone gargoyles to radios and adding

machines. As I crossed the room to the set-e he had cleared for me,

I glanced at his desk and was surprised to discover that he had been studying the mathematical

formula of a D are strange bedfellows, I said as my gaze wandered from his mathematical charts to the 60 or

70 quaint books that comprised his strange little library. Plotinus and Emmanuel Muscopolis,

St Thomas Aquinas and Fronique de Bessie stood elbow to elbow in the somber

Ebony bookcase and chairs, table and desk were littered with pamphlets about medieval sorcery

and witchcraft and black magic and all of the valiant, glamorous things

that the modern world has repudiated.

Charmers smiled engagingly and passed me a Russian cigarette on a curiously carved tray.

We are just discovering now, he said, that the old alchemists and sorcerers were two-thirds

right and that your modern biologist and materialist is nine tenths wrong.

You have always scoffed at modern science, I said, a little impatiently.

Only at scientific dogmatism, he replied.

Those were some of the lyrics from

Hound's of Loves, the same titled album by Kate Bush,

her fifth studio record.

...