Sunhill Asylum, February 27, 1957

Pontius stirs sugar into his tea and sips. He’s about to dunk his biscuit when the intercom squawks. He curses and hits the button:

‘Yes! What is it Doris? I’m having my tea break!’

‘There’s a Miss Fulbright to see you doctor. Shall I send her in?’

‘Oh very well yes, I suppose you’d better.’

The woman who enters is nothing short of spectacular, the embodiment of a sensual Venus. She reminds him of Veronica Lake.

‘Ah! Miss Fulbright. How lovely to see you.’

‘Selena, please.’

‘Do take a seat.’

She strides across the room like gazelle, then opens her bag and produces a gold cigarette case:

‘Mind if I smoke?’

‘Not at all.’

She sits and crosses her legs. He watches her light up. She takes her time, far too demure and sophisticated for the smoke stacks of Lancashire, let alone a lunatic asylum. How on earth did she end up here? In his office! He clears his throat:

‘So Miss Fulbright. What can I do for you?’

‘That’s a nice chair.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Your chair. It looks very comfortable.’

‘Er, yes, it is, as a matter of fact.’

‘Leather is always comfortable.’

He rocks himself in the chair, rapping his nails on the arms. She’s a puzzle to be sure. He grins nervously, flashing his crooked teeth. She stares him out, cool as cucumber. He clears his throat again:

‘Have you settled in all right?’

‘Perfectly, thank you doctor.’

‘So what brings you to my office?’

‘The samples.’



‘Ah! Yes, of course. You’ve come for the samples…’

Pontius takes a phial from his drawer and holds it to the light; the pink liquid seems to glow with an otherworldly quality as it slurps in the glass. He turns to her and says:

‘Only samples marked with a butterfly are to be used on Jack Vallis.’

‘Yes, I know. Schneider told me.’

‘Schneider sent you to keep an eye on me, no doubt. Forgive me for being blunt, but I think Schneider is off on a wild goose chase. As for his organisation – Human Potential Unlimited – well, it has all the hallmarks of quackery.’

‘I can assure you, Schneider is no quack.’

‘Then why his obsession with Jack Vallis?’

‘They go back a long way.’

‘Yes, Schneider explained all that. He met Vallis in Borstal. But how did Vallis come to his attention in the first place?’

She shrugs:

‘Does it matter? Schneider knows people like Vallis all over the world.’


‘Not all of them, no. Some are highly respectable.’

‘So what do these people have in common?’


‘That is such a ludicrous word: it sounds like something from a Superman comic. A fusion of Psycho and Electronics. No, what Schneider gave me was a cover story. I want you to tell me the truth.’

‘It’s perfectly simple. Schneider believes the human mind is a limitless source of treasure for advancing mankind.’

‘Don’t give me all that altruistic humbug.’

‘He’s especially interested in telepathy.’

CYCLOPS isn’t just about telepathy. If it were, this trail would be relegated to some third-rate university. Or his own private department. No, a trial of this scale has the government behind it. So what’s going on? What’s CYCLOPS really about?’

Selena draws on her cigarette and studies him for a moment. Then a menthol plume vents from her glossy lips:

War, Dr. Pontius, war. It’s all about war.

‘What war?’

‘The Cold War.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘The Soviets have been developing Psi potential for years. We believe the Russians want to weaponise the human mind by cracking the code of human consciousness. Our intel reports many remarkable experiments – some of them much like yours – covert hypnotic methods, including verbal and sexual abuse; extreme electroshock and regression to split the ego; and psychoactive drugs that turn subjects into supplicant addicts. The C.I.A. has also experimented in psychosurgery and deep brain implants to modify behaviour.’

‘The ethical implications do not bother you?’

‘What are medical ethics against the imperatives of the State? Our very survival is at stake. Schneider believes the Russians have ranks of psychic spies – remote viewers, who can penetrate every filing cabinet in the West. Imagine that.’

‘Sounds like science fiction to me.’

‘Not at all. The C.I.A. takes psychic research very seriously. The reality of Psi potential has grave implications for democracies all over the world. We live in a perilous age Dr. Pontius. Just three weeks ago, our country launched its first nuclear submarine – the USS Nautilus. We expect Russia to have an intercontinental ballistic missile within months. How long before the Cold War turns hot? Our military is threatened by Psi which can penetrate its secrets. That’s why telepaths like Vallis are more dangerous than The Bomb.’

‘You don’t really believe all that telekinesis twaddle do you? I mean, Vallis stopping clocks in school?’

‘Why shouldn’t I believe it? Schneider saw it with his own eyes. And if Vallis can stop a clock, he can affect the trigger of a nuclear device.’

‘Vallis probably used a magnet. Or snipped the wires.’

‘Your scepticism does you credit Dr. Pontius. But you’re wrong about Vallis: he’s a genuine telepath.’

‘Psychopath, more like.’

‘You must overcome your psychic inhibitions and stop denying the reality of paranormal events.’

‘If I know Jack Vallis, Schneider was duped.’

‘By an eight year old child? Don’t be absurd. Schneider is a highly astute and educated man. He holds doctorates in all the sciences – not to mention his philosophical and theological qualifications. If Vallis was a fraud, Schneider would know by now. Besides, Schneider has invested millions in CYCLOPS.’

‘Well if you ask me, he’s wasted his money. Your experiment with Vallis is destined to fail. Vallis is the definitive sociopath. He’d drive Sigmund Freud to temptation, never mind a saint.’

‘You sound like you hate Jack Vallis.’

‘He hates me.’

‘No wonder. Psychological stripping by verbal abuse, forced confession of sexual sins, social inadequacies, and every other form of humiliation you can think of.’

‘Jack Vallis is a non-conforming deviant. Abreactive treatments don’t work. He’s consumed a whole pharmacopoeia of drugs in dozens of combinations – antipsychotics, antidepressants, anticonvulsants, anti-everything… none of which had the slightest effect on his condition. Drugs might make him more manageable, but they do nothing to cure his disorder.’

CYCLOPS is different.’

‘To be perfectly honest, I’m not entirely sure what CYCLOPS actually does to the human brain, never mind its long term side effects. All this pineal hocus-pocus. I’m not happy with it at all.’

‘Have faith Dr. Pontius. Jack Vallis is just a little grub right now, but his metamorphosis will be unlike anything you’ve ever seen.’

‘Don’t count on it. Vallis suffers from multiple personality disorder. If you want my professional opinion, he’s not a fitting subject.’

‘On the contrary. Dissociative Identity Disorder is the basis for all our programming. We call it psychic driving. You should know, you devised much of it yourself. The mind is de-patterned through hypnotism, double-bind coercion, pleasure-pain reversal, sensory deprivation, and psychoactive agents which alter perception and cerebral function.’

‘The C.I.A. stole my work.’

‘We developed our program in tandem.’

‘I think you’d better leave.’

‘Leave? Why?’

‘Well, to be perfectly honest, I don’t trust you.’

‘Then you’re a wise man. My father always told me to trust no one. But we’re birds of a feather, you and me. Like you, I’m a devout atheist, and wise enough to know that Heaven and Hell are within the human brain; that punishment and reward can be induced at will by stimulating electrodes implanted in the cortex.’

‘You and Schneider set me up from the start.’

‘It doesn’t work like that. Your research in this hospital has attracted the attention of some very powerful people. When Schneider found out, it got kicked upstairs.’


‘Your guess is as good as mine. Information is the raw material of bureaucracy, which makes the C.I.A. a bureaucratic morass. De-patterning has many sensitive applications – in the military and intel alike. Did you really think you weren’t being watched?’

‘I had my suspicions. There was a man working here last Christmas – a security guard – who took an unhealthy interest in my floatation tanks. I went into the lab one night and caught him taking photographs. A spook – like you.’

‘You should be glad I’m here. You wanted surrogates, didn’t you? Well I specialize in hypnotic regression: a process that stimulates the primitive sexual instincts and eliminates all adult moral convictions.’

‘And what of your moral convictions?’

‘The regression of a patient is far less inhuman than his destruction by lobotomy; for to a man who lives only once, any life is better than death; especially if that life has all the comforts, security and remembrances of childhood. It is surprising how quickly an adult will regress – especially when they can suck on a pacifier, wet their diaper, and drink warm milk from a bottle, without feeling guilt or shame.’

‘All adults?’

‘Most. But I deal principally with neurotics and borderline psychotics. Contrary to Freud, the obsessional neurotic is highly suggestible. Neurotics use paraphillic infantilism to maintain their libido; but borderline psychotics use it to dispel their foreboding sense of dissolution. The domain of the paraphillic infantilist is entirely auto-erotic; all the psychic energy is focused inward; the mind recalls the innocence of self as a narcissistic object of libidinal cathexis.[i] Believe me, the sensation of wearing a diaper is like a shot of heroin; it’s an amazing feeling, especially if you never bonded with your own mother. You feel so safe, snug and secure; all your worries just drift away. You crave the feeling more and more. Wearing diapers: it’s a rush doctor Pontius. A real rush.’

‘I’ll take your word for it.’

‘The regressive trance is strongly associated with opiate intoxication. Whilst in this state, the subject is highly pliable and receptive; their only desire is to obey and please the surrogate. Good behaviour is always rewarded. With each reward, the curve toward the goal is steepened. But the subject does not notice this change, because their primary focus is on maintaining the approval and love of their surrogate. The orgiastic state opens the mind like a flower. My subjects are very compliant. I can make them do anything. Anything at all…’

‘For example?’

‘That’s classified. My work is used mainly for covert operations.’

‘This is a covert operation. Speak freely. What are we taking about here?’

‘Prostitution and pornography, mostly. Females tend to dissociate easier than males.’

‘I am not interested in the sordid underbelly of the C.I.A.’

‘You should be, if you know what’s good for you.’

‘I developed de-patterning to cure acute neuroses: to rebuild the psyche from the ground up. I’ve used it on addicts, psychotics, frigid wives, the clinically obese, homosexuals, and a whole spectrum of sexual deviants. My work has a noble purpose – one that you seem intent on corrupting for your own agenda.’

‘Noble? Prolonged sessions of E.C.T. administered to unwilling subjects, kept in coma for months at a time. What’s noble about that?’

‘The end justifies the means.’

Exactly. You proved it yourself with your synthetic savants. Regressed subjects have a greater propensity to acquire new abilities, like the human calculator and calendar. Why should Psi be any different?’

‘Because Psi doesn’t exist.’

‘Psi lies dormant in eighty-five percent of the population. Regression is key, because most children are psychic in one way or another. The psychic child is first and foremost an empath; they conduct other peoples emotions like copper wire. Their childhood is always troubled; they get bullied in school and scolded by their parents when they use their gift. They soon learn that society does not accept them. So they lock their gift away. Often that gift withers and dies; but some individuals learn to kindle it; others experience a psychic awakening in later life. Either way, Psi is easier to conjure in regressed minds.’


‘Because children weave fantasy worlds in which to live; they’re more willing to accept the impossible.’

‘Vallis already lives in a fantasy world. He already accepts the impossible. He converses with moon-men. He thinks he can walk through walls. He’s a paranoid schizophrenic who thinks the BBC and Hollywood are stealing his dreams through a telephone wire. What’s the point in regressing him? If you believe that engorging his pineal with CYCLOPS will save the world from nuclear holocaust, then I fear you’re gravely mistaken.’

‘The drug has already proven highly effective; it evokes psychic ability even in novice subjects. Imagine what it will do to an existing telepath like Vallis..’

‘It might kill him for all you know.’

CYCLOPS will awaken powers that Vallis has only dreamt of; it will increase his perceptivity a millionfold. You’re a clinical psychologist. Is not self-realisation the inalienable right of all men? Shall you deny him that opportunity?’

‘Very well. You specialize in hypnotic regression. How do you start this awakening?’

‘With fairy-tales.’

‘Are you serious?’

‘Regressed subjects easily identify with stories from childhood. Fairy-tales are already imprinted deep in the subconscious, and it’s much easier to adapt known scripts than invent new ones.’

‘Such as?’

‘Take “Alice in Wonderland” for example: it’s full of psychedelic icons and subliminal messages. “Snow White” is another favourite: the wicked witch; the poisoned apple; the enchanted sleep. These themes are often used in psychic driving. But the primitive mind understands symbols better than language. Occult symbols work best.’

‘You make it sound like magic.’

‘It is magic, in so many ways. You see, in my world, magic and hypnotism are one and the same. Magic operates on the imagination – the greatest faculty of the human mind. The whole process is akin to Satanic ritual: a process of hedonistic descent and abandonment. At the deepest level, the subject looses their entire identity and becomes possessed by whatever I choose. A full descent takes months. During this time the subject explores many levels, each with its own gatekeeper or demon.’

‘Are you a scientist or occultist?’

‘The demon is a fictional entity, but one in which the patient has total belief. I use demons to compartmentalize the mind into multiple personalities, each with a specific purpose and goal. The subject becomes enslaved to supernatural monsters – mischievous spirits, pixies, fairy folk, goblins and giants – they already inhabit much of the subconscious landscape. Like the trolls of Scandinavia who live inside hills and rocks, sometimes alone, and sometimes in great numbers. Beneath the Earth are fine houses made of crystal and gold, full of precious jewels, which the trolls amuse themselves by counting. But there are so many jewels, it takes lifetimes to count them all. Countless jewels for countless lives.’

‘Enslaving the mind with folklore? Sounds like a recipe for disaster.’

‘Don’t be so dismissive. The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven.’

‘Paradise Lost.’

‘Bravo. You know your Milton.’

‘I do indeed. And I also know Jack Vallis.’

‘In that case, you must know all about psychosexual infantilism in adults.’

‘Believe me, you’re better off leaving Jack Vallis alone. Find another subject.’

‘As far as I understand it, Vallis is simply an untreated transsexual. But you’ve made this big thing of it – turned all his behaviours into deviant pathological perversions. But I see the problem as more geometrical than psychological.’


‘She has the body of a man.’

‘He. And I think you mean anatomical.’

‘No, I mean geometrical. The specific anatomical details, her genitalia, can be planted in her subconscious mind. But the masculine reflection in the mirror cannot.’

‘Ah, I see. You mean when his fantasy evaporates, and he comes back down to earth with a big hard bump.’

‘It’s not fantasy, Dr. Pontius.

‘That Jack is really Jill? Of course it is!’

‘Have you even read my paper?’

‘What paper?

‘Ego integration in Childhood and The Psychotherapy of Character Disorders.’

‘I’m sorry. I haven’t had time.’

‘Of course. You’re a busy man. I know you are. A very busy man. You’ve got a lot on your shoulders. But Jill incurred a psychotic break in early childhood, when she first realised that other people saw her as a boy. From that moment on, her existence became a horror story. In dreams and everyday life, all she ever wanted was to escape the prison of her male body. That’s a very dark prison indeed. It is state beyond all human description – beyond even the pen of Edgar Allan Poe or H. P. Lovecraft. Only those who dwell in the transsexual prison can understand its crippling isolation. Jill has been obscured out of existence. But I can help her escape.’


‘With language. Human behaviour is controlled by words. Language influences our actions in many subtle and unconscious ways. My hypnotic scripts are infused with forbidden impulses. The principal motives are love and fear. I’m a true subversive and subtle as a serpent. I operate underground, beneath the conscious understanding. Even yours Dr. Pontius.’


‘Haven’t you ever wanted to be a baby? Surrender all the responsibilities of adult life?’

‘Don’t be absurd, woman.’

‘There’s nothing to be ashamed of. I think you’d look very cute in ruffled plastic panties with pink ribbons in your hair.’

‘Er, now that’s quite enough. I think you’d better leave.’

She smiles and casually blows another plume of smoke:

‘Your pulse is racing. Calm down Dr. Pontius. You’re perfectly safe. As we get older, we learn that society is very scornful of our infantile behaviours. How often are we told to “stop behaving like a child” and “grow up.” The humiliating threat of being called a “Baby” instantly stops a schoolboy from crying when he grazes his knee. I work principally on the theory of erotic location target error. It’s very common in transsexuals like Vallis. The lack of female genitals during a critical phase of development causes the psycho-sexual imprinting mechanism be associated with the nearest visual and olfactory approximation. In the case of the infantilist, wearing diapers and baby clothes is the best substitute. Sissy regression mollifies adult transsexual pains, bringing deliverance and relief, albeit temporary.’

‘Freud was right about the pleasure principal. Civilization and its discontents… Tell me, what will you do with Vallis when you’ve finished with him?’

She shrugs coldly:

‘That’s not up to me. Besides, CYCLOPS is a one way ticket. Once a subject is regressed, they have great difficulties making the transition back to adult life. The attraction of the crib is simply too strong. My babies are steeped in infantile pleasures. Keeping my love and attention is the sole purpose of their existence. Some never leave the nursery. Living in the outside world is quite impossible. Forcing them back to adulthood can result in manic depression or even suicide. Without a surrogate, their whole world crumbles to pieces; they fall into a void of terrible blackness. Babies prefer a stiff nipple to the harsh realities of adult life. Would you like that Dr. Pontius?’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘To suckle my breasts.’

‘I say, young lady, you might get away with that sort of talk in Texas, but this is an English hospital, and we do things differently here. Now if you don’t—’

‘I think you would like it. You’d like it very much—for me to dress you in silky ruffle-butt panties, and pin a big diaper between your legs… And not just one diaper.’

‘Oh? How many?’

‘Five or six. Maybe more.’

‘More? How many more, by god?’

‘Enough to make you crawl about the room. You’d make such a lovely little girl.’

‘Wipe that smirk off your face. I didn’t invite you here to be humiliated.’ He wags his finger, his bottom lip trembling. ‘Now you listen to me! You listen to me, young lady. I’ve got better things to do, than be made a fool of by you. Understand? You got what you came for. CYCLOPS. I gave it to you, didn’t I? What you do with Jack Vallis in private is up to you. Do what you must. But whatever it is, I don’t want to know any more about it. Do you hear? Now take your CYCLOPS and leave.’

‘But aren’t you even curious?’

‘Curiosity killed that cat, didn’t it?’

She laughs out loud, tossing back her hair:

Oh! Don’t be so over-dramatic, Dr. Pontius! I couldn’t possibly hurt you!’

‘But you’ll hurt Jack Vallis.’

‘As I said before, the problem with Vallis is one of geometry. But a good hypnotist can induce many distortions in perception, not least distortions in Time.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Close your eyes.’


‘What’s the matter? Oh! What a sissy! Don’t tell me that you’re afraid.’

‘Of course not. But it’s pointless trying to hypnotise me. I can’t be hypnotised. Especially not by you.’

‘Why ever not?’

‘Because I don’t trust you, remember? Trust is vital in any therapeutic relationship.’

‘Indulge me Dr. Pontius. Sit back in your chair. Relax. Go on, close your eyes.’


‘What’s the harm if you can’t be hypnotised? Go on, shut your eyes. Aren’t you just an incy, wincy, bit curious? You must be, if only on a professional level. Think of it as a clinical assessment. Let my voice guide you. It’s been a hard day, hasn’t it? So many patients making impossible demands. You want to heal them all. You can’t help yourself. It’s in your nature. You want to heal the world. That’s your dream: to create a psycho-civilized society. It’s hard being a workaholic…’

‘Yes, very hard.’

His eyelids begin to flutter. She hones in:

‘Let’s get rid of all that stress. It’s unnatural to feel so uptight. That’s not what we want. We want to be free. At peace. Shut your eyes and relax in the chair. Leather is so comfortable. You deserve this. A peace beyond all understanding. Relax and let go. Do it for yourself. Do it for yourself, right now…’

Her words seem to caress him in a delicious Texan drawl. Disarmed, he sinks in the chair with a sigh. His ears burn with the wetness of her mouth and the rustle of her stockings. His mind unravels in the tresses of her hair. An incantation. There comes an expansion, a dilation of mind. He senses an occult force pushing through the chair. Then his fingers start curling upward. He sees it now: a beautiful red balloon, bobbing under his right palm. It strikes him as absurd, yet the sensation is so pleasant that he cannot resist. Little by little, his hand rises from the chair, impelled by the red balloon. The lightness creeps up his wrist, lifting his elbow, until his entire arm is suspended mid-air.

‘Listen to my voice, and only my voice. My words guide you. My words bring peace and comfort. Your hand is drifting towards your face. Drifting on a beautiful red balloon. When your hand touches your nose, you shall fall into a deep, deep, sleep…’

The burdens of his office fall away like stones. A delicious lightness permeates his whole being. He becomes the red balloon, rising into a timeless blue sky. Up through the clouds he goes, high above the desolate moors. He accepts it all without question. He wants it. But when his finger touches his noise, he is overcome by a leaden heaviness. At once he begins to sink toward the earth: a sycamore seed, spiralling through the clouds, down, down, over the precinct, through the asylum roof, and back into the leather chair…

‘You feel so heavy now. So heavy.’

She bids him sleep. He groans.

‘Good. Now take a deep breath… In… And out… In… And out… Feel the texture of the leather beneath your finger tips. How soft and warm it feels; how comfortable; how supportive. Leather is so sensual: like a second skin. So soft… So warm… So silky… Slowing down now, falling deeper and deeper. Start a journey into this strange new world… Feel how it draws you in. Slide in. Slide in with me. Go deep inside. Deep under the hill, far from the world, into the halls of crystal and gold. A labyrinth of shining tunnels, full of radiant gems. The jewels are so pretty. See how they sparkle with the colours of the rainbow. They make you feel so happy. So warm. So loved. So sleepy. Come unto me. Give in to the power of the gems. Diamond, sapphire, ruby, emerald, garnet and bloodstone. Shall we count them together? One for each year of your life. How long shall you live? To sleep is to be reborn. What shall you become? A prince or pauper? A milkmaid or queen? What would you wish to be? Warlock or witch? Cat or bird? Let’s find out together… Start counting with me. One… Two… Three…

He can’t resist. Her spell is too seductive. But he must resist! He must! Was he not master of his own mind? He tries to block her out, but the harder he tries, the more spellbound he becomes. Her voice stirs up his soul, purling in the depths like thunder:

‘Four… Five… Six… See all the fairy lights, spinning on the walls; there’s blue and yellow, red and green, purple and pink. Aren’t they pretty baby? The longer you look, the weaker you feel. But you don’t want to leave, because the lights make you so sleepy. You want to stay here, under the hill, with Selena, forever…’

There are other voices too, chanting in foreign tongues, like naiads in a babbling brook; they course through his veins like water, dissolving his blood, making him weaker and weaker. His material body seems to melt away, until he is nothing but a ghostly vapour, devoid of will and purpose. His only desire is to watch the pulsing lights, and fall deeper and deeper…

Don’t look! He tells himself. Don’t look! Somehow he manages to avert his gaze. He cries out and follows his own echo, scrambling down a subterranean passage, slipping on the wet rock, wading through cavernous pools of silver water. But there seems no escape from Selena’s labyrinth. It suddenly occurs to him that he might be trapped in the hill forever. How could he allow such a flagrant attack on his sanity? He panics, running left and right, searching for the surface. A concept he had momentarily forgotten. Then far above, he spies a chink of sky and flees down a uterine tunnel, out into open air. He lurches awake and gasps:

That’s enough!

‘You get the picture?’

Flushed, he bolts upright and starts pacing round the room, vexed and humiliated:

‘Very clever. You primed me with that chair the moment you entered my office.’

‘I did.’

‘Leather is always comfortable. And I fell for it, hook, line and sinker.’

‘Don’t be ashamed doctor Pontius. You’re only human after all.’

He goes to the window and surveys the frosty grounds:

‘Funny. I didn’t think I could be hypnotised. Was I under for long?’

‘Just a couple of minutes. But it could have been days for all you know. Years even.’

‘It felt like a spell.’

‘It was a spell. Like I said, in my world, magic and hypnosis are one and the same. Now you know the power of my craft. Vallis will be very happy with me as his surrogate, I can promise you that.’

He turns to face her, half-blinded by her beauty. She seems to shimmer like an angelic vision. He clears his throat again:

‘Hypnosis is all very well, but Vallis is not the suggestible type. He’s proven resilient to all kinds of treatment. Even to E.C.T. And if he suspects you’re trying to manipulate him, he’ll lock you out at once.’

‘On the contrary. Vallis will come to regard me as a saviour. He’ll follow me right down the rabbit hole. After all, what little girl hasn’t longed to be Alice? You will find her most compliant when dressed in diapers and a frilly frock. My spell is irresistible. Sun and moon rub it in; the rain cannot wash it off.’

Copyright © Nicholas Shea 2020.

i. The Use of Cognitive Behavioural Therapy on Two Case Reports of Paraphilic Infantilism, Substance Misuse and Childhood Abuse. MOJ Addiction Medicine & Therapy, Volume 3 Issue 2 – 2017. Authors: Samantha Banbury, Joanne Lusher and Catherine Athanasiadou Lewis, School of Psychology, London Metropolitan University, and John Turner, East London University, 2017.

Rorschach Woman Bomb montage © Nicholas Shea 2020.