IPFC
3 - 22 June 2014
story
t he e r g o m o t h
( Death’s Head Slouching Towards Bethlehem ) Alessandro Sheedy (.……….) THE HUM OF STATIC … NEAR THE COAST, ON THE EDGE OF A STRIP OF LAND, NOT QUITE A PENINSULA, THERE IS A BUNGALOW … IT FACES THE EAST, TOWARDS THE OCEAN … THE BUILDING IS UNTENANTED … IN THE OFFICE BACKING OFF FROM THE HOUSE, THE SOUND OF SHORTWAVE RADIO … THE FREQUENCY IS SHIFTING FROM ONE SIGNAL TO ANOTHER … OUTSIDE, IN THE BACKGROUND, HEAVY RAIN … THEN, THE SHIFTING STOPS … BENEATH THE SQUALL AND THE RADIO WAVES, A BROADCAST … A FEMALE VOICE INTRODUCES ITSELF … COUGHS, THREE TIMES … IT THEN PROCEEDS TO TELL A STORY …“I am sitting in a room……………………………………………… “Jah Rastafari, King and Saviour…” “Do you really have to put that in? It sounds so priapic.” “Sigils of protection don’t answer to the phallocentric order, sweet. I’m nearly finished anyway.” Klara, her face full of pillow, murmured consent. After five months of needle-pain, during which she had been unable to lie on her back, and another two months of invocations to the Dread Lion, interspersed with Esme’s sweet nothings, the tableaux was finally on the verge of completion. When the design had been first mooted, over a hashish-charged discussion on the benefits of sex magick and the tantra during the time of judgement (‘ya, it bi comin’), Klara had been quick to play the willing adept. Whether it had been a true lapse in her incredulity, as she had hoped, or merely a wish to please the girl whose bed
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