HCF Publishing

Welcome, fellow logonauts! Welcome welcome!!

What an awful lovely day we are having wherever you are. Such weather, no?

To our loyal readers, I need no introduction. But to those of you who join us now in this corridor of particles at these exact coordinates in time, allow yourself to meet me. I am none other than Henry C. Fennéc, grandson of the great French captain Jean-Francois C. Fennéc who, after the war, took part in making my father, Marcel C. Fennéc who, after taking a wrong turn, crossed an ocean and married the eternal Henrietta D— who then, between bouts of extreme lucidity, founded this institution at which I now possess l'grande plume, as they say, now that my mother is eternal no more.

We have had successes unbound by modern standards, such wild delights that have graced every atom in the bodies of our readership. And we have published them. On paper. Over and over and over on paper, in books bound by the metallic hands of the future. They smell great, they do.

But are we the proprietors of a smell shop? No! We are the shriek of animals crawling through the muck of their own demise! We are the heart of a headless, rotting tree exposed to the elements of luck and psyche! We are demigods of a frayed and fragile moral fiber! And it is time now to read what the stars have written for ~13.7 billion years — You!

So I hired an intern to make this Facebook page and hired another to post these things. For You! And pour Moi! So that together we can rejoice in the great pool of smells radiating from and toward every bend of the universe!

Enjoy. Submit.

Your enraptured supplicant,

Henry C. Fennéc