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Shamanspace by Steve Aylett Copyright ?? Steve Aylett 2001 Caught by the mortals in old age, an angel scattered itself like leaves SIG To those who know that the inhabitants of heaven and hell are political prisoners, that the law is as preventative as next year's weather, that the post-human's too predictable, South London has always been a playground. 'Don't think so hard - he'll hear you, if he's bothered.' The younger, the boy, tipped his head back in a bone-flavour rain, seeing air rich in nocturnal swirls. 'What about you?' 'He won't know I'm here,' the French girl told him. 'He never knows.' 'You must be good,' said the boy - good, if she could screen from Alix. They said Alix could enter the face of a guitar without making a sound. Melody had once seen his body splitting open as he bleached out behind geysers of infra-red, lightning in the blot of his mouth and angel blowback gusting stuff off the breakfast table. And as he reversed out of the human bandwidth he pulled depths into the house, furniture exploding into blurdust
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