It was at the hospital where I was working that it began when they took the infant raw from the womb and its body was polished ivory and a nuclear haze hung about its head and the words on the limbs were the twice-hidden acid litany I had sought and from it I defined the Sequence and this is the Sequence:

The Beast is pulled from the Dead Sea. It’s body is a salted wreck, and 7 heads top 7 ruined spines, and it is classified Gastropoda Megido by the Great Philosophers, and their steel physicians spit lightning down the nerves and its thrashing causes

The twitching in the upper atmosphere of a radio worm that is caught by the numbers stations and woven into the twelfth wavelength and a man in Moscow breaks the limestone shell on the humming copper dials and twists it into the monotone buzz and broadcasts to

The concrete bunker under Bikini Atoll where the pristine carcass of Einstein is still breathing in its galvanised cradle and a host of mathematical spectres are recording the convulsing patterns of his immortal cortex and from it they realise

That there is a Ford T-Model in a dusty cobalt sheen travelling Route 66 surrounded by a corona of cyanide and sulphur and the passengers are twice as worse as the driver and the drivers nails curl around the steering wheel and the colour of his eyes is the same as the arterial shades seen in the severed limbs of the myriad cadavers littering the streets where

A company of knights are solemnly striding through the wreckage and their banner is a dying CRT monitor from which a host of wires vomit forth into the shuddering rubber cancer of the power grid and upon the screen can be seen

A low resolution image, a pixel rupture bloom in which can vaguely be discerned the silhouette of a pallid hairless figure, and it slowly turns towards the camera which whines and coughs molten filament in protest at the eyes of the thing which

Flicker through a chemical veil rising from the blistered bones of the buildings, the weeping solar sore brushing the earth with a curtain of incomprehensible colour before

Somewhere in the Atlantic a tiny black box adrift on a cyan surf begins to hum long and low and 3 seperate people write the words on their chests in arsenic and

A roar from out of space