Each year on Cerebrum is measured according to its seasons, not the orbit of any local star—if one even exists. No star has yet been observed; the “Skull” appears to shelter the innards of this planet/creature, and the cycle of light is inconsistent, born of neural clouds emitting a glow from irradiated vital fluids.

  The seasons are quite distinct, each with its own character, and sometimes vary in length, yet they always remain cyclical and follow the same pattern. The coming season—the Season of Brain Waves—is considered one of the more pleasant for the occupants of this planet/being.

  To all fellow travelers, I will use analogies most commonly known to the wider community of beings who may read this travel log.

  Cerebrum is a planet/being/self-contained realm that is covered, in about 70%, by oceans or seas—at least that is the closest description I can offer. The main difference is that, instead of fluid, the mass distinctly different from the “land” itself is made of various kinds of neural tissue, ever-expanding and seemingly all connected. To put it into perspective, we have here continents’ worth of brain matter that appears to be connected, cooperative with one another, and actually conductive to thought—yet impossible to read—and capable of prospering even when separated.

  To put your probable first fears to rest (as I myself almost choked in fear when I first heard it from the locals), the sea—or at least its upper layers—does not possess thought, nor the instinct to rapidly reproduce and claim. We have all heard of swarms and infections that ruined civilizations, and while this checks every box necessary for such a classification, it appears the planet/being/realm chooses not to do so, or simply finds it unnecessary.

  From our preliminary inspections, the brain matter is both incredibly complex and primitive at the same time. No two samples are alike; they do not share the same composition, genetic material, or even the same building blocks. The matter seems to fall apart and rebuild itself periodically, drawing from the “Deep” for any building elements not available within reach. Bubbles of something similar to spinal fluid float up to the surface and splash as they burst, spreading mixed materials and elements around.

  Upon inspection by myself and our resident Mentalist, we have not yet discovered nor proven this world to be sentient, hostile, or capable of higher thought. As this is my field of expertise, we will focus on the aforementioned “ocean/sea” part of this peculiar place in this summary of the exploration we have conducted so far.

  When we arrived, we were lucky and unlucky in equal measure. The rift we fell through opened up over one of the expansive “beaches” consisting of what I could most closely compare to cartilage tissue covered with what seemed to be an endless amount of pulverized enamel.

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  These “beaches” are the shores for what can only be described as oceans of neural tissue on a scale that baffled even an experienced explorer such as myself. It is, in short, breathtaking—and certainly disgusting to some. The rolling, coiling mass of glossy meat and goo-like substance stretches eternally into the horizon, with random pops and bubbles of blood and fluids bursting to the surface. All of this is tinted in a pinkish and purple color palette that sways and changes non-stop.

  Why “Waves,” then? Simple: the neural mass does not stay still and stagnant. Guided by gravitational forces and others we have yet to quantify, it rolls, detaches, and reconnects upon each wave’s clash with the surface. The sound it creates is far wetter than the waves we know from water—much more sloshy and moist. Unique.

  What is even more unique are the locals and how they have adapted to survive on this little ball of gore we have come to know as Cerebrum. For this, I will focus on the “ocean” dwellers.

  Species-wise, they are surprisingly uniform. There are no major physical differences between their land, underground, aerial, or ocean brethren besides culture. Body-wise, they are all the same—none adapted to the different environments in which they have spawned and propagated in cycles. Even more surprising, their bodies seem extremely resistant to mutation and birth defects; such things are practically unheard of.

  Since the temperature remains roughly the same through most of the year—warm enough to make you sheen with sweat—they have not developed any need for clothing. Combined with their glossy pinkish skin, from which visible veins of purple protrude and pulse, it is a bit disconcerting at first. At least their genitalia are hidden within their bodies, which made explaining our need for clothing far less awkward. They understood. Somehow.

  Back to the subject: the culture of the Ocean people is centered around the cycle of the Brain Waves, which is the most prosperous period for most. It is the cleansing season of the planet. Massive ships made of enamel, bone, sinews, and flesh—fed through contact with resource-rich waters—are herded from spot to spot in search of debris, animals to hunt, and better feeding grounds.

  The Season of Brain Waves is surprisingly violent, creating tsunami-sized waves that could drown cities. Yet, thanks to a peculiar manner of buoyancy and biotech, their city-ships are guarded and remain in place even as apocalyptic forces rage around them. Not only that—they actually enjoy it!

  The waves latch onto the ships, adding more mass and structure, extra space to expand, and the opportunity to birth more folk. It gets bumpy, but their bodies are malleable and quite stable with a low center of gravity, so no jolts or crashes truly bother them. Sadly, we are not like them.

  The waves bring both destruction and fortune. Sea animals become rowdier and easier to catch, the waters are refreshed with nutrients, and with enough foresight, the rulers use these monstrosities to travel the globe like surfers riding the waves.

  For now, I will remain here and gather more concrete data with the team. We will try to reach the shores and venture deeper into the ocean. Wish us luck and send us some provisions—everything here has the texture of jelly and goo. We are craving respite.

  Yours truly,

  Explorer Malchion of the Second Orbit, Thar