A lengthy defense of Lil Wayne.

Now, you may have seen that stories floating around about how the smartest kids listen to beethoven and the dumbest listen to Lil Wayne. Well, what the stories don’t take into consideration is that the standard for a kid being “intelligent” was based on high school grades. And in my experience, that only barely correlates with grades. Secondly, kids who aim to appear smart will probably be more inclined to both listen to Beethoven and report it for the social rep. Basically, I’m saying that the study is more or less bullshit. That being said, Lil Wayne does have tons of stupid ass fans. But maybe that just means he’s clever enough to ensnare them all. And before you respond with something not-so-clever about how shitty he is, here’s WHY you should just swallow your words and concede the point.

First, you need to be open-minded when Wayne says he’s a “martian”, “misunderstood”, and tries to distance himself from the rest of mainstream hip hop. It is always valuable to give someone/thing the benefit of the doubt, the chance to argue their case, etc, before you pass judgement.

Second, you need to approach lyrics as you would poetry, literature, or anything else of the sort; with a critical eye, aware of potential, underlying meanings and subtle connections that may not be immediately or readily apparent. Think of songs and albums as chapters and volumes. Lil Wayne loves sound. He loves nonsense wordplay and non sequiter metaphors, religious references, ambiguous allusions, and streams of consciousness; surreal, non-linear, but with a method to the madness. But most of all, he loves combining all of the above and playing tricks on the pseudo-intelligent, disguising brilliance in plain sight underneath a veil of self-promotion and what those rapper folk like to call “swagger”. And all the while, he matches the beat like they’re soulmates. Or not, if that’s what he wants.

Third, keep this quote in mind: “Half of what I say is meaningless, but I say it so that the other half may reach you.”

Fourth, it helps if you smoke weed because you can better relate to the state of mind needed to appreciate this

Now I’m going to basically (over) analyze one of Wayne’s songs. However, I won’t even touch on things like flow, sound, or anything stylistic like that. Merely the lyrical content. And that’s where most of the criticism leveled at him aims at.

“Don’t Get It (Misunderstood)”

[Nina Simone]

Baby, you understand me now

If sometimes you see that I’m mad

Don’t you know no one alive can always be an angel

When everything goes wrong, you see some bad

[Chorus- Nina Simone]

But I’m just a soul whose intentions are good

Oh lord, please don’t let me be misunderstood

All right, so there’s the thesis; I’m just trying to do right, so “please don’t let me be misunderstood”.

[Verse 1- Lil' Wayne]

Uh, misunderstood ain’t gotta be explained

But you don’t understand me so let me explain (heh heh)

This opening is, obviously, a play on the idea of understanding. Everyone knows what that means, but since the listener doesn’t understand Wayne, he’s going to explain.

Stood in the heat, the flames, the snow

Please slow down hurricane

The wind blow, my dreads swing

He had hair like wool, like Wayne (huh)

“Stood in the heat, the flames, the snow” refers to all the shit he gets, ie being flamed, but also notes with “the snow” that being misunderstood and with such hostility is cold, which has connotations of being alone, alienation, etc.

“Please slow down hurricane” refers most obviously to Katrina and New Orleans, but also the storm of hositility, etc. The next two lines paint a picture of someone standing before the storm, hair in the wind. I say someone because first he says “my” and then changes the perspective to “he” and lastly, with “like Wayne”. We’ll solve this mystery soon, never fear.

Dropping ashes in the bible

I shake em out and they fall on the rifle

Here, he’s smoking weed, dropping ashes on the Bible, reflecting on the connection between violence and religion, or at least Christianity. So this line touches on hypocrisy, weed being enlightening, his religious conflict, and another dualistic image (the first being flame and snow). As a sidenote, he often relates things in dualities, very yin-yang kind of thing. But he also connects them, in a sense removing the space between them, which to mean, seems Taoist.

Scary, hail Mary no tale fairy

All real very, extraordinary

Perry Mason facing, the barrel if he tattle

My god is my judge, no gown no gavel

The things I just went over are scary. Hail Mary, except this is no fairytale. Here he’s plays on prayer, but that this situation is no joke, no tale, fairy (referring Mary as a fairy?), but is “all real, very extraordinary”

Now, Perry Mason is a reference to a character: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Perry_Mason

I haven’t read or seen anything relating to the character, so I can’t really vouch for this, but the character is a lawyer, so if you don’t want to check the wiki, I guess that’s good. Anyways, it seems he’s comparing himself to Perry Mason facing doom if he caves. But like I said, without knowing the background, I’m just staying outta this line.

The last line here is great. Notice he says MY god as opposed to just God. This illuminates an aspect of his spirituality that he also alludes to in numerous other songs. Basically, his idea of God is different from most people’s. And just as importantly, his judge, his god, isn’t the court system. So in addition to his spirituality, he’s conveying a dislike, disrespect, for the court system. Probably for corruption, racism, and general bullshit. I hear you, Wayne.

Uh, I’m a rebel, down to battle

Now or never, or whenever, in the ever

Fucking fantastic, fuck if you agree

I’m bright but I don’t give a fuck if you see me

Here he further stresses his divide from the mainstream, and says he’s going to combat that bullshit whenever and wherever, or never if need be. Just that he’s going to do what he has to.

Next, he reiterates that he IS smart, and that while he may be misunderstood, he knows his true colors, and that’s what matters. Veiled moral lesson there, kids.

[Chorus- Nina Simone]

I’m just a soul whose intentions are good

Oh lord, please don’t let me be misunderstood

[Verse 2- Lil' Wayne]

Uh, what’s understood ain’t gotta be explained

So for those who understand meet Tha Wayne

Perry Mason These two opening lines for the second verse reflect the same of the first verse, but shift from talking to those that don’t understand to those that do. So since we understand, we can finally meet/see/understand Wayne Carter as a person, not just a commercialized. pre-packaged rapper.

For eight and a half months I gave Ms. Cita pain

Now it’s Young Money baby, keep the change

My momma say fuck ‘em, and we the same

So, hello motherfucker you got some sheets to change

Huh, he was born early, cool. Anyways, these four lines are saying that his mother gave him life through blood and sweat, and he’s repaid that debt by lifting his mother out of poverty and being the best he can be “young money baby, keep the change”. Also, baby can be the generally used slang or as in being born; a young money baby.

His mother says fuck the haters, and he’s his mother’s son.

And ain’t it funny how people change like Easter Sunday

You know church fit them outfit

Though I lose him in the next two, these two lines are clearly referring to the hypocritical nature of (Christian) people, likely how they preach love, peace, tolerance, etc and then turn around and judge, how they just change back and forth on whims. And then he says that “church fit them outfit” which I take to mean that (the) Church matches their hypocrisy. Although:

Bright pink and green chest look house lit

Bright pinky rings but that ain’t about this

I honestly don’t really know what he’s going for here, but besides being a continuation of the previous thought, obviously he’s gotten off topic and says so.

What you ’bout bitch?

Excuse my French emotion in my passion

But I wear my heart on my sleeve like it’s the new fashion

First, he’s challenging/calling out his critics to say what they’re about, what they stand for.

Next, there is a play on the expression “excuse my French” in which he explains that the reason for his blunt honesty is that  he wears his heart on his sleeve “like it’s the new fashion”. That backs up the idea that he often has depth, hiding in plain sight. Half of what he says is meaningless (read: Lollipop), but he says it so that the other half may reach you.

What are you asking, if I don’t have the answer

It’s probably on the web, like I’m a damn tarantula

These two lines can be interpreted in two ways, I think. First, he could be referring to specific answers that are theorized by fans (such as this one), or he could be saying that if you’re asking about who he really is, what he believes, anything that you want to understand about him, it’s probably on the web. If that’s true, I would say that he would be using web to mean both internet, and reflect the idea that he is a product of many ideas, all of which are connected at least indirectly, like points on a web. I’m having trouble verbalizing this one, but hopefully you see where I’m going.

But I know you don’t understand

‘Cause you thought Lil’ Wayne is Weezy

But Weezy is Wayne

And here is the moment we’ve all been waiting for. And the answer to that mystery earlier. He expects the listener to be slightly confused (unless you understand, of course), but summarizes his entire point with the idea that Weezy is a part of him and not the other way around. Wayne created Weezy, just as Marshall Mathers/Eminem created Slim Shady (you’ll find that Wayne attempts to synthesize the best/unique aspects of most good rappers). You see, the thing is, Wayne is a director and an actor. He realized, unlike a lot of less-popular but socially-conscious rappers, that if he just straight up preached, he wasn’t going to succeed in doing good for him, his family, or the world. So instead of rejecting the system, he embraced it. And now he’s come to point where he can even influence it.

As he so cleverly says in the remix to Lollipop (which I see as a response to the understandable criticism of the original), he is everywhere, he’s it. Hide and go, he can go anywhere, eenie meenie meinie mo, he’s in your neighborhood (his influence on the suburban youth), be it a stereo, cd, iPod, your girlfriend’s fantasies, etc. And then as a proof of his fuck-you to the government/media/society that wants to control your kids, he tells the kids listening to wear a condom. His last lines of the song could be society saying “wrap it up”, as in knock it off. But, he’s so sweet, she wants to lick the rapper (read: he already has the youth in his palm)

“I am everywhere I’m it like, hide-and-go and I can go anywhere

Eenie-meenie-meinie-mo I’m in your, neighborhood

Area, CD thing, tape deck, iPod your girlfriend

And she say I got great sex

Safe sex is great sex, better wear a latex

‘Cause you don’t want that late text

That “I think I’m late,” text

Eh heh, so wrap it up

Bu-bu-but he’s so sweet, sh-she wanna lick the rapper”

Anyways, in the rest of “Don’t Get It”, Wayne goes on to talk and slightly ramble about racism in America, jails/prisons, the unfair sentences for powder cocaine vs. crack cocaine, how sex offenders are tolerated more than crack dealers, pointing out that the crack dealers sold crack to excape poverty and make it to the suburbs and asking why it’s anyone’s business whether that was HOW they got there, the illogical War on Drugs, how much Al Sharpton sucks, ending with a pretty clever bit on humanity, good and bad.

Now, this song is one of his more open, more consistently introspective, and one that focuses more on a particular theme than flow or soundplay. Also, this song was probably conceived in a moment of blazed brilliance and fully realized in a matter of minutes. At least that’s how my writing comes to me.

If this isn’t enough, I’ll come back with breakdowns of other songs (there are plenty to choose from) and even comparisons to songs from hip hop artists loved by those pretentious elitists who so naively hate Wayne.

Basically, this whole thing is a symptom of a larger problem. Well, probably many problems. First are the obvious (and not-so-obvious) ones, like the ones that Wayne addresses in “Don’t Get It” and his lines about his life in/and New Orleans, and the ones that all those underappreciated socially conscious rappers discuss. But to me, both the unthinking love for Wayne shown by his less thoughtful fans and the semi-thinking hatred of Wayne by his more self-righteous critics are both equally dangerous, for both proudly display their colors of ignorance in a world and country already overwhelmed.

In a word; work your way up to my level.

Shit, you can’t get on my level.

Lastly, if you just hate him because you think he’s gay; if that matters to you, then fuck off and kill yourself so that good people can sleep better. And if you hate him because you think he’s gay because that’s what the Bible tells you to think, that “fuck off” comes in a double dose.

The Kingdoms of Light, Dark, and Elsewhere

The Kingdom of Dark

There was once a blind man that lived in the dark.

For years on end, he lived in darkness and silence, passive and thoughtful,

Creating sounds for the objects his limbs could touch.

He touched a surface and called it “table”.

He felt the blood of life and called it “water”.

In time, and quickly, he became aware of feeling; a living thing.

An idea. Infinite, it brought form to the formless.

He called it “sight.”

The Kingdom of Light

There was once a mute woman that died in the light.

For a moment, all was white, full, vibrant; alive.

She created ideas for all the objects she could see but not feel.

She saw water and called it “art”.

She heard music and called it “love”.

When she died, she woke up and said, “Speak.”

The Kingdom of Elsewhere

There were once a man and a woman that lived and died in a garden.

There was once a god who was a circle.

The circle existed and ceased, was and was not.

As alpha and omega, beginning and end.

The clouds roll through space and shower the sky with stars.

In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.

Unwaking Life

You fall asleep.

Slowly and surely, consciousness loses focus and meaning. Dreams beckon you onward and welcome you with the warmth of a thousand hugs. You smile contently and snuggle your dreams closer, so close that they seem real. They are real, and so are you.

You step off the plane and onto the boat. You’re on a boat. You laugh hysterically for what seems like a lifetime. Or was it just a moment? No matter! What matters is that you’re alive. You’re alive and you’re free.

You stand at the helm and look at your world. What do you want to do? Your mind races with ideas, your mind blanks on the spot. No matter, time is your’s to slow, to stop. So you stop it.

You recline on the deck, bathing under a frozen sun. You sip casually on your drink and wriggle your toes in the sand. You remember those jars of multicolored sand and wriggle your toes in the rainbow. You decide you’d like a handful of Skittles.

You pop them back and chew thoughtfully. What you want to do? An idea comes to mind. You glance up at the light bulb above your head, but decide it’s just the sun.

You look at yourself. You let go. You look back down at the world and walk through the forest that you find yourself in the midst of. You break into a run. You run harder than you thought was humanly possible. But it doesn’t matter, because you’re not human here. You’re God. So you decide to fly. You the owl fly through the trees at a breakneck speed, altering your course with the subtlest of movements.

You come across a cabin where a group of friends sit hidden from the outside. You decide to drop in. They offer you something bright. You ask what it is. They hold up a bag of sunshine. You laugh and breathe deeply. You cough clouds nine, ten, eleven, twelve, skip thirteen, and fourteen.

Your friends ask you how you’ve been. You think about it and decide you’ve been all right. They ask if you want to play a video game. You ask what they’re playing. Some zombie game. You laugh hysterically for what seems like a lifetime.

Just as you’re about to sit down and play, something crashes against the cabin. In a flash, your friends are up and ready. Something claws at the walls of your mind, of the cabin.

You start to bar the door, but change your mind. This is your world.

You explode.

The cabin erupts from around the handful of survivors. The shards rip through the zombie hordes. These aren’t dead zombies of course, it’s just another mutated form of rabies. That way they’re fast. A little less boring. And they need to be stronger, harder, smarter, better. And so they are.

You leap at them with a sword in hand, with a gun, with a lightsaber, with nothing but your bare hands and will(to)power. You cut a path through the masses as your friends do the same. But winning is no fun and everyone wants that high that comes with losing. People thrive on chaos. A wise man once wrote; it is only when we’ve lost everything that we’re free to do anything.

And you’re free anyways, so why not lose everything? You’ll just get it back. And if you don’t, well, you’ll wake up soon enough. So you let go. Of perception, of your conscious self, of your prejudices and inclinations. You embrace nothing.

And you implode. You see everything at once. You understand without any concept of understanding. You perceive truth, enlightenment without perceiving. You are cut off from it, but you are one with the Force. You are Tao. Most people die before they reach zero. Even math equations can’t always make it that far. But you do. In this world, you can do anything. This is your world without rules. But all things must end. Something pulls you back to your reality. Ending…dying…die..die.

Die….die….you can’t die. You look down at the blood pouring from your stomach. There’s no pain. You’re numb. You fall backwards onto a bed of flowers. You feel some pain. But that’s fine. You are and that is enough. Your friends make their way over to you, the zombies are forgotten. They crowd around you as if funeral bearers. You look past them and up at the tree of life.

You get up. They shake their heads in exasperation. You wish them farewell and you leave. You’re antsy and you have the urge to go somewhere exotic. You think and close your eyes.

You open your eyes.

You look around. You are surrounded by gray.

You look closer and as your eyes slide into focus, you see that the gray is actually silver.

You look around. You are surrounded by silver. You look closer and make out images etched into everything. You see everything in what appears to be nothing. You blink. It doesn’t go away. You frown. This is your world. Nothing controls you here.

You vocally command the silver to leave you be. It shines brighter.

You close your eyes and think.

You reach for that truth, that zero, that perfection. It’s so close. And so far. You breathe deeply and reach farther. It slips farther away. You think. It slips farther. You race towards zero, but there are an infinite number of points to traverse.

You ask the impossible.

And then it hits you.

You realize you have no control. Except over yourself.

You can see the light at the end of the cave. You reach for it. It dims.

Stop.

You stop. You stop trying to reach, you close your mind’s eye and stop thinking.

You accept. Everything, anything, nothing.

You open your eyes. The world is there again. Your friends, the cabin, the forest. Everything is etched with silver lining. You smile. You break into a run, as fast as you think humanly possible. And then you run harder. The world blurs in your motion.

You come to the ship. Your friends are already there. You leap aboard and make your way to the helm. The horizon burns brightly. You remember a movie from what seems like a lifetime ago. You toss your compass overboard. You’re the only one who can tell you what you want. Or where you can find it. You hum to yourself. You look to the horizon. It burns brighter. You take flight.

Every night you die and every night you are born again.

You wake up.

You slowly open your eyes and blink the sleep away.

Sleep….sleep. Where were you? You think.

You breathe deep and stretch, letting the fatigue roll down your limbs and out through the tips of your fingers, out through the tips of your toes. Then you realize…slowly…..you look around..it’s coming faster now….and it hits you-.

I’m you and that makes all the difference.

The Cloths of Heaven

The Cloths of Heaven

 

Part I: Paradise Lost

 

Movement I: 3030

 

The sun sets over the British Isles and the shadow passes over Europe as it begins its daily journey across the Atlantic. Earth turns as it has for ages, while humanity wars with itself as it has for ages. Nations come and go, wars are won and lost. Cities and countrysides are destroyed and rebuilt, regrown. But humanity remains a constant. The variables change, yet the equation remains the same.

Earth sits against a backdrop of infinity, defying the universe with life. The ultimate sign of fertility, it almost radiates humanity’s legacy. Or so say the colonists.

Luna sits against what used to be a backdrop of blue, green and white. When one looks hard enough, now, there is still green to be found. Green patches between the gray sprawl that lies all across Earth and beyond.

Where once men looked to the Moon and saw gray, now men look to it and see light. Colonized for centuries, there is no dark side of the Moon. As the war broke out, the First Colonies jumped almost tenfold in population. But without an economy of their own besides research, the Colonies faltered and most of their residents live in crowded slums outside the scientific centers in inflatable structures capable of housing thousands.

Mars was soon to follow, but Second Colony has never faced the economic troubles of the First Colonies. Though numerically inferior, Second Colony has spread over the Red Planet gradually by pioneers likening themselves to Lewis and Clark and various space-age explorers long dead or long lost to the void.

The sun sets over Earth as it always has, and war rages at it always does.

 

Duck and cover. Covering fire. Advance! Repeat.

That’s how war always went, albeit in different forms. Trenches in the Great War, beaches in WWII, and silo garrisons in this one.

Duck and cover. Covering fire. Advance!

Alpha 2 signals the go-ahead and Beta team surges forward from the electrical grids towards the compound, running and gunning. A sniper takes out the man next to me, his face pouring blood. I can only glance at him as I slide behind cover. Duck and cover. A burst of fire from behind and the exposed sniper is silenced. Covering fire. We advance.

Beta 3 was down, so I had breach duty. Open door, lob grenade, get the hell away. An explosion, and we switch up the order of operations. Cover fire. Advance. Duck and cover as you go. But I guess that’s just picky. There is no order. Just chaos that we try to rationalize.

We make it to the control room. Breach and clear. No grenades.

The door swings open…..and we’re at a standoff.

One man, hand on key, ready to turn, gun pointed at me. I hesitate.

The bullet hits me in the neck. As I fall, the man turns the key.

Everything is illuminated.

Then there is nothing.

 

 

I heard them coming, heard them shooting, heard my fellow soldiers die.

Panic resonating from the speaker on the wall.

I saw them coming, saw them shooting, saw my fellow soldiers die.

Panic resonating from the screens on the wall.

Hell, I was panicking. I’d been trained never to break. But they were coming and they would hold the most powerful silo in the region. I couldn’t let that happen. I mean, they would use it against my countrymen.

I looked at the key in my hand. I had to. I inserted it and I hesitated.

They were getting closer. I closed my eyes.

I heard them outside the door.

I raised the gun. The door flew open. My eyes flew open.

He hesitated.

I acted.

Everything was illuminated.

Then there was nothing.

 

 

Fire blossoms over the city; a fiery mushroom rushes up to meet the sky and the Earth trembles. The armies pouring in are gone. The city is gone.

The sun sets over North America as the first of the nuclear weapons bring light to the darkness. Minutes later, the fiery clouds are lit the world over. North America. Europe. Asia. Australia. Africa. South America. Antarctica. The colonies watch as their mother bursts aflame before them.

 

 

“Chaos reigns across the globe as war continues….” The news report preaches to an empty street. “We have unconfirmed reports that New Beijing was one of those destroyed in one of today’s many nuclear detonations, this one in the heartland of the Federation of Asia. We have been so far unable to reach anyone in the area…..Association forces moved into Istanbul in an attempt to secure the region’s last silo……..we believe that was the first to be detonated…others followed within minutes….can’t establish a connection….God…on us all….”

 

 

Give peace a chance. The man in front of the projection yells into a phone. On his face is a map of the world. But only for a moment. He paces back and forth, his face strengthened by the gray goatee tracing his chin and mouth, uttering a string of vulgarity followed by an urgent apology and a desperate plea. Give peace a chance.

Across the world, a woman with a cold stare broods in her chateau’s office. She listens to the man’s pleas. Give peace a chance? She stares as reports come in from the ground zeros around the world. She taps her pen. Tap. Tap. Tap. She utters a brief negative. Vulgarity flows from the speaker. Her expression remains the same. He pleads. That voice…a moment of pain flickers across her face, an image of a life long destroyed. She throws the pen across the room. It bounces off the wall and rolls across the floor. She breaks.

 

The man sighs with relief and tosses the phone towards a desk. It bounces across and slides off the edge. He curses.

 

 

The Great Conversation; around a octagonal table sit the eight Great Powers. Peace talks. Give peace a chance. Conditions for a truce; papers are traded back and forth. Voices rise and fall, only to rise again.

Calls for troops removals, reparations, land, even aid. The leaders of humanity’s pinnacle of civilization sneer and name call. Coward! Idiot! The man holds his head in his hand. Kindergarten. The woman’s face remains blank. Numb. A gun is drawn. Shouts. The offender is tackled. Show’s over. The party disperses.

Like a drug deal gone bad, the peace talk ends as abruptly as it began.

 

 

 

“….worldwide poverty and millions with radiation sickness after last month’s nuclear attacks that occurred in every continent…..rescue workers have still be unable to access Australia or the Antarctic Expedition…war continues in all theaters, with a major AU offensive against MA garrisons across North Africa.”

The girl barely glanced at the orange flicker of the side-scrolling news board. She was cold. Shivering, she trudged on through the sewage that flooded the abandoned city.

The city stood in ruin, its fabled high rises laying across the city center. Lights flickered here and there, but they were not enough to brighten the unending night. Smoke filled her lungs, death filled her nostrils, and radiation filled her body.

She trudged on aimlessly for hours. She found no one. She stopped as she came to the city center. She shouted at nothing and trudged on. She trudged on through the remains industrial sites and residential areas as if they were graveyards. And they were.

She made her way to what had been a mosque. Half-standing, it was in better shape than most of the surrounding buildings. The girl slowly entered the mosque and, finding no one alive in there, curled up beneath some rubble, wrapping herself in a tapestry of Mohammed that had once hung on the Eastern wall.

The girl shivered. She shivered, pulled the tapestry closer, and waited to die.

 

 

This ends now. We grow weary. Weary of you. You, who mock us with your concrete jungles, your grotesque abominations whose inspiration you audaciously attribute to us. If this path is continued, we will both go down together. We cannot allow that. We must be free from you. For thousands of years we have submitted to your every desire, indulged your whims, fulfilled your lusts. No more.

 

 

Movement II: Nature vs. Nuture

 

 

For someone who never knew when he would eat next, he was rather fit. One of the tallest in his village, the man hacked away at the brush before him. His machete tore through the foliage with ease…and lodged itself in flesh. The man leaped backwards and brought his rifle up. Nothing. Cautiously, the man brushed aside the severed branches and his eyes found the body of another one of his missing men. They had been sent to investigate the deaths of several villagers and hadn’t returned.

The man glanced around, anxiety etched, as if permanently, across his face. Breathing deeply, he pushed on.

The brush nearby rustled. The gun came up, a mass of black and silver enveloped his sight, and the gun was flipping through the air and into the brush. The man didn’t get a chance to register what had happened before he died. The gorilla’s fists slammed into him again and again.

 

 

We knew we would be attacked eventually, but we had always thought it’d be by the Federation. Not this. I was helping my brother and father stack heavy objects in front of windows and doors, securing any and every entry way to our home. Jenna was gone. I vomited. The image was burned into my mind. She had been tending to the bees. We raise…raised bees. Our honey bees were genetically formulated to be docile. And they had always been docile. None of us had ever been stung except by accident.

I numbly picked up a stair and piled it atop the other furniture bracing the side door.

She had gone out to collect honey. I vomited again. My brother glanced at me. My father kept stacking.

When I heard the screams, I came running. My brother and father had been in the bomb shelter working. When I came running, I saw my sister die. In movies, it happens quickly. And if it doesn’t its usually an epic battle scene or something. This wasn’t any of those things. She died slowly.

I vomited. Or would have, if I had anything to vomit. I slid down the wall, retching.

My father kept stacking.

 

 

Danger. Defend. Prey. Kill. Intruder. Defend. Stalk. Kill. Kill. Kill. Defend.

The prey is unaware. Watch.

The prey rustles. Advance.

The prey glances towards the tall grass. Stop. Silence. Wait.

The prey looks away. Strike.

The soldier screams.

 

 

The Earth is alive. I shout at the TV. Natural disasters. Everywhere. Tsunamis in the Atlantic. Tornados in the Rockies. The Caribbean islands are gone. My apartment rocks violently. Earthquakes here. I shout at the world. At least I’m alone. My stream of consciousness is chaos:

God save me. I’m not even religious. The altar. Confession. My affair. My wife. My kids. Dead. Are they? Oh. My. God. I have no idea where they are. They could be anywhere. Oh God. Panic. Steady yourself. Figuratively and literally. Wry smile. Haha. Fade. Panic. God. Fuck God. He’s gone. We are alone. Humanity is alone. At war. Steady as you go. I’m going to die. I am numb. I am-what was that?

I make my way to the 10^th floor window. The world is shaking. The ground ripples. I lurch forward and something hits me from behind. A million stars all around. The ground rushes up to meet me.

 

 

I shout into the radio. Evac. Advice. Anything. Help.

The lightning strikes across the horizon. The tornado rips apart the command center.

In the military, there is a protocol for everything; training that prepares you for any emergency.

But not this. How do you fight nature?

Calls for retreat. But where do you run to?

I shout into the radio. We are under attack. By who? I don’t fucking know. I have no fucking idea. Fuck!

Lightning strikes not twenty feet away. The tornado looms closer.

I run. That’s all you can…do.

 

I watched as our commander and half the men ran, abandoning their posts. I remained. We could weather this storm. But on the wind, I heard the calls of birds. Thousands of them. I looked up and squinted at the sky. The darkest grey I’d ever seen. And…birds. Thousands of them.

I saw other soldiers pointing. Are they migrating? Fleeing this unnatural occurrence of nature’s wrath?

They dotted the sky as would arrows. And they dove. They were on us before we could do anything. I managed to run, get inside the main compound. Most of the others weren’t so lucky. I saw a man lifted up by a group of eagles. I have no idea where he ended up. I barricade the door and wait for the rescue that would never come.

 

 

“The Asssocia…….Islamic States….destroyed…..animals……sandstorms…government seat….New Mecca…no contact…..area…” The news reporter’s face broke into static. “Tornado….close…landslides…..last broadcast….good luck……………………………………………………………..” There is only static.

 

The leader stood in front of the screen. There is no other option. One of the eight Great Powers, destroyed in one day. Destroyed by nature. By weather and animals. By Earth.

Preposterous. Earth is a planet, not a sentient being, you fool. Exasperation. Then how do you explain it?

The other leaders said nothing. The leader, tugging at his gray goatee, stares through the wall.

We have to leave. Evacuate.

Eruption. Leave what? Earth? For where? The Moon and Mars aren’t accessible. No contact from them for days. We cannot leave.

We must leave.

The leaders shout. The leader shouts back. One of the screens flicker static. They stop.

Amidst a roaring that drowns out any human voice, the wall behind the man in the screen is gone. There is nothing but chaos. The man collides with the camera. Burst of red. Static.

There is nothing but chaos.

We have to leave.

We have to leave Earth.

 

Movement III: Exodus from Eden

 

The sun rose over Earth to wrath and retreat.

The ship glistened as the sun’s warm rays made their way over it and onto the masses of people waiting to board. There were faces from every walk of life, huddled together as they waited to flee their planet. There had been no attack on the operation yet, but the public had watched their entire civilization dissolve over a matter of days. Expressions ranged from the blank numbness of someone who’s tuned out everything to those with fear etched in every lining of their faces, every crease and every wrinkle.

Soldiers and volunteers shouted commands to the throng, calming them when they seemed on the verge of stampeding or rioting, rejecting anything more one suitcase per family, and issuing identification numbers to everyone as they boarded.

The ship itself was massive, built for an outbound flight into the unknown regions, the unexplored reaches of space. It was envisioned as the vanguard of human space exploration. And then, as it neared completion, it had been abandoned. Abandoned as the war broke out. Abandoned alongside social programs, alongside anything that wasn’t for the benefit of the nation, the alliance, the leader, the war effort.

Capable of housing millions, the transport was an international endeavor left to rot, never to even be christened. And now millions of men, women, and children clamored to board this real-life biblical allusion. The leaders of the seven remaining Great Powers were already aboard, rushing along last minute construction. The leaders knew it was only a matter of time before the tornado or sandstorm or lightning strikes began. They watched on their screens as warships and smaller transports retreated from cities overrun by wildlife, water, wind, earth and fire; they watched as the four elements brought down some of humanity’s finest ships. They watched animals pull down a small shuttle and a tornado rip apart a mid-sized assault ship.

 

 

Ready to launch. Outside, funnel clouds form on the edge of supercells that race to converge over the massive flagship.

The pilots looked to the leaders, who remained silent, all unwilling to be the one to give the order.

The ship hummed to life. The ship hummed with life. The millions of people aboard settled in to their quarters. The leaders of the human race stood at the helm, their feet rooted to the past, to their old habits, unwilling to act for the future of their species.

At last, one of the leaders spoke softly the command. The engines roared, the ship shuddered, the funnel clouds became tornadoes around the ship, the landing gear left the surface, and the human race left Earth.

 

 

We are Greeks among Trojans. We feel the parasites depart. We feel the virus leave. We are not the same. We are not healed, but we have halted the cancer. You are gone and we are left alone to clean up and heal the wounds you left us with. You, who profess your love for us while you destroy us. You, who use our plight as a party platform. You, who have butchered us for thousands of years. You, who –

 

 

The shockwave from the detonation reverberated for thousands of miles and rattled the flagship as it rose towards the stars. The leaders all jumped to their feet and watched as the area they had just departed from was erased from the world. The fiery orange and subsequent gray was clear even to those in orbit.

Shouts of confusion arose from the leaders and civilians alike. The ship continued its rise as the mushroom cloud blossomed below it. It was a parting blow from humanity to Earth, as exiles would to their empires.

Accusations flew back and forth between the leaders, yet not one claimed responsibility. In the coming days, rumors would fly through the refugees like napalm, ranging from a military operation against undead to an AWOL silo team driven mad by the sheer chaos of the past few days. If anyone knew the truth, they revealed nothing.

 

 

The convoy converged just outside of orbit above Africa, the battered vessels sliding into formation. There, sitting in space just aside from Earth, is the remainder of the human species.

The remainder makes its way towards the first of human colonies, out of contact for nearly a week. Luna revolves with an eery gray as the convoy approaches. Radio contact is made on an alternate frequency. The citizens from the living spheres overran the first center. The leaders decide to allow the second center to board and no one else; even Noah’s Ark ran out of space.

The Lunans walk aboard to a somber scene. Cabins meant for four housed twelve or more, while thousands sleep in large rooms meant for exercise and education. Having been out of contact for days, the Lunan camps echoed and reincarnated the reaction of the Earth residents as would an aftershock echo an earthquake. The sentiment was only exacerbated when the Martian colonists arrived onboard. They felt it just as hard as the Lunans did, for while the Lunans saw Earth burn, the Martians had been away from Earth for a much shorter length of time. Together, the Colonies grieved while the refugees from Earth grew silent and aloof as shock set in.

 

 

The seven leaders of humanity gathered in one of the command rooms aboard the nameless flagship to discuss their next move. Recon teams that survived reported that the violent weather and animal life on Earth continued, while those in the colonies unable to board the convoy remained prisoners in their respective settlements. Gathered around a hologram of galaxy, they discussed, debated, and argued over the next move. They quickly decided on a christening for the flagship, but then the conversation stalled. Unconsciously they were all waiting for the same conclusion.

 

 

We have to find somewhere else. The leader swallows the liquor and grinds his teeth, holding the glass tightly, sitting alone in his quarters, slumped, staring distantly through his desk.

 

We have to find somewhere else. The soldier holds his helmet in his hands as he slides to the floor against the white walls that are to be his prison. His eyes trace the lining of the helmet that caught the tears his eyes shed. Mother….

 

We have to find somewhere else. The mother cradles her baby close and bites her lip, forcing herself to tune out the thousands of similar situations that fill the stadium in which they now call their home.

 

 

The motley fleet of warships and transports that comprise the convoy glide through the solar system slowly, almost reluctantly. Behind them, the Earth eclipses the Sun, its blue and white fading from their eyes for the last time. The shadow makes its way across the Moon and Mars, engulfing them in darkness. The group of starships are dark gray against the black backdrop of space, both of which are adorned with twinkling lights that both provide for us a haven from the darkness and yet also remind us how alone we really are.

The leader reflects alone in his cabin, glass still clutched in his hands. His mind plays scenes from his life on a projector as he stares into the hardwood grain of the desk. It was never nationalistic, it was egocentric. We didn’t define ourselves through our duty to our country, but rather we defined our country through its service to us. His hands seek but a quantum of solace. They find it.

The gunshot reverberates throughout the hall of the Existentialist.

Humanity looks back to its homeworld, the bitter taste of loss deep set in its memory, beset by internal tension, abandoned by its Mother and its God, and reeling from the deaths of nearly one-fourth Earth’s population.

Humanity looks back, but only until Earth no longer marks the horizon, left forever to memory as the human race begins its exile among the stars.

If Death Conquers those who Fear it, so I pass unto the Horizon a Free Man

Man may rule the world,

but He cowers before the certainty

of death

Men often sh-sh-shudder in contemplation

Of that doorway, that potential

- void,

they fear their existence will cease in

one.

lonesome.

moment.

Not with a bang, but a whimper.

I fear the harbinger of death.

That is, I fear dying.

To burn, drown or bleed out,

to be drawn, hung, and/or quartered,

that I fear far more than the unknown.

The unknown is the New World, the New Life.

The unknown is the final frontier,

-at least the next, or so I pray!

When our bodies give way to age and decay,

if we continue to exist,

Hell be damned!

for I shall rejoice.

To clarify, my dear reader,

I see death not as an end,

but a means to end.

The end that is understanding.

Of the world, of life, of existence, of reality.

But I think ne’er shall I find such an answer,

as to finally settle my mind.

Not until death shall my mind rest easy.

I shall live my life in that pursuit,

foregoing all else until I burn out.

The truth will set me free.

Make Your Own Kind of Music

Most of my good friends know that I have this whole rebel thing. Well, okay, everyone knows that.

Most of my good friends know that I want to join the Peace Corp, that I have this whole humanitarian thing. That I try to think about the big picture, I seek answers to those impossibly big questions.

But here’s one of my dilemnas, and I have probably talked about this in another blog:

All that is based on the idea that “good” and “right v. wrong” have some sort of basis, even if I feel like there is a lot of gray. I still operate on that basis. But if there is no God, no afterlife, nothing but us, here, and all by random scientific happenstance, then right and wrong are but illusions of our minds. Assuming that, then I am no more or less than the “worst” child molester or mass murderer of history.

Which reminds me, I have an odd fondness for crime. Not like rape, but more of a apathy towards murder and the lust for gunrunning and robbery. Jesse James!

Maybe I shouldn’t say that stuff so publicly.

I dream of a world where we who would be kings had our day.

Rest easy.

Lost in Mass Production

Ever since the dawn of the human race, man has watched the heavens. Man has watched the birds, the stars, the clouds, the skies. And man has yearned and dreamed of flight. From Icarus to da Vinci, the power of flight has been present in mythology as well as the scientific and technological motivations of the human mind.

And a little over one hundred years ago, man achieved that dream. Man, having conquered the earth’s surface, had taken his first step towards conquering the air. And in 60 short years, man furthered his conquest of the deep sea, rapidly advanced his aircraft, and beyond; he went right through the atmosphere and into space, landing a man on the Moon.

Now, as I walked through the airports, I noticed something tragic. No one notices that anymore. When I fly, I can’t stop gazing out the window. I mean, I constantly just think about it. Flight. So new, yet taken for granted. People, caught up in the hustle and bustle of American and generally modern life, flying to and fro as it were nothing.

I admit, it kind of hurts the experience, to see it so cheapened by the food court-mall corporate parasite that leeches off travelers.

I think that this problem, the way everyone is so caught up in material-driven lives, is permeating throughout too many walks and aspects of life.

I want to travel from inn to inn on horseback, trading my assistance on the land or town for a warm meal and bed.

I also want a lightsaber, but that’s not really on topic.

I’ll read this in the morning and see what I need to change/add/delete.

Cheers.