Provided for your consideration is “Heavy Rain”, an audio documentation of Nem’s eventual descent into brokenness and despair. This excerpt from Phase One of the Divinity Transmissions series helps tell the story of what would perhaps be Nem’s most significant murder to date. The murder that would finally sever Nem’s very soul…[a mother stands clutching her child]. But then, is the sacrifice of one young human life for the cultivation of common good something to so easily dismiss as evil?
———- torgo.bandcamp.com ———-
For the well being of our audience, Torgo will be performing selections from the Divinity Transmissions series at these select New Orleans locations in the future:
Friday, March 18- Cafe Prytania- 9:00pm. $5 Admission. (with The Acadias and The Wooden Wings)
Tuesday, March 29, 2011- Siberia- 8:30pm. (with Reveners and Dongles)
Friday, April 1, 2011- Howlin Wolf Den- 9:00pm. $5 Admission. (with High in One Eye and surprise special guests)
These performances will feature the unique storytelling of Torgo’s audiovisual experience. Attendance is beneficial for those who wish to learn more about the story contained in the Writings of Nem.
I never sought to be a protector of peace- I just never cared enough to discriminate between evil men and good men. Or women. Or children. When there are so many more evil men in the world it’s bound to work out that way. Good and evil mattered to me about as much how the rope happens to break to a man on the gallows.
In a moment of reflection my memory played for me a scene of magnificent destruction. The voices of the unlucky ones screamed a melody of transcendence- the kind melody that seems to answer the most difficult questions of men. As their bodies grew rapidly weaker, their songs became accordingly more profound until the last breath brought the moment to a deafening resolution. I stood intently, the weight of the beauty shared by me and the revolver which held my hand so softly. And as we stared at each other in that moment of attachment I brought her closer until her lips met mine. Still in my arms I squeezed with anticipation on the brink of eternity. But…
…Nothing. The shell was empty. My heart was empty.
My mind went blank.
If fate is the nemesis, then who shall be the hero? How foolish to think I could best this evil. Yet now not only do I lack regret, but I feel strongly as ever in my ways. Even in death, my convictions have not left me. But the pain does not lie in death itself, but rather in the knowledge that comes with it. I have but one true enemy left; all others are dead. I have seen to that myself. But that enemy carries no bullets, holster, or pistol. So I shall wander this earth for all eternity if I must, until I know whose bullet resides within me. And I cannot rest until I return that bullet to its rightful owner.
Nem was the most feared gunslinger of his time.
Even after his passing, his name was held in awed reverence by the sons of the living for far longer than his body held against the savage teeth of the earth. So much so, in fact, that many eventually began to question whether his passing was merely death, or if it were the work of some divine plan beyond their present. Perhaps they knew no man stood even the slightest chance of killing him, or maybe they simply chose to deny that the closest thing to a deity they’d ever known could in fact expire. Nobody even remembered the burial. Skeptics said they had chosen to forget out of some perverted sense of denial, while others insisted his body must have rotted before any could move it. As time passed, their suspicions of his divine abduction turned to myths, which turned to legends. Their suspicions, strangely enough, would ultimately prove to be not far from the truth.
While Nem was not necessarily an evil man, he could hardly be called good. True, he did purge the world of some of the most evil killers of his time, but many feared what they believed to be a man nourished by his own hate. The truth is, the only thing he ever really hated was the idea of fate. It was his cold apathy towards the living that made him such a prime candidate for hire so many millennia later.
Thus follows the Writings of Nem:
You don’t know how lucky you are. If only you knew what would become of your children’s descendants you would likely tear at the stem of your own heart. But you shouldn’t worry- as dismal as it may seem for you, they are happy. They are content to live without ambition. If you could, you might too. But you can’t.
I have lived among your children’s children as an equal. We, that is, Torgo, have seen the great wonders that pride births, but we have seen the frustration at the hands of progress’ curse. Our mission is to relay to you this condensed telling of the future, much as one might study the history of his ancestors. This history, paradoxically, is under dictation of its student. My purpose is not to take sides, although you may find that you yourself cannot help but do so.
Remember: Everybody has a motive.