...

Drown leaned over and perused the old quatro that Professor English had been consulting before they arrived:

"Ben was in the square, professor 'was turned into a seated around the table Sexine English professor and drown; s study, full, books keunchaek, ancient astronomy, weird creatures preserved in a jar of formaldehyde, and such wastes all leather bound. So, it wasn 'them t 3 because only three of the four sides, something like a square with a square, however. As the Latin into English from ancient manuscripts or whatever and looked eulpjorineun: "Your grandfather Thee Priory ov Zion." Mysterious secret society called because of his association with the dead, my beliefs, Sexine is; "Um, don 't mean you have to Sion? "injects, knowledge can make drowning. "No, Zion." , Professor to answer, definitively: "Thee Priory, founded in 1977, cult or sect of higher order, or is the secret vision. Haili Selassie's divinity because it refused to co-rookie reggae and Afro-futurist who is considered heretics by mainstream Rastas instead, it's the second Christ, the King recognizes Tubby ganja use and less bass fair through the levels of Babylon's overthrow is dedicated to their beliefs of the Aleister Crowley and bulraek magic with his famous obsession, but because mostly the song 'Jimmy for confidence antichrist page, splitting was included; D 'yer Make' er 'Holy. "'s house;

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The Professor turned to him with a knowing nod, and gestured them behind the fireplace.

......

Diagram

Meanwhile, cont.

Ben Drown, Sexine and Professor English sat in a square around a table that was round in the professor's study, which was full of leather-bound books tomes, antique astrolabes, odd creatures preserved in jars of formaldehyde and all that sort of shit. Well, it wasn't a square because there were only three of them, but like a square with a side missing, or something.

English looked up from an ancient manuscript that was in like Latin or whatever and intoned:
"It is my belief, Sexine, that your grandfather was murdered because of his association with a secret occult society called Thee Priory ov Zion."
"Um, don't you mean Sion?", interjected Drown, knowledgeably.
"No, Zion", replied the professor, definitively: "Thee Priory is a highly clandestine esoteric order or cult or sect founded in 1977. It is an Afro-Futurist dub reggae collective and is considered heretical by mainstream Rastas because it rejects the divinity of Haili Selassie. Instead it recognises King Tubby as the second Christ and is dedicated to the overthrow of Babylon through the use of ganja and righteous levels of sub-bass. Their beliefs include a conviction that Jimmy Page is the Antichrist, partly because of his well-known obsession with Aleister Crowley and black magic but mostly because of the song 'D'yer Make'er' on Houses Of The Holy."

Dodo Over Softy Sky and Oval Kinks Or ME?

...some new trichinae had appeared, microscopic creatures that lodged themselves in mens bodies. But these creatures were spirits, endowed with reason and will. Those who received them into themselves immediately became possessed and mad. But never, never had people considered themselves so intelligent and unshakeable in the truth as did these infected ones. Never had they thought their judgements, their scientific conclusions, their moral convictions and beliefs more unshakeable. Entire settlements, entire cities and nations would be infected and go mad....

...

Inside

It was a dark and stormy night. Suddenly a shot rang out.

"I didn't want to kill him" he thought. How many times was it he'd thought that now. He thought back to all of times, all of the earlier times. It was so much easier then, back in the days of fanzines. That's how it had started you know. So much easier then. You just sent a letter from a fake address to John Eden or Paul Meme, you convinced them they had found a brother in arms, someone who too loved Current 93 AND dub reggae. Then came the excuses not to meet, the fake sister's death and the sorry I forgots, I was moving squats. Then you sent another letter, to one of the peripheral ones. You made friends with them, agreed for them to come to an address. A place you'd squatted no-one else knew about.

Then the shot would ring out, hidden by the booming bass.

It was so easy then.

Damn the internet. Damn this surveillance society for making food hard to come by.