Lyrics tell the story straight from the artist heart. There are no rules governing what can and will be written down in the pursuit of getting a point or points across. There are no language barriers that can withstand the grammatical assault of an artist intent on causing a sure reaction from the audience, and for that matter from any other human being or other force of nature.

  Every word or set of words can set up a situation, develop it, and eventually swing away with anything from a gentle feather-lashing to a brutal masochistic assault. Lyrics can make us happy, sad, angry, dismayed, confused, relieved, anxious, and well, you get the picture. Those emotions are just the tip of the mental iceberg though. I have to go on just a bit to include infuriated, suicidal, and even murderous.

  Artists have been defending themselves for their brainchildren for years. There will always be someone out there who is so offended by what they hear that they march it right up to the United States Congress. Artists are ever thankful for the likes of Dee Snyder of Twisted Sister who went to Capitol Hill with a properly polished baseball bat and hit an unforgettable home run! Other less fortunate artists have found themselves railroaded into court and lashed with judgments for the actions of others.

  Profanity is a nasty little nine letter word. It represents a class of words and phrases that easily offend most yet just as easily entertain others. You don’t see porn playing on billboards around town, do you? You shouldn’t have to hear blatant profanity blaring from car radios either. I can stand a screaming guitar but some people just can’t. I can’t stand “~!@#$%^&*=?><*-***%%%$$$###@@@*****” repeated over and over and audible from five miles away. Still, I can relate to those who love to listen to that kind of thing. It’s them enjoying their youth. I did it with an LP collection and a very powerful home stereo system back in the early 80s. Heavy Metal was my choice of entertainment. There is a proper time and place for an artist to inject profanity into a song. The trick is to find that placement without littering the sound-scape all about with unnecessary fodder for legal cannons.

  I have written very little material containing profanity. I just never really thought about it much. My emotional injections into lyrical passages rarely found me worked up enough to do so. To date I’ve had to place a parental advisory on an album cover only once. Still, I know that the very subject matter of some of my songs may find me at odds with some if not most parents.

  Yes, lyrics tell the story. Friends and enemies alike are invited to listen and pass judgment. In the end it’s the provoked reaction itself that vindicates the artist. If it stirs any kind of emotional response at all, then it is a success. Any instance of no reaction is deemed an instance of failure.

7-30-2010

  “There is no new thing under the sun.” Ecclesiastes 1:9

  That bible passage certainly applies to artistic creation. How many of the songs that we enjoy today are actually re-makes or ‘cover tunes’? Musical historians no doubt take pride in following the life of songs which are firstly born at some point in the past and then end up being released time and time again by subsequent artist. Granted, there are new songs released on a daily basis but, given the nature of music in general, there are only so many ways to string together notes, chords, and progressions. Orchestral knowledge is always an artists’ friend.

  A little known trend involves present day artists sitting down to listen to the latest ‘hit’. They dissect it in search for the key elements that make it memorable. Once they identify the magic parts the proceed to dice them up and reassemble them into what they hope will be a new hit. Word cadences are sometimes preserved one-hundred percent while the actual words are completely different. The music might be sped up or slowed down. The order of the notes, chords, and progressions is toggled into something that any artists would hope would stave off charges of copywrite infringement. What we get is something that might sound different yet feel the same or sounds the same yet feels different, or even sounds and feels anywhere from very similar to vaguely similar. It’s no crime to search for inspiration in such a manner but it still feels a bit wrong.

  When I first became aware of this practice I had my doubts. I have yet to employ such techniques in my own artistic endeavors but after several conversations with fellow networkers I am leaning that way evermore slightly. I fully realize now that over the years I have been exposed to musicians who do this either on purpose or quite accidentally. Re-wording a song and turning it into a platform as a comedic piece, ala ‘Weird Al’ is obviously not something without precedent. Neither is mutating a song into some other type of tune, especially if that new tune can stand on its own.

  Covering other artists’ tunes is a way to display ones talents as a performer. If you can pull it off well enough, you stand to gain notoriety. There are several dangers that might have to be a part of the contemplation of such a feat. Firstly, you will either be capturing the same instrumental tones of the original, or some later ‘cover’ version. Secondly, you might want to step out a bit farther and inject some section of your own originality at some point or points in the performance. Five Finger Death Punch’s recent cover of “Bad Company” is one current pinnacle of how to do the latter with sheer style. However the task is approached it must be done with conviction and an attention to flavor and with the utmost respect for the artist and the tune you’re covering.

  I have yet to record a single cover in my musical career. All along I have learned a few of my favorites and jammed them on guitar from time to time. When the day comes that I actually do I am well aware of the legal territory I will have to go through. Getting written permission might be all that is required in some cases. Paying a fee will more than likely be the case. Either way, the original writers, performers, and whoever owns the rights will have to be listed in the liner notes.

  Over the last six years or so of writing and recording I have rarely entertained thoughts about how original my material might be. I just keep doing what I like. Perchance something should end up too similar to somebody else’s song, I’ll just cross that bridge when I get there. Until then, my bliss is my heart and soul swimming in an ocean of ‘muses’.

“The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be; and that which is done is that which shall be done: and there is no new thing under the sun.”

8-9-2010

  And so it was a vacation to remember. I did not accomplish everything I sat out to do, but I did accomplish some things with a fair amount of satisfaction. I drove to the Galleria Mall in Houston and spent a few hundred dollars on my main ‘muse’. Her smiles made parting with so much cash under one roof worth every bit of the effort. The fact that she did not find everything she went looking for made shopping in Victoria the next two days even more satisfying. Dinner at Carinos’ and a whole double lemon cake with mascarpone crème filling was, and still is, a sweet, and tangible icing! Suffice it to say, we spent more in Victoria than in Houston. There is still no place like home!

  As for more of my own satisfaction, I finished some album cover art and released the ninth of my all original creations. No crossing of fingers here though, I’m just happy to have put it out there. In all, bills got paid, and I’m still not broke. That has to count for something, right?

Releasing albums full of music is a perk of my life I will not soon cease to enjoy. As long as the muses move me, I will respond to their winds with sails full and a light heart. The course is randomly chosen and music is a challenging sea to be set upon always.

8-15-2010

  As long as the ideas are cascading from my synapses I will keep up the fervor and try to capture as much as I can in writing and recording. There comes a time though when even my active imagination wears me out physically. ‘Burn-out’ is what it’s sometimes called, and it can happen to anyone. I think I’m pretty close but you never know for sure. It’s a proverbial thing like a brick wall, last straw, over the edge, or one of many clichés.

  When creativity gets overcooked the chef usually doesn’t even notice until its way too late. There are no smoking pans or cracking Pyrex, no sizzling goo or even alarms going off. No, when it happens not even the dwindling patronage is noticed.

  Artists can easily run along with blinders on in the throes of creation. The sparks fly in abundance and the heart soars with every crash of the hammer onto the anvil. The din of creativity saturates the senses and nothing else can cut thru it. Lucidity of thought rarely checks in and the world outside carries on oblivious of the tumultuous and gleeful ‘rapture’ going on in the artists’ soul.

  The eighties was a time of epic creativity for metal bands. There was a scene in many cities wherein any band with a song could pull in a crowd for a night of decadence and ribald. Limits to stage shows were non-existent and venue size was the only means of ‘loose’ crowd control. The LA scene was one of the most prolific and many bands jostled about for stage time while living off little money and yet still recording album after album of fresh new music.

  The saying goes, “all good things must come to an end”, and it was true for the metal music of the eighties. The decadence culminated in a heap of strung out, burnouts, alcoholics and drug addicts, as well as ‘old-before-their-time’, diseased, or even dead individuals. Some maintained fame posthumously while others simply got thru it all with their lives, if not their health, intact. That hallowed city in California wasn’t the only place that saw the machine of heavy metal plow thru. It just became the poster child for everything that was happening in metal at the time.

  I had my share of decadent enjoyment throughout the eighties. Legasys played a few shows in backyards and on a few stages. There was no ‘scene’ for a band such as ours to speak of yet, we still seemed to draw crowds and praise. We worked diligently at our craft and never took our abilities for granted. We taught each other confidence and felt the energy of the crowds together.

  We also wallowed in the decadence. Beer and stronger spirits flowed freely and to this day I’m still not sure of who was on what as far as mind altering went. I knew what drugs I was taking but as for anybody else, let’s just say I couldn’t see any real problems. Groupies weren’t a problem either. I could have taken my share of those but I was with a girl I really believed in at the time. After all was said and done, and we did a lot, the eighties didn’t last, the band didn’t last, and neither did the girl. The only thing left now is the music. That’s one thing I’ll never give up on. It means too much to me.

8-16-2010

  There are enumerable ideas on back burners in my mind. They exist as a dark fog in the distance within my mind’s eye. They percolate slowly in a soupy roil of thought balloons that are filled with words, images, and sounds. In the grand arena of my thoughts, they hover at the fulcrum of light and darkness. Little effort is required and the space they actually take up is small but nonetheless, they are important.

  Aside from the usual senses, there are mental faculties that we each have stirring things about in our heads. The input from the outside world can sometimes influence these traits and trains of thought in many ways. Our acuities of the future can be sharpened, dulled, glossed over, or even erased by our experiences from the real world. Portentous feelings are mostly fragile wisps, but they can sometimes loom thickly like sheens of burned molasses. That dark foreboding just over your shoulder pushes into your synapses. It settles in like sandpaper against your retina and wraps a dull pain about your cephalic case.

  I have some of that foreboding right now. Of course there’s no telling what it will eventually evolve into, but still, there it is, hovering just out of my mental eye. Such a thing always feels like something huge. A bit of mental vertigo always accompanies it for me. It also feels much like a crazy wide-angle zoom lens effect going on in my mind.

  I’m not a true fan of mental dizziness but that’s as close as I can come to really describing it in a fashion I readily understand. The specter is easy to recognize for what it is but accepting it with any comfort is impossible. All I can do is languish in serenity and maintain a soothing level of semi-ignorance. It’s a game of attention without thought, and broad awareness focused on the entire world around me.

At my current level of contemplation one minute track of thought is an attempt at resolution of any possible future occurrence. Maybe it’s just a nearing culmination or melding of a lot of different ideas into a coherent and useable form. Maybe it’s a mental finger on the pulse of the human race. Then again, maybe it’s just me. All I do know is that it’s swelling slowly like a lumbering thunderstorm and the intermittent discharges are beginning to annoy me. Methinks a muse is definitely making mental waves across my ocean of thought.

8-18-2010

  When fantasy and reality collide they will release infinite energy. Clouds of plasma will propagate and elements will fuse and fission apart. The reactions will spread out along the electromagnetic spectrum and in an instant they will transcend infinitely beyond. Although the two protagonists will only be composed of anything less than the building blocks of hydrogen, there will suddenly be elements far in abundance of the periodic table. Worlds will be born to be populated, heroes will be born to defend, villains will be born to be defeated, emotions will be born to be felt, and grand vistas will be born to be discovered.

  Physical laws will coalesce on whims, giving structure to possibilities. Adventures will have outcomes loosely dictated by whimsical interventions. Great storms of ideas will build up complex vortices and expunge each moment in delicate, yet convictive sequence. Threads of thought will meander with wide purpose and weave into coherent lattices. Birth and death will find their places between infinite opposites and within those finite days minds will run at full throttle and belch out a thick exhaust of thought.

  Success will flit nearby like summer dragonflies daring to be caught. Failure will scurry about like blind rhinoceroses charging every sound. Characters will engage in strenuous dances of life, struggling after dragonflies while dodging rhinos.

  Multitudes are comprised of solitudes. Interactions are the battering rams against the walls of solitude. Multitudes must learn every aspect of each solitary part they are comprised of. When they do the crowd becomes one. Should one solitary party rise above the multitude, then the multitude may never reach the goal of solidarity. If they alienate the solitary hero they condemn themselves to the whims tragedy. If they embrace the hero they transcend and glimpse a far better goal.

I whirled like a dervish across the world-wide-web. When I finally slowed down enough to catch a breath, I found my handful of mailboxes filling up with correspondence. Some was generated by AI and were notifications of activity. Others were sparks of conversation from friends, fans, family, and other artist. Then of course there were the e-mails that wanted to help me with anything from my car insurance to things way too personal to divulge here.

  When I open a mailbox and see over four-thousand unread items the first thing that goes thru my mind is ‘great!’, and ‘let’s network!’ I feel giddy as I jump off into the unknown and start filtering things. The luster quickly wears off though and soon I have a thousand pieces of junk in the trash can.

  The real gems come thru though. Be they friends, family, fans, artists, or affiliates of A.O.G. Media, I enjoy communicating back and forth, and one good interaction can make any artists day.

  About this ‘whirling’ thing, I shot off in a few hundred different directions and signed onto as many websites as I could. That alone really got my material out there. The downside was of course the rapidly filling mailboxes and the chinks in my security software caused by so much ‘gallivanting’ about the ‘www’. There are many attempts that I can easily thwart by simply recognizing the address on the unopened item. There are however, many more items that show up coming from deviously ingenious malcontents.

  The real world and the cyber world are two distinct worlds that co-exist beside one another. They frequently intertwine in their day to day activities and each has a direct effect on the other. Both are playgrounds with profound consequences for anyone lacking the ability to safeguard their personal information. If you’re planning on spreading out across the web with whatever it is you may do, plan on spending the effort to maintain a solid defense against attack. Not all cyber attacks come from the cyber world and not all real world attacks come from the real world. As I said before, the two worlds interact, and often. Keep your bearings at all times.

7-27-2010

  Creative lulls are the respite of artists. When the juices don’t flow some react to the lack of creativity with increased tension or frustration. Anger is just a stone’s throw away or closer. Hope maybe beyond the horizon and out of mind or it may have its warm tendrils gently wrapped about our shoulders like a comforting shawl.

  What do you do when the notes, hues, textures, words, or moves don’t materialize? This is the playground of forebode. Apprehension flowers in abundance and we reach desperately into the ether where there is nothing to latch onto. Emotions lock into a nauseating spiral and something that’s not quite vertigo pounds our thoughts into dull discombobulated heaps.

  Like many other human experiences creativity blocks foster a retinue of emotional stages. Death comes to mind, in all its profundity. Unlike that dark specter, we mostly survive to see another day.

  Once our minds, and souls, have run that gamut of disaster we re-set our mental shoulders and pull our brows back down. We get a reign back into our teeth and start a focused chorus of kicking and spurring. Though nothing may come of our exertions just yet, we forge ahead. Dismay is never far away from the thought processes of an artist.

  Wallowing in the funk of a creativity blockage can go on for nanoseconds, or for many years. The artists’ own personality will dictate the length of time it takes to restart the engines of imagination.

 As long as there are dreams to dream and thoughts to think, muses will dance out their mysterious steps of inspiration. Their pleasures are the flows of creativity they inspire. In that regard, they are always insatiable.

7-27-2010-B

  Following tried and truly tested formulas is one way to produce something entertaining. Diving down a steep staircase, so to speak, is also another. Either technique can be employed on its own or in some hybrid mixture along with the other. Whatever you end up with should be something that has never existed before, or at least a portion of it should be.

 Audiences have needed to be entertained throughout the ages. From the first vocalizations of early humans beneath the stars, to the hallowed spaces of sold out arenas filled with musical thunder, the human race has a knack for taking things ‘to the next level’.

  Our minds are programmed for music. Music is a part of the hard wiring that completes our brains. Even though not all of us are musically inclined, most can hum a bar or two. Nowadays we have many, many cool tools at our disposal with which to entertain ourselves.

  With all forms of artistic expression there is the mystique of the performance. Be it a gallery showing, on-site erection, daredevil stunt, or any number of public or private displays, if there is enough uniqueness to the act people are willing to be the audience.

  So, what might the next level be in the world of music? For that matter, what might it be for film, art, or any other form of entertainment? We get bored with things being ‘just so’ for too long. We begin to crave more. We want more volume. We want brighter colors. We want more chapters, episodes, bigger and bigger productions. We don’t want those who bring us these things in every way shape or form to get comfortable with what they are doing. We force them to go beyond what they have ever done in the past. In all of this cacophonous and symphonic attack on our senses it seems few purveyors can actually keep up, save for advertising agencies.

  The human voice has come from a series of grunts in the wilderness to beautifully songbird-like styling that crosses multiple octaves. Audience’s preferences run the gamut from silky smooth soft emotional to guttural low register screaming. None of the range of the human voice has been left untouched by the artists of today. Likewise, no form of artistic expression has been left to languish in its form for too long. Once the crowd gets bored it’s well past the time to go out on a limb and try something different, new, and fresh.

  Look for unique parings in the future of things which would seem ‘un-mixable’. Different forms of art will soon merge together in far more expressive ways than ever before. The psychedelic backdrop projections of the sixties and seventies will pale beside walls of hi-def screens and realistic graphics. Holograms and other smoke and mirrors will become deeper integrations. You may find yourself interacting with the artists themselves thru digital proxy, or mechanical tele-presence. Technology has the lead and has kicked up a rooster-tail between the constellations. It’s up to the artists to throttle-up and thread the right pylons.

  Generals had gathered around a small table in near darkness. Subdued glows from nearby wafted lazy shadows over every face. There were by this time very few of them left.

  “We have thrown out every sensor sweep we have at these boys since they arrived.” General Port was uncharacteristically un-animated as he sat back in a squeaky folding-chair. “Have any of our ‘geeks’ discovered anything useful?”

  “Dr. Starb is on the way down right now.” General Gray informed from Ports’ immediate left.

  They were a full mile below the earth’s surface. Death Valley lay above and intermittent rumblings were not seismic events. Eyes were locked on the senior general and furrowed brows ran all around the table. A small alarm sounded and a door slid open at the far end of the room.

“Dr. Starb, welcome aboard. What can you tell us?” General Port spoke with a defused ‘bark’.

  The frail little scientist walked up the end of the table and adjusted his glasses before speaking. “Ahem!” The dry air down here told him the ventilation system was failing. “The alien’s modes of transportation are very interesting.” Generals adjusted themselves in preparation for a long speech. “All analysis has uncovered very strange things indeed.”

  “We need to know everything, and quickly Doctor. It may already be too late.” General Nickson spoke up from halfway down the table.

  “Of course General,” Dr. Starb dropped a rather thick folder he had been carrying behind his back squarely onto the end of the table. Glasses of water, or whatever, rippled in the mute light. “These boys are ‘heavy’. The space time continuum is distorted ever so slightly in their immediate vicinity. I’ve ran the calculations myself with all known material specs and found a rather interesting curve along the periodic table. Still, I have no idea what they are made of. Scanners freely penetrate the materials and energy shields but all reflections returned are far less energetic than they should be.”

  A few eyes narrowed in their sockets.

  The Doctor went on, “A detailed analysis made from sensor and live video feeds during our initial attacks revealed that some of the electromagnetic and kinetic energies from our weapons were actually absorbed into the discs. With every impact or stand-off detonation a pressure wave of gravity force emanated from each. They got heavier for a fraction of a second with each energy absorption event.”

  General Juarez spoke up. “You mean to tell us that they got stronger, or heavier, the more we attacked?”

Dr. Starb dipped his head slightly in acknowledgement. “Exactly general,” he began, “They didn’t absorb everything but what they did absorb seemed to strengthen them. There were also noticeable sound pressure level increases each time this happened.”

  A particularly violent shockwave sped thru the darkened facility. Dust sifted down thru a small crack in the ceiling.

  “What about their ‘instruments’ appearing and disappearing?” General Port asked.

  “There has to date, been no instance in which any of their ‘tools’ were seen to be used as weapons. As for the way they deploy and store them, it’s either smoke and mirrors or,” he paused for effect, “flat plane technology.”

  A round of ‘guffaws’ and ‘harrumphs’ went across the table in loose unison as another concussion shook the room.

  Starb continued. “The energy bands now circling the earth are some form of very exotic plasma. It cycles randomly thru odd harmonic frequencies and there may be a correlation between frequencies and density. Nothing I’ve tried can lock onto the proprietary frequencies. The Cray in the basement here is even useless in that regard.”

  Hard sighs made rounds at the table.

  Starb went on. “It’s my guess that we got lucky when we thought we’d found an angle thru their shields. Up to that point most of our attacks were simply attritions. The nano-timing of the EMP and fusion blast may have hurt them but, I think it also just made them angry.”

  There was a long pause.

  “Gentlemen,” General Port addressed them all. “We have one option left.” He studied the raised brows all about him. “Doctor Starb here has a few pounds of antimatter stored on site. He informed me of this today and I ordered him to set up a containment breech.” Port motioned to Starb.

  The doctor stepped outside and returned after a few seconds wheeling a cumbersome metal box that barley fit thru the door. He entered a code on a small outside panel and all four walls silently slid upwards. Inside was a crystal canister about a meter long. It held a snowstorm of what looked to be multicolored cotton-balls that danced to some unknown rhythm.

  As all eyes zeroed in on the spectacle every other light was extinguished suddenly as another shockwave rippled thru. Several sets of lungs inhaled sharply yet no one said a word until Starb spoke up.

  “General Port,” He began. “With your permission?” His hand fell onto a simple valve on one end of the cylinder.

  The general nodded slowly, and then put his head into his hands on the table top.

  Not one man present noticed the electric taste in the air as the doctor pulled the valve open. Only afterwards did that unique flavor become apparent. It also was quickly obvious that they were all still very much alive. The antimatter in the containment vessel should have annihilated everything out to the ohrt-cloud.

  Mouths were forming words but long before any synapses could initiate the actions another ominous glow superseded the anti-matter. With a low frequency crackle a thin loop of blue energy leapt from opposite corners of the door. It wrapped itself around the open bottle of anti-matter and dipped a portion of itself inside. As it did so the sound of a rock band plowing thru an epic tune seemed to rain down from the desert far above. The anti-matter began to fade from the jar. All eyes darted to and from about the room. Looks of frustration and panic, dismay and confusion, all cycled across faces. Everyone present became aware that their atoms were being deconstructed and the hiss of loosed quantum foam was the last thing they heard.

  Serene looking sprites of blue flame danced on the waters’ surface like flowers exploding open. Steam wafted all around and the energy beams streamed away in four directions, still encircling the earth. The band was silent now, all standing stoically on their stages, heads bowed. They seem an epitomization of the calm before the storm. They had weathered a few ‘man-made’ storms recently. There was still the sizzle of freed energies in the air and a slight metallic breeze scattered hot mist away.

  Small white lights blinked into existence around the four stages and swelled into fist-sized balls. They fell away and were replaced by new lights. The resulting cascade fell onto the ocean and raced away between the fingers of azure fire towards the horizon. Each of the stages slid over into a respective beam and melded with it. The thrumming grew much louder and Drum began a snare roll. He accented it with rim-shots and his beam danced thru a spectrum of colors with each rapport. Guitar and Bass both hit their guitars with all strings open. Those grating tones decayed into fierce feedbacks that they let ring on. Their beams danced in multi-colored splendor. Singer was silent but his microphone was screaming along to the rest of the band with an ultra high whistle. Presently the entire length of all four beams began to rotate, sweeping around the entire globe. Singer shot away first down the length of his beam. He was followed a moment later by Drum on his own beam. Then Bass was gone down his. Guitar was the last to flit away. Four sonic booms shattered the calmness in succession. On the other side of the world they passed the sand ball, one by one. A few miles from the intersection, Singer and Drum, or Bass and Guitar spiraled around one another in opposite directions. They transited multiple mach barriers and Guitar started the intro to “Bring It On”. The four visitors zipped around the earth faster and faster. They blurred into the beams which fattened up considerably and the rest of the band kicked in.

  From the decks of every ship crew members watched the dazzle just above become wide swaths of sizzling light. A few turrets took pot-shots without effect. A few missiles were fired but none could lock on to a target. Then the visitors began ‘their’ attack.

  As one beam raced over the horizon it bent down in one place and collided with a destroyer. Metal degenerated into sub-atomic fire and the ocean turned to spray as surface tension gave way to the super-sonic dust that was once a steel ship. The next beam took another target and produced the same result. And so, it went on, ship after ship was obliterated in spectacular fashion. The beams were whipping down with perfect accuracy. Cracking the next sound barrier in the process and leaving only rapidly expanding clouds of grey and white mist. The visitors were picking them off one by one. All around the world, and piece by piece, mankind’s machines of war were being disintegrated. The band played on as loud as ever and never missed a beat. They were ‘bringing it on’.

The Rocknauts Part X

  The human race had thrown everything it had at the visitors with little or no effect. Around the world every visible piece of war waging hardware had been reduced to quantum particulate. Still the energy bands whipped across the face of the earth, and still the band played on.

  The energy bands undulated in feint maneuvers here and there, looking for another target to make itself known. After a while another song began.

  In the depths of military bunkers generals sighed in disappointment, mulling over their devastating losses. Not one was ready to admit defeat without another ‘shot’, or attempt at one. A handful, here and there had one more futile gesture to make. Satellites and silos were warming up for missile launches. Two sets of coordinates were uploading into perspective targeting solution processors. One last act of defiance would soon ensue.

  Singer was in the chorus section belting out a message.

(Chorus as intro)

“The blind man scans the stars.

The mute man sings a song.

The deaf man hears the music,

That the cripple man dances to,

In the moment of truth.”

(Verse-1)

Way back in yesterday, a days’ labor, for a days’ pay. The sweat on your back, was a simple fact. Food on the table, pillow under head. A mans’ word, was all that he had. Now look how quickly man forgets.

(Chorus here)

(Verse-2)

Lawyers, politicians, black and white smear into grey. Although you read, it’s legalese. It’s all an act, stabs you in the back. They twist the blade, so many ways. Can you forgive them and forget?

(Bridge)

Forked and silver, many tongues. Laying waste to everyone. Change the rules, in the game. Lead you right, into the flames.

(Chorus here)

(Lead out)

             (words, music, and arrangement by: Jose’ Diaz)

Guitar danced his finger upon the fret-board. The tones were distorted and dirty yet the chord progressions were eloquent and memorable.

Bass and Drum held down the tight rhythm section.

  Thousands of silos commenced the eruption of their deadly packages skyward, and hundreds of satellites purged themselves of their doomsday magazines. Not a single device was countered by the energy bands. Warmongers found elation and renewed hope that this volley might succeed where all else had failed. Contrails streaked onto courses bound for opposite hemispheres.

  The first reaction from the Rocknauts was a simple increase in volume. Their energy bands were still flashing rapidly along their circuit. On the night side of earth they chased away every shadow. On the day side they were equally as affective. The second reaction came soon thereafter. Each band of exotic power suddenly flattened vertically and extended upwards to create a wall. The bright ‘paddles’ extended quickly beyond the moons orbit and faded in intensity once past that point. Knots of multi-colored flashes peppered each wall of light and with one quarter of a sweep every inbound device was pulverized. Staccato thunderclaps raced thru the atmosphere and sheets of shooting stars swept across the skies.

  Thus was the end of war for mankind. Their weapons reduced to dust, their armies wiped away like so much talcum, and still their generals screamed out in defiance from their buried citadels.

  The four-bladed paddle-wheel deconstructed itself back down to the original four energy conduits. The cello-like thrum eased off to what was probably a normal roar. The flicker of light and the resultant shadow display continued to strobe across the planet. Ever so deftly, the bands began to decelerate. The Rocknauts kept playing but slowed their speed to sub-sonic. They each came to a stop along with their circuits above the equator and began to tip their stages left and right. The energy bands undulated to their rhythmic motion and the Rocknauts began to move along their bands.

  Drum approached a small mountain range and battered out a rolling ‘fill’ for the song being played. His band lurched along longitudinally and from his right a bow of it dropped down and connected with the rocky range. Where it disappeared into the ground plasma erupted in fury. The prominence split into two and diverged. Some length of the beam arched thru the depths of the mountain range and shockwaves rolled down every face. Dust bore witness to avalanches, professing that something deep within had been violently destroyed. The separate visible ‘ends’ of the beam re-converged and the filament of destruction lifted up and away from the still trembling peaks.

  Guitar, Bass, and Singer all repeated Drums’ actions around the world. Generals and other defiant leaders soon found that there was no place to hide. The Rocknauts even struck reserve missiles and other stockpiles of ordinance. Research and development facilities also hidden deep underground were targets just as easily rendered moot. Down to the darkest and deepest secrets of mankind’s trysts with the follies of destruction, not one thing was spared.  

The Rocknauts Part XI

  The Rocknauts left the now stable energy bands behind and went into high-orbit over the North Pole. The exotic ribbons slowly faded to a dull red and along with them the humming low end ‘D’ note also waned away. When they finally winked out of existence only the two spheres of sand and water were left. They hovered motionless over their prospective opposite points of the globe.

  The remnants of humanity were breathing collective sighs and taking some notice of the differences now manifested upon their world. The air was filled with the burnt smell of metal, scalded water, and many other things that could only be wondered at. A thick overtone of ozone was apparent as well. In slow electronic motion, radio stations crackled back onto the air. Test patterns flickered out of television screens. Intercoms and playback devices began to work properly again. If there was a normalcy to get back to, no one on earth could have possibly known what that might be.

  “We will leave you to yourselves.” Singer cut thru the airwaves once again. It wasn’t a clean intrusion like before. This time he message simply seeped through a background of normal broadcasts and communications chatter. A weather report could still be heard and understood just beneath his voice on a station in Hawaii.

  “We came from farther away than any of you could possibly imagine. You are not the first world we have visited. We have laid many armies to waste because they deserved to be treated as they treated us. It is better to remove such infestations from a planet than to let it be. Such sickness always destroys a world eventually. Here is your chance to build a world together in peace. I caution you to rebuild your arms wisely. You may well need them in the future. We are not the only ones out here. We are only the first to arrive.

  Your atmosphere is crippled. Your magnetic field is weakened. Your water is fouled with poisons, some of which are our doing, but much of which is by your own hand. We will repair all the damage that has been done as we leave. What you eventually mature to be, is now in your hands. There are no other species out here that will help you along the way. To the contrary, there are many that would rather see your demise. So, get on with it! Forever won’t stand by!”

  And so, the final song began to play. Thunderclaps circled the globe once more as both spheres shattered, releasing their now highly exotic payloads. Small wisps of energy scattered on the winds like dandelion seeds. The air in their wake tickled everything back to normal. The waters of the ocean returned to a crisp clean blue. The air regained a moist freshness it had not had in centuries. Greenery seemed to be brighter. Clouds were fluffier and rain was far sweeter than it had ever been. The only evidence that anything had happened at all was the slight glow on the face of the moon, and the millions of warriors who would never come home.

(Verse-1)

How good is good? How mean is mean? Do you forgive, or just forget? Do you refuse, though you lose? Do you give in, and let them win?

(Pre-1)

You have spread your wings, as far as you could. You’re bending ion the wind, as the storm settles in.

(Verse-2)

How gainful is gain? How painful is pain? Have you been giving, your best? This is life, and not a test.

(Pre-2)

You have lived your life, as best as you could. You’ve carried yourself far, like you always dreamed you would.

(Chorus-1)

But forever won’t stand by. Forever won’t stand by.

(Lead to Verse music)

(Pre-3)

You aim for the stars, but it seems to do no good. The lightening fills the sky, as the days pass you by.

(Chorus-2)

Forever won’t stand by. (4X)

(Lead out)

(Words, music, arrangement by: Jose’ Diaz)

  From northern latitudes four bright points of light were seen shooting away from the earth in formation. They plunged out of sight into deep space. The visitors were gone. They left a clean slate upon which mankind could take a better educated shot at becoming something worthwhile.

  They also left another gift unlike any other. On every hard drive and every computer processing chip, in every electronic device, and even down to calculators and of course cell phones, a packet that could be accessed but took up no room. It held three-thousand songs. A lot of them were familiar to the people of earth. It was no less than a gift of amusing muses for the people of a new world.

THE END?

  Over the next several days the Rocknauts played many different songs. Each was broadcast around the world and each was unique in its own right with a message that was conveyed with volume and conviction.

  Fleets of warships began to congregate in the vicinity. Flags from many nations flew proudly in defiance of the visitors. Aircraft circled high overhead and watched with electronic eyes. Satellites did the same.

  At some point, several test shots were fired at the energy strings. The effect was just as useless as any other attack had been. Someone with a ‘cooler head’ had ordered a surveillance drone to fly slowly thru one of the bright ribbons. It passed thru without incident and after the results were verified several ships drifted their superstructures thru. If any electronic anomalies occurred, no one was willing to share secrets.

  The Rocknauts were just into the intro of a soft tune when the first ships revved up and began to tack away. They ignored the out-of-the-ordinary development and played on. 

  After a day or so the horizon was a broken line affair with all the various ships keeping station just at the vertex of sea and sky. After so many millions of tons of ordinance had been expended with no affect it had to be wondered, what did the powers of earth have left? The answer came soon enough. Two cruise-missiles leapt up from one ship at the horizon. They arched over and settled down over the ocean at ten feet. Neck and neck, they kicked in boosters and lurched toward the ball of water. The Rocknauts ignored them. Two blinding flashes flowered together at the base of the sphere. The energy strings sputtered off and on for a few seconds as the E.M.P. and hydrogen weapons released their full yield. The music stopped abruptly and the four stages wobbled loosely out of formation.

  Singer had fallen to his knees screaming in pain as the plasma ball expanded outward for two miles before lifting skyward. It took a wall of seawater with it. The glow gone, a heavy rain shrouded the scene but everyone heard singer exclaim, “Now, that hurt!”

  Guitar and Bass had collapsed atop their stages and Drum was slumped over his kit. The energy bands flickered back to their original intensity and each visitor regained their composure with heads shaking and eyes fluttering.

  “Re-polarize!” Bass screamed.

  “Got it!” Drum informed.

  A pulse of multicolored emissions raced away along the beams as a wave of more missiles left the horizon. The sea in and around the target zone was still boiling when everything arrived. The electromagnetic spectrum crackled in protest to the torrential cascade of man-made pulses and fusion detonations. The staccato-bursts of light made the sun appear black in a white-hot sky. In mere moments a gurgling mass of yellow-red plasma was stabbing upwards and outwards, pushing the earth’s atmosphere ahead of it in a shockwave that bulged into the vacuum of space. Contrails marking the paths of each missile undulated on the pressure wave that raced away from the scene. As the bottom of the plasma wall lifted the ocean below exploded into a rich multicolored flame accented by dissolved solids.

  The Rocknauts had been hurt by the first two simultaneous detonations, but they had not been beaten. Their patience on the other hand, had finally run out.

  The whole world was listening in anticipation, rollicking in the ‘mood’, or waiting in fear for whatever would come next. The tension was building to a head like a coiled magnetic field. Something was about to break and every soul on earth knew it, ‘felt’ it, and either looked forward to or dreaded it.

  Suddenly all four stages shot away from point-zero trailing a bright white distortion behind. The sphere of hyper-excited sand grew a halo of the same light and seemed to be a tether point where the four ‘beams’ anchored. The music played on as each stage transited multiple mach barriers. Booming shockwaves propagated and their edges melded into one another to create eerie harmonics and hauntingly metallic echoes.

  In mere minutes all four stages converged over the Pacific Ocean near Hawaii. They fell into a tight precise circle. They were a total blur without any distinction between who was who and each trail of white light remained like a neon grid-mark. The fuzzy ball settled slowly towards the sea surface and the water below began to be affected strangely. A bulge of salty brine was lifting up toward the light. It was a bright cobalt-blue with soft multi-colored cotton-ball-like discharges going off inside. A soft rain fell back into the ocean and fish of all sizes and shapes began to congregate just below as if basking in the liquid that fell back into their home.

  The four stages suddenly shot out forty-five-degrees from their approach vectors. They rode thick bolts of energy that fanned outwards and broke into showers of blue sparks and flame that continued past them when they stopped a few meters from their second ‘point-zero’. Thunder can’t even come close to describing the sound this move made. An echoic scream/rumble ran up and down the spectrum of audible sound, and probably far out on either end of it as well, and died slowly as all four discs locked into position. The four bands of light now encircling the earth rang like an angry electrified cello. Still the band played their song. Innuendoes aside, they were challenging their attackers to come and converse once again, but this time bringing their proper ‘game attitudes’ with them far out into the Pacific.

  The visitors, as out of patience as they were, kept playing. In places around the world, attacks on the ‘strings’ were made, but nothing interrupted their singed air sound except for the music of the Rocknauts themselves.

  In the Sahara, a ball of sand floated above a man-made crater. It was tethered by four energy lines that converged on the opposite side of the world, to a sphere of ocean water. Some people were reveling in the music. Some people were just holding their breath for whatever might come next.

  The four stages began to rotate clockwise in a slow orderly fashion that fully belied the massive detonations that were occurring just outside of their protective shields. Several extremely massive pieces of ordinance were currently finding that shield as impenetrable as all previous fire had. Thick pressure waves were pushing what was left of the desert sand into a molten bowl almost a mile wide. The ominous ‘hour-glass’ was now hanging static in mid-air as its contents, both above and below, slid around like a precision clockwork.

  Any thermo-nuclear option was not out of the question in this remote place, but the still glowing face of the recently scarred moon seemed to set some new precedent. This planet probably didn’t need that much glass.

  Full volleys of bomb loads were now raining down from every angle, peppering the apex of the bowl and harmlessly detonating against the force-fields. The staccato of burst was a testament to the amount of high-altitude heavy-bombers this planet had at its disposal. High above, contrails marked the passage of indifferent ordinance ferries.

“It would seem that wisdom is not a forte’ of the leaders of this world!” Singer was screaming in a booming tone that Scattered smoke and debris from his immediate vicinity in the queue.

  The three instrumentalists were exerting themselves furiously upon their stages. Teeth were gritting and eyes were glaring from beneath flexed brows. The song they’d fallen into easily drowned out the war machine that kept up an attack of futility. At some points all four voices harmonized together, twisting like hot knives thru a cold watermelon on a blistering summer day. Other times guitar or bass threw in a thorn-laden line of nimble lead notes. Drum’s accents leapt out like thunderclaps from a thousand different storms. Tribal angst and rhythm flowed out to the world.

  An electromagnetic pulse went out on a purple wave of sub-atomic particles. They were now broadcasting worldwide. Bouncing off satellites and cutting in on every carrier wave and frequency mankind could use. AM, FM, short-wave, citizens-broadcast, television, microwave, and even digital had all programming drowned out and replaced. Nothing was immune to the signal emanating from the middle of the Sahara desert.

  The words were also translated worldwide:

V-1:

  From a distance I saw you. And you looked good. From the edge of the stage, you blew me away. Looking out for a hero, Do you know what for? Ain’t ‘nothing to be said now. Don’t you let me down.

Pre-1:

  Crawling over horizons, spilling into the sea, like blood on water, like a bad disease,

Chorus:

If rock is what you need!

Then come to me.

If rock is what you need!

Listen to me.

If rock is what you need!

Rock is what you’ll see.

If rock is what you need!

Rock is what you’ll be.

V-2:

Screaming out of the darkness, we’re screaming loud. Look into your eyes. Do you think it’s wise? For a one night stand. I can be the man. You can be the girl. You can be the girl.

                                          Pre-2:

While the sun’s still rising, will you still be with me? Will we stay together? Or will we stay free?

                                 Repeat chorus here:

Guitar solo here:

Repeat chorus here:

(All lyrics, arrangement, and music by LEGASYSSONGS)

  There was a deafening roar from the so called ‘defenders’ of this world. Metal engines screamed along with human voices, protesting horses, ringing swords, and popping composite rotor-blades. Safety latches were releasing in a wave sweeping back from the front of the line which ran three-hundred-and-sixty degrees around the visitors. There were braying camels and trumpeting elephants, clacking tracks and squeaking suspensions, leather, and rattling magazines.

  In far off places, mostly underground, ‘leaders’ from many nations gathered around bright screens. Every monitor was filled with images from a thousand vantage points. A dark mass was constricting towards a central point on a bright background of sand. At the center of the convergence the desert seemed to be rolling outward in waves like water. A small blur of sparkles marked the exact center within an overlay of tactical symbols. ‘Point-zero’ was within a small red targeting icon.

  In every hidden place around the world those who would call themselves the ‘Champions of Earth’ were trembling. In their fortified dens they soon began to feel another vibration. This low frequency rumble came from beneath their very feet. View screens began to flicker in time to those tremors. Lines of distortion broke down the images over and over and light snows of dust floated down in the eerie strobes. It was clear that no one felt safe in their ‘caves’.

  Near ‘point-zero’ the air was suddenly populated by a thunderous cloud of projectiles. Contrails and compression streams marked the course of each and several waves more were already launching from the rear of the columns. A sing-song of various sized brass was rising up as all sorts of calibers were released.

  The visitors were each tilting outward on their sonically-produced ‘bulge’ of over-excited sand. They were aligned perfectly so that one faced North, one South, one East, and one West. The bulbous protrusion from the desert floor seemed to be pulsing rapidly and shapes were forming deep within. In a mere moment the entire surreal scene was washed away by a searing rain of heavy metal ordinance. A shockwave of melting sand perpetuated outward towards the rapidly advancing line and ricochets along with badly aimed shots followed in close pursuit. Several spots at different depths in the sea of attackers exploded upwards in fiery blooms, or suddenly dropped downward towards the sand. A few flying machines even turned into showers of sparks and fragments.

  The flames at ‘point-zero’ were still expanding outward and evolving into thick roils of black, acrid smoke when the next wave of missiles, sabot-rounds, bullets, mortars, and grenades arrived. The scream of destructive power focused into that small space could not drown out the throbbing that kept the sand lighter than it could ever be. That sound seemed to compress the very air into a jackhammer that battered every atom and shattered every train of sensible thought. The third wave of weapons fire was drowned out and with its passing all machinery came to a stop. A wall of hollering humans advanced thru the heat and began to disappear into the sound and sand. Only the flashes of small arms fire told the tale of what was happening. Pieces of weapons and warriors began to rain outward as steadily as they were sweeping in. Tanks began to deliver more sabot-rounds into the fray in utter disregard for the living wall thru which they had to fire. That wall of humankind continued to pour in, indifferent to the shells coming from behind. Helicopter gunships poured in missiles and mini-gun streams as they circled the ‘target area’. Sparks raced away in all directions and all manner of debris trailed close behind.

  From the perceived safety of distance and depth, eyes watched in disbelief as screens distorted images to the point of illegibility. Lighting flickered in protest to the thrum of the very heart of the earth. In a micro-moment of clarity a shallow angle shot showed the atmosphere above the central Sahara bulging outward. A hyper-zoomed image showed that anything on foot was finally ‘expended’ and all forms of mobile machinery were charging in together. Aircraft crisscrossed the scene, delivering everything they had as each passed. The outpour was now consisting of pieces of that same machinery. Tank turrets, treads, wheels, were all raining down onto blackened sand in unidentifiable flaming heaps. Metal was melting and still, long range artillery and missiles were arriving. Errant pieced of jets spun out and drifted down, leaving smoky trails in lazy uneven arcs. Damaged rockets spiraled outward on far-beyond-predictable courses.

  An opaque sphere of blackness was slowly growing larger. Flashes of detonations punctuated it all around in rapid succession and fingers of sparks, fireballs and energy arcs flowed like water in all directions. The bulge of the desert floor was obscured completely along with the visitors and man’s machines kept pouring into that hell. The wave-formed sand passed some point of liquefaction and the human propelled onslaught began to find its machines sinking into the sea of grains. A tall tower of smoke had already pushed up into the stratosphere and the inferno of metal that had birthed it showed no signs of abating.

  With a sound like nothing else ever heard on this side of the galaxy a single wave pulsed out from beneath the massive dark behemoth of death. It rolled over the horizon and stationary artillery pieces miles away disintegrated along with their attendant personnel. Another higher pitched tone propagated a spherical pressure wave into the air. Everything inbound was reduced to multicolored puffs of powder. The cloud lifted from point-zero slowly and revealed the visitors still pretty much intact. A subdued resumption of long-range missiles began to once again obliterate the view after only a few moments. This time the detonations revealed a standing pressure wave around all four of the Rocknauts. Another was enveloping the sandy bulge below them. The ‘hourglass’ was a prophetic omen to all mankind. Time was running out and probably along with it, the patience of the four visitors.

  Somewhere in the middle of the Sahara, four beings rested under the mid-day sun. They kept cool in their UV filtered bubbles of atmosphere and scanned the horizon by floating slowly in a circle. Just over that horizon, and in every direction, armies were gathered. The attack was inevitable, the visitors knew. They just hated to have to fight in the first place.

  A lone airship flitted from the distance and approached quickly.

“No threat,” Drum informed. “, just a transducer, and a receiver, with a camera.” His light touch of sarcasm was not lost on his companions.

  The little unmanned helicopter pulled up to a slow, low hover a few yards away. A replay of ‘bring it on, and on’ resounded from an improvised horn between its undercarriages. At this, the four halted their circuit and looked at each other for a few moments.

“We asked to be welcome. Many of you did. However, a few of you, who seem to lead many others, did not.” Singer began.

  The lone camera lens twisted around in a focusing attempt from where a miniature cockpit would have been. The ‘toy’ was painted in ‘desert-camo’ and belched out light blue exhaust from twin mini-turbo-fan engines.

  Singer went on. “We did not come seeking oppression, yet we found it. We did not come to conquer, yet we find we must defend ourselves, and in doing so, conquer. You have the means to fully destroy yourselves and we are very surprised by your recent actions that you have not yet done so. We could leave you in peace and as a world full of new friends, which is our true goal, but only if you roll your war machines back to their garages and park them for the duration of our visit.” He paused for affect.

  The small machine tilted on a gust and the engines whirred in protest to keep a level hover.

  “We didn’t ask you to come here!” The voice seemed to be speaking from a small room somewhere far off.

  “We go wherever we please.” Bass injected.

  “Leave, or we will fight you to the end!”

  “We never back down from any fight.” Drum stated.

  “We enjoy a good fight, no matter who picks it with us.” Singer added.

  “We are a peaceful wor…”

  Guitar cut him off. “Oh come off of it!” he shouted. Echoes bounced in the distance, louder than their progenitor. Sand lifted up all around into the wind. “From far off we saw what you do to one another! Not just your brave warriors! Not just your social elites! From top to bottom, your societies are infected by aberrance! We only come to distract your populace from its miseries, even if only for a short time! Some of you call yourselves leaders? Some of you give great freedoms? We will freely grant you that! Granted!” Another massive wall of echoes stomped away across the billowing sands. “Others take what they want! Not one have we found that can satisfy everyone they ‘rule’!” He stepped over to the side of his stage and put a foot up on the shallow curb. He pointed an accusing finger at the lone eye and continued. “Those of you in positions of power have all demonstrated an affinity for blessing those who need it the least! Very few have ever lifted their hand to the less fortunate! You make life a thing that must be bought! You even make death a thing few can afford!” The last words kicked up a wall of sand that raced away toward the horizon on echoes.

  “I’m tired of the suspense colonel. Get on with it.” There were a few muffled voices from the speaker on the airship and then a popping noise. It seemed as if whoever had been the voice of the world did not realize their microphone was still open.

  “So be it!” Singer screamed as he tilted his stage up. The little copter flew apart in a spray of atomizing metal powder and friction igniting jet fuel.

  The desert sand began to shift. This was not the visitor’s doing.

The horizon all around turned black as a worldwide war machine rolled forward. Columns miles deep broke over far away dunes. A mass of mankind came forward in a rush. They were all only, ‘following orders’. At one mile away every human in the advancing wall began to feel the rumble building from ahead. Thru sight-scopes the four discs were slowly rising up on a mushroom of sparkling sand.

  They sat on the ground in the center of the Sea Of Tranquility, facing one another. The four of them sat cross-legged, meditating on recent events. Air-shells were swollen into one amoebic mass and they shared subdued conversation.

“Most seem to enjoy our presence.” Guitar spoke with a relaxed tone.

“Yes.” Drum added.

  Bass took a deep breath, contemplating before exhaling with, “Their ‘leaders’ give in to fear and attack.”

  “Their best defense is on the way here.” Singer began. “But even that is still nothing of consequence.” A cascade of wise nods gave silent reply.

  “Maybe our next parry will open their eyes to the futility of their strength, and the benevolence of our intentions.” He stood up slowly and stretched the stupor from his muscles.

  A large cluster of lights was growing in intensity and accelerating in an arc towards them. One took the lead and left the others far behind in haste.

  “Dried star blood, I’m sure.” Guitar was up now, along with the others.

  “Good fuel for our hyper-core reactors.” Drum added.

  “One, two, one, two, three, four!” Singer gave the count.

  Drum rolled all the way across his toms and they all launched into a chugging rhythm that seemed to say, “Bring it on, and on!” over and over. Regolith in the vacuum blasted outward from beneath each stage and raced away for the horizon. They lifted a few feet into the sharp sunlight.

  Singer finally fell in with a proverbial chant. “Bring it on, and on! Ahh, bring it on, and on!” His breath between each sentence became a part of the mantra.

  The lone warhead separated from its booster and accelerated quickly. From ten miles out, it was upon them in a few seconds. A cabal of telescopes on Earth and in orbit watched intently as a yellow-red flower of fire flared into a white, blinding flash. The tribal rumble from the visitors permeated the blast and the volume went infinite. Exotic matter degenerated into exotic energies that crisscrossed the lunar sea near the speed of light. House sized boulders lifted off the surface around the perimeter of the blast. Some gained orbit while others reached escape velocity. Jagged red rifts raced across a full third of the face of the moon and an easily visible pool of molten ‘moon’ glowed bright yellow once the flare of fusions’ ignition died away.

  Every communications device around the earth crackled with an ominous portent. “Bring it on, and on, ahh!” The request repeated itself over and over. It was drenched in angry bravado and in an unchanging, monotonous key.

  The rest of the missiles, thirty or so, separated their packages and sent them onto target. The second detonation flared up just as the first, but this time it was outshined by twenty nine more white hot outbursts. The yellow glow grew larger and brighter, bordering almost on white. More regolith and moon crust peeled away into space. Still, the chant sounded out from every listening device the human race had on surface, and in orbit.

With their best ‘fist’ expended, all the warmongers of earth could do was watch in horror. The glow began to fade to a dull red. It shrunk slowly, imperceptibly. Still the airwaves resounded with the visitors’ message. Governments could hardly agree on how to deal with one another, much less these aliens from the stars. How they came to an agreement on the use of hydrogen bombs will forever be a mystery.  

  Many people took the streets to peer up into the sky at the distorted face of the moon in anger, or fear. Even in broad daylight many fragments could be seen drifting away. Where they might be headed was anybody’s guess. As the molten bottom of the mare cooled to a dull red, four painfully bright lights shot away from the pummeled disc. They were coming back down to earth. The chant was getting louder.