Five Seven Five

Task: Write a story revolving around a Poet, Phobos the moon, a Spanner and Revenge.

Chapter One
The Poet.

Shall I call thee,
A spanner, a wrench; open end
mechanistic steel

My name is Lunacero, or should I say ‘was’ Lunacero for name and the act of naming now belongs to the past, and what is past can never manifest itself in the present; the present being my existence hurtling at the speed of light in space en route to Phobos, perhaps now better known as Second Home, with the futile usage of capital ‘S’ and ‘H’ as if to assure me that the title bestowed upon this rose colored moon is befitting for an adequate alternate to Mother Earth which now resides in the past; the past which is now nothing more than a pale blue dot thousands of miles away from my being, the past on whose fecund soil I was born, was given existence to, had come to call my own, my home, on whom I had lived through great miseries of poverty whittling away at my insides with the burning pangs of hunger and also had reveled in the splendor of fame and wealth and all material goods it could buy by selling words strung together, crafted as verses, in heaps upon heaps of stanzas.

Yes, I am the last illustrious poet of the past, a poet who rose to eminence composing odes to the Earth he loved so dearly, yet, perhaps not with such intensity which was required for they coerced him, me, to take an early leave of Planet Earth, to depart the soil on whom he had vowed to be buried under; before Death encroached and took possession of my soul, they compelled me with vacuous hopes and vain prospects to venture forth unto a new found land, land which they intended to civilize before the last atom was split and mankind perished in entirety for I was a treasure trove, cherished, priceless, gifted; and under this façade a three-fold mission statement was thrust upon me, an undertaking so indispensable to humanity’s survival that left me with no choice to decline their proposal, but to accept for it was already too late to turn down the offer as I was the last living Poet of the century.

Mistake me not, for “living” here implies not just a breathing body which could also include creatures of the deep sea, but that which possessed a soul, rational enough to think on its own, conceive and formulate ideas, converse with other living beings but most importantly, to play a practical part in the advancement and progression of human civilization and human civilization alone. And by this enlightened, modern definition of the “living”, animals, birds, fishes, plants, trees in fact all aspects of Nature save the Man, were excluded and were termed under a facile “Misc.” I surmised this from reading a pamphlet on board my mammoth lunar capsule which is aptly called “Phobein”, assuming the engineers who built this miraculous steel spaceship were not well-versed in the art of naming.

The three-fold mission statement which I had to undertake against my will and accomplish in due time of exactly five earth hours and seventy-five earth minutes is as follows:

  1. To indite a fantastic Epic of magnanimous proportions on all human endeavors from the dawn of mankind to its annihilation
    1. That the Epic be of a didactic nature
    2. That the poet is to not be constrained with limit of any kind albeit keeping in mind that the said Epic be not too short as to fail in conveying its significance to the reader, and not too long that the reader bores the self and is unable to retain that which was mentioned earlier in the said Epic
    3. That the poet consciously names the Epic with serious consideration to its far reaching impact in the future
      1. Refrain from using words that end in ‘-ing’ and ‘-tion’
      2. Refrain from using words
        1. with a ‘b’ in the middle as in ’embalm’
        2. that begin and end with a ‘b’ as in ‘bomb’
        3. contain the letters ‘r’ ‘e’ & ‘d’ (irrespective of order) as in ‘tragedy’
  1. That the said Epic be free from any negative connotations which might reflect poorly on the human condition in the future
    1. Refrain from referencing to incidents such as the four World Wars, the International Act of Freedom to Use Mass Weaponry Against a Known Foe, and other disapproving catastrophes such as Hunger, Poverty, Disease etc.
    2. Refrain from using religious symbolism and allegory
    3. The poet is encouraged to use Science, Scientific Methodology, the Renaissance, the Industrial Age, Age of the Machines I, II & III, Rise of the Age of Information and Skill Building as a pivotal plot to the said Epic
  1. That the aforementioned Epic be written under the light of the whole Truth, and nothing but the Truth*.

*In retrospect the poet should use the modern definition of Truth as “that which is subjective, created by human who possesses a logical mind, for fellow human who also possesses logical mind capable of altering the truth to suit the individual self, whereupon it is known as the Truth, with capitalized ‘T'”

This manifesto is to be the blue-print of my final piece; I say final and not last, for the word ‘final’ contains in itself the essence of the finite, that which is to end, or rather that which is to be concluded after saying a farewell, after bidding a goodbye. This declaration is raucous and vulgar and I yet have to pick up the pen which defies gravity before me, floating in close proximity to my hand. I have not yet made up my mind to compose an oeuvre to the rise and inevitable fall of Mankind, for how can one mention the fall without the fault, the science without the religion, the human without the nature, the living without the dead? This statement reeks of conceit, of the monumental pride inherent in Man, that which led to its fall, yet I am to write an ode to the triumph of humanity’s fascination with overcoming the odds not for the greater good as many proclaim, but for the mercenary motives many concealed in the deepest crevices of their hearts, the moral decadence that led to shunning Nature and embracing that which was molded out of their own imagination, creeping egos, venal desires – all for the sake of Progress with a capital ‘P’.

We shall be first landing in Flimnap, a community of three, four hundred earth numbers, I am told, comprising mostly of Scientists and Astronomers whereupon my fellow traveler shall take leave of me after which I shall be flown to Skyresh to unveil the magnum opus  containing the sum total of human accomplishments to those who shall pay heed, lend an ear, or a thought for the advancement of mankind in an elaborately superfluous event which shall be attended, I am told, by the most celebrated who’s who of the past, that is, of the Earth. I shall be bestowed with laurels and titles of all sorts after which I’ll be expected to live on a remote, distant land for an indefinite period of time till Death claims my soul after which my deceased body shall be let go in the vast vacuum encompassing our habitat as per my Will which I am yet to write, for I cannot bear the thought of being buried under the desiccated regolith of Phobos, a terrain which never sustained life and never will. From the naissance to the demise of mankind in entirety is localized upon the Earth, for Nature always completes that which it started, but the acquisitive hankering for survival, for a perpetual existence is such that it overshadows all that Nature so benevolently shares with us.


Chapter Two
The Scientist.

O ye spanner, wrench
of metal talons on two sides
clasp the bolt open

I am told that I travel with the acclaimed poet Lunacero, although the term “acclaimed” is now reserved for only those who make considerable Scientific advancement towards the survival of Phoebuses, my objection to his title will make little difference to my opinion of him and perhaps even his opinion of himself. For what use a poet is to the Phoebuses on Second Home is, I know not; perhaps he is given the arduous task of writing poetry on the innumerable benefits the scientific community has bestowed upon the lesser man, or perhaps his sharp wits will be utilized in engaging the Phoebuses in earthly entertainment of yester years, when many would gather around one and hear the insipid stories based on myths and falsehood, a product of indolence and folly of the mind. In my rational opinion, the man of past was a Man, and in the present and unforeseeable future we are Phoebuses hence we must abandon archaic practices and look upon the countless stars overhead as mere terrain we must, by all means, set foot on, claim for ourselves, for whoever put this vast Cosmos in our backyard, with no being but ourselves, meant it to be explored keenly which in turn means for us to roam freely, for we truly are the masters of the Universe.

I am steering this marvelous ship towards our Second Home, at the speed of light with the ingenuity of my gifted mind, whereupon I can recall the first passage of a book I had authored years ago, titled “A Rationale for Civilization: Survival and the Science of Advancement”

“After the first three World Wars, the fourth War was commended for its inevitability, for it induced the remaining portion of mankind, of which I was still a part of, to traverse the vast distances of space and claim for itself that which was it had never before set foot upon. The Fourth World War was often known as the Chief Proponent of Scientific Progression for the Advancement of Human Species, and now that the three great wars had wracked so much of the Earth, there was nothing there to exploit*.”

*Here I use the term exploit with a positive connotation as set by the modern definition as “an act or practice enjoined by humanity for the collective betterment of their species, regardless of its consequence”.


Chapter Three
The Spanner.

I call upon thee
o wielded spanner to yield
death upon my foe

I cannot write for I am no longer under the influence of Nature which often, back Home, conspired with me, and inspired me to construct words out of thin air, thread them together under the effect of Beauty, give the most intangible of ideas a breath of existence, that energy which enabled me to put ink to paper but now I am isolated in a metal coffin, without Death having approached me, having left that where I was to die; to be human is to belong, and now that I no longer belong to Earth, I am no human.

But if I am not what I think am not, then who am I for I must be someone, or something, much like this rogue wrench that has freed itself and is drifting in mid-air, much like the Home Planet is now, yes something comes to my mind, a rhyme, a verse, yes, I must repeat it to myself lest I forget for I am losing the train of my thought at the speed of light, what was it?

a blue mass of lifeless debris
wavering in the vast cosmic sea

Perhaps I can commence the Epic with… no I mustn’t, for I am no poet; a poet belongs, I do not. A poet is human, and to be human is to belong, and I am neither. But I must impregnate this blank page with an idea, for this piece of paper is desirous to be filled, to be employed in a function for which it was created, and I must assist the extant remnants of what was once a tree, in gratifying its implores. I could fashion a handful of verses, but they shall be parched, much like my soul, but what shall be the object of my poem? Shall it be the paper itself for I could write an elegy to the tree which relinquished its existence to the callous hands of Man so that he could write, and disseminate knowledge, and learn and familiarize the self with Nature of which itself was a part of? Or shall I write an ode to the metallic pen, that which was created to dissipate information? Or dedicate a handful of verses to the coffin which now carries me towards death? Or the stalwart traveler who accompanies me? I sense his insatiable need to be assured, to assert the self, to conquer and claim. You are but a fleeting wanderer, a mere visitor in the lodges of time and space, your aspirations are commendable to thy own self alone, you are desirous of control over the future, for the present hath already submitted itself to you. But what of the past? You shall not alter it, for I must end it all here.

The object of my composition shall be this metallic contraption, this iron-cast wrench that wafts before my very eyes.


Chapter Four
The Scientist.

Why do his eyes grow wild? Perhaps he too is thrilled about the prospect of landing on the surface of our Second Home. It assures me that Science commands an inspiration, and guides all, regardless of their past. Upon reaching Flimnap, I shall assert my colleagues that they no longer fear the arts, for Science has triumphed all. That which they considered impossible has been rendered possible in front of  my eyes, for there is no room for the unattainable in Science, all is in grasp, all within reach, a prerogative these silly folks oft forget.


Chapter Five
The Poet.

Oh I have done a great wrong, for in not declining, I committed a grave sin, I hath abandoned Nature and –

I have been wronged for I am bound to Earth, and I am to die there where my remains shall be feasted upon by the scampering insects, and six feet under I shall see the light of Providence shine upon me as I –

Or I shall be content with Death here, as I was to write in my Will: “my body be released into deep space, for I die where I am borne”

I am overcome with profound grief, my heart ravishes revenge as a final ode to humanity.


Chapter Six
Revenge:

I am cast down in great Lunacero’s heart as the mightiest of hearts fall to the whims of Men; the History of Man on Earth is ample proof of my strength to dispel ruinous fortunes upon the fortunate, yet when I descend for the Great Poet, I do it with reverence, I make him my gentle companion for his Act of Vengeance speaks of his heart which is full of Truth, Truth dictated by Nature; he seeks me to end that which has made Nature its adversary: Mankind.

Lunacero grabs the spanner and with one, quick, final blow to The Scientist’s head, finishes off Mankind.

Blood and steel doth mix
in cold, brazen death; I thank thee
whence wrench came to aid

Now all that is left is Lunacero.

He pushes past ingenious instruments, dragging his body behind him, past devices evident of a once intelligent life, past gadgets marked by human greed for information, past machines invented by curiosity and sin, past gears and cogs that grind all human endeavors, and waters their apathy to Nature, past equipment ready to leave a fresh footprint of Man on a new asset, just another procurement to add to the list of human achievements.

He frees himself from the metal coffin into the boundless, infinite space…

Doth thou created
to slay my nemesis? Truth, as
wrench beckons wretched


Chapter Six
Finale:

Shall I call thee,
a spanner, a wrench; open end
mechanistic steel

O ye spanner, wrench
of metal talons on two sides
clasp the bolt open

I call upon thee
O wielded spanner to yield
death upon my foe

Blood and steel doth mix
in cold, brazen death; I thank thee
whence wrench came to aid

Doth thou created
to slay my nemesis? Truth, as
wrench beckons wretched


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