Release The Dover Stone! (Part 2: EBE BOP)

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Howdy Folks! Been gone for awhile, now I’m back. And amazingly, that is a report that is more in-depth than a majority of journalism in our short attention span paradise. I’m sorry …what were we talking about?

Ok, back to “Release the Dover Stone!” Here is the next of ten stories: “EBE Bop.”

And, here is the soundtrack: the second piece on my new release “Concerto for Folded Space.” Featuring Bob Mintzer and Arlington Jones along with myself, Eclectric and The Maniacal 4 + 1. You will also hear my daughter Amber, my sons Matthew and David (The Wiesty Boyz) and their pal Kyle all playing the part of Krndyk Fllyk, Science Coordinator of the doomed Ibeyan ship “Discovery.” I took their voices, ran them backwards and then Phil Bulla and I put some cool George Martin-esque filters on them to give it that nice “EBE” (Extraterrestrial Biological Entity) treatment.

The combination of myself on low-register trombone, Bob on bass clarinet and Ryan Davidson on guitar with some kind of alien-pedal-processor THANG is the main “EBE BOP” theme. The overarching idea is that this type of music is very similar to…well, you should read the story first…

EBE Bop

(1947)

CHAPTER TEN

At exactly 82:15:35.7 on Kpypsday: 5578, the long range explorer mini-stringer Discovery lost contact with Rahston somewhere over the dessert zone of New Rahston that the local aborigines call “Roswell.” The loss of signal with the home planet was of course devastating as all of their onboard bio-tech suite was completely reliant on the Mother World’s Umbilical Beam.

“Byrp Fllyk! Shouted Kryd Sln, we just lost the Umbilical Beam.

“Impossible!” Answered Krndyk Fllyk. “Do you hear what the Bio-Tech Suite is thinking?”

“The Bio-Tech Suite is….dead Byrp Fllyk.” said Evlyn Glyb.

“That too is impossible!” cried Krndyk Fllyk. “No Bio-Tech Suite has expired in the history of the Modern Era! Please re-establish Bio-Tech communications.” Even as he relayed this order Krndyk Fllyk could feel deep in his soul that what Evlyn had said was true. There was a great sadness and emptiness present now in The Discovery that had never been there before.

“I’m….I’m sorry Byrp.” said Evlyn as she choked back tears of shock. “The Suite is really and truly dead.”

As Science Coordinator of The Discovery, Krndyk Fllyk contemplated this totally unprecedented event, the ship suddenly lurched forward at an impossible angle sending the three of them flying through the air. Kryd Sln died instantly as his forehead burst when it was impaled against the now useless Bio-Tech access cone, while Evlyn was thrown directly into the command console chair as Krndyk Fllyk slammed against the hull.

“I can’t correct our descent Byrp Fllyk! shouted Evlyn. I estimate contact with New Rahston in seventeen bromee…”

As The Discovery slammed into the hard earth of Roswell, New Mexico, the entire top front of the hull ripped open throwing Krndyk Fllyk clear of the ship as it began to roll uncontrollably across the ground like a tumbleweed. A trail of fire from the rapid fall through the atmosphere blackened the ground for the full 700 yards of the crash path as pieces of the interior of the vessel littered the landscape. When the Discovery finally came to rest, it’s stringer nucleus exploded in a directional release of energy that shot straight into the sky with a ferocious sonic boom that cut a hole in a huge cloud overhead.

Krndyk Fllyk struggled to his feet and staggered over to the wreckage hoping against hope that Evlyn Glyb had somehow survived. The Discovery’s final position was upside down, with Kryd Sln hanging gruesomely from the Bio-Tech access cone and the charred remains of Evlyn Glyb lying next to the ship in the full brightness of the harsh New Rahston sun.

Byrp Fllyk fell to his knees next to the blackened body of Evlyn, his last thought before losing consciousness was “Evlyn, my love. Only one Cyrdsday before our Joining and this heinous ball of rock has claimed your Soul. My love, how am I to continue life, my dear…dear…”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Byrp Fllyk awoke to a nightmare. Wrapped in a irritating material of some primitive make and strapped in a tight painfully restricted manner to a flat surface being carried very quickly across the ground by New Rahston aborigines. Staring at him with their ghoulish tiny fur-covered heads mounted atop the floppy stalks on the crests of their frail bodies, the aborigines looked like Blue-Madwrglrs more than true sentient beings. And the sounds that issued forth from their access ports were hideous! Until this moment, Krndyk Fllyk had written off the descriptions of the aboriginal “languages” of New Rahston as xenophobic hyperbole−no longer! Such grunts, chirps, belches and other assorted offensive noises as he had never heard!

What vile creatures. It was a relief to once again lose consciousness. This time upon returning to the land of the living, Krndyk Fllyk was greeted by impossibly bright lights that exploded into his eyes. As his inner lids snapped shut to fend off the worst of the effects, he noticed two aborigines sitting on metallic chairs on either side of him. They were both chirping and belching at him wildly making it very difficult to hear what they were thinking. All he was able to hear was that the male was named approximately “Man Tmm” and the female was “Woman Krsty.”

The aboriginal mind was totally chaotic and virtually impossible to understand. Each thought was riddled with extreme emotion piled upon layers of insecurity and guilt mixed with what only can be described as a “lonely” feeling of universal superiority. What audacious creatures! Even at their profound level of primitive ignorance and in the midst of their belief at being alone in the universe, they were convinced at an almost instinctive level that they were created in the image of The Love Supreme! This was the closest that Krndyk Fllyk had ever come to a personal experience with blasphemy.

He did not like it and instantly shut down, stopped listening and drew within himself falling into Plyk-Str: the deepest state of inner peace.

When Byrp Fllyk came out of Plyk-Str, the lights had happily been turned off and he was alone in the room. It was completely stark, no furnishings but the two metallic chairs, and a flat low structure covered by the same irritating material he had been wrapped in as he was brought to this strange place.

“Evlyn” he thought with great, almost unbearable pain. The unshakeable image of her once perfect body: Soulless, burned and peeling in the horrid New Rahston sunlight simply broke his hearts.

Looking to his right, Fllyk saw that the aborigines had inserted a primitive metal tube into his arm, essentially turning his vein into crude access port. Such brutes! He thought. Connected to the tube via an artificial vein of some sort was a vile of clear fluid, timed to drip the liquid slowly into his body. Experiencing a momentary twinge of respect at the primitive’s ingenuity, Fllyk carefully removed the contraption and began a healing Plyk-Plyd stretch.

In the corner of the simple square that made up the extent of his surroundings, there was one other item. A small square device of some primeval nature, most likely a rudimentary communication node. Krndyk Fllyk had heard that the aborigines had fashioned basic amplification devices that converted their offensive sounds into simple radio waves. These same signals had first been picked up as they intersected with an Umbilical Beam from Rahston, alerting them all of the aboriginal existence on their chosen colony world.

Krndyk Fllyk pondered all of these things in his hearts as he went back to his lone piece of furnishings and began his second rest-cycle of the day.

CHAPTER TWELVE

When Fllyk left his second sleep-cycle and began to move into the waking Plyk-Phoon contemplations that fuel each new day, he was once again greeted by outrageously bright and physically invasive artificial lights. Fllyk could not only see the primitive artificial illumination, but could hear it as the heated filaments spat and sputtered their wasteful electric current. Suddenly, Man Tmm and a new aborigine that Fllyk heard was called Dktr Mks, appeared out of the painful lighting and began burping, chirping, screeching, and scratching at a painful level within one bromeen of his face!

“Croak, blat, splat, simmer, tweet, scream, wail, belch!” they seemed to be saying loudly.

“I cannot hear what you are thinking because of the hideous sounds issuing from your access ports!” Fllyk thought as loudly as he could.

“Please, terminate your sonic expulsions and think with me!”

To this, Man Tmm and Dktr Mks seemed to redouble their heinous efforts:“Skwall, hurl, flack, hack, belch, snort, hock, wheeze, sling, moan, kree, skwack, burp, rattle!”

Fllyk could feel himself falling into Plyk-Str but resisted as too much Plyk-Str can cause one to become addled and light headed.

“Are you somehow trying to communicate with me with your horrid noises?” asked Fllyk. “Is this the “language” of New Rahston aborigines that I have heard of? Please try to think instead….please….please discontinue your sonic expulsions!”

“BRAP?…PAKKA BURP? Man Tmm seemed to be asking Dktr Mks.

Yes, this was most assuredly a language. Fantastic! Using some kind of resonant internal organ to produce sounds that are used as communication! How wasteful.

Returning their attention to Fllyk, the aboriginal duo began at an even more fevered pitch: “Pop, sizzle, scrape, scrape, retch, hurl, vomit, sneeze, explode, cough, belch, belch, BELCH!”

Plyk-Str could no longer be denied.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

The horror of these “interviews” continued for many more sleep cycles, with no improvement at all. The aborigines squawked and belched and refused to think. Fllyk had no success whatsoever in getting to the whirlwind of mental flotsam that lay hidden behind the audible barrage of filth that these primitive people used for communication.

Occasionally Dktr Mks, assisted by variations of other aboriginals, would conduct physical examinations. Reminding him of the child frightstories of his youth, these “medical explorations” at his expense were tantamount to torture. As the Grand Tdd once said:

“What does not rob us of life only strengthens our will to live.” How true.

During one particularly grueling session of primeval medicinal buffoonery, Fllyk went into a fit of such pain that he screamed a pure bolt of push-thought into the little room. A thing normally under the complete control of all Ibeyan as they mature, push-thought can cause great damage if unleashed, as well as embarrassment and even disgrace to the unfortunate Ibeyan releasing it. In this case, the push sent Dktr Mks and his assistants flying across the room and into the wall on the other side destroying their primitive equipment in the process (the destruction of said instruments of torture were not mourned by Fllyk) After a virtuoso round of belches, burps, wheezing, and generally ill-mannered audio-babble, the aborigines left the room for another sleep cycle.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Rising form his cycle pleasantly this time to a darkened room, Fllyk was able to go through the complete waking Plyk-Phoon contemplations as well as the celebrations for The Love Supreme. Feeling moderately Ibeyan for the first time in quite a while, Fllyk stood up from his one piece of furniture and performed the five healing Plyk-Plyd stretches known as Tyd-pa, Slyd-ko, Mnk-ra, Tyd-po and Ryd-ga.

As the faint dawn light from the New Rahston sun began to illuminate his small space, Fllyk was once again intrigued by the only other thing in the room (besides the harsh aborigine chairs), the communication node. A quaint construction that admittedly showed some level of craftsmanship, the device was made of New Rahston vegetable matter, stained with some kind of natural pigment and boasted a front covered by a fine weave of some other kind of natural filament. At its base in the front were a series of control nubs that seemed to adjust by rotation. Comically primitive in design, but not completely lacking in aesthetic pleasure.

In the midst of his consideration of the aboriginal communication node, an entrance to his room opened to reveal Woman Krsty. She began to chirp and whistle in a very high staccato manner that was somewhat less offensive than any other aboriginal sound Krndyk Fllyk had yet heard, but even so it tended to bring him to a point of near-nausea. “If these creatures would just open their minds and listen!” Fllyk thought with great frustration.

During this display of upper register primitive cacophony, Woman Krsty walked over to the communication node and began to manipulate the nubs on its exterior. Suddenly, an artificial male aboriginal cascade of belches, blurps and animalistic expulsions issued forth in a particularly irritating manner. “This madness is too much to bear” Krndyk Fllyk thought as he considered a return to Plyk-Str.

In the midst of this deepening despair however, Byrp Fllyk was given a respite in the form of a miraculous event. As Woman Krsty sat on her metallic chair chirping, wailing and belching− recognizable words began to come from the communication node! At first, he thought he was imagining it, but then…yes! Understandable words!

“To all brown run blue blue snap fit conglomerate” This phrase repeated and was followed by: “Bring bring bring flop from there bring bring bring.” Springing to his feet, Krndyk Fllyk ran to the communication node to listen more closely. Woman Krsty instantly stopped her cacophonous chatter and stared.

“To all brown run blue blue snap fit conglomerate”

Byrp Fllyk looked at Woman Krsty and then back at the communication node and then back at Woman Krsty frantically trying to let the aborigine know that this was special.

“Bring bring bring flop from there bring bring bring.”

“To all brown run blue blue snap fit conglomerate”

“Can you not hear?” “Can you not tell that your communication node is speaking?”

Woman Krsty rose to her feet as well and approached Krndyk Fllyk. Making aboriginal noises that were a little less harsh than usual, she knelt down by the node and looked into Byrp Fllyk’s eyes with what he felt must have been compassion. Suddenly, Man Tmm burst into the room waiving his arms in the air spewing forth a spectacular array of New Rahston aboriginal projectile gibberish! Krndyk Fllyk put his hands over his ears and dropped to the floor, curled into a fetal position and instantly went into Plyk-Str.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Returning from the state of inner peace, Krndyk Fllyk found himself on the flat surface once again swaddled in the scratchy, rough-hewn fabric of the primitives. Sitting up slowly, he noticed that there were three figures in the room with him: Woman Krsty, Man Tmm and a new aborigine with dark flesh tone who carried some kind of curved implement. Not knowing what else to do, Byrp Fllyk listened and hoped.

After some seemingly cursory opening belches and nasty clipped spittle-noises from Man Tmm, the dark flesh aborigine put one end of the curved implement into his facial access port. What happened next changed Krndyk Fllyk forever and opened the floodgates towards Ibeyan-aborigine communications. The dark-flesh creature began to speak with the implement! Here was the random phrase again:

“To all brown run blue blue snap fit conglomerate” followed by something new: “My feet passeth all understanding with pellets of gold, Oh yay Oh yay Oh yay meet me in St. Louis.” Byrp Fllyk was mesmerized!

The day that the dark-flesh aborigine (whom Byrp Fllyk later learned was named Man Brd) began speaking through his curvy implement, communications between Krndyk Fllyk and the New Rahston aborigines grew exponentially. In the multiple sleep cycles that came to pass, Byrp Fllyk was able to speak with Man Brd first via his curved speaking device and then ultimately through his mind.

Fllyk was fascinated with the mind of Man Brd! Here was an aborigine whose soul was perfect, a being who seemed to be directly connected to the humor and truth that is The Love Supreme. So very different from the befuddled and cluttered maelstroms of conflicting emotions that make up the thought patterns of typical New Rahston aborigines. And yet, Man Brd seemed to be completely subservient to the belching, spitting, coughing lesser beings that intruded upon Fllyk’s room with such regularity. It would take many, many brommesans to understand this muddled backwards society.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

With the help of Man Brd and his amazing curved communication device, Fllyk was able to teach Woman Krsty and even Man Tmm how to speak with their minds. He taught them much about the ways of The Ibeyan as well as life on his Mother World of Rahston. As The Ibeyan were unfamiliar with the aboriginal trait of telling falsehoods, Krndyk Fllyk also taught Woman Krsty and Man Tmm about the Ibeyan plan to colonize New Rahston and to educate the aborigines while giving them the honor of becoming honorary Ibeyan worker-drudges.

Fllyk never discovered why the Umbilical Beam was cut off that critical day over New Mexico. Even now, in 5633, the beam has not resumed. Krndyk Fllyk’s soul passed on to the String Life on Spyksday, 5624. Surely he is now finally joined with his beloved Evlyn Glyb.

Krndyk Fllyk was replaced as an Ibeyan ambassador to the council of aborigines known as MJ-12 by Brp Krn who has continued an exchange of concepts, ideas and technology. True, the tech exchange is heavily weighted towards the Ibeyan giving rather than receiving, but they have learned a bit about the craft of working New Rahston vegetable fiber into quaint furnishings.

The majority of the Ibeyan who were in the vicinity of New Rahston when The Discovery went down were trapped at the Aboriginal Observation Base on Luna. They have been quietly observing aborigine advancements ever since. A small group of other Ibeyan ships were thankfully on the ground when the beam went out and their crews have gone into hiding in the deep woods of the Missouri Ozarks (The new ambassador, Brp Krn comes from their number).

At present, plans have been terminated to colonize New Rahston, but if productive communications with the aborigines can continue, perhaps the two races will work together to find a way to restore the Umbilical Beam so that the surviving Ibeyan can reunite with the Mother World. And who knows? Under the guidance of Brp Krn and other Ibeyan, perhaps the aborigines will learn to live in peace and share New Rahston—from a distance preferably…they still insist on communicating mostly with their sonic expulsions which can only be described as disgusting!

Epilogue:

How could Krndyk Fllyk know that the dark-fleshed aborigine who spoke with the curved implement was Earth’s jazz legend Charlie “Yardbird” Parker? Of course, he could not know this. MJ-12 Communications Director Christy Wilson had brought the great artist to Area 51 once she realized that Krndyk Fllyk was responding positively to the radio show “After Hours Swing Session with Symphony Sid” and specifically to Charlie Parker’s alto saxophone solos.

Parker and John Birks “Dizzy” Gillespie were in Los Angeles for a limited engagement and Wilson was able to convince Parker to stay behind when the band left to return to New York. Once it was discovered that the human art known as bebop could be taught to others and used as a platform to communicate with Krndyk Fllyk,

Parker stayed for a few more weeks, and then was told to leave. He was sworn to secrecy and ordered to never tell anyone of his experiences playing bebop for an EBE (Extraterrestrial Biological Entity). He was also told that if he did tell anyone, that his wife and daughter would “disappear.” Dealing with this threat along with the trauma of coming to grips with an EBE rattled Parker’s already fragile drug-devastated psyche. Charlie checked himself into Camarillo State Mental Hospital in California for a six month period, but to no avail. His secret became too great a burden and he tried to wash it away with alcohol upon his return to New York. Charlie “Bird”

Parker died at the age of 35 in 1955. How could Krndyk Fllyk have known this? Of course he could not. If he did, indeed he would have grieved. But a select group of humans did learn just how much of a universal language bebop really is.

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About swiest2

Steve Wiest is a Trombonist-Composer-Cartoonist-Author and Coordinator of The 21st Century Music Initiative at The Lamont School of Music: The University of Denver
This entry was posted in Release The Dover Stone!. Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to Release The Dover Stone! (Part 2: EBE BOP)

  1. Hambone says:

    O.K. Off thread. Saw “Whiplash” last night. Dude, I have to talk to you about this movie. s/ Hambone

    • swiest2 says:

      Sir Hambone! I have yet to see it but want to. I’ve heard from multiple friends in the biz that: 1. GREAT movie 2. GREAT acting 3. UNBELIEVABLE lack of research into jazz or music making reality at all. If that is indeed the case, what a pity! But, as I say, I need to see it. In the meantime, I’ll give you a call. Tomorrow, Tuesday March 10 in the evening ok?

  2. Hambone says:

    Streaming on Netflix. Agree with points 1 and 2. Too ignorant to comment on 3. Look forward to it.

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