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The Art of Malaka

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  The Art of Malaka  Malaka (Rise Above 'Em) [Verse 1] Jealous cowards try to control! Mean-spirited cloth – cut from the same! Old comments rotting – fourteen years old! Doubling down – you got no shame! [Chorus] Malaka! Malaka! Special Greek word – for scum like you! Malaka! Malaka! Rise above! We're gonna rise above! Vile views – spreading hate and fear! Malaka! Malaka! We ain't taking it – no more! [Verse 2] Who’s next on the list? Indians? Greeks? Vietnamese? Women? Whose next to be cut? Major parties silent – lips sealed tight! Cowards in suits – hiding from the fight! [Chorus] Malaka! Malaka! Pauline and Cory – same rotten core! Malaka! Malaka! Ashamed? You should be ashamed! Hate, division, fear in the air! Malaka! Malaka! We’re calling it out – everywhere! [Bridge] Minorities marginalized – feeling the pain! Unheard, unrepresented – driven insane! This ain’t left or right – it’s decency! Common fucking decency! I’m angry – really bloody angry! How do you get away w...

Piloting and despooling

 

Piloting and despooling



The reality of JB’s confinement is suffocating. The air inside is thin, hot, and heavy with the scent of his own fear. His flight suit, usually a second skin, feels like a lead weight. Through the visor, he sees the control panel—a blur of familiar red and green warnings pulsing just inches away. His fingers twitch, aching to override the sequence, but the shimmering silver nanoweave holds him in a vice grip. 

He is a creature of action reduced to impotent stasis, staring at salvation he cannot touch.

JB feels the phantom touch of ancient hands as they apply ceremonial linen over the nanoweave. The timeline collapses. He is no longer just a space tourist; he is a modern man drowning in the dust of the ancients, suspended in the liminal space between the cold silence of the cosmos and the heavy, golden air of the afterlife.

As the pressure locks against his skull, the final thread snaps. It is the disintegration of the self. JB feels his history, his name, and his instincts—the very core of who he is—rapidly unspooling into the darkness. The machine has not just captured his body; it has dismantled his identity, leaving him as a blank slate waiting to be written upon by the anomaly.









John Bennett - AKA JJFBbennett, is an independent artist. You can view and subscribe to my work via Blogger, YouTube, Flicker, Facebook, Instagram and Deviant Art

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Copyright

This artwork is protected by U.S. and International copyright laws. Distribution and/or modification of the artwork without the written permission of the sponsor is prohibited.




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