Regarding all future updates for the narrative behind Divinity Transmissions:
Each individual chapter will continue to be posted on the homepage as has been the custom so far, but now the same content will also be simultaneously added to the narrative section of the website and organized to allow an easier, more organized reading experience.
For those in the New Orleans area, copies of the debut album from Torgo, “Divinity Transmissions, Phase One: Salvation for the Dead”, can be purchased directly from any band member. You may also email through firstname.lastname@example.org to request a copy, or can contact the band through any number of internet presences. Any purchase of a physical copy from the band is name your own price.
For those in other parts of the world, the album can be downloaded through Amazon or iTunes. These are not pay what you want, but are nonetheless quite affordable.
We would like to remind you that on Saturday, October 15 at The Zeitgeist in New Orleans Torgo will be offering a very special performance to mark the release of Divinity Transmissions, Phase One: Salvation for the Dead. The first set will be an unprecedented acoustic covers performance, followed by a second set consisting of the album performed in its entirety. The album set will include select members from the Loyola Symphony Orchestra and will also feature a brand new film projection to compliment the music. Torgo will also be debuting brand new material not yet recorded. Doors open at 8, admission is $10 at the door and $8 in advance.
Additionally, each admission includes a free copy of Divinity Transmissions Phase One on CD.
Once again, there he stood in front of me. His arms outstretched like a messiah, his smile like that of a father. Through all the pain that had begun to reside within me, all I could do was stand in a passive trance. When pain leads to apathy, it’s hard to tell which is worse.
His words may as well have been spoken to the wind. I thought about what it was that I wanted, and in a moment of clarity I understood that I didn’t know. After being conditioned as such for so long, it is impossible to accept feeling content. I’m tired of wasting away. Maybe I didn’t know what I wanted anymore, but I knew what I didn’t want. Or what I didn’t want to be.
I always liked riding the train. The faint glow of lonely compartments always made me feel at peace. What a joke to consider peace inside my broken battlefield. The delicate quiet of the night is no match for the thunderous power of machinery. But there I sat in the confines of an empty railcar, the soft rattle of the train keeping me company. Outside I see the fading remains of hundreds of years of existence pass by. “We will be arriving in fifteen minutes.”
Yet, something about the certainty of the destination always makes me uneasy. It isn’t the destination, but rather that once you’ve started you can’t escape the destination. The driver knows my name- He knows all our names.
Atlas had promised this would be the last. But I knew it wouldn’t be. I didn’t know if he was lying to himself, or just to me- but I knew it wouldn’t be the last. As I approached the lonely street corner I staggered with the intoxication of my own disparity. I’d learned that if I didn’t think about what I was doing then it would be that much easier. God was crying again, and the streets were as lonely as I felt. I was crying again, and the shells would soon be as empty as I felt.
Even in the darkness of the night I could see her beautiful silhouette. She was clinging to her child as if she believed the devil himself might rise to pry him from her hands. She made no attempt to run as I drew nearer. It was hard to believe that the infant in her arms would grow up to become one of the most evil men to ever live. Well, would have grown up to be. They were always evil, at least so said Atlas.
Resolutely, I drew my pistol and pointed. This she expected, but what she didn’t was where I pointed. As I aimed so solemnly at her beloved child, I stared straight into mother’s eyes. “Say Goodbye.”
She closed her eyes as if she herself would be drawing her final breath. And mixed with the heavy rain water were tears that only a mother could cry. And I closed my eyes. “Say Goodbye.” I was doing the right thing, Atlas had assured me. Yet he knew these people I was killing were also killing me. “Say Goodbye.”
With a hole between his eyes, I said goodbye.
As I faded back into the awareness of my current presence, my mind showed me what a significant change had overrun me. I was a killer. I am a killer. But was I once a man? Is the capacity to be ruthless what it means to be human? Surely the world tells me so. Or is to reject the evil so inherent to man’s very nature what it means to truly become human?
It was only ever about choice…those brief moments when I might stare fate in the eyes. And defy him. I was never cursed with the ability to feel remorse. My only desire was to prove that I alone was able to dictate the course of my future. I was a hero to some, a villain to most. It’s a disease. I once felt such a strong contempt for those who wasted away trading sweet affection with the lips of a replenishing glass. Only later did I realize that killing was my glass, and it was never full. It’s a disease. How miserable to realize your are the mere insignificance you so readily scorn. It’s a…
But those beautiful moments of fulfillment. The euphoria, if only for a second, of watching the manifestation of my own will. And what greater will than to rule over death himself. But the truth is that I can’t even rule my own death. It isn’t chains that hold me. No, they at the very least allow the preservation of dignity. It’s not chains that hold me. It’s strings.
Death is a puppeteer.