Chapters
Act I Heart of Darkness·Pain

“Bitter Apple” Part I

Fiction. Based on a True Business Trip to the Big Apple. 5 minute read

Construction

“We are the dreamers of a dream.”

-Dr. Martin Luther King

Is this the dream or is this the reality?

You stand on the platform and sees a sea of souls asleep, on a train line made of steel that goes from one end of the city to another, day and night. The train line does not sleep, but the people who walk the streets are deadened to the spirit because of the hexes, spells, and curses that the beast system is perpetuating.

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Is this the dream or is this the reality?

You are an artist. You do not tolerate this reality as reality because the reality is that this “reality” is the actually the dream. 

You come from another place.

An artist walks in the silence and begins flooding the atmosphere with life. His intention is to wake everyone up, if just for a moment, but some of them have judgements that have bounded them too hard to take notice of his intention.

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Some are annoyed because the voices in some heads say, “Get a real job, like me, toiling for 13 hour days to afford the small box I call my home.” Other head voices say, “You’re awesome, but I’m too shy to break out of my character that I have molded myself to be.” While others are so immersed in their text, their FB share, their CNN news that they don’t take notice to the art that now penetrate the atmosphere.

The man goes around asking the people to spare some change.

While others think he is asking for money, you recognize that he is asking for a different type of change.

The gesture is not for the dollar; It is the soulcry to command value for the artist.

And it matters to you because you recognize that all the people in this subway are artists, some have given up their dreams and others, the fire is flickering like a candle facing the desert wind.

The artist who is dancing is the most awake, other than yourself, the observer. Because your art is in multimedia journaling and his is in the physical manifestation of his body. The two of you are free in this moment.

He is asking for the change that Tupac, Biggie, and our Grandmaster Greats have asked for:

Change.

Can you spare some change?

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You realize you overshot your stop. You were supposed to go to Supper Club at Smoke Jazz, but by the time you got out you realize that you went the opposite direction. You were supposed to be at upper east side Manhattan, but now you’re in Downtown, only a few blocks to the Museum of Moving Images.
Fuck it, you tell yourself.
Go with randomness.
You think about the Harlequins inside The Traveler who go with the flow of randomness as a survival tactic, and you flatter yourself for a quick moment and make the comparison of training how to be one.
Let Go, Let God.
Perhaps this is a test of faith?
Let Your will be done, not mine.
The violin sings for itself.
A confirmation.
You’re on the right track.

Empire God commissioned You

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