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Sixty Nine



'The undercroft of a castle or cathedral. A female friend – blonde, round face, but unrecognizable on waking – is telling me about an amazing man, a prophet no less, who is going to lead her/us to some unspecified promised land. I am obviously sceptical. The undercroft is arranged with a series of desks, as in a Victorian class room (all tightly packed, high, scarred wood). Everyone is wearing a white gown. The class begins, and the students and my friend are subjected to a baffling array of visuals and noises projected across the entirety of the room. Somewhere in the darkness a man is laughing. I move slowly through the flashing lights to the source of the laughter to find Chris Morris, his hair long and curly, is in fact doing all of this as an elaborate joke. I try to explain this to everyone by I am drowned out by the ‘art work’; I run out of the undercroft, aware now that the practical joke was obviously at my expense.'


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