THE IMAGE OF CHRIST

came to her in the form of a shaman who taught her to hang in midair, her arms outspread. The blood trickled down her side. This is normal, said the shaman now in the form of Benito Mussolini. The stigmata vanished. Now you must learn perpetual death and resurrection, he said. The clock ticked. Due to the exposed wires dripping from her side, she began to contemplate electricity. The shaman took the form of a noodle dish. All ponderance due to the image of Christ soon subsided, though off in the distance, one could hear a moan as a hammer hit a nail.