" There will come a time when language will be meaningless, and the old language will be replaced with empathy and healing . When we will stop worshiping the decisions of our predecessors, and we will remember that we are prehistoric pioneers: creating history everyday and discovering the impossible every moment that we are courageous"
At night on the famous Sunset Boulevard, Miles Davis' Pharoah's Dance bass thumped through the high definition Key Club speakers into the streets. In the club, Joel Goude prepared to perform his poem backstage. In the crowd the girls stood pretty in their skin tight dresses and heels. The boys fixed their snapback hats and made sure nobody stepped on their brand new pair of $100's and up shoes. Perfumes, colognes, food and alcohol mixed to create the nightlife aroma. Friends mingled at the bar asking for mixed alcohol while the 21 under ordered water or fruit juice. Joel sucked on cranberry juice through a skinny black straw because he was only nineteen. Signaling the crowd and Joel, the jazz fusion faded out, the lights dimmed to create silence anticipating a performance.
The club manager stepped on stage and grabbed the mic, "Opening for The Weeknd tonight, please show poet, Joel Goude some love!" The manager smiled at Joel and outstretched her arms to invite him to the stage. The crowd clapped and cheered with a few whistles and hoots. That was his cue to walk center stage, despite the sudden stage fright telling him to stay hidden backstage. He stepped out and the spotlight hit him, immediately. The crowd cheered louder and Joel got high off of it. Joel's drummer and bass player looked to him for the cue to start.
The crowd's claps died out and Joel nodded to his instrument support, signaling then play. The bass player played a walking bass in A minor and the drummer lightly hit the rim of the snare every second and fourth beat. The rhythm picked up and Joel tapped his foot as the drummer added the hi hat "False D's with diamonds in between/Coked out girls on the dirty bathroom floors" he grabbed the mic off the stand and moseyed across the stage making eye contact with the crowd. "Green lights tell them go/but when red light comes they refuse to slow..."
"Hollywood, the land of the lost/ Angels with dirty faces. What power can bought?" Joel saw the eyes of some the men and women dart away from his gaze. They were the ones this poem applied to, it hit them every time. To others his words were affirmations and they cheered him on. "No cable, or fables? Fantastic!/ Lights, camera, action your're a star/ Whispering nasty nothings/Identified as the walking dead, zombies/ Grasping for life, but not their own/ They want yours, yours, and mine/Take what you were born with and run with it/ Because they'll rip that from you in Land of the Lost/ The Land of the Walking Dead/ The Land we call Hollywood" Joel dropped his arms and the bassist improvised the ending of his bassline. The audience cheered, screamed and whistled as Joel drank some of his cranberry juice before he resumed his spoken word.
The Next Day -- In The Afternoon
As Joel peered down at the hot city of Los Angeles from a helicopter, he reflected on how he got here. Obi Wan Kenobi saved his life from the later to be revealed assassin, Band Lone. Band Lone killed Joel's art teacher trying to kill Joel. When Joel was hanging onto life, Obi Wan Kenobi fell from the clouds and saved him. Another thing Joel discovered that night was he was a mutant. That's what Band Lone hunted him down for, he was payed to "kill the powerful mutant." Joel had zero control of his powers, so he didn't feel powerful. Joel felt cursed. He would be surrounded by a team of people just like him. They could teach him how to control his powers and help craft his heroics. Today he knew things were changing. The helicopter descended near a metal dome hidden by the mountains surrounding it.
"Joel.." Mr. Winters, the aged pilot, smiled as he opened the Joel's door. He smiled lightly and leaped out the helicopter onto the reddish-brown ground, puffing a dust cloud around his lower legs. Mr. Winters handed him his duffel bag and Joel slowly walked towards the metal dome. As he approached the high tech door, he fumbled for a pass-card he didn't have.
"Muse, We Are Legend, Identification Number 1705 ", Joel grinned as the door slid open and revealed a sleek layout. "Oh." Joel nervously laughed scratching the nape of his neck. Joel liked the shiny floors and walls, it reminded him of sci-fi movies about the future. He entered the headquarters and it was official, Joel Goude was a member of We Are Legend.