Oh wow, I don't even know this canon, and I'm in love with this - a little like Welcome to Night Vale gone epistolary and two centuries askew. I love the way the numbering of the days gets increasingly twisted, as the narrator gets increasingly warped from being the 'sober' one from some more rational place (Law?) playing straight man to "the equally intoxicated concept of the nature of reality itself" (AMAZING), to being irritated but adapting, to going native to an alarming degree ("Soul [...] may not be the one I started out with"), complete with cravings for the flat-out weirdest variant of custard I've ever heard of.

Thank you for the gift of this! Here, you inspired an absurd limerick in return:

the Iron Republic, unlawful and drunk
dances time into (k)not-art, your coat into junk
but discount the madness!
there's no place for sadness!
bees turn souls into honey, your devils to spunk