D'ARC UNDERGROUND: When Darkness Saved the Light
The story of a future world where the underground rises up at the urging of a dark and leathered queen. Based on the play by JACK RANDOM.
This be the story of how future came to past and planted the present day. It is a story of courage, death and dying. It is the death of tyranny and tyranny never dies without a fierce and bloody struggle.
Time is the future that was the past that stumbles like a sodden boozer to our gate and door. Time was the Tower Lords that ruled like hammer over all they visioned ran out of room for cages and land to plant them on. They dig beneath the surface of the earth and bury the rabble – byproducts of industrial waste, residue of filthy minds, scumbags, dregs and druggies – deep in underground prisons.
By the end of the Great Purge, fully one quarter of the earthly population never greets the light of day. Three generations removed, their crimes long forgot, the Underground defines its own existence in an endless maze of rock tunnels and living quarters – no bars, no guards, no wardens or supervisors. The only remains of their subterranean birth: the one-way video cameras mounted to the ceilings of the original prison structure on the upper tiers, the walls of former guard stations lined with monitors.
Time washes over like the waves of elder seas, rivers turn to sludge, wind to toxic breeze, and corpses fall like rainy daze from wretched filth disease. The Tower Lords lift bubbles round their castle grounds like word of ancient seers. Inside the sky is filtered, the water purified, outside a plague of suffering, the stench of death.
The Tower Lords and their fair-skinned beauties, sipping tea and licking chocolates, no longer care how well the rabble fare. The sickness weeds them out, plucks the weak from strong and pacifies the masses. Hospital and clinic doors barred, police no longer prowl and firefighters no longer douse the flames.
Outside the Tower walls, scum and rejects be left to live on waste. The Underground abandoned, some climb to surface while others stay below, embracing darkness and challenging the order of the day.
Among these a leader rises: A-1 Wonder Kind and his loyal follower A-2 survive and prosper in the Underground realm. Taking command of abandoned airwaves no longer under thumb, they deliver word daily to the surface dregs and set the mind to wonder. Word spreads more faster than disease and followers grow like chain to ancient daze.
The Underground is king and everything it touches turns to gold! The offerings of candy pop from Tower Techies fall whenever the Underground goes up.
"Lift your sorry balls and scope the upper view!
The downer we fall, the upper we rise!"
I was but a lowly surface dreg, wallowing in filth and sorrow, when the Underground blasted my vision with righteous true-blue vengeance, transforming sorrow to rage and rage to dreams of better daze.
"We are the scum that crawls out of the cracks in America’s nightmare!
"We are the byproducts of industrial wastelands!
"We are the residue of filthy minds!
"We are the dregs of technologic crime!"
Into this mix the Dark One dove and stirred the pot to boil. A leathered hag from top to bottom, she sparks the ancient ashes to raging fire and delivers sacred high when the offering goes flat.
The Wonder Kind proclaims a miracle but others charge the bitch be witch and worse a Tower whore. The Dark One answers back in triple time and B flat minor chord: "If bitch be witch then let it bleed! I am no righteous whore!"
She be just what the Scumbags need.
She stands a warrior for the cause of just and fingers A-1 Wonder Kind a king. He tastes the offering and finds the voice to lead:
"They fear us because we’re alive. They shake and quiver because our souls survive. We are the stronger because of them. The scum shall inherit the earth! They shelter us in the belly of the beast and think of us no more. Rattle and quake, thunder and roar! Let them feel your righteous wrath beneath their shivering feet! Tremble and die! Yield and make your peace! Time and the hour is upon you!"
The Dark One hears the ancient Voices and speaks the ancient rhyme: "Freedom be the cause of just; here and now be time."
She pumps his blood and stands his staff alert but brain over balls A-1 takes pause and puts her to the test:
"Who are these voices? What be the heaven sender?"
The Dark One bends and daze be wonder, she gazes at the stars, palm to upper view, inert, entranced and captured by the maze.
"Their names be sacred roll and thunder clap. Beat of three and harmony. The words breathe ocean blue: Seek out the A-1 Wonder Kind for he is chosen true."
She strokes his rebel pride but A-2 always at his side, he sounds the chord of caution, calm and be not rash. War is a game of losers, blood of the innocent, greed of kings and means to hold the capper down with anger and with pride.
We watch the story rise and lay our money down. Those of us who remember the learning before the schools were barred were taught that revolution was ever always bad and banned. But a new generation rises up that never got the word and prods us all to think again.
Inside the Tower walls, they breathe clean air and spew their toxic waste for us to live and die in suffering. They let us in to labor for a meal and drugs to tide us over but when the evening comes, they push us out again.
The Great Rage is rising and we pray to let the Dark One win.
The Wonder Kind fingers the moment hand and fist and draws it to breast. If Voices be heaven sent and tried true blue, they will not fail. His mind made up, he demands:
"What say the Voices now?"
The Dark One bends head to floor and rises in silent prayer. No stranger to the trade, she teases us with wait and worry, mouthing words, before her eyes break spell and delivers the decree:
"You are with us! Your forces join with me!"
All eyes to Wonder Kind who measures her with maze and wonder, grabbing us by lower balls and plucking at our patience. A miracle he proclaims: Praise and glory!
He takes the stage and sounds a call to arms:
"The sky is broken! The solar king awaits his chosen buried in the tomb of mother earth. Scum unite! Strike back at those who buried you for crimes you never knew and never had the pleasure of the doing. Come, hand and fist, avenge your fathers and your mothers, your sisters and your brothers, dumped for spitting on their righteous streets and banging on your drums! The time be now! The moment be arrive! Pick up your arms! Fight for your rights! Rise and heed the rebel call! When scumbags and dregs be rise, the righteous ones be fall!"
The Underground breaks the upper view and Surface Dregs everywhere rally to the cause. The Dark One at our lead, we gather arms and storm the castle walls.
The Righteous Guard strikes back with fear and loathing, releasing poisons we never knew existed, spreading plagues and withering diseases we never visioned on the darkest night. Babies crying in their dying mothers’ arms, blood on the streets and broken bodies, the rage takes hold and carries us forward.
The Dark One has no fear! Lasers fly and rise her raging hair, her leathers scorch and tear, but she be wind and shadow, flies against the storm! The walls tremble, tumble and fall, the bubble cracks and word flies across land and sea! The demands of the Underground are these:
"We demand food for hunger free of charge!
"We demand jobs for all who call and ones that suit their make and model!
"We demand the laser stun be drop and done!
"We demand the end of toxic waste!
"We demand the opening of the boundaries, an end to border stops!
"We demand the closing of the Righteous Guard! Let them work to feed the poor.
"We demand free access to the stars!
"We demand an end to torture and detainment!
"We demand a home for all and not a hole to shovel dirt in!
"We demand new schools to teach the tried and true!
"We demand: War no more! Let the people fight disease!"
Everywhere the Guard falls back, abandons their charge, and the Tower Lords make haste to find refuge in lands no longer fit for planting.
The world turns over but the story does not end.
The Dark One, praised for her courage, loved for her visage, stands accused of treachery. The Techies of the fallen Tower Lords, who sage and see their underbelly, offer up proof positive that she be on the Tower payroll to overturn the Underground. She does not run or cower but stands to face the charge.
"Brain, sage and take it to heart: The Voices be the cause of D’Arc. If Voices bid me jump the moon, then jump the moon I would and pray the cause be right."
With all eyes upon her, she does not deny the charge against her but claims the Voices command her. Her defense rests, hand and fist, on the divinity of Voices and the end they serve in the cause of just.
"I have no words to calm and comfort. I pledge no oath to any cause belonging to a man. My heart, my soul, my all belong to heaven, whose Voices own and speak my will."
The A-1 Wonder Kind, now crowned as King, is moved to tears but cannot find a reckoning that satisfies both justice and the peace.
"Set you now in my place. She gives us knowing of deceit and righteous lies that sent her to our door. She takes no oath and claims no loyalty. What fate am I to serve?"
Seeing his suffering and moved to the core, the Dark One steps forth to settle him and set our hearts to ease.
"Jazz be destiny! I mount the stake and bury me in holy flame! Jazz be mourn and sorrow. D’Arc falls and ashes rise. Martyr be by name! Fate be my embrace."
A-1’s trusted companion rushes to his side, whispers in his ear, and places writ and creed before him. The King smiles and reveals yet another miracle of fate. The Tower Techies recant and profess their shame. Fearful of the Tower Lords return, they plot against the Darkness. Fearful no more, they defend her tried and true and beg her mercy.
The A-1 Wonder Kind takes the hand of his new Queen.
Within nine moons, the King and Queen put down their crowns and let the people choose: Long live the Republic! Tried, true and free!
It be my charge to hand the story down. It teaches us that there be time to fight and time to war no more. It teaches us there be causes for which the just must fight. It tells us not to judge by appearances for appearances deceive. It tells us to be wary for a time may come when the Voices call again.
It is the story of how darkness saved the light.
Praise and glory!
Jazz be A R Z.
Time is the future that was the past that stumbles like a sodden boozer to our gate and door. Time was the Tower Lords that ruled like hammer over all they visioned ran out of room for cages and land to plant them on. They dig beneath the surface of the earth and bury the rabble – byproducts of industrial waste, residue of filthy minds, scumbags, dregs and druggies – deep in underground prisons.
By the end of the Great Purge, fully one quarter of the earthly population never greets the light of day. Three generations removed, their crimes long forgot, the Underground defines its own existence in an endless maze of rock tunnels and living quarters – no bars, no guards, no wardens or supervisors. The only remains of their subterranean birth: the one-way video cameras mounted to the ceilings of the original prison structure on the upper tiers, the walls of former guard stations lined with monitors.
Time washes over like the waves of elder seas, rivers turn to sludge, wind to toxic breeze, and corpses fall like rainy daze from wretched filth disease. The Tower Lords lift bubbles round their castle grounds like word of ancient seers. Inside the sky is filtered, the water purified, outside a plague of suffering, the stench of death.
The Tower Lords and their fair-skinned beauties, sipping tea and licking chocolates, no longer care how well the rabble fare. The sickness weeds them out, plucks the weak from strong and pacifies the masses. Hospital and clinic doors barred, police no longer prowl and firefighters no longer douse the flames.
Outside the Tower walls, scum and rejects be left to live on waste. The Underground abandoned, some climb to surface while others stay below, embracing darkness and challenging the order of the day.
Among these a leader rises: A-1 Wonder Kind and his loyal follower A-2 survive and prosper in the Underground realm. Taking command of abandoned airwaves no longer under thumb, they deliver word daily to the surface dregs and set the mind to wonder. Word spreads more faster than disease and followers grow like chain to ancient daze.
The Underground is king and everything it touches turns to gold! The offerings of candy pop from Tower Techies fall whenever the Underground goes up.
"Lift your sorry balls and scope the upper view!
The downer we fall, the upper we rise!"
I was but a lowly surface dreg, wallowing in filth and sorrow, when the Underground blasted my vision with righteous true-blue vengeance, transforming sorrow to rage and rage to dreams of better daze.
"We are the scum that crawls out of the cracks in America’s nightmare!
"We are the byproducts of industrial wastelands!
"We are the residue of filthy minds!
"We are the dregs of technologic crime!"
Into this mix the Dark One dove and stirred the pot to boil. A leathered hag from top to bottom, she sparks the ancient ashes to raging fire and delivers sacred high when the offering goes flat.
The Wonder Kind proclaims a miracle but others charge the bitch be witch and worse a Tower whore. The Dark One answers back in triple time and B flat minor chord: "If bitch be witch then let it bleed! I am no righteous whore!"
She be just what the Scumbags need.
She stands a warrior for the cause of just and fingers A-1 Wonder Kind a king. He tastes the offering and finds the voice to lead:
"They fear us because we’re alive. They shake and quiver because our souls survive. We are the stronger because of them. The scum shall inherit the earth! They shelter us in the belly of the beast and think of us no more. Rattle and quake, thunder and roar! Let them feel your righteous wrath beneath their shivering feet! Tremble and die! Yield and make your peace! Time and the hour is upon you!"
The Dark One hears the ancient Voices and speaks the ancient rhyme: "Freedom be the cause of just; here and now be time."
She pumps his blood and stands his staff alert but brain over balls A-1 takes pause and puts her to the test:
"Who are these voices? What be the heaven sender?"
The Dark One bends and daze be wonder, she gazes at the stars, palm to upper view, inert, entranced and captured by the maze.
"Their names be sacred roll and thunder clap. Beat of three and harmony. The words breathe ocean blue: Seek out the A-1 Wonder Kind for he is chosen true."
She strokes his rebel pride but A-2 always at his side, he sounds the chord of caution, calm and be not rash. War is a game of losers, blood of the innocent, greed of kings and means to hold the capper down with anger and with pride.
We watch the story rise and lay our money down. Those of us who remember the learning before the schools were barred were taught that revolution was ever always bad and banned. But a new generation rises up that never got the word and prods us all to think again.
Inside the Tower walls, they breathe clean air and spew their toxic waste for us to live and die in suffering. They let us in to labor for a meal and drugs to tide us over but when the evening comes, they push us out again.
The Great Rage is rising and we pray to let the Dark One win.
The Wonder Kind fingers the moment hand and fist and draws it to breast. If Voices be heaven sent and tried true blue, they will not fail. His mind made up, he demands:
"What say the Voices now?"
The Dark One bends head to floor and rises in silent prayer. No stranger to the trade, she teases us with wait and worry, mouthing words, before her eyes break spell and delivers the decree:
"You are with us! Your forces join with me!"
All eyes to Wonder Kind who measures her with maze and wonder, grabbing us by lower balls and plucking at our patience. A miracle he proclaims: Praise and glory!
He takes the stage and sounds a call to arms:
"The sky is broken! The solar king awaits his chosen buried in the tomb of mother earth. Scum unite! Strike back at those who buried you for crimes you never knew and never had the pleasure of the doing. Come, hand and fist, avenge your fathers and your mothers, your sisters and your brothers, dumped for spitting on their righteous streets and banging on your drums! The time be now! The moment be arrive! Pick up your arms! Fight for your rights! Rise and heed the rebel call! When scumbags and dregs be rise, the righteous ones be fall!"
The Underground breaks the upper view and Surface Dregs everywhere rally to the cause. The Dark One at our lead, we gather arms and storm the castle walls.
The Righteous Guard strikes back with fear and loathing, releasing poisons we never knew existed, spreading plagues and withering diseases we never visioned on the darkest night. Babies crying in their dying mothers’ arms, blood on the streets and broken bodies, the rage takes hold and carries us forward.
The Dark One has no fear! Lasers fly and rise her raging hair, her leathers scorch and tear, but she be wind and shadow, flies against the storm! The walls tremble, tumble and fall, the bubble cracks and word flies across land and sea! The demands of the Underground are these:
"We demand food for hunger free of charge!
"We demand jobs for all who call and ones that suit their make and model!
"We demand the laser stun be drop and done!
"We demand the end of toxic waste!
"We demand the opening of the boundaries, an end to border stops!
"We demand the closing of the Righteous Guard! Let them work to feed the poor.
"We demand free access to the stars!
"We demand an end to torture and detainment!
"We demand a home for all and not a hole to shovel dirt in!
"We demand new schools to teach the tried and true!
"We demand: War no more! Let the people fight disease!"
Everywhere the Guard falls back, abandons their charge, and the Tower Lords make haste to find refuge in lands no longer fit for planting.
The world turns over but the story does not end.
The Dark One, praised for her courage, loved for her visage, stands accused of treachery. The Techies of the fallen Tower Lords, who sage and see their underbelly, offer up proof positive that she be on the Tower payroll to overturn the Underground. She does not run or cower but stands to face the charge.
"Brain, sage and take it to heart: The Voices be the cause of D’Arc. If Voices bid me jump the moon, then jump the moon I would and pray the cause be right."
With all eyes upon her, she does not deny the charge against her but claims the Voices command her. Her defense rests, hand and fist, on the divinity of Voices and the end they serve in the cause of just.
"I have no words to calm and comfort. I pledge no oath to any cause belonging to a man. My heart, my soul, my all belong to heaven, whose Voices own and speak my will."
The A-1 Wonder Kind, now crowned as King, is moved to tears but cannot find a reckoning that satisfies both justice and the peace.
"Set you now in my place. She gives us knowing of deceit and righteous lies that sent her to our door. She takes no oath and claims no loyalty. What fate am I to serve?"
Seeing his suffering and moved to the core, the Dark One steps forth to settle him and set our hearts to ease.
"Jazz be destiny! I mount the stake and bury me in holy flame! Jazz be mourn and sorrow. D’Arc falls and ashes rise. Martyr be by name! Fate be my embrace."
A-1’s trusted companion rushes to his side, whispers in his ear, and places writ and creed before him. The King smiles and reveals yet another miracle of fate. The Tower Techies recant and profess their shame. Fearful of the Tower Lords return, they plot against the Darkness. Fearful no more, they defend her tried and true and beg her mercy.
The A-1 Wonder Kind takes the hand of his new Queen.
Within nine moons, the King and Queen put down their crowns and let the people choose: Long live the Republic! Tried, true and free!
It be my charge to hand the story down. It teaches us that there be time to fight and time to war no more. It teaches us there be causes for which the just must fight. It tells us not to judge by appearances for appearances deceive. It tells us to be wary for a time may come when the Voices call again.
It is the story of how darkness saved the light.
Praise and glory!
Jazz be A R Z.
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