2112- A tale of lies and Rebirth

2112- A story of deception, propaganda, and sadness

By Derek Campbell

In one of the past blogs I've posted, I mentioned a Rush song called 2112, a 21 minute, 7 part song that could be a stand alone short story. It is an episodic tale of a seemingly utopian future. However, like most science-fiction books of a similar plot, the listener eventually learns that this is a dystopian future, bent on propaganda, deception, and total control. This is the general idea of the story, but the true emotions come to fruition when you listen to the song and read the story. That is why I have typed the narrated story and left a link to the song, so that you too, can achieve an elevated understanding of not only the song, but of themes, morals, plot, and other important topics regarding literature:

Song: RUSH- 2112

Included Narration:

I lie awake, staring out at the bleakness of Megadon. City and sky become one, merging into a single plane, a vast sea of unbroken grey. The Twin Moons, just two pale orbs as they trace their way across the steely sky. I used to think I had a pretty good life here, just plugging into my machine for the day, then watching Templevision or reading a TemplePaper in the evening.

My friend Jon always said it was nicer here than under the atmospheric domes of the Outer Planets. We have had peace since 2062, when the surviving planets were banded together under the Red Star of the Solar Federation. The less fortunate gave us a few new moons. I believed what I was told. I thought it was a good life, I thought I was happy. Then I found something that changed it all...

[I. Overture]

The massive grey walls of the Temples rise from the heart of every Federation city. I have always been awed by them, to think that every single facet of every life is regulated and directed from within! Our books, our music, our work and play are all looked after by the benevolent wisdom of the priests...

[II. Temples of Syrinx]

Behind my beloved waterfall, in the little room that was hidden beneath the cave, I found it. I brushed away the dust of the years, and picked it up, holding it reverently in my hands. I had no idea what it might be, but it was beautiful...

I learned to lay my fingers across the wires, and to turn the keys to make them sound differently. As I struck the wires with my other hand, I produced my first harmonious sounds and soon my own music! How different it could be from the music of the Temples! I can't wait to tell the priests about it!...

[III. Discovery]

In the sudden silence as I finished playing, I looked up to a circle of grim, expressionless faces. Father Brown rose to his feet, and his somnolent voice echoed throughout the silent Temple Hall...

Instead of the grateful joy that I expected, they were words of quiet rejection! Instead of praise, sullen dismissal. I watched in shock and horror as Father Brown ground my precious instrument to splinters beneath his feet...

[IV. Presentation]

I guess it was a dream, but even now it all seems so vivid to me. Clearly yet I see the beckoning hand of the oracle as he stood at the summit of the staircase...

I see still the incredible beauty of the sculptured cities and the pure spirit of man revealed in the lives and works of this world. I was overwhelmed by both wonder and understanding as I saw a completely different way to life, a way that had been crushed
by the Federation long ago. I saw now how meaningless life had become with the loss of all these things...

[V. Oracle: The Dream]

I have not left this cave for days now, it has become my last refuge in my total despair. I have only the music of the waterfall to comfort me now. I can no longer live under the control of the Federation, but there is no other place to go. My last hope is
that with my death I may pass into the world of my dream, and know peace at last.

[VI. Soliloquy]

[VII. Grand Finale]

It is a sad tale, inconclusive and unfulfilling. The song teaches us the importance of the beauty of life and the little details that make life worth living. It also touches on the idea of "Peace vs. Freedom", what are you willing to give up for security ("Can you put a price on peace?" (David Scott Mustaine))? Under closer examination, you may find several more themes seamlessly woven into the lyrics of the song. However, there are so many that I cannot list all of them now.

The point of this is, music and literature aren't so different after. They both tell intricate stories and include many rhetorical devices and thematic messages, and 2112 twelve I thought was the perfect song to choose to show the bridge.

FUN FACT: The reason why it's called 2112 is still unclear. Some think its the year the story takes place, while others believe it is named after the protagonist "Anonymous 2112". Some believe the name is suppose to pay homage to Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture, and some goes as far as a conspiracy and numbers game found within the lyrics.   

Late Nights by Bailey Kellenberger

 11:01 pm. She walked up the broken stairs and to the rusty cage door that lead to her mournful apartment. As her skeleton-like hands grasped the icy doorknob, the off-white door creaked open. Her fat, tabby cat shrieked and darted away. Home. This was her home whether she liked it or not. Oddly enough her cold and dark apartment, which often smelled like wet moss, made her feel safe. She threw her shoulder bag onto the coffee table and proceed to remove her muddy converse. Suddenly she developed an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. Was someone there? She called out but she heard nothing. She tried to ignore her feeling, after all, she was probably just being dramatic. She put the teakettle on the burner and reached for the sugar in the cabinet when she felt a hot breath on her neck. She was frozen. Who was there? She spun around quickly on her heels hoping to catch whoever was there off guard. No one was there. Her mind was playing tricks. The piercing sound of the kettles whistle shocked her back into reality. She prepared her tea, grabbed her favorite book that she had read and reread and read again, and sat in the corner chair near the window. Just beyond the walls of her apartment, she could hear stray dogs howling at the silver, crescent moon. She heard, in the distance, the song of a broken hearted drunk man and faint sirens echoed throughout the city. As she was stuck within her thoughts and earl gray tea, two hands covered in leather gloves wrapped themselves around her mouth and neck. She was pulled to her feet. Tea splashed upon the molded floor as the mug bounced to a stop in the corner of the room. She wanted to scream, to call out for help but her mouth was gripped so tightly and her brain couldn’t seem to remember what words were. She closed her eyes, preparing herself for whatever was to happen next. The gloved hands pushed her forward, trying to get her to move faster. She heard the familiar sound of her door opening. The rope was thrown upon her hands and fastened quickly. Finally, it hit her. She was going to die. She kicked her legs and tried to break her head free from her kidnapper but it was no use. Whoever this was, was strong. In an instant, her mouth was covered in duct tape and her legs bound as well. Was she still in her apartment? Had they moved? Why couldn’t she call out for help? Heavy footsteps intruded the thoughts that raced through her mind. She tried to open her eyes only to find out that the night had fallen so dark she could no longer see anything... including her perpetrator. She began to cry and attempted to scream but the tape was wrapped so tightly causing her to wince in pain. The offender sat her upright and began to look through her things. She felt something the brush up against her leg. It was her tabby cat. The footsteps step toward the cat. The cat bowled. Hands grabbed her hair. 

5:15 am. The alarm rang. Time to get up. 

Click here to see part 1

Early Mornings By: Bailey Kellenberger

         5:15. The alarm rang. Time to get up. There was a still chill that filled her body as she removed her down comforter and placed her feet on the hard wood floors that felt like ice. She remained on the edge of her bed contemplating whether she should crawl back under the covers and continue her dream of the life she wished she had or if she should throw on her favorite pairs of jeans, go make the coffee and get ready for work.

           Although the coffee tasted like lard, she managed to finish the cup she had poured for herself. She slung her worn out leather bag over her aching body and hustled out the door. The streets were filled with styrofoam cups and mustard yellow shopping bags. Rats ran down and through the rainstorm drain. A dark grey cloud haunted the day. As she forced herself to saunter down the broken sidewalk, she saw a decrepit women beating our an old rug over her firescape. The old womens eyes were sharp and harsh. They told a story of hardships, pain, and heartbreak at just one glance. She prayed that she would never end up like that. She wanted more for her life. She wanted to travel, explore, and make a difference. Instead she was stuck working early morning shifts at the local diner and late night shifts cleaning used motel rooms. She often wondered if she would ever escape. She felt as if she was on a roller coaster that seemed to only go downwards. She was consumed within her thoughts of what she would one day become when she began to cross the street. Two bright lights appeared and a long horn rang throughout the air.
           5:15. The alarm rang. Time to get up.