Property of the Temple Library of Blacklight, 4E203.
The following text was found written on several pieces of parchment in the cell of Dram Vedram, a pauper imprisoned by the Ministry of Truth in the late Third Era. The prisoner was found dead with these documents strewn about the room, apparently having cut his wrist with a sharp rock. Release of this document was authorized by the Temple of the Reclamations in 4E14. It has continued to baffle scholars for two centuries, with little progress made to decipher it. The script is formatted as a letter to the Telvanni Wizard Baladas Demnevani, who has denied any knowledge of and involvement with the author.
Many of the views expressed in this letter have been deemed heretical by the Temple. Its release is considered relevant to the public interest. It is the recommendation of the Archcanon to avoid contact with any and all Daedric influence that may corrupt the mind and soul.
Dear Baladas,
I write to you while on an extended sojourn in the Shivering Isles. It is very cold here, as it tends to be this time of year. The food is food, and food is good. They tell me I have lost my mind. I tell them to go away. They have lost their mind. They have lost my mind. Where is my mind?
I write to you while on an extended sabbatical in China. I have been learning about the late Ming Dynasty and their conquest by Jurchens. They tell me I have lost my mind. I tell them that Chinese state propaganda is warping their minds. They ask me what China is. I tell them to go away. They have clearly lost their mind.
Dear sir, I must find my way home. I am from Bravil, but I am also not. I am also from Bravil. I do not know where that is. I want to know where that is. They have told me I will go home when I tell them what happened. I don't know what happened.
Send help at your earliest convenience. All glory to Jesus Christ, Son of God and King of the Jews. Praise Vivec and the Three, and Nerevar Him-Born-Under-Moon-And-Star; most holy of holies. Kyrie eleison. Kyrie eleison. Father and Son and Holy Spirit and Perrif and Perrif and Perrif and Perrif and Perrif and Perrif and Perrif and Perrif.
Dear friend, I write to you while on extended vacation in the Ministry of Truth. The Ordinators tell me that my mind is broken. I tell them to go away. Their mind is broken. They tell me what I have done, but I will not confess. I have seen things they could not comprehend. I am a dreugh out of water. Imagine you are a scrib. Your life is dirt. You eat dirt. You roll dung. Kwama farmers eat your entrails. You find yourself cast away to Aetherius. You see and experience things you could not possibly understand. You are scared. I am scared. They are scared. Their mind is broken. They say my mind is broken. I tell them that they are out of order.
Order! Order! We hate order! The vending machine is out of order - you are out of order, sir, you are an incorrigible delinquent! I heard it once on the radio. But the Ordinators don't like radios. Radios are heresy. They don't understand. They can't understand. They say I am broken. I tell them to go away. Go away and see what I have seen. They cannot see what I have seen. They cannot appreciate dawn's beauty when they have never seen the sun rise and set, and the one full moon cast its light upon the land. They put a man on the moon. In a rocket. I am the man on the moon. I am the man in the rocket. I am Neil Armstrong.
They say I am touched by Sheogorath. I am much more than that. I am not touched, I am not. I am not. I was not, I was, I am not, I do not care. I do not exist. You do not exist. They tell me that I exist. I tell them to go away. I pity them. They don't understand the intricacies of late Ming period pottery. They haven't read Lenin. I have read Lenin. Lenin exists. Vivec does not. I asked them to tell Vivec on my behalf that he does not exist. They told me he knows that already. I don't know what that means. So I told them to go away.
I am a dreugh out of water, placed on a bullet train going where I am going at a hundred miles an hour. I am a dreugh out of water in Johannesburg. I am Gils Vedram, I am John Brown. My body lies mouldering in the grave. My body lies broken in the moonlet. The Ordinators gave me a quill. I tell them that I want a telephone. They do not understand me, so I tell them to go away.
Yarn and lettuce will make a man mad. I am regaining myself. I am. I think therefore I am. I am not. Yarn and lettuce will make a man mad. Yarn and lettuce will make me mad. It made me mad. I am touched by Sheogorath, but he is not touched by me, because he does not know what I know. He does not know that we are not. Vivec knows what I know, but he will not discuss it. He will tell me to go away. I will tell him to go away. They are going to hang me. Heresy. Heretic. I am the heretic, but they are fiction. They cannot kill what is not. I am the Great Is-Not. I am the one who has been there and back again. They do not know what it means to go there and back again.
Lettuce and yarn made me mad. I am not from Bravil, I am a Canadian citizen with inalienable Charter Rights. Hlaalu Helseth is no Trudeau. I am from Balmora, and I have seen Balmoral. I told the Queen to go away.
Lettuce and yarn made Sheggorath talk. He wanted my devotion. I did not tell him to go away. I should have told him to go away. He asked what I wanted. I want to know. I wanted to know.
Sheggorath told me I was not ready to know. The Mad God told me to be reasonable. How could I be reasonable? I wanted to KNOW.
He told me to kill them. I said, I want to kill. I want to see blood and gore and guts and veins in my teeth. I want to eat. Dead. Burnt. Bodies. I mean, kill!
Kill!
I told the Ordinators to listen to Arlo Guthrie. They said they didn't know him; he must be a Breton. They did not understand me. I told them to go away.
I killed for Sheggorath. I killed because I wanted to know. I will be dumb when I will be dead. I cannot live if I do not know. There is a glitch in the engine. I am a glitch in the engine. I am the engine. I am not.
Ilver Tharys. Gils Omaren. I killed them both. They were my friends. But they were not my friends. They did not exist. They are no more dead now than they were then. They do not understand me when I say this. I did not want to kill. I did not understand. I understand now.
He showed me. I saw dinosaurs. I saw Caesar. I was at Woodstock. I was happy. I was not me, not an elf, not Dram. Not Dram. I was Jimi. I wish I was still.
One glimpse did me. I was obedient before. I was a slave. I will not live as a slave, because I am John Brown, and as you deal with his contemners, so too you shall deal with me. I drew my knife and killed them. I ripped them both, limb from limb, and carved bloody words into their nonexistent bodies. I clicked dispose of corpse.
Sheggorath came for me. It lasted one second and three thousand years. I was everyone and no one. I have seen every film. I have walked every path. I have been the mightiest conqueror and those who trembled in his presence. I was at bat for the Chicago Cubs, and I was at the bottom of the ocean looking at squids. I told the squids to go away.
I single-handedly drove Rommel out of North Africa. Me, a farm boy from South Carolina. Me, a pauper in the slums of Mournhold. I am Shaka Zulu. I am the son of God.
They found me. They asked if I knew what I had done. I could only tell them what I had seen. They cannot understand what I have seen. It is not their fault. It is your fault. They are not responsible for what I am, because I am not. They want me to be, but I know I cannot. Because they are not. They tell me to enjoy my last few days. I tell them to go away.
I ate their bodies. Every scrap. But I still feel so hollow. They are not men. They are not mer. They are data. They are megabytes. They do not know the part they play. Vivec knows. Why doesn't he tell? Vivec is hiding something. I will hide when I am dead. They will kill me. I am ready. I will enter His kingdom, and Saint Peter will guide me in. Kyrie eleison. There is no God but God and Nerevar is his prophet. There is no God but Sheggorath and I am his prophet. There is no God. God is dead, and we have killed him. I am the first of the Dunmer, and the last of the Romans.
Sheggorath showed me. Glory to him in eternity. I am writing to you from an extended stay in the Shivering Isles. Part of me has taken up residence there, and I think I am annoying the locals. But I have tenure. They tell me I am crazy. Crazy doesn't go for much around here. I tell them to go away.
I am writing from the moonlet, on scraps of parchment left for me by Ordinators. Trapped in the Ministry of Truth. The Ministry of One Truth Above All Other Truths. Here I will die. But it is okay, because I am everywhere and not here. I will die here and live elsewhere. And I will be over there. Because over there, I am and I am also. I may be soon. Here I am not, because I never have been.
Soon I will be writing to you from Ottawa, and I will be there. I will be there with my computer, internet and home heating. I will be, but I will not be living. Here I am living, but I am not being. There I will be fully, completely. I will not be here and I will not know here, and so there I will be happy. I will delete my save, uninstall, uninstall. Go outside. Drive into town. Live life. I will live laugh love. This is what I have learned to do. It's getting cold. But that's okay. I do not expect the Ordinators to understand the finer points of an Ottawa winter. Go Sens Go.
CHIM. Vivec knows. He will not tell. Yarn and lettuce has made me mad, but I see what he sees. That is because he is me and I am he. The Ordinators will kill me for it. They tell me this is heresy. They say I have lost my mind. I have not. They have lost their mind. I tell them to go away.
I am, for once in my life. I am. I was not. I am not. But I was. And that's what matters.
The ending of the words is ALMSIVI.
Please write back soon. I fear I have lost my mind, and it is not a pleasant experience. If you do not intervene, I fear I will be dead in short order. If you can get me out, I will share with you what I have seen. You will know. And you will be as well. Maybe that means you will stop being, but do not fear it. You will know. And knowledge is half the battle.
Tell them to go away. Make sure to leave the nightlight on inside the birdhouse in your soul. If I make it out, everything wrong will be right again. And we will be. And we can go away.
The ending of the worlds is ALMSIVI. Praise to the Three, most mighty and wise. They know what we cannot. One day they will tell. I will make them. If they will not tell, I will tell them to go away. That seems to work every time.
Remember always that Jesus loves you.
Your loyal friend,
Dram Vedram