Botchi

Shrouded in a cloaked mystery, the books of Benson Quine lit the three angles of the triangle of influence. His phrase ‘lobotomise my Jesus’ became a cliché in its own right, a mating call to the baying hoards of nomadical disciples that tracked his every movement. His deft iconoclasm introduced the first real faith-alternative, with the foundation of his genius being the fact that he was never discovered. His weighty, anti-theological essays split the notion of church, and these turned up periodically in somewhat indiscriminate locations. Always heavily and perfectly encrypted, only military-grade translation machines manufactured in the east could decipher the lively rhetoric, bringing unto all that Quine himself had dreamt for humanity.

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