Nacht, the exultant voice of Nacht, sirens out to me from the rusting loudspeakers lining the old desert highways of western America: “Let the moon fall Sclerosis of the Earth Need the healing balm Ready for rebirth” The chant thunders out to me miles before the skyline of New Babylon comes into view. But even before hearing her voice outwardly—ever since the night at the Vesica—I could feel her burning for chaos in my heart. Now when I behold the wicked face of the approaching moon, I feel h...