"We have have come to a place where our technology is dissolving the notion of what our bodies might be or to whom they belong. Our sexual self images need no longer belong to the marketplace, that was the stuff of the linear mind, dear Vicky. Not at all the sort of people that we have become."

But at this thought Madame Theeveta lost her way. How non-linear to loose the thread of thought. Instead she saw before her, her father, dressed for a winter evening. His propinquity for lycanthropy had caused a stir in the remote district where she has been raised as a child. The servants had feared him but to her he had seemed maddeningly mundane.

"Collage" she heard hereself say. "Collage" is the only innovation that the 20th century has brought to art. Film. That was all 19th century. But collage--it was the Dadaists who first tore up rail tickets and advertisements"

And then cut outs, cut aways, cut ups. All leading to the cacaphoney of thought and media now heating her quiff...

Her young companion's clueless face brought her back to the immediacy of the moment. To the business of media expositon and seduction.

You, Vicky, shall have me." she muttered sotto voce, moving in a rustleing cloud of dark blue silk. "You shall have my very ass."

Go Hyperborea.

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