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PARAPHILIA IX CONTENTS Cover by Sid Graves Edited and Designed By ‘Gate Guard’ image by F.X. Tobin p3 ‘Interesting Times: Growing Up’ by Andrew Maben p4 Díre McCain Images by Residue Art p27, 73, 162, 180 D M Mitchell ‘The Community Inside: An Interview With (Genesis) Breyer P-Orridge’ by Kate MacDonald p28 Contact Paraphilia ‘Fly On The Wall Of His Heart’ by Kenneth Rains Shiffrin p43 [email protected] ‘Enfermera Con Herida: Salida’ by Craig Woods, images by Michael Cano p44 ‘On A Pure Jag, Unmarked Grave’ by Maria Website Damon p50 ‘Empire State Of Mind’ by Charles Christian, www.paraphiliamagazine.com Images by Lisa Wormsley p52 ‘The Glass Mice Game’ by Stagger Lloyd, art http://www.facebook.com/paraphiliama by Edward R. Bucciarelli p70 gazine ‘Costa Rica Eight Mile Part VIII: Nazi Christmas’ by Gene Gregorits p74 ‘Parasitic Amore’ by Michelle Lee Escobedo www.myspace.com/paraphiliamagazine p81 ‘The Girl In The Box’ by Audree Flynn, art by www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=498 David Aronson p82 35950764 ‘’Man’s Best Friend’ by Rick Grimes p87 ‘Four Years Of Darkness’ text and images by Submissions Guttersaint p93 ‘Death Wish Chameleon IX’ by Cricket This a free magazine distributed in the Corleone, photos by Richard A. Meade interests of giving culture back to the p114 ‘If You Go Down To The Woods’ by Natascha people instead of the industry. We cannot Wolf, photo by Guttersaint p125 pay for contributions to this publication. ‘Teddy and Red Dog’ by John Barrymore, art However, please see our website for by Bonita Barlow p129 details of our other publishing ventures. Artwork by Dolorosa de la Cruz p154 ‘The Post Apocalyptic Wolf Cult of Darren Any opinions or beliefs – religious, Smalls’ by Ty Gorton, artwork by David political or moral – expressed anywhere Aronson p155 in this publication are not necessarily ‘Witch’ by Claudia Bellocq p160 those of the editors. We take no ‘Father Black’ by Carl Viktor p163 ‘Beetle’s Loop’ by V. Ulea, photos by Brian responsibility for anything we have Blur p181 published in the interest of the freedom of ‘Scenes From Imaginary Films IV: The Magic speech and expression. Lantern’ by David Gionfriddo p191 ‘Journalista Feminista Witches’ by Chris Madoch p199 PARAPHILIA ISSUE NINE – 09/23/2010 ‘Approbriations 464’ by Felino A. Soriano p205 ‘Catch’ by James Beach p208 ‘Homo Radio Renews Michael Barron’s Bohemian Citizenship’ by Mary Leary p220 ‘Interview With Rasputina’s Melora Creager’ by A.D. Hitchin p229 ‘Death’ art by David Aronson p231 Links Page p232 INTERESTING TIMES: GROWING UP By Andrew Maben It’s probably fair to say that most, welfare both as individuals and as if not quite all, the volunteers for a group. I had taken French the Digby were losers and lessons with him and vied for first refugees like me, seeking any place in the class with a boy escape, even should it prove to be named Irons. At the year’s end it from frying pan to fire. Which it was Irons who won the prize, but wasn’t. Mr. Curry, the new I gave him a good run. I would House-master was progressive, an have occasions to remember him optimist who appeared to be later in my life. So I already had a genuinely concerned for our comparatively friendly the world’s people. Perhaps I relationship with Mr. Curry. feared that my future lay in that hell. Mr. Curry and I discussed At the first House meeting he told going through with my us he meant to run the house Confirmation. After some democratically. Later his catch moments going over Christian phrase was “this is your house, doctrine he asked why I felt and you can do what I want!”, but convinced now that this was what he continued to be fair and I believed. I replied that generous in his treatment of the everybody must believe in boys. The first exercise in something. Which surely we democracy turned out to be over must? And surely being kind to corporal punishment. He briefly each other is a worthwhile offered arguments for and occupation for our time and against, then put the question to a energy? I believed so then, and vote by show of hands. More have clung, stubbornly, surprising than that dispensing desperately to that conviction. I with the cane carried was that decided that I would make anyone at all chose to vote for kindness and honesty the retention. I do not remember at keystones of my character. As we all, but I imagine the vote was shall see, I have all too often failed largely divided by age, older boys to attain even this simple feeling that having endured they standard. Am I to be condemned had earned the right to enjoy. Did for that? A question I have often I feel at that moment that a prayer asked is whether it is more had been answered? culpable to fail to be good than simply to be bad. Or perhaps the I had been listening carefully, and hypocrisy of making this choice in perhaps selectively, to the the hopes of finding kindness or readings from the Bible in chapel even love in return is even worse? and at Sunday services in the Who knows? Certainly not I. One Abbey. I was attracted to Jesus’ way to look at my life is as offering of kindness, gentle love, alternating between attempting to which I began to believe might be live up to this ideal, abandoning it an achievable alternative to my in self-disgust, and then schoolboy agonies as well as what struggling to redeem myself by I was increasingly aware of as the trying to find my way back to it. I hell that was life for so many of became very fond of hymns indignant, and ashamed of my like Jerusalem and passages from inherited part in this awful crime. scripture, notably the Sermon on the Mount. I began all too soon to Mr. Curry’s enthusiasm and become aware of the gulf encouragement prompted an separating this message of love interest in sports. I swam, dived, from other deeply held sailed, even became a tolerable convictions. Most insidious was rugby wing-forward, and the conviction that England eventually became captain of the owned the right to command the House target shooting team. world. Insidious and rather Perhaps a description of my obviously false, as the Empire sporting persona should begin slipped away. The level of with shooting. hypocrisy required to profess I had been given air rifle for a simultaneously a belief in birthday and was allowed to brotherhood and the certitude of shoot in the garden. Shooting at the right to be master of other bottles and tins and targets was men is beyond me. It became much less fun than shooting at fairly obvious that the church was starlings. There were huge flocks a gathering place for those of these birds and they were hypocrites. As I neither have the classified as a pest. I cut rather desire to be any other being’s bloodthirsty notches in the stock master, nor will I under any to record the kills, when I added circumstances concede another crows they earned rather longer the right to be my master, it was notches. Dad also had a couple of not long before I became alienated .22 rifles, and used to take me out from the Church. of a summer evening looking for There was a young South African pigeons visible from the road. physics teacher who announced They were seldom close enough one morning that he had to be an easy target and I only something more important than killed one, a lucky shot through physics to talk about. Much more the bird’s eye. We had pigeon pie important. He spent the lesson that Sunday. describing, in tones of bitter One morning a fat pigeon settled outrage and accompanied with in the lower branches of the beech ghastly photographs, the at the bottom of the garden. I ran massacre at Sharpeville. I was to fetch a .22, loaded and took aim was not so lucky. Evidently badly through the window in my hurt it still managed to run. I gave parents’ bedroom. I fired. The chase, cursing as I stumbled bird flew away and I cleaned and through bracken and thorns. At put back the gun. That evening I last the poor creature’s legs gave was summoned to the living out. It looked at me piteously as I room, where I was surprised to stood over it. I could think of no find Dad in the company of the reason at all why it would or village policeman. Had I fired a should forgive me for what I was gun this morning? I said I had about to do. All I could think to shot at a pigeon. Well, it seems a do was level the other barrel to its farmer living almost a mile away head and fire. A twelve-gauge at had been combing his hair in the close range. There was a fine mirror when he dropped the spray of blood. Where the comb. He bent to pick it up, heard creature’s head had been was a a crack and stood to see the mirror flap of bloody skin from which before his face cracked by a bullet. hung an ear, and a six inch crater The police were called. Lining up in the ground. My discomfort was the holes in mirror and window not too great to allow me to enjoy pointed directly to Court Cottage.