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.
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.
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.
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 ———-
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: