It’s a simple poem, man.
Source: You Are…
It’s a simple poem, man.
Source: You Are…
the glowing ebb and flow of serpentine shoreline caresses, lightly lapping sparkling sand as deliquescent sunlight blissfully touches the blushing horizon with a shimmering kiss, your auriferous, flickering, slithering tongue stretching across the ocean's expanse. Rusty Taylor February 2017
“Read that back to me please.”
The digital audio recording apparatus repeats what Dr. Benito Stelfast has just dictated in the doctor’s own droning voice:
“… It hasn’t been that difficult, really; I program the robots to commit the grotesque murders then self-destruct. Since I am the former chair of the Inter-Biospheric Robotics Council, it cannot be easier. [New paragraph]. Easy? [New paragraph]. I must assure that the populations of the four separate biospheres is sufficiently afraid. Fortunately, the recent beta attack upon the South American biosphere helped to produce a certain amount of anxiety; although, I need another set of circumstances to create another wave of fear. That’s where the expendable robots come into play. [New paragraph].
“Obviously, no human, well… no Alpha human can survive outside the biospheres; the volatile atmosphere will instantly kill any man, but my robots can, and do, traverse throughout the Wild Earth Zone to the four current biospheres for maintenance and security, so programming [italics on] anomalies [italics off] to occur in different parts of the known world is easy. Selecting to kill random citizens is not a real challenge. Even selecting certain [italics on] random [italics off] senatorial fatalities isn’t difficult, but killing my [italics on] best friend [italics off] was really… well, it was not fun. [New paragraph].”
The slamming door rips Benito from his reverie, and he quickly turns around as the dictation machine continues unabated, “Yes, our Congress will agree to the single-dome plan. Being the sole leader of Colossus V will…”
“Who’s there?” Benito yells.
“… but I sometimes wonder…” the machine continues to drone.
“[Computer stop],” Benito commands, then quickly adds “Rodney retrieve whomever just left my library.”
Within seconds, Benito’s robotic servant escorts eighteen-year-old Allison Nellums Stelfast to her uncle.
“Allison? What are you doing?”
Allison begins to cry, and Dr. Benito knows that his favorite niece has heard too much.
“Rodney, take Allison to the Ball Room and make her as comfortable as possible.”
Earth Bound – Chapter VII – Midas tells his tribe about the creation of their cosmos, including the epic battle between the two super gods IBM and Coca-Cola; Lady Coke’s creation of the ordered universe in 7 days wherein she creates, among other things, Rolex, the god of night and day; Calypso, the god of French oceanographers; Prudential, the god of mineral matter; and Earth, Wind, and Fire, the gods of funk. She also creates the first human, Ella Fitzgerald, first lady of jazz. The story is interrupted by a violent storm, so Erasmus the Tribal Apothecary creates a batch of Nocturnal Elixir to calm the tribal citizens.
Source: Chapter VII – Genesis
The western sky is unevenly streaked with slender amber fingers of fog that stretch across the ember-breathing horizon; distant gray and umber mountain ranges softly melt into the tinged orange, red, and violet solar decay as the ebony cloak of evening silently spreads eastward where slowly fading particles of light dissipate into ever-increasing darkness. Within the safety of a sheltering cave, Midas the Haggard Leader with a Hemp-woven Codpiece sits on his granite throne that is covered with the down of young aquatic birds and flocculent fur from velveteen mammals that resemble drift wood, and he gazes into the fire—prescient energy created by burning logs from the Tree of Knowledge. The fire is built against the northern wall of the cave and employs a slow moving, barely noticeable draft that sucks the fire’s smoke to where no one knows, and as he smokes the crushed leaves and buds from the Tree of Knowledge, which, at times, makes him giggle uncontrollably and at other times makes him ravenously hungry, especially for the sweet sap from a hybrid sugar maple tree, Midas retells his tribe’s history:
“Oh eternal Muse from whose spirit I am bequeathed the ability to recall our tribal history, come to me now and help me tell my people about the genesis of our race and how our supreme goddess, Lady Coca-Cola, chose us as her people. Help me plant the seed in our children so that they may nourish it and watch it grow into a magnificent tree of Wisdom, and help me to inspire them to keep our history alive long after I leave this earthly plane.”
Midas quaffs from the Lethean Jug of Amber Inebriate Liquids and tokes deeply from the Sacred Pipe of Dreams.
“In the beginning… ”
Midas exhales the mind-clarifying smoke, his body drifting away until it vanishes into a land where imaginative forces overcome the more pragmatic concerns for survival from the harsh atmospheric violence of the Wild Earth Zone; his mind reigns supreme while his body reposes.
“Long before the earth was born, there were two mighty gods: IBM and Coca-Cola. They lived in mutual distrust of each other because each wanted to exclusively control the chaos by which they were surrounded.
“Their epic battle begins, each god struggling mightily against the other, their tense, clashing muscles bulging with the determined ichor that pumps puissance into each of their militant ambitions. Eons pass with neither deified force gaining the upper hand.
“For long spans of time that we are unable to effectively comprehend, the two gods rage war on each other, but there is no order in the Universe, and as soon as one god gains a slight advantage over the other, chaos callously spews into their conflict an unforeseen event that renders both combatants neutral. The war continues unabated until the eve of the century when both gods, fatigued with the battle, decide on a truce so that each can rest.
“IBM is a strict disciple of rules and regulations when it applies to appearance. Ironically, this kind of stern discipline disappears completely when it comes to telling the truth, and he is prone to histrionic antics that often cause the lower gods to question his mental acuity. He proudly dons an aggressively orange toupee; he employs alternate facts when the truth opposes his agenda; he wears a smallish, really expensive watch to make his tiny hands appear larger; he wears a dark suit, a clean starched white shirt, uncomfortable dress shoes, and a comically long superfluous piece of red cloth tied in a knot around his neck. He believes that pomp and circumstance are meant to be observed at all costs, that they somehow magically transform into tangible manifestations of militant, civil, and intellectual superiority. IBM finds a relatively comfortable piece of chaos in which to rest, but as a strict adherent to the conformity of specious traditions, he decides not to loosen his tie.”
Midas pauses. His throat is parched, and he calls for a drink. A nubile maiden hands him the Lethean Jug of Amber Inebriate Liquids. Midas takes a kingly quaff then, after a belch that echoes throughout the cave, which makes the children giggle uncontrollably, the mighty warrior-leader resumes his story.
“Both gods are aware of the existence of black holes.”
Midas leans forward as he momentarily turns from storyteller to teacher, and he addresses the children directly, “A black hole is the invisible remains of a collapsed star with an intense gravitational force that is so powerful that not even a god can escape.”
The clueless children shake their heads habitually. Midas the Haggard Leader with a Hemp-Woven Codpiece smiles then takes another healthy toke from the Sacred Pipe of Dreams. As he exhales a thick cloud of smoke into the air, he continues his story.
“Of course, both gods recognize that when a spurious black hole travels near them, their very existence is threatened. When IBM hears the black hole slowly approaching him through the chaos, he adjusts his slumber just enough so that his body does not repose in its destructive path, but he forgets about his tie, which is sucked into the black hole like angel hair pasta and, in an flash, drags the god into its inky blackness. It all happens so quickly that before IBM remembers that he is, in fact, a god, with god-like powers, and can easily disintegrate the superfluous piece of red cloth tied in a knot around his neck, IBM is sucked into a different dimension of the Universe never to be seen again. Lady Coca-Cola becomes the supreme deity of our people!”
The tribe sits back, relieved to hear, once again, that their supreme deity has overcome her most challenging obstacle, the dreaded IBM. IBM lost to a goddess. Nothing has changed. Lady Coca-Cola is still the most powerful of all gods. A few of the tribal members clap.
“After a long party that is celebrated throughout the Universe, which involves shooting stars, exploding nebulae, and crashing galaxies, Lady Coca-Cola returns her main focus on governing; she realizes very quickly that the Universe is too disorderly and is motivated by her ambitions to quell the chaotic dynasty over which she has taken control, so she embarks on her most difficult challenge. In only seven days, Lady Coca-Cola creates the ordered universe.
“Lady Coca-Cola first creates woman in her own image; it is her finest creation. The woman is grateful that she is created, mind you, but she is afraid of the dark and is so importunate in her requests to have a nightlight that Coca-Cola pauses. When our Lady and Savior is refreshed, she creates Rolex, the god of light and darkness, thereby separating night and day, which will ultimately inspire Cole Porter to write a very popular jazz standard eons into the future. Lady Coke looks down upon her work and is satisfied, but she has much more work in front of her.
“Lady Coca-Cola creates Calypso, the god of French oceanographers, and she also creates Amtrax, the god of the land who sometimes wreaks havoc on the earth’s population. Value Jet becomes the goddess of the friendly blue skies, but this capricious goddess, too, occasionally rains disaster upon her people, killing hundreds at a time. Prudential becomes the god of mineral matter composed of the earth’s crust by the action of Earth, Wind, and Fire—the Goddesses of Funk. Fauna becomes goddess of wildlife; her sister Flora becomes goddess of botanical pursuits (and it is to her we pray when burning fuel from the Tree of Knowledge); their sister Meriweather becomes adviser to Fairy Godmothers who grant wishes to fuliginous women working in ashes and makes them the belles of balls worldwide.
“Ella Fitzgerald is very grateful that Lady Coca-Cola has showered so much attention on her, but she still feels empty inside. Sadly, she roams the Hanging Garden of Eden and sings wonderful jazz ballads. Lady Coke looks down upon the earth that She has created and sees Ella’s sadness.
“Coke asks, ‘Why, my first lady of jazz, are you so morose? Have I not given you everything?’
“ ‘Why yes, my Lady.’
“ ‘Then why are you so sad?’
“Ella continues in a melodic inquiry, ‘Have you ever heard two turtle doves bill and coo when they love?’
“ ‘Am I not thy Lady and Savior, Coca-Cola?’
“ ‘Of course you are. But,’ she continues, ‘that’s the kind of magic music I want to make with my lips when I kiss. For Christ’s sake,’ she exclaims, ‘Huggin’ and a-kissin’, oh what I’ve been missin’. Lover man, oh where can he be?’
“ ‘Who’s Christ?’ asks Lady Coca-Cola.”
“ ‘Pardon me, Dear Lady?’
“ ‘Oh! Never mind. So, tell me again what’s your problem.’
“ ‘Well, Coke, I know you’re the real thing, but I can’t throw down any good loving on you, and although the animals you gave me are fun, you forbade sex with them… well, at least you will forbid it when Elvis and his brother Aaron visit you on the sacred mountain and you take the form of a burning bush that is never consumed by the conflagration.’
“ ‘How do you know about that?’
“ ‘It’s called foreshadowing.’ ”
Ella exclaims, ‘What I really want is someone like me but not like me, a puzzle piece that’ll fit me and with whom I can talk, play… live.’
“ ‘OK,’ says Coke. ‘Let me eat some ribs and I’ll get back to you after lunch.’
“Lady Coca-Cola saunters off to wherever gods and goddeses go, and Ella falls asleep on a bed of soft, brightly colored flowers near a creek.”
A loud crack of thunder echoes loudly throughout the cave, and Midas the Haggard Leader with a Hemp-Woven codpiece recognizes the fear in the eyes of his followers, so he decides to end the story.
“Tomorrow,” he says, “I’ll tell the story about how Coke bottled her effervescent benevolence to create a man for Ella Fitzgerald, but now I think it’s time to drink Erasmus’ Nocturnal Elixir so that we can drift into that land where shadows and forms coexist.”
Erasmus the Tribal Apothecary prepares a nocturnal elixir every evening, and all the tribal members drink it, even the youngest. The elixir slows down the body’s functions and allows the partaker of its essence a wonderful night’s sleep. The tribe drinks their medicinal liquid while purple rain slips through the leaden sky. After most of the tribe drifts towards Morpheus’ shrine, the medicinal guardian consumes the elixir’s dregs, and as the moon rises unobserved behind thick clouds, the tribe falls peacefully asleep.
Sergeant Viernes falls victim to the malfunctioning robots.
Source: Earth Bound – Chapter VI
Dr. Benito Stelfast’s personal serviton, Rodney, escorts Sergeant Viernes into Benito’s residential library. Introspectively, the sergeant wanders around the room, musing to himself as he meanders away from a bookshelf of impressive leather-bound books and casually approaches a portrait of a beautiful woman with piercing brown eyes; bright, chestnut brown hair, long and wavy; a regal woman possessing celestial puissance and the smile of a renaissance goddess.
The library is a large, nearly square room containing brooding bookcases that completely cover three of the walls, twelve-foot high; the fourth wall, opposite the entrance, bears a high-vaulted, multi-latticed window behind a gothic desk facing the door. The sergeant has never ventured this far into the room before, but he’s always wanted to see the view from the window behind the stately desk. He feels uneasy as he walks toward the tall, high-arched window but doesn’t really know why. He walks past the desk, and the beautiful panoramic view of a serpentine river-cutting valley jumps onto the crystalline pane that spreads into a further-widening vista as he gets closer and finally stares into Eden.
After an eternity of mind-expanding silence, Viernes turns and looks back upon the desk, which is immaculately clean, only a few items on it including a monitor that contains a list of names. As Viernes looks more closely, he notices that one of the the names is Francine Eustice.
“That’s odd,” he thinks aloud. “That’s the name of one of the senators who was killed by malfunctioning robots.”
He bends closer toward the screen and reads, “Henry Clayton, Jessica Alvarez, Adam Shepherdson…”
It hits him like a club-thrust to the scrotum, making his mouth viscously thick with acrid acidity. Here is a list of everyone who has been killed by the malfunctioning security robots. Beside each name is a comment: “Almost won him over”; “Shame she couldn’t see things my way”; “Too bad… a good citizen,” etc. Beside the name Adam Shepherdson is the comment: “My best friend but expendable. I will surely miss him.”
He looks up and notices Dr. Benito’s gaze, and he realizes that he will die very soon. A dream from his distant past flashes the immediacy of his ensuing terrestrial departure, the unequivocal acceptance of irrevocable circumstance, a hitherto forgotten warmly macabre image from his youth when his eager soul was more malleable, more impressionable, more tolerant of the human condition, more apt to believe in deified thaumaturgy exclusive to Edenic citizenry, the morphing of Autumn into Winter, the Phoenix’ rising from ashes, nebulous space debris clashing to quicken celestial birth:
Standing along an endless shore an insignificant human speck a grain of sand observes in the offing a barely noticeable surge of energy initially felt more than seen but powerful like a Charlie Parker solo quickly developing until it becomes a solid wall of emerald water rising like a mountainous range looming across the horizon then directly overhead covering the sky redoubtable aggression silently screaming escape is laughable eyes wide open and instantly ready to discover the ultimate metamorphosis from a terrestrial citizen to whatever comes next.
“My apologies, Sergeant. I’m afraid that you’ll be the next victim of our malfunctioning robots. Thought I was going to put them away for a while.”
Viernes stares, blankly resolved to his Fate but finally says, “You killed your best friend?”
“I had to throw off any suspicion that I might be the cause of the unfortunate series of accidents.”
“Yes, Adam was on my side. I had to dispel any doubts of my integrity. You see, the smallest diversion…”
“…Would shatter your dreams of becoming sole leader of our planet.”
Benito smiles, “You would’ve made a good ally. But don’t worry, I’ll see to it that your wife and children are provided for.”
“You’ll get caught. Bad guys never win.”
“Oh, but Sergeant, I already have. I won. I’m the only one who can. It has all been arranged.”
On the way to the senate chambers meeting, Benito hears over the radio, “Another death attributed to malfunctioning robots. Details… ”
“Boy, the news sure gets out quickly,” thinks Benito as he smiles in the mirror.
In Chapter Five of Earth Bound… With the inspiration of his godly muse Jimi Hendrix Page, Midas tells his followers about their origins from twelve tribes under the confederation of ABC’s Wide World of United Nations of Globe Trotters. They are the chosen people of their supreme deity, Lady Coca-Cola.
Source: Earth Bound – Chapter Five
ABC’s United Nations of Globe Trotters
Night falls and hurricane winds batter the mountainous region with marauding apathy, extirpating thick root-entrenched trees with incongruous grace and dexterity, blasting out chunks of terrestrial alpine dominion and smashing boulders into cosmic dust. Midas the Haggard Leader with a Hemp-Woven Codpiece is chief of the itinerant tribe whose name translates to They Who are Heavenly Burdened. As the members of his tribe huddle together against the storm in the center of their cave, he understands that his duty lies in easing their anxiety. He calls for his Sacred Pipe of Dreams, and through its creative influence, he recites the oral history of his tribe as Erasmus the Tribal Apothecary prepares the Nocturnal Elixir as an anodyne against the mass emotional stress incurred from harsh atmospheric violence of the Wild Earth Zone.
As the moon crests over the tribe’s cave, Midas begins his incantation, “Oh, mighty Jimi Hendrix Page, my personal Muse, grant that I may recite tribal history with the wisdom of Albert Einstein, the charity of Cupid, and the clarity of Timothy Leary. Our people are the chosen people of Lady Coca-Cola, the goddess that refreshes. Our humble tribe is one of twelve separate tribes that once co-existed in peace within the confederation of ABC’s Wide World of United Nations Globe Trotters. Now, our twelve tribes are spread throughout the planet, but it is our prayer to you, my Muse, to bring us back together as one nation.
“Long before the existence of the confederation of ABC’s Wide World of United Nations Globe Trotters, a complex tribe named China existed, and it had the largest population and longest tradition. Originally, they were a mostly secluded group of smaller tribes that bitterly fought amongst themselves, yet from this savage violence was born a philosophy and art that embraced simplicity and peace. China’s architecture was elegant, and their celebrations were inspiring. Rumor has it that China invented an incendiary devise to make brilliant, colorful explosions in the sky, and this process is still used to this day by tribes worldwide to heighten their festivals and military parades.
“The philosophy of China was peaceful, so it wasn’t long before the tribe of thugs called the NRA forcefully took the incendiary devise, modified it, then used it to violently overtake other less powerful tribes. The NRA absconded with China’s art, science, and philosophy of peace and sold it to a barbaric, militant, heathen tribe called Capitalists, who were then morally saved when Microsoft preached that Lady Coca-Cola could help them receive the riches they deserve by accepting Coca Cola as their exclusive savior, the sacrosanct pause that refreshes. The Capitalists joined Microsoft to form the super-ultra-megatribe called Christians who then became the most powerful tribe of ABC’s Wide World of United Nations Globe Trotters.
“The Christians are narcissistic, materialistically motivated hoarders of wealth and power, and their leader, Gilded Midas of Gop, often goes against the suggestions of ABC’s Wide World of United Nations Globe Trotters, blatantly breaking inter-tribal laws and justifying it with rhetoric that, although ambiguous, connotes compliance with the laws, and this hypocritical justification is obsequiously accepted by the leaders of the ABC’s Wide World of United Nations Globe Trotters to whom Christians donate ludicrous amounts of money.
“Together, the Christians and the hierarchy of ABC’s Wide World of United Nations Globe Trotters developed a philosophy based on greed and an aggressive form of moral rigidity that condones condemning reprehensible behavior of opposing groups while ignoring their own shortcomings. This philosophy can best be understood through the story of Curious George W the Lesser.
“Curious George W the Lesser’s father, Curious George Senior, was also a leader of the powerful Christians, but in attacking the insignificant tribe of Iraq, he forgot to force the philosophy of the Christians onto the nefarious, arid tribe. Eight years later, his son Curious George W the Lesser preemptively attacked a different tiny tribe and tried desperately to make them embrace the philosophy of the Christians. He really wanted to rule Iraq because it boasted of a huge supply of black gold, which Curious George W the Lesser coveted, and he gained wide support by claiming that this teeny tiny country had magical weapons of mass destruction and by claiming that a previous attack on his tribe was linked to it, a terrifying attack that was actually the malevolent action of a totally unrelated group. The weapons of mass destruction were never found (the fact that these weapons were never used in Iraq’s own defense was never questioned), and although Iraq never fully embraced the ideology of the Christians, Curious George W the Lesser was hailed as a mighty hero who couldn’t conjugate irregular verbs and was prone to insipid redundancies.”
Midas the Haggard Leader with a Hemp-Woven Codpiece suddenly realizes that his cottonmouth has made it difficult for him to speak. He looks happily down from his pelt-laden throne at his tribe, belches loudly, which makes the children giggle, smiles broadly, then exclaims, “It’s time for a break. Good Coke Almighty! Am I thirsty! Musicians! Play an interlude while we have a quick repast.”
The Amber Lethean Jug of Inebriate Liquids is brought forth, and as Midas receives inspiration from the Sacred Pipe of Dreams, the rest of the tribe snacks on fruits and vegetables. Afterward, the tribe settles back around its leader, and Midas continues his tale of tribal history.
“NRA has already been mentioned. It is the second tribe of ABC’s Wide World of United Nations Globe Trotters, and it supports the right to bear portable weapons of destruction at any and all cost to public safety, even the mentally impaired are allowed to possess a weapon. Portable weapons are also encouraged in schools to protect children from ursine attack. Practically any member of this tribe can legally carry a weapon in public unless she is a member of a sub-tribe called Muslims.
“One of the early tribal leaders of NRA was Charlton Heston, who was also known as Moses or Ben Hur for reasons we no longer understand. Charlton belonged to a guild called Actors. Not much is known about this group except that they were very pretty people who sometimes thought that because they were beautiful—an obvious auspicious gift from Coke Almighty—actors had things to say that were more important and thereby more meaningful than the dreary, aesthetically challenged majority. Unfortunately, the pulchritude-impaired majority most often accepted the ideas of not only the pretty but the wealthy as well; they sequaciously acquiesced to the fact that it was their own fault that they had neither looks nor wealth.
“The third tribe of ABC’s Wide World of United Nations Globe Trotters is called the NBA, which is a group of very talented individuals who don’t work well together as a team. To be a citizen of this tribe, one has to be very tall and arrogant. This tribe is embraced by Capitalism, so they receive very large sums of money to play a trivial game that involves throwing a ball through a hoop. For some reason, the citizens of this tribe become very concerned about whether or not they can throw the ball through the hoop, and this is confusing because they are treated better than any of the citizens of any other tribe.
“The NBA is also a pretty hostile tribe because once a tribal member is no longer able to place the ball through the hoop, he is exiled from the tribe, regardless of how good he once was. Everyone is eventually kicked out of the tribe, but new replacements are always ready to gain entrance. It is a fleeting paradise where one lives as lavishly and as morally corrupt as one wants with impunity, but because of the youth of its membership, the tribe named NBA never holds any real power; they merely party until they are exiled.
“Starbucks is an agrarian tribe that specializes in a very addictive plant from which is brewed a magical black liquid that keeps its drinker awake and anxious for hours after it is consumed. Starbucks, who also makes major financial contributions to the Christians, has been allowed to grant one magic black liquid purveyor temporary membership to each of the other tribes. This highly honored, temporary citizen knows the secretive process of making the magical black brew, and he helps the confederation maintain control over the twelve tribes by keeping all supplied with the addictive liquid.”
The tribe erupts in approval, waving their hands in the air as if there were no repercussions. When the enthusiasm dies down, Midas continues, “The tribe of Iraq was mentioned earlier; it is a small tribe that incessantly starts fights with the other tribes but is easily defeated every time. It is an annoying tribe, but it helps the Christians remain ever powerful because of its persistent unruliness, which helps the tribe of Capitalism to maintain military dominance, allowing its elders an opportunity to overstate Iraq’s potential danger and to stock-pile tangible weapons of mass destruction against the imagined threat, which, in turn, profits the Industrial War Complex; it is a never-ending cycle.
“Big Pharma is the confederation’s sole supplier of medicinal herbs. It is the tribe that has successfully lobbied the confederation to be not only the sole purveyor of medicinal herbs, but they also have made it illegal for any other tribe to experiment with them. This allows their leaders to destroy alternative yet effective, easily obtainable medicines that are manufactured at a much lower cost to the consumer. This allows Big Pharma to charge ridiculous prices for the medicines they have purchased at a very low initial cost. Profits are big league! As you may have surmised, Big Pharma makes major monetary contributions to the most powerful tribe of Capitalism.
“The seventh tribe is called Marlboro, which is a tribe that smokes the dried leaves of the tobacco plant that is addictive and kills whomever smokes it, but the smoke from the plant can’t assist one to enter the cosmic realm of ethereal awareness that the Tree of Knowledge does. The tobacco plant is really popular among the pubescent members of the tribe, which has inspired a group of querulous parents, who can’t control the aberrant actions of their ill-behaved children, to blame Marlboro for their respective children’s indulgences; unfortunately, ABC’s Wide World of United Nations Globe Trotters, in a desperate act of bureaucratic acquiescence, rallied around these pitifully unqualified parents and created laws making it illegal to provide samples of this herb to the adolescents who are too feral to be controlled by their lethargic parents. It’s sadly funny that the members of this tribe decry big government unless it’s to force their children to not smoke or force women to acquiesce control of their anatomy.
“Free Credit Score Dot Com, the eighth tribe of the twelve, is the tribe that has maintained the records of the confederation of ABC’s Wide World of United Nations Globe Trotters. It provides free reports to all citizens of the twelve tribes, but they have many hidden fees that must be paid upon receipt of this report. Failure to pay results in major penalties including, but not limited to, name calling and taunting by song.
“Beatles is a musical tribe led by a tetrarchy called the Fab Four, and they have revolutionized popular music and hairstyles. Within the tribe, the Fab Four are so celebrated that young women instantly become pregnant upon seeing them in public. Collectively, they worship a group of gods: Lucy, who is a sky goddess with kaleidoscopic eyes; Eleanor Rigby, who keeps her face in a jar by the door; Michelle, who works for Ma Bell; Jo Jo, who was a man who thought he was a loner; and a fool on the hill who has eyes in his head that see the world going ‘round.
“Wall Street is the tribe that maintains the confederation’s finances. It is composed of pasty-white, corpulent and glabrous middle-aged men with heads too large for their frames and who wear very expensive suits. The citizens of this tribe are morally lax and so ruthless in pursuit of shiny objects that they often do unconscionable acts on other tribal members, even kin, to obtain their desires.
“Lost Vegas is the penal tribe where those convicted of debauchery, lasciviousness, or solicitation are kept under guard, except for the very wealthy who are allowed to keep their many mansions while the victims of their avarice wallow in Corporate waste, the mire produced by the same Sardanapalian assholes who steal the victim’s meager possessions. Since prisons are privately owned, and the wealthy are excluded from Justice, prison owners make large monetary contributions to the confederation who invite public officials to arrest minor criminals that will fill up the myriad jail cells so that the owners and their stockholders can make a substantial profit.
“And the last tribe is Xanadu, where Alph the sacred river ran through caverns measureless to man down to a sunless sea. There was a thirteenth tribe called the Cherokees, but their lands were taken from them by an ephemeral barbaric tribe called Uncle Sam, and they were forced to migrate to lands not conducive to their particular lifestyles; both powers ultimately waned along with China.
“Unfortunately, since the great Babylonian Breakup, we’ve lost contact with all other tribes, so our coffee, cigarettes, medicinal herbs, basketball, and portable weapons of destruction are gone, but when the prophecy is fulfilled, we will unite in the Stadium Rock Festival Reunion Tour of Everlasting Freedom, and we will once again party like it’s 1999.”
Midas The Haggard Leader with a Hemp-Woven Codpiece finishes his story, and Erasmus the Tribal Apothecary prepares the tribe for its nocturnal ritual. Outside the cave, the storm rages wildly, scattering flora and fauna helter-skelter in the electric maelstrom.
In chapter four, the reader is introduced to the Biospheric Consolidation Bill, Dr. Stelfast’s proposal to consolidate the four biospheres that are spreadout across the planet into one enourmous bioshpere called Collossus V. Sergeant Viernes returns to inform Dr. Stelfast that another robotic malfunction has caused the death of another citizen; this time it’s the doctor’s best friend Adam Shepherdson. The reader is also introduced to Dr. Stelfast’s wife Vanessa, their son Michael… and the doctor’s recurring dream.
Source: Earth Bond – Chapter IV