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The Kraken is not, nor ever has been the incarnation of ultimate evil. It sleeps in a sea of honey beneath a purple sky, just off the sugary shore of the imagination. It is related to, but never to be confused with the landbound, ambling Brundlesquid and the whirling, soaring Kalicalimari. It is sensitive and changes colours in tune with its whimsical moods and thoughts. One day it will glow red like the last embers of a dying fire, the next it will turn a gentle, sylvian green, and the next particoloured with rippling diamonds of colour bedecking its glistening form. It loves the English imagination but it is equally alien in all lands except those that compose the sea floor. It loves shiny things above all. On days when the green tinted sun forms empires of light and shadow on the yellow clouds then it will wake and rise to the surface to sing in a sweet voice. The Kraken is NOT an early riser. It sings to the fish that scud just beneath the surface, to the albatrosses that fly high above, but most of all to the lapping of the sea on the ragged shoreline. You may offer your supplications to the Kraken, although it does not care deeply for human concerns. Your desires are most likely to be granted if you wish for poetry and shiny things.

Christopher Kraken is a wandering scientist and Englishman temporarily lost in the Mid-West of America. This journal comes from his brain (see map below)








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