Utopian Vanguard (Heart In The Funk)

by Tornup x Ko49

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about

This story is about what Fort Worth, Texas and what all of it personally, spiritually, physically, and intellectually means to me, but it doesn’t take place in Fort Worth. The setting of this story is a perfect utopia, completely fulfilling for all of its citizens in every way. The citizens who inhabit this city call it The Place because previously in history, there were many places. Now, there is one; just one big, intimately, interconnected neighborhood. Imagine a world where if you needed food, friends, culture, or education, or any sort of fulfillment all you needed to do was go to the vacuum tube delivery system built into your house and fill out, then deposit, the proper paper work. Everything that happens in The Place happens through this system of applications. This is the functionality of the central government whose headquarters have been nicknamed “The Mailroom” because of the constant back-and-forth correspondence the government has with its citizens.

This is the outline for the structure of what is the equivalent of voting for them, because instead of being left to do their own thing, or decisions being made for them, the citizens have totally equal shared power in enacting their vision for what they as individuals believe their society should be. Every household is a member of their Parliament. In their home’s vacuum tubes, they receive from the government a daily education on as intentionally objective of a worldview history as anyone could ever receive. And as they learn more about how the world has worked previously, these citizens form their own individual ideas of what works best in terms of economics, politics, social studies, etc. Once this happens, at any given point in time, the inhabitants of The Place are welcome and even encouraged to make changes in the mechanism that is their government by applying for amendments to their society’s structure.

Through their world history schooling, the local populace can determine for themselves what has and hasn’t worked throughout history; what was and wasn’t a good idea. People who make the informed decision that anarchy, socialism, democracy, capitalism, communism, or anything in between works best can send in a two-part application (first part in multiple-choice, box checking form, and the second part being an essay portion) to The Mailroom to be processed. The government observes everyone’s applications and close to immediately compromises all those individual requests into this society’s pool of ideas and puts them into action. Based on this, no matter where you stand in your worldview, everyone gets what they want. Those who want to do for themselves, those who want to makes sure everyone is getting shared resources, and those who want to see and acquire the finer things in life can all be satisfied in their yearnings there. No one wants for resources, community or activity and everyone lives in total harmony.

Well, that would mean that it’s someone’s job is to lift the thousands of bags of applications from one place to another and do the hard work of sorting these things by hand and making sure that they get to the right place. Insert our protagonist, whose name is T. In a world where you only work if you want to, T volunteers for the most annoying, tedious, and labor-intensive job known in his community because he’s constantly seeking out ways to serve his environment as a means of fulfillment. He’s a natural skeptic, a tad absent-minded at times, and highly sentimental and nostalgic, but he loves his community and he’s always happy to participate in a hands-on way. He enjoys working hard and sharing equal power with his fellow man. He plays with The Place’s largely pantheistic spiritual climate like a toy, but doesn’t really hold on to any religious truths for himself. He’s charged with a sense of duty, but the way he sees it, even the flowers blooming and producing a poignantly stirring scent are naturally doing their part to make their world a better place.

“At home my neighbor's the president
So am I plus a resident of this heaven-sent benevolent sediment settlement
Petals intelligent blooming a precious metal sent
Assuming its position in our atmosphere conditioned
I'm a human on a mission: protecting and servin'
There's no election and perfection
Just inspectin', observin'” – The Place

But T becomes discontented when he starts seeing what he believes to be a pattern in his observation of history: greatness. Great people doing great things for the greater good whose great works last as a great monument to greatness. He keeps seeing history happening in a way where great people become major catalysts for change. In his life now, he sees lacking for a concentrated striving toward excellence. And now in everything from art, politics, speech, media, and architecture he’s constantly reminded of what he has yet to achieve as a low-rung volunteer Mailroom employee. In his mind, greatness is there for all to pursue and achieve, but those who don’t are left to gradually grow bitter for not attempting to do so in their own way just as he is. So he applies for a promotion to Bag Room Supervisor believing it will be the first step on his conquest to respectability and historical relevance.

“Turning in my thus completed promotion thesis
hoping it's decent, genius, or close to cohesive reason
I'm not elitist, I'm just hoping to decrease my perceived alienation,
improving upon greatly the state of my nation
I wildly filed for every job except my current one
Give me responsibility where others preferred to run
I'll make sure that the job is perfectly done, deservedly won
Because I prefer to be strong” – Great Minds (Think For Themselves)


However, a problem emerges when T receives a letter back that states his application has been received and processed. It seems as though he was so crazed, frenzied, speeding, and obsessed with enacting his potential greatness while filling out his promotion application that he didn’t think about the fact that his application was for all jobs issued by The Place’s government and not just the Mailroom’s list of occupations. So in checking every single box on the application, he left his fate up to the government and based on his statements in the essay portion of the application and reasoning for what he hoped to achieve in excellence, they decided that the best place for him in their society is in a secret military group of special ops titled the Mailroom Military Vanguard: Free Radical Division. This division does the work that nobody else wants to.

Now, it’s important to state here that until this very moment, T, along with all other inhabitants of The Place, has no idea that The Mailroom even has a military. Why would they need a military? Especially a military with a Special Ops division? After all, they call themselves The Place, because there are no other places. There are no other societies. This application-reception letter is the first time he hears the words “The Rest” which eludes to all other locations that are not within the geographical confines of The Place.

He’s told that Boot Camp for The Vanguard’s trainees starts in 7 days and he’s told to report at Undrafted Center, the place where everyone who volunteers to be in The Mailroom’s military is indoctrinated. T’s reaction to this assessment is an impassioned rejection. He sees the prior militaries of the world as a farce, a scam, and a tool of destruction more than a tool of defense. How could The Place have been more wrong in their assessment of him? How could they have lied about there being more than one “place”?

He arrives at Undrafted Center ready to explain that there’s been a mistake and reject his indoctrination, but a drill instructor at the camp convinces him that that he lacks what is necessary in his pursuit of greatness in the midst of his current life: discipline. In a few short words, the drill instructor begins to align T’s concept of greatness with The Vanguard’s concept of discipline. T spends some time mulling over the concept. He cannot escape his sense of duty. He still believes in The Place. It is all he has ever known. He has high hope and confidence that the function of this military is to serve The Place’s community altruistically. What he’s being offered by The Vanguard is what he’s been searching for all along: purpose. His imagination begins to fill in the blanks of what services their military provides. He begins to believe that these guys commit to being the very best they can be mentally, physically, and spiritually so that they can, with every ounce of their faculty feed and comfort those who need help, perhaps by going outside of The Place to collect resources. After all, more land outside of The Place doesn’t necessarily mean more societies. He isn’t certain of anything at this point, but he’s on a path to greatness and the mission may have become deeper, but nothing can stop his pursuit. So, he enlists.

Here, we meet Sudo, a friendly, but overbearing and aggressive personality who takes it upon himself to show the ropes to T, who sticks out drastically from the rest of packin Boot Camp. All of the other members have been training to be a part of this outfit for years. T is still in public servant mode while the others are intentionally absorbing their training to become the finest fighting men in the world. Sudo often makes fun of T’s naivety, and has a more practical sense of what’s happening with The Vanguard, but Sudo though he identifies himself as a warrior, isn’t entirely in-the-know either. Nevertheless, Sudo goes out of his way to make sure T knows that by going through this process together and becoming new people, they are being made brothers. Through this friendship with Sudo, T becomes less distracted by his reservations and is excited to relay his progress to a friend who is going through the same scenario he is. And together, through barb-wire crawls, sky jumps, lethal sparing, tactical training, and near-drowning, they become an inseparable lethal force.

They become fully devoted to their fellow operatives. They test state of the art weapon technology including Cybernetic Vests which enable them to run marathons in as little time as 17 seconds, Pathogen-Deposit Rockets (which are used with gas masks) that directly poison an enemy and their surrounding area so that biological warfare is readily accessible in handgun-form, and amphetamines which are glued to the roofs of these soldiers mouths so that they can call on that “extra something” in the midst of battle as easily as possible. They are given free reign to test their abilities to make their movements and actions as free-flowing and natural as possible.

All of this training takes place and yet none of them still know how they will actually be using this training. None of them have ever been to The Rest.

Boot Camp is completed by Sudo and T and they are put in a plane so large that it could fit multiple other planes on it. They are told that once they parachute out of the plane into The Rest, they will set up camp, sleep, and receive further instructions from there. On the plane, they express their readiness for an as-of-yet imaginary war while they listen to a blaring intercom shouting instructions or demanding their alertness. They’re excited to know all the various formations and war tactics that they do and to feel as physically capable as they do. They have grown to worship their own toughness and they look forward to their future youthful adventures which the Vanguard calls “Development”. The plane ride takes days. And days. And then more days. And over time, they casually express their skepticism and reservations to each other.

Why are there no windows on this plane? Why have we been fed 30 breakfasts? Where are we going? Why wouldn’t our training include more about the environment we’d be fighting in? Going from an environment of constant training and activity to sitting on a plane for a month where the same instructions and demands are repeated over the intercom slowly drives them insane. Stir-craziness sits in with all of The Vanguard and when it comes time to jump out of the plane, Sudo upon landing in the dark, totally uninhabited, dying jungle wasteland, checks out of the whole setting-up-of-camp objective and, for reasons unknown, just takes off running.

T, better than anybody, though taken off-guard by Sudo’s actions, is able to keep up with him and once he relocates Sudo, he finds that he’s brutally beating an orphaned, unarmed kid and is about to intentionally murder the child.

T is in total shock and disgust and struggles with Sudo to stop his actions. He tells Sudo that he’s sick and twisted, confused, and going way off script. Sudo claims that T is a coward, that destroying people like the child in question is exactly what they’ve been sent there to do, that he has a license to kill freely, that it’s for the greater good, and T needs to get out of the way so that he can finish his work. T knows there’s no way he’ll stand by and let this happen. Sudo asserts that if T stands in the way of his actions he stands in direct opposition to The Vanguard, The Mailroom Military, and The Place as a whole and proceeds with attempting to murder the kid. T, without thinking, fatally shoots Sudo in the head. He doesn’t hear his body hit the ground.

If T was in shock before, he goes momentarily catatonic with this act of killing and, for a split second, isn’t fully aware of how his friend’s body ended up on the ground with a gunshot wound in his head. He comes back to his senses when he sees the child running and hiding from the other 20 members of their Vanguard class who have caught up to Sudo and T, witnessed the outcome of their conflict, and based on the fact that T just killed one of their own, they are fully prepared to kill him as a traitor, the child’s life being wholly inconsequential to them.

He realizes at this moment what they’ve been brainwashed to become: terrorists. They are a class of military solely trained to become monsters that are unleashed upon the world killing everything in sight. This drives what little sanity T has left out of the window and a savage showdown between T and The Vanguard commences.

T begins by arming an explosive while talking to the rest of his class even though he’s come to the conclusion that he will not be able to convince them. He throws the explosive, mid-speech and kills a few soldiers immediately while blinding or distracting the rest. He then takes off running because he knows he’ll have a tactical advantage in motion even with all parties involved having their speed-inducing cybernetic vests because of how long it took the rest of his class to catch up with him and Sudo. He lets his bloodthirst free and picks off each soldier one-by-one as ruthlessly and remorselessly as possible. He experiences the same delusions of grandeur as Sudo, but turned against the Vanguard, and he considers each member chasing after him as signing their own death warrant.

Over the course of an evening, he breaks some men’s necks, he impales some men with a javelin he fashions, uses more timed explosives, holds a man hostage only to stab him in the eyes, he cuts the Captain of The Vanguard’s head off, and fires countless rounds of ammunition. Meanwhile, The Vanguard hunts him with guns, explosives, flame-throwers, and aerial vision, but most effectively the Pathogen-Deposit Rockets which through the use of without a gas mask and through the use on under the same conditions, T grows gravely ill to the point of near-death, but by calling on his “extra something” and rendezvousing with the child he saved who says that he can take T to where he lives in safety, he escapes being found and killed.

With the child supporting T as they hurry through the miles it takes to get to their designated location (all while the former is firing his gun at more operatives), T’s entire worldview is flipped upside-down again when, through a series of disguised and hidden tunnels, he arrives at the place that has been referred to as “The Rest”: an endless underground population of malnourished, diseased, starving, naked, and weak people who’ve been forced into living in these subterranean burrows because traveling to the surface means being hunted by The Place’s military, who also have armed guards around bodies of fresh water. T discovers that The Rest uses children who are more agile and less detectable by their older counterparts to trek outside of the tunnels and gather food, water, or other needs.

He begins to put together that the reason why The Place is so opulent and capable as a society is because they have stolen and taken for themselves all of the world’s resources and have either killed the rest of the world’s population or have forced them into lives of inhuman suffering underground, keeping them powerless to prevent any sort of resistance. This affords them all of the world’s riches and potential and makes fuel for flights of massive aircrafts carrying massive amounts of people and weapons possible. T also discovers that even though he was in the air travelling for a month, the only thing their plane was doing was circling a location they knew a large number of people in The Rest congregate, which happened to only be a few miles away from the very Place he’s spent all of his life in the confines of.

In this cavernous setting, T comes face-to-face with people who beg for his services and aide, this population of helpless souls who’ve been beaten into submission. However, he also feels a sense of disgust and resentment for the people he’s serving because of how cowardly and passive he sees them as being. Fresh out of battle, his mind is also still going into the place of “Why did Sudo have to do that? If he didn’t do that, everything could go back to normal?” and his unwillingness or incapability to accept his new reality grows him more and more bitter.

In desperation, before he has time to heal, he makes a plan to go back out and fetch water from the guarded water supply for him and perhaps those around him. His plan is to use the fatigues he’s already clothed in and go to the water supply pretending he’s another soldier who’s been wounded in combat. But by now, all soldiers in The Place’s military know who T is and he is immediately recognized by the first soldiers he tries to fool. He warns them that even though he looks weak, because of his training, he can still kill them with his bare hands. They try appealing to T by saying that they want to follow him and they want him to become their new leader because they got into the military not knowing what they got themselves into and they feel he is their only way out. They want to join a resistance led by T that doesn’t exist yet, and in response to the demands of the world, T begins to suffer a nervous breakdown and succumbs to a crippling hatred of all around him. All the defenseless, all the bullies, all the schemers, all of the unaware who have led to his ultimate torment. He is not ready in the slightest bit for any of this, and they way he sees it, if more people stood up for themselves, none of this would be possible and children wouldn’t be murdered for no reason. But instead of standing for something, the people he views as weak-minded all look for him to save them from their circumstances and he sinks into despising this behavior.

T grows more and more ill from his injuries and can no longer take care of himself. His ego is shattered as people who he views as weaker than him in every way help him do things that he can no longer do for himself as a sick man. He begins to process through his suffering of PTSD, depression, and deep hurt and gains a more willful approach to his service, and with the help of the water guard troop recruits, he begins to train The Rest how to take care of themselves; writing text books for their education and survival, but he issues a stern warning to all those who are lazy or reluctant to join the program, “you are in direct opposition of our progress and we will not play games with you.” A bold issue to all of the world’s population outside of his hometown, but they begin to recognize he is there to help and their training commences, all the while another Vanguard plane begins to circle overhead.

Through organization and mobilization of this information (yes, that is a lyric on record, haha), The Rest turns into one big, massive, underground boot camp where whenever one person learns something, they immediately teach it to another person. They develop a system for the mass spreading of this information based on 100,000 people learning it at a time. This knowledge travels through these endless cavernous halls, which T comes to find out reach every corner of the planet. The Rest becomes a power-keg of raw discipline and studious devotion to the betterment and survival of their people even using their buried environment to their advantage. All the while, T begins to come to terms with the fact that he will die very soon as illness takes more and more of his capabilities. He has come to accept that his quest for greatness was a shallow one, but in losing all of his natural faculties and power, he’s achieved more than he ever could in trying to work on his own. He’s played a role in the work of thousands of anonymous individuals creating a grassroots movement that works to truly serve people and he begins to really appreciate the idea of a well-intentioned individual doing their best to play their part.

The child who T saved begins appealing to his heart. With the help of defected troops of The Place and newly trained troops of The Rest, she takes T to the same water supply he once courageously sought out resources for, but now he realizes it has been secured by the force he has been instrumental in helping train. She begins to explain to him the faith of the people who inhabit The Rest, who without water, without food, without have medicine have survived longer than any human could be expected to do so. At this body of water she explains to him that the waves from this body of water could roaringly overflow and swallow everything they’ve ever known or experienced, but the hand of God keeps them right there at their feet. And right there at their feet is a line of where their reach extends. But God’s hand reaches everything. God’s hand holds the hand of each of us in the same way that the saved child holds T’s hand. When we’re lost, when we’re broken. We get another chance to love and be thankful for what truly makes life special. And even when we wish to be God, man may see us and praise us for our actions because that’s all that man can see: our actions. And even when we try to be God, God sees our heart. And even when we try to be God, God loves us. T begins coping with the loss of the best friend he ever had in a more healthy way and prays for him and vows to do so every morning he wakes up.

In his final moments, during one of The Rest’s many prayers-in unison, T begins reflecting on all of his past actions, worldviews, and identities and decides to try to let go of his thieving, lusting, controlling, manipulating, neglecting tendencies while at the same time, letting this unknown God further into his heart. He passes on a last bit of instructions to those around him, still serving as a drill-instructing camp-designer with high hopes for military he now serves even while not being able to move. A final reflection:

“A bird was flying near my ear 'round the year I enlisted.
The tune it sang was loud and clear through my fear it persisted.
Couldn't make out the words in terms of nouns and verbs
but heard it as a call out on my bluffing.
It didn't have the type of voice to say, "things will be OK if you don't do nothing."
First time I heard another call me "brother", meant something
but that was when we had forever to grow.
It's better to know.
I'm letting it go.
The me of now helps up the ledge the me of yesterday” – Reflections (On A Stranger)


With that, T dies. But he doesn’t just die. He is escorted into a new form, and the last song describes the journey of his soul going “somewhere”.

The End.





© Mecha Records 2016

credits

released November 6, 2016

All beats produced by Ko49 except "Hyperrealistic Shock" co-produced by Ko49 and Tornup and "Sunrise" produced by Tornup

All lyrics by Tornup except "Feel Free" and "What's The Echelon" co-written by Tornup and John Proctor

All tracks engineered, mixed, and mastered by Tornup except "Feel Free" and "What's The Echelon" co-engineered by Chris Trent Billings.

Bass solo on "Somewhere" by Tornup

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Track Name: Utopian Prelude [For Latreece]
Bitter 'bout a better founder outer but a beach knew how to teach a brother where the reach of each of us is breached for doubters

Screamers, shouters livin' in
dreams of drought oblivion
scheme reroutin' dividends
Cream devout equivalent

to supreme who redeem
you with gleam. Foolish kings
ruining to extremes.
New esteemed truth can bring

Peace and ease; release.
Cease deceasing. Feast.
Seize obese police
sheathing heat of beasts

Welcome, Opposed.
Helmets enclosed
wellness exposed.
Hell was the known.

Heavenly melody,
never be dead to me.

Peakin'
seekin'
beacons
speakin',

See
me
freely

Love.

Not lust, not lies. Listening, do you love?
I was crushed, stared death in the eyes, and was dissident.

But Love.

Buried under the weight of the world above.

But Love.

Not a single thing left to prove
Prudentially proofreading mentions of tension to be stacked against me like odds

But God.

Godchildren gotten through gaudily jihad defrauded abroad
We seesawed from robbing marauding to plot to rot in our cottage's façade
Call this an anecdote
All this demanding notes
call this the antidote
Can I hope
that you'd call it a narrative
salted, imperative
solidarity declarative
If this is fantasy, can you see
that it's real to me
are you feeling me?
Answer me.
This isn't fantasy
This is the broken debunked
This is Utopian Funk
Track Name: The Place [For Jill]
Energized when humanizing our predicaments
increments of innocence intimate in our instruments
sentiment is nomenclature
simply known
A home in nature rented but defended as your own zone
To roam a greater state intone
What's dualism if one side will always win?
Coolin' at The Place,
I take it back where it begins and ends
Definitive Zen
Repented of sin
Representative of inventive incentive enterin' men
I remain attentive in infinitive spin
Live exhibiting how the pivot wore the primitive thin
I was too young to be in a school
Running emerald intervals
Wondering if this was the pinnacle
Or cinema minimal
Critical of principals
Like who's the wiz in my biz
Grown-ups were like if kids stopped telling it like it is
I'm in permanent recess
Testin' physics and civics
I'm blessed
Hardly pressed to find my heart in chest in cardiac arrest
I build my nest in predestined essence
You feel refreshed in the cleft of lessons and still your meshed-in intestines beckon for seconds
After wrecking your inner questioning you left your depressants
I was lacking a lasting message since adolescence
At home my neighbor's the president
So am I plus a resident of this heaven-sent benevolent sediment settlement
Petals intelligent blooming a precious metal sent
Assuming its position in our atmosphere conditioned
I'm a human on a mission: protecting and servin'
There's no election and perfection
Just inspectin', observin'
Track Name: Post Work Society (Applications [For Stevie]
I do my job
a screw or cog in a union
slob's view of his mob
a human movement fusion to do with the logged exhaustively educated perspectives of us residents
based on objective precedents offered as evidence by the mail room of which I'm an employee
of the lowest rung variety
I stock and ship documents loyally it's a joy to be a member of the mechanism
political expressionism trumping despotism's pessimism
Data interpreters check for the schisms
compiling and reconciling
citizen analytics
with technological, scientific secularism
Egos compromise to invest in the system
That's how it works
Mailroom provides structure for culture and I'm a clerk
Our mailroom's what was once known as government
Now they're merged
Educating the populous through media sent to their homes documents of objective worldview history - bottomless tomes

No more ballots, applications are the core of our process
Our relativity reconciliation is lossless
"freedoms, formalities, functions, or funding" are prospects
one may apply for generically with the right box checked
Essay portions of applications determine the pivoting ebb and flow of flow of how our riveting city's run as we step and grow
through various cycles of theory and social organization
The local chore designation is focal for more dissertations among my generation in the essay space left vacant
I'll finesse and ace it with a statement on my placement
Lately, I've been chasing greatness to be used altruistically -management status straightness
Analysts after sameness and safeness, but I'm not
I'll fight off their myopic cyclops thoughts, by God,
and check every alternative box of available to find the right job
That would be one that I'd call my job.
I'll apply myself.
Track Name: Great Minds (Think For Themselves) [For Jake]
Great: negated, debated, hated, re-created, plated/desecrated what the sacred stated
Overrated traitors blatantly late out of the gate slated as originating, simulating a stimulating,
I'm indicating I'm illustrating what Ornette ornated: a tornado netted by sacred entertainment embedded facilitating eclectic kinetic poetics indebted to a heavenly medic
Method threaded each crevice
Never threatened by devils infected intrepid
The heavy-headed weapon respected
Excellent erected, accepted, interconnected effective as immediate as the greedy get a meaty bitten bit of measly wit in between their media's teething fits
Freely spit
Ingredients whipped up expedient when we be deviant from the lenient medium of convenience

Synchin' alike, into the brink the grim delves
Climate of state: great minds link but think for themselves

I've got a job
Got a role in the whole as a soul with the sole-single goal:
Counting polls then controlling the mix
The picks of cliques all fixed on tricks got nixed
Conflict restricted, skipped
We stick to scripts all written as we go along
Committed to the going-ons
Not whipping out the overdrawn;
a given to be will be gone again
Learning from the prior men
Serving one desire: Zen
Burning sun and I ascend
Yearning one acquired win
Turning in my thus completed promotion thesis
hoping it's genius, decent, or close to cohesive reason
I'm not elitist, I'm just hoping to decrease my perceived alienation,
improving upon greatly the state of my nation
I wildly filed for every job except my current one
Give me responsibility where others preferred to run
I'll make sure that the task is perfectly done, deservedly won
Because I prefer to be strong

Now, seeking the practical tact, with the data consult
In times of late, great minds act and wait for results

Receive a letter to determine if my situation's better
through a tube in a room or my cube I presume and assume that, indubitably soon,
I'll be groomed for the group in the loop
My pursuit is the moon
I'll be scooped off the stoop
and ballooned by the news
that's ripping through the vacuum system, spittin', shootin' ammunition bulletins.
Pull it into see it.
Read it as follows,
"Your request for promotion has been granted."
(Excellent, yes!)
"You'll be deployed from your home, The Place to explore The Rest..."
(What?!)
"...in the Mailroom Military Vanguard: Free Radical Division."
(I thought I was applying for Bag Room Supervision!)
"Congrats on the decision you've made enlisting!
Boot Camp is in seven days.
Report at Undrafted Center for debriefing of missions."

If you think I'm joining some obscure, weird Armed Forces shit, you're fucking crazy!

And that's all there is to it!
Track Name: Undrafted [For William]
Sacrificing breath for education joining militaries
Solitary utility in the cemetery
Monetary stability not to vary civility Voluntary ability necessary still

A sense of duty manifested by the hand of destined
Your sense of beauty ran unquestioned as you manned your section
Solidarity, villainy, all is fair in motility
Solid clarity, tyranny, legendary thrills

This was the path of past forces:
Crash-course the drafted in stacking up mass corpses mad remorseless
We sorted out the passions of all of the factions mappable
Tracking the scars of ancestors tactically mad radical
Speaking passages graspable
Follow their living formula
Absorb accorded orchestras
Scoring explored euphoria
Don't let them demons corner ya
And order your own torture, love
I wish to pour the truth in sores to Glory of The Lord above
And lend my services freely
Determined to nourish and nurse the burdened and nervous who need me
I'd rather be wordless cause surface verses are worthless completely
I'd rather be murdered than heard and not further alerting men deeply
I feel it's purposeful

What's new, community?
True, while I grew in my HQ,
A clue eluded me.
I'm not nostalgic 'bout it.
Gotta spend it frugally.
Suited to move musically.
Boredom, you pursue me
While I choose
not what I used to be.
To shoot a mile a second
you got a while to reckon
how to compile perfection
whether it's in style, reviled, or worthwhile, but questioned.
Concentrated affection on how to harvest connection
is what I'm on right now.
Track Name: Feel Free ft. John Proctor as Sudo [For Hunter]
Sudo: Nice to meet ya and welcome to the feature
A cocky little shithead with a mind full of evils
Back home the girls know my truck and how it ran on diesel
And my momma told me I never ever had to bow down to these people
How long ago were you chosen
Do you even wanna be a soldier?
You look more like the type to push a pencil or pack a folder
Or even the type that couldn't get up in the morning without some folger's

T: Working to be in the Vangaurd
Getting colder
Developing ulcers
And Boulder shoulders
I'm feeling like im older already
Picture me jumping up out of a plane

Sudo: They're training us all to be deadly
I'm ready

T: What are we killing?

Sudo: Animals? Villains? Civilians

T: Shut up. We're building our civilized village collecting resources outside of the place

Sudo: You ever been out in the space?
Or put a gun in somebody's face?
Brace yourself
And learn from an ace of stealth

T: I've got the presence of mind
Enough to recline
On what's not defined
I'm taking my time to find the honor that we uphold...

Sudo: Is molded by The Man
That's part of the plan
You didn't know until today there's a whole world outside of our land

T: Now we're taught to sink or swim
And why I don't know
I would do anything for my hood
So my vigilance grows
My diligent close
Is illest when I chill the chose
I'm feelin fluid in my movements
I'm a student of flows

Sudo: Ayo, War is way of life I study the arts
Though you're a stranger
You're my brother til we dearly depart
My name's Sudo, short for Sudo Nm,
The best with the darts.
What's left of my heart
invested in the freshest of starts

Together: When I feel Free...
When I feel real...

Sudo: They cut off all my hair that ain't the worst of it yet

T: took the air up out my lungs and then submerged me in depths

Sudo: Just to observe and see how well I would deal with my death

T: glued amphetamines to the rooftops of our mouths now we're set

Sudo: That is correct sir
I am here to protect
And if I collect some enemy heads
That's more to respect
There's bloodsuckers out there, dude
They all can get wrecked
If there's something on their necks that's convexed I can wet

T; Bet
I'm settled embedded in jets
With modified armored cybernetic vests
Making me run the miles in tests
In 17 seconds or less
Energy weaponized and compressed
This is why we're taught history
To make it
My future's pursuit of a mystery sacred
I'm looser intaking the present elated
My troopers maneuvering never forsaken

Sudo: The walls are closing in man I gotta get out
The world outside the place is waiting for lieutenant to shout
Tactical formation!
And now my mind is clear of all doubt
I'm a bomb equipped with hell in hand when running my route

Together: When I feel Free...
When I feel real...
Track Name: What's The Echelon ft. John Proctor as Sudo [For Trent]
T: When they're just catching on, check the echelon
I'm set to when they're just catching on, check the echelon
Negatron
Teflon exoskeleton
X form into hexagon
weapon-drawn lexicon
pawns spawn in seconds
wrecking the next lawn
sections of freshman excellent beckoned to quest on and I question

Sudo: Helmets strapped click ready for deployment
after we're done doing this we won't ever need employment
Gainful or not I'm ready to pop some heads off
Been working on my aiming down and to the left and then let off to get the lead off
Are we being led on?
This planes big enough to put another jet on.
30 breakfasts later
I'm feeling reckless behavior
$50 retainer
For every grenaded hater
Traitors could turn to a crater

T: We'll worry about that later
what is our greater mission admission to not knowing what we're entering is our condition permission to start exploding competition to our division
partition is lifted
our vision is gifted
we shifted and drifted

Sudo: I got suspicions not superstitions but these traditions are predispositions by coalitions of politicians

T: Got ammunition now we're gone on what we set upon
I'm set to win!
They're just catching on!
Check the echelon!

Sudo: Soon enough I'll be on the ground proving them wrong
It's surreal how long we've been up in the air moving along
No view to look throughs confusing
Pull through pursue what I'm doing
Review maneuvers while cruising high altitudes and delusions

T: Thoughts were conducive to losing now, I'm improving my shooting
Sudo producing excuses to reduce humans to ruins
Now, assuming I'm clued in
Thoughts brewing that what we're doing is not exclusively bringing food in my union of 22 are students of fluid movement
Trained in the elements of eminence, getting intelligence, emphasis on prevalence, push through without penitence but what they are sending us on's called development
Is that embellishing our benevolence?

Sudo: I'm hella spent
But's irrelevant
When they tell us to elevate,
me, T, and the fellas went
The hatch is open with little notice
I'm focused
Got my action-quota noted
Explodin' freedom on rodents

T: I got suspicions not superstitions but these traditions are predispositions by coalitions of politicians

Sudo: Got ammunition now we're gone on what we set upon
I'm set to win!
They're just catching on!
Check the echelon!

I got suspicions not superstitions but these traditions are predispositions by coalitions of politicians

Got ammunition now we're gone on what we set upon
I'm set to win!
They're just catching on!
Check the echelon!
Track Name: Patrol ft. John Proctor as Sudo [For Elijah]
T: Initiating patrol
A situation unfolds
Precipitating a sick invasion anticipated
Behold....
administration had told us it was time to fly out of the vessel
Into the cold sky we divers glided into a festering cesspool
Soarin into foreign land
A mortal man
Absorbing warring
Gripped his order can
And landed storming tortured sands
Delusional grandeur demanding command of his hands
He's advancing abandoning camp and this is not in the plans
The transplanting of this grand Vangaurd.
Requires rich integrity
You switched up getting mixed up incredibly twistedly pitching your legacy
How could you think I could let it be,
when the first life you're coming across is an orphaned, unarmed kid and your weapon's out?

Sudo: Get to stepping if you ain't about it, brethren
Your judgement is clouded
We're here to sever some heads and this bug is surrounded
A soldiers job's to wear his uniform and kill every enemy
I'm illin' at will
Sudo's instillin' the real

T: What is the point you're proving?

Sudo: Save that for the cowards, dude
I'm moving
My intent's removing
Roofing from these fools
Confusing Sudo for a fool improving life beyond my own throne"

T: Equipped the chrome and pulled the trigger on my homes' dome

What just happened? I never imagined attackin my closest friend
But in a moment of blacking out
Cold in the action
The notion of letting him cap at an innocent
Didn't sit with me
Indifferently
I stood over his body shocked and bitterly
The kid had ran and hid because what slid in our periphery were Vangaurd
Forbidding what I did
Set to inflict misery
you gotta be kidding me.
This is what we're here for?
The Remiss, corrupting exterior
Shores volunteer corps?
Just piss another fear war?
I listened to the mission plan it didn't mention henchmen
But what else could you revere more?

I can't do it
Could never see y'all through it
It's stupid

I had to be prudent
When I view me in a mirror, peers
I'll take a conscious clearer
Over any cheerer that I draw nearer
Here's when I drew a steady air,
Then armed and readied snares
And threw a bomb to make confetti of the deadly's glare
Track Name: Hyperrealistic Shock [For Nolan]
Hell hath no wrath
next to my aftermath:
flooded bloodbath
Thugs run fast
I lust after more casualties
you're done, bastard
my gun blasts
You come to pass under my thumb because you asked for it
A mass of masochists
attacking my back in my absence I'm packing them caskets
I laugh at it
I had to trip
adamant to be out of it
Management status applicant catapulted the catalyst
Hazardous on the battlefront accurately disastrous
cracking necks on some backwardness
radical active strategist

Static: gat it, gun it, get it, got it, shot it
Had it but I finished what you plotted
Fashioning a javelin
It's graphic when it traveled through an object
Plastic blew your abdomen we all got pathogen deposit rockets
active when we cock it
Hacking while I'm coughing up
the toxic gas combative logic tactics had to've been the only option
Captivate a hostage
lacerate his optics
Faster rate of octaves
sounds of rounds pop off
that saturate the state of sonics
I decapitate their captain late
my blade to his carotid
and evacuate when spotted
Make a fate with space allotted
Exasperate my maddest mates masterfully catastrophic
But fascinated as if my aspiration
Was the topic
And maybe that's correct
I didn't check
My head defected quicker than it knew the effect

And yet I calculate
Enemy hearts palpitate
massacre calibrated
I allocated an ass-whoopin' I'm aggravated
Graduated from what I advocated contaminated
Emancipating an innocent
evacuate militant, vigilant watch
Barrage of biowarfare
I'm inhaling the botulism insignificant increments ligaments shocked
Formulate an escape
coordinate with the child I saved
He said it's miles to get to the caves but worthwhile
I'm wild and brave

Y'all cowards want a war?
Y'all tempt me?
Y'all cowards want to see me empty?
Come 30, come 10, come 20,
Come contempting get some bleed plenty

Y'all cowards want a war?
Y'all tempt me?
Y'all cowards want to see me empty?
Dumb come 30, come 10, come 20,
Come contempting get some bleed plenty
Track Name: The Rest [For Kyle]
Sinking into each step running while I'm shooting
me and a child guide attempt eluding those pursuing us maneuvering through pitfalls
While I'm clued-in
losing cool while viewing ruinous inhuman institutions
And my eyes won't comprehend it 'cause it's too much like a dream
they show me nothing in my life that I have seen was what it seemed
The place that I call home steals resources to rain supreme
While I quenched my thirst,
These folks had armed soldiers stationed at their streams
Reinforcements, later, they could be
If they knew the truth that I'm seeking
The endorsements greater that we see
We could use for the troops that we're needing
What am I seeing?
The child said to me, "This is The Rest. We are the rest. The worst forever. Never the best."
He took me to a cave to cool off in a swelter
explaining that this was The Rest's primary source of shelter
Underground tunnels domesticated.
I'm educated on designated bottomless spots
Under-medicated populous rots
Mass bodies line the rocks disease-afflicted
Provided for with food by scouters of outside restricted
Patrol planes are kept in the sky for 40 days and 40 nights.
Established order hoarding fuel affording them orbital flights. Soldiers in the birds of prey then soar out them ordered to fight,
gone crazy with no windows on the jet to report on the sites
feeling like they're on a different planet. I'm discovering
me and The Vanguard thought we crossed oceans will simply hovering
just a few miles outside our deceptive reality.
Dispensable killing machines instructions were formality.
"Use your training", the saying ingrained in my brain
like a strain
I retain views that drain me
The slaying of pained and constrained
I sustain my insane
train of thought.
Campaign I'm taught,
terrain I'm not.
Explain the plot:
The game that got
my favorite cop
remaining shot
Feel like I brought this on myself I'm distraught.
A wealth of knowledge I can offer, health demolished
but with stealth acknowledge
what's the haulage off the top.
Where do we go from here?
I see the coast is clear.
I run and overdose on fear.
Adrenaline pumping, intent on confronting the militant hunting denizens slumping', omitted and given nothing
Yet, I'm slightly disgusted by the lack of willpower erupting
To disrupt corruption of the cowards who've been up to snuff for bucking something
When they bus in
The national trust in
Who's busting who
The fuck you gonna do?
Die off and let your brother too?
I'm jetting straight down to the water supply
Talk to the officer guys
They ain't the Vanguard
So their offense is jive
They look at my fatigues
And say, "You're T! No frontin'!"
"Yeah, I can barely stand, but I can break your neck. No stuntin'."
But they heard about the conflict and how I bomb quick
Ready to stomp shit
They wanna get on tight and constrict
Looking at me for their own orders
It's not peaceful
I come this far
You tell me that we're not equal?
I think these people wanna get me for my soul
Thugs at various points of loss of control
Take their toll
They can't break me
Non-optional
I'm not optimum/whole
I'm cold
A lot cooler than I once thought I'd be
Bold
Not a ruler in gold
No drama, non-comedy
I'm shaking the hold of characterization
And old classification:
A soldier sold up the river by legislation
I'm told that the that role I'm playing's the goal
I take a stroll in a mental state of self-pity carryin' confidence stolen
I'm rollin'
Savin up to put something in consoles for cowards patrollin'
Both mentals swollen travel
Pit stop at the scrolls
Tryna put more moles in more holes...
I'm questionin' if I got soul
They wanna get me for what?
Track Name: Become Death [For Benny]
I don't really want to play today with any of these bitch-ass punks
I don't really want to play today with any of these bitch-ass motherfuckers
I don't really want to play (I don't really want to play)
Don't think it's going to be your day today
Don't think you're going to get your way today
Or the next one, or the next one, or the next one, or the next one...
Wanna test one?
Who are you to question?
I don't really wanna play today with any of these bitch-ass motherfuckers.

Ship keeps on passing me by...
Shit keeps on passing me...

Mad love lost for the blinded and weak minded.
Those excited by material confinement.
I'm reminded that I'm in your spineless climate every time I find my eyelids heightened.
Then, I'm supposed to be a leader of the undecided.
Then, I'm supposed to be defeater of the uninvited.
Now, I'm dying.
Can't be sure I'm righteous while I am squeezing, firing.
I am become death.
I am the sum depth.
I am the slum's breath.
I am the numb deaf.
I am the one left.
And as my lungs soften, from breathing the battle's biowarfare toxins,
me and the troop recruits survival train those close to coffined.
How to know you're drinking water's clean with starting from the bottom.
Initial resistance pissed me off, but now they know we got 'em.
'Cross the battle lines, they're grinding.
Won't be finding time for whining
if you want to dine with me and mine who put time in combining.
I'm engaged in no games.
No mind been wasted on ho lames.
Enemies to be respected and then to know pain of propane
at close range
with dope aim...

Ship keeps on passing me by...
Shit keeps on passing me...
Track Name: The Heart [For Manuel]
Each one teach one
Organization and Mobilization of this information has begun
survival tactics
Rarely relaxed enact attacking acrobatics
Executed with environmentally rooted maneuvers through shooters
sewers of the wasteland producing a movement enduring
Grew past what's alluring
To securing process of maturing
No longer sheltered
Mere days left to live this whirlwind
Near death struggling to comprehend how big the whole rest of the world is
They say the tunnels can reach all of it though
Through it, training I've had to offer will be followed and sewed
Reconciling where I come from
With the halls of unknown
They said discover where heartbeat lies then follow it home
Thought life was hopeless from the moment I went AWOL
Those who were worse off than me are back flipping now off the cave walls
View my quest for greatness turn to helpless sickness not as a great fall
But grateful these folks help themselves or whoever may call
I started a war before the poor knew they'd sporting for it
They gave me reports to the core of just what the fort supports
Spirit wills through adversity
I walk through the sand
On a path cleared by troops I trained
Saved child holding my hand
I see a vast body of water way too clear
The child said, "the ocean's mighty, but it's waves stop here
Pretend it's our power instructing it and talk through the part
While man sees your actions, but God sees your heart"
So, every morning I wake up I'll give a shout out to Sudo.
Praying that he finds reality inside his neuro.
Uncomfortable inside his skin, he's searching for new role.
My brother, what you wish for's what you'll soon know.
Knowledge born in every morning I wake up and give a shout out to Sudo.
How we'd like to be seen ain't always gon' be what's true, bro.
Hang with birds of prey, but you didn't know why they flew low.
Be careful, what you wish for's what you'll soon know.
Track Name: Reflections (On A Stranger) [For Reclaimer]
What's lost?
Enlivening heightening sensual principle
Tossed it cross a frostbed of past thoughts
Crack at the ass hot
Mental state sentimentally cracking the padlock
Jacking the jack pot
Knack for yakin' a mass plot

Yesterday...

I'd pursue units to see me through it
A crew like in that Munich movement
It ain't fluent
I'm through with it
Forming a union assumin' I knew how be human's
How I ruined it
Elect me King Neglecter
I'm a shoe-in.
Shit...

The rejection of the leader model
Inherent in me
Plus connection to the liter bottle
Apparent envy: puss infection to the bleeder boggled
Coherent, lengthy rushed reflections view a freed apostle

Yo
If it's easy come, then it's easy go
Try to keep me even so
Completely flow freely
Feed the needy dough
Pleading, "Believe me",
See the greedy show,
Then freak the leave-alone

That was forever ago
It's better to know
I'm letting it go
The me of now helps up the ledge me of yesterday

Who I am and
What I was
Skew-eyed cameras
Bugged because
I was there but where in spirit?
Present: rarely was near it.

At a shore inspiring worship at sighting's glance
Adopted family's fighting chance
Incite this writing's stance

So when they give you hell
Take and outlive it well
When compelled, go dispel intel that they propel and sell

First 100,000 teach the next 100,000.
Keep the tunnel barracks crowded 'til your enemy's surrounded and surrenders.
Never be a pretender for a pastime cash crime.
I did my best.
I exhale for the last time

A bird was flying near my ear 'round the year I enlisted.
The tune it sang was loud and clear through my fear it persisted.
Couldn't make out the words in terms of nouns and verbs
but heard it as a call out on my bluffing.
It didn't have the type of voice to say, "things will be OK if you don't do nothing."
First time I heard another call me "brother", meant something
but that was when we had forever to grow.
It's better to know.
I'm letting it go.
The me of now helps up the ledge the me of yesterday.
Track Name: Somewhere (Epilogue) [For Faith]
Who I am is escorted into a new form
Last breath out of the dust becomes a newborn
No Earthly sensations
No perfect nation
No certainty stated
Just a guiding force providing the course
A righteous source
Tours of memories, present, precious moments, and ending scenes
Things that waited up for me until now to be contently seen
The grace in every happening casually captured, recapped for me
Miraculous fearfully got the ear of me, near to me
Wisdom dispelled from a knowledge of forever known and witnessed empirically
Eternity known personally
Infinite spent intimately in intense repentance
I'm intent on it, humbled
Inventions of dimensions limited mocked; imitants stumbled
Weightless in all of time and space
Facing it worshiping
Never hungry, never alone, never burdened, or burdening
I prefer to sing becoming a part of every color all at once, and part nothing, becoming knowing as I become care going somewhere.