Geodesic is: Zoe Sakti, Lala Fairshadow and Oni Sakti

Oni Sakti: The man behind the curtain, an invisible orchestrator of Oz, he is never without a cigarette hanging from his mouth. Constantly surrounded by a billow of smoke, he sprouts 8 arms and 8 legs in the shadows like a creature from the deep…always moving, always planning, twisting knobs and moving wires. If you listen closely and listen well, you can hear him hum and mutter ever so softly, “1,843 times 953.28 is 1,756,895” or “what the *#$&*%* you stupid *&*% $*&#*%& *%**&% *&#$% $*&%”. In the daylight, women gather upon his couch peeling clothes off their curves. “Let me lie my head upon your shoulders, Oni”, they say, batting thick lashes. He averts his doe-eyes, never looking upon them. Instead he slips a chip in the cartridge behind his ear, and as his eyes glass over, his fingers spit ink dots and print the image, a perfect portrait of these rabbit women. Though you may never see him look upon your face, never think that the man behind the curtain isn’t always and forever watching, observing, moving in the smoke.

Lala Fairshadow: Red lips and a velvet voice, she smiles with her golden eyes, and with her eyes only. On the stage she croons into the microphone, plunging you into thoughts of air raid sirens and soldiers lost. She is rumored to be an immortal soul, a reincarnate of many women of the past including Clara Rockmore and Ingrid Bergman. Off the stage, she carries her weapon of choice: a camera upon her shoulder. She holds it close and almost hidden, much like a pistol cradled in a garter. She shoots with precision and intuition, a hunter in a pair of heels snapping new worlds of lace and pearls. And though she charms you with her smiling eyes and her girlish red pout, be wary of the legends of danger that surround her. Never…..feed her vodka when the night falls.

Zoe Sakti: She arrived in a milk crate, 3 years ago, at the Shinto House. There was no return address. Still no one knows how she arrived or from whence she came from. When you ask, she will quietly mumble a different answer every time but you can clearly make out rather violent threats to the Chinese government. Quiet and reserved, she spends her off-stage time staring at the stars, scritch-scratching equations on piles of crumpled paper which she converts to synth basslines and occasional well-masked vocals. Frequently you will find her dancing to out-dated rap music or napping under piles of clothes. She gets ill fairly often; which grows fatal unless remedied by low-dose prescription opiates and Hayao Miyazaki-themed toys.