Sean-M-Hollows

Commander, There exists life beyond humankind, beyond planet Earth. Beyond all planets. Have you forgotten since we last spoke? Earth is five years past the comet storm, five years past Orbital Bombardment. The world is broken and desolate, yet it remains held together as a person might be held by crutches. Much of humankind have abandoned Earth to establish lives outside the Sol system far, far away from other humans on the oceans of Maiora, in the Chalice system—even to their deaths on the planet Quan-Vek. There is no unity. But for generations, under strata upon fallen kingdoms, a being far beyond the mortal coil lay dormant and in the theoretical beneath your feet. That is, until She arose to save your kind from annihilation. Your kind named her Gaia, so the Guardium honors that title as we have always for all other deities. But this Gaia. She still lacks a voice in the chaos, does she not? Has She not hid away from humankind ever since? You were there, too when the comets hit;

To brave a face, and keep one’s steady Is like a lace A thread just one to steady Keep it clean Make a penny Keep her clean Take your penny Their light would be enough if not for the smear Then you see their grease, smudging what was clear To brave a face, you shamble Embrace a road more simple

You’re broke and alone. Then one night, a man visiting from his home in Mecca greets you with all of the answers. Of all places, over your minimum wage store counter. Now, you and a group of his closest friends are headed far from home; God-knows-where, doing God-knows what. But they aren’t so convinced; this proclaimed rite of passage will bring you all to God’s home, kicking and clawing for your chance to become one of the greats: a Master. You arrive over a remote peninsula, guarded by the Banda Sea. O, a waste untouched by her Indonesian governments across the way. Your group hovers violently near the tree heads in your chopper; through the night, you see several gleaming, oily figures shine by campfires. They produce blowers and arrows and something like a Flintlock. They fought for naught. You all now feast on their peoples, over a fire the Man from Mecca decided could be of use for dinner. A former congresswoman comments on the crunch. She—now preferring She—can’t wait to run

It's scary not deriving any joy from the thing you used to love. Is love something you can turn off? Is it something a phantom can inhibit? make its chemistry inert? Could a mother be next to feel a malignant nothing? Certainly, is it not then a tool for regicide, homicide - any side to wage war across her sister wing? Three daggers plunged to end the Mad. Were they not in love with their brother, with holy, debauchee Rome? But their love handed this man, Caligula his own pact and pen to be that holiness. Is love our ally, or does it seek to bed us, dethrone us, and become us? Were it true that love would conquer us all, will we be prepared to face ourselves tomorrow?

Were a sweeping wind so inclined, it would Ask the grass to dance For us, a swaying plain, to us till night would chill, asking us to sway to the tune Here's to us against the wind, against the world, and all it will command Maybe we could dance, just once, to its decree and tune.

The city of Eisen’s flickered flame is in ourselves, oil slicks and musty sand. You found out just too soon. You now trek through particle swarms granted by gracious dunes. There is now a structure clearing ahead. Carter once spoke of an oil heart which was rigged to feed into an overlooked desert: not quite the Gobi, not quite the Mojave. But you would find Eisen soon. Shadowy figures produced Springfields from your father’s war at once when you rattled a chain-link fence to open. It was when they pushed closer that you realized Carter never spoke of Saudis being here; they even wore your father’s fatigues. “Was it worth it?” An aged, emaciated man crooned out a cage next to you. Beyond, atop rusted drums were caged men, women and children. Their prisons were stacked inside a silo edifice, trapped in particle rain unlike you and your escorts. Faceless, aimless pipes – they railed for what seemed like miles out; even strutted the silo’s cages by two yard-wide cuts. You couldn’t

I'm mad I'm real mad The times that be To be so Avant Garde We could be so much, so Get this: I need a million years A million dollars, too! Imagine what Do you believe in God? These parents These sons and daughters, we get to raise Them! Don't you see?! So, this is going to get weird, but LeBron got a million dollars

I see, I see the place where Masters roam. But you and I could never mask their shine. Were we lost at sea, we could see the sea as our own - come hell or high waters. It's in the way they move, so far and wide with every stride. I've practiced, yes; I can leap stairs one or two steps high. Could we be so lucky? - are we so to coax steely heights? I know, do you, too? If not, then you belong not in Eisen's eye. You see a glimpse of something so heinous, so devolved that you grab him by the arm in vain hope he stops. He croons the city's name through dreary eyes and a muddy shovel. To your shock, his face spelled crazed, vindicated. To become Them, to please Them. What a person must be to Them.

Sirens wailed one last time, in service to a fracture in liberty The guns seized, didn’t ya hear? War’s cancelled Peace, at last Dad was a pessimist, kept checking the forecast Nothing Not a peep or flare Till, he became a believer Peace, at last Stream built the peace to last Robotic husks filled with mandates, eager to maintain against those nonbelievers Autonomy, at last Heard my first nonbeliever Had his voice sponged and silenced “Good,” we said “Better words for demons, their screams “Not the stream.” They held hands Passed the wares with their knowledge, just Well Diluted, lost in the entrails We pried with forks and knives I found a bone in my plate Then one, two more did, too Little did we know, the stream had rows of fangs, jointed like spindles and grinders It screeched, “Nonbelievers, at last!” Some ex-fighters conspired Got found out Now, we’re all nonbelievers Montgomry stashed a sash straight to the membrane Blew it so all who awoke, fall back asleep I was