AfroSFv2

by Ivor W Hartmann

  “What do you suggest exactly?” Tattooguy said as Afrogirl passed me the pipe. “I mean, what can we really do? Change will come eventually with or without us. I’m not so arrogant that I think I can change the whole world. Besides, the people are too paranoid to stand up. Or too scared. ”

  I took a hit from the bong as the man continued. A long cool stream of marijuana flavoured with cloves and cinnamon wound its way through the glass spirals and loops to fill my lungs. I held my breath as Tattooguy kept talking.

  “But then who isn’t paranoid in Para City. You’d have to be brain dead or a xombie not to be. I mean everyone knows that corporations are run by parasitic psychopaths and the government is their puppet but still they vote and pay taxes, work their lives away and die soon after retirement of some catastrophic organ failure ’cause they were too addicted to the poison of their choice.”

  My breath let go in a series of little hiccups. Smoke rings coiled before my eyes and then I let go. Dragon’s breath streamed from my nostrils and mouth. A lightness opened up in my chest, spreading to encapsulate my whole body in a sweet high. It sure tasted niiiiice.

  “It’s not arrogance. One individual can change the world. You just have to be at the right place at the right time. You just have to be ready, willing and able to do the right thing and I ain’t talking about those riots last night neither,” Afrogirl said as I passed the pipe, “right?”

  I turned to look at her and a strange thing happened. My mouth was speaking, “I don’t know, unless you got a time machine, it’s impossible to know what really caused what to happen,” but at the same time I was thinking no doubt and Afrogirl smiled and mouthed the words, ‘no doubt.’

  “Okay, my turn to read a poem,” she said.

  “It’s not about God again is it?” a female voice called out from behind me.

  “Well he’s in it,” Afrogirl replied then added with a pout, “Just because most of y’all are a bunch of heathens don’t mean I’m gonna stop loving the Lord. One of these days I’m-a save all your souls, whether you likes it or not.”

  “I’m sorry to break it to you, sister, but God ain’t gonna save us,” the youth to my right said, lifting up his cap and speaking for the first time. “We have to do it ourselves.”

  “I know that, but without the Lord, nothing is possible and with the Lord, nothing is impossible. Look, you wanna hear it or not?”

  “I do,” I said and a few of the others made assenting noises or nodded their heads.

  “Okay. It’s called ‘Re-colonial Mentality.’ It goes:

  Coloniser:

  It’s your own fault for wearing that tight resourceful dress;

  I know you wanted it, deep down in your breast;

  now take all that pain and make sure you repress

  the truth – bitch-ass-niggers, you better hate yourselves!

  Just keep on sucking the shit out of my ass

  and say, “Thank you sir! Best I ever had!”

  (I love trees)

  Colonised:

  I don’t know why I’m so scared all the time -

  sometimes it feels like I’m going out of my mind;

  was I really that evil in a past life

  that I gotta suffer through all this sorrow and strife?

  Why can’t I be like my heroes on screen then?

  Am I nothing but ones and zeroes, screaming?

  (rise again)

  Free:

  Lord, I pray for that glorious day

  when all my people no longer turn away

  from the clear light of love and intelligence;

  let’s make it happen – Jah Bless.

  May we master ourselves and ascend

  To the promised land when you descend

  Like a meteorite from outer space

  To smash to dust the Babylonian phase.

  It’s about damned time we colonise our own minds -

  and wake up to the true meaning of man (is) kind

  “Holy fuck!” DevilDog called out.

  “What?!” I asked, jumping up. I was at the workbench in three strides, “What is it?”

  “Where did you say you got this again,” she asked looking at me intently. “And don’t give me no bullshit about looting it neither.”

  “But I did loot it downtown.”

  “Where exactly?”

  “I don’t remember. It was out on the streets in the hands of a dead man.”

  “But what made you take it? For real man, tell me.”

  “The symbols. I recognised the symbols.”

  “You know what they mean?”

  “No, but I’ve seen them before. A long time ago. In another... place”

  “They mean something to you,” she said. It was not a question. I wanted to say more but my time in the nut farm had taught me to be wary. She seemed to sense my caution and did not push it further for the time being.

  “So what is it? The machine, what does it do?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. I mean it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before or even heard of. These readings I’m getting are frankly impossible but I can’t tell you much more than that right now. I need more time. And a second opinion... mmm, let me see... yeah, my old professor at the university, Dr Guff. We should go talk to him and I happen to know where he’ll be tonight.”

  Babylove Brown

  “Honey, I’m home,” Dr Guff called out as he walked into his comfortable three bedroom house in a gated community in the heart of Latier.

  “Welcome home, Daddy,” I said placing the business end of my pistol against the back of his head. “Don’t be stupid or the family gets it.” He turned around, saw my masked face and screamed all high pitched like a little bitch. I pistol whipped him to shut him up. Not hard enough to knock him out. Just enough to silence the bitch. He spat out a bloody tooth and looked at me incredulously like he couldn’t believe I’d just stolen his ice cream or something.

  “Listen Daddy,” I said, “Mommy, Becca, and Junior are in the living room with my associates. Why don’t you go say hi.”

  His eyes widened and he scrambled to his feet and ran into the living room. He began to whimper when he saw his wife and kids hogtied on the living room floor. They started crying.

  Casey turned up the volume on the screen he was watching.

  Last night’s riots spread out from the downtown area around TerraCorp plaza to many of the city’s barrios. Police say the worst is over and the clean-up is already underway. A spokesman from the Department of Services had this to say:

  “The damage done last night was extensive. Property damage to the tune of tens of millions not to mention the many lives lost. Today is a sad day for the city but we at the department of services are working overtime to ensure things get back to normal as soon as possible.”

  “Stay cool, Daddy,” I said, “don’t want to lose no more teeth now, do you?”

  Low came out of the kitchen with a plate full of sandwiches and placed them on the coffee table. “Professor,” he said, “we need your help. No harm will come to your family as long as you co-operate.”

  “What do you people want?” Guff blubbered. He was getting on my nerves, acting like a little bitch. His fat face jiggled like one of those toy dogs you see on the dashboard of cars and he was shaking like a leaf.

  “Glad you asked,” Low said, taking the man’s arm and leading him through to the garage. Guff hesitated at the threshold looking back towards his family. They were scared, imploring him with their eyes.

  On screen the mayor appeared, solemn and dressed in a traditional green and gold agbada, his trademark hat held in his hands.

  Mayor of Paradise City, Mr Obvious Beastedy commented:

  “My heart goes out to the tragic victims of these criminals who do not respect hueman life. Looting, arson and murder have nothing to do with civil liberties. Rest assured justice will be as swift and as severe as the sword of Damocles! I say this to the families of those who were brutally slain, go home a
nd bury your dead. To succumb to vengeance is to say they died in vain.”

  Mr Mayor, will you still be attending the World Music Awards on Saturday? Your daughter is nominated for several awards including best new artist.

  “Yes, I will be attending the awards. In these difficult times, it is more important than ever to carry on with our lives and I for one could do with listening to some good music. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m very busy.”

  “Don’t worry Daddy,” I said, “We ain’t gonna hurt your sweet little family.” I shoved Guff into the garage where the van was parked, slid open the door, and Low stepped inside. Guff hesitated and I shoved him again. He climbed in after Low. I leaned in through the passenger’s side and smiled at Tealson. He was taking a nap.

  In the back of the van, Low uncovered the machine from under a tarp.

  “What is it?” Guff asked

  “That’s what we want you to tell us. All we know is it came from TerraCorp’s labs and is worth more money than you’ll make in a lifetime.”

  “How am I supposed to know?”

  “You’re an expert on quantum dynamics,” Low said. “We did some research. You wrote a paper on reality displacement. I couldn’t understand all of it to be honest but this machine has something to do with that.”

  “That’s impossible, we’re years away from even detecting the morphogenic field let alone experimenting...”

  “Looks like someone at TerraCorp beat you to the punch.”

  Guff looked at Low then turned his attention back to the machine. It looked like a gun to me. Some kind of blaster only there was no trigger. But it also kind of looked like a saxophone, and as I thought this, I could almost hear a strange sound like low strains of a lonesome howl somewhere far out in the wasteland. What was that about?

  The room began to shake, just another earthquake. We all rode it out without speaking. A painting fell off a wall and some screws rolled around on the floor but otherwise it passed without incident.

  After a few moments Guff spoke up. “I can’t help you from here. I need the equipment in my lab. There is a science fair at the university and I’m expected to be there tonight.”

  “Yes, we know about the science fair. Okay,” Low said then turned to me. “Get everyone.” I nodded and walked back into the living room where Casey was munching on a sandwich.

  The screen was playing a music video, Johnny Toxic singing a love song and I couldn’t help thinking of Low. His firm hands and strong presence. You always knew you were safe with him.

  We caught up with Johnny Toxic, who is rumoured to be dating the Mayor’s daughter.

  “Too fucking right the people are pissed off man, I mean have you been down in these streets Miss Screen Reporter, bitch get the fuck out my face!”

  “We gotta roll,” I said lifting up the boy and girl, one in each arm. They looked at me with frightened pleading eyes and I smiled at them to calm them down. It had the opposite effect and I sighed as first the boy and the girl began to cry afresh. I’m no good with kids. “Bring the woman,” I said to Case.

  Casey turned the screen off and hefted Guff’s wife over his shoulder.

  We took the hostages into the garage and dumped them in the back of the van. I jumped in the front seat next to Tealson and nudged him awake. His left prosthetic leg spasmed as he woke up. “The university,” I said. He nodded and started up the engine.

  Intermission

  Gutter Dice

  We live in a corrupt and savage world,

  full of murder and betrayal.

  On dark and lonely nights

  I often wonder,

  what manner of soul

  throws the dice of their lives

  into such a place?

  Is it merely to marvel at the beauty of rainbows in gutters?

  I used to be a good for nothing son of a gun who

  didn’t give a damn about no one but number one.

  Now I wander the streets: a man with a purpose,

  delving underground into subterranean realms

  amongst the lost and found,

  soaring across alleyways in broad daylight

  don’t worry - it’s a rare sheep that looks up,

  searching for answers.

  I was born here but do I belong?

  What accident of fate -

  what synchronicity

  led me to this reality?

  Who are my ancestors:

  The divine archetypes?

  The primordial Nagas?

  The ancient Africans gods and heroes of myth and legend?

  The (un)known(?) builders of the great pyramids

  from Egypt to Cambodia to Machu Picchu?

  The lost tribes of Israel?

  Adam and Eve, who for all I know are still tripping on the forbidden fruit,

  falling to the grass of Eden while dreaming our saga, observed by the serpent?

  And what’s with these strange plastic people

  popping up all over the place?

  Who do the parasites of Pacha Mama work for?

  Do they truly seek to replace Love with the Machine?

  Respect with Institutions

  run behind the scenes by cabals

  following diabolical codes designed

  to enslave the people,

  corrupt their minds

  and destroy their very souls?

  Is Reverence for the source of all Life truly beyond them?

  Is that why they seek to keep us locked down in fear,

  leading by example and expecting us not to care?

  What are we even doing here

  racing around like rats in this crazy maze?

  Is this all some grand cosmic experiment?

  Who decided to take a divine being,

  place him in a body that’s mostly water

  on a world that’s mostly water,

  then raise him up in a culture where

  the greatest aspiration of the majority

  is indulgence in sensuality and shameless decadence

  built on mountains of filth and toxic corruption?

  Who, God, who!?

  Think about it and let me know if you figure something out.

  Lately, I’ve been imagining reality as some giant Casino

  and our lives as one big roll and tumble across the green

  on our way to the final reveal.

  (sevens or snake eyes,

  luck, strange skill or blessings in disguise,

  all eyes focused on the prize,

  devils become angels and lovers grow wise,

  nature do love courage, it does or dies)

  Who threw the dice if not us?

  Yet why would we do such a thing?

  The gods must be crazy!

  Neither Church nor State have any answers for me

  and the economy is one big old pyramid scheme.

  The reality of money is in the words, honey

  listen careful now, “e con me...”

  And that’s why I became an outlaw ;)

  I’m not in it for the cash, the thrills or fame;

  I do this because I’m good at the game.

  Fucking with the Man is just a perk;

  to fund spiritual growth,

  I’m happy to be a jerk.

  So I levitate across a highway

  to the rooftop of my penultimate destination

  where my partner for the low down awaits:

  Miss Took, dressed all in black, smiling

  like she was lady death’s finest gunslinger herself.

  Crouching low,

  we peer over the edge and scope the scene,

  flipping up our hoodies

  as acid rain begins to fall.

  They call me Gutter Dice

  and I’m here to play.

  Miss Took

  This world is nothing but a low down dirty shame,

  full of cowards and fools,

  trapped by ignorance in fears and desires,

  dec
eived into valuing attachments over the freedom

  which is their birth right...

  yet we fell willingly,

  unknowingly...

  Oh denizens of Paradise City,

  To paraphrase one of your prophets:

  May all your passions become virtues

  And your devils, angels.

  The enemy is dastardly indeed

  and I fear it may be too late for this world.

  We fight for justice from the shadows

  unknown and unseen; a worthy cause -

  but I long to go home.

  If I could ask every man woman and child in Paradise

  some questions, it would be these:

  Have you ever looked in the mirror

  and failed to recognise the one staring back?

  Have you ever been to the crossroads

  and realised there was no turning back?

  Have you ever wrestled with darkness

  or fought to tame a shadow?

  Have you ever said no to low fruit

  then risked your neck for woe to the foe?

  Have you ever looked on your death without fear

  or wagered on the outcome of the eternal war?