artful dodging
The General Brigade
At the beginning of a century not so long ago, in a universe so very, very close to our own (ours, in fact) was borne the umbrella brigade. Even at its inception a salvation machine of ghosts with the best of violent intentions that set out to right non-extant wrongs. Its vastness never vast, and its reception never recepted, it was from the start long abandoned by a society that never wanted it in the first place. Nor the third (the second for a second, but quickly reconsidered). Besieged by wires with homeless plugs, the membership dwindled over the year(s), though now it is infinite. ENNF is their rallying cry, and all answer it with insurgent aplomb.
The General Brigadiers may include:
W.f.S.
Whitey f. Sterling lived for some years. Recently, he has continued to do so. From 1992 to May the 24th of 1998, he stood at the forefront of stiffs, incorporated. Upon discorporation, he turned to inertia farming, and prackticed the art of fallow fielding. Finding little in this other than nothing (highly valued in his book, but not, it would seem, in some others), a call to duty rang out, and with little to no reluctance, he answered, realising that there comes a time when rain is needed, and if someone does not make it, no one will. Besides, he was already wearing the uniform. He is now the speaker of the field for Umbrella Brigade. Whitey f. Sterling has lived for some years. As of late, he continues to do so.
D. W. Friend
D. W. is the man in black. Not that man in black. Nor that one. But we followed him across the desert. We weren't sure why, but we did. We were told he had command of spirits. They turned out to be different spirits than we imagined, but we were glad we followed him all the same. We then watched him pound some stakes into the ground. We liked what we saw. We asked if he would do some pounding of a different sort. He agreed. He now the official living drummer of umbrella brigade.
Jorden Haley
Jorden Haley is a Master Compositer. Jorden Haley has a cave. In his cave he paints. Not always on the walls. And in his cave he also composits. No one quite understands how he does it, but if we did, it wouldn't be magic, now would it? His rituals are intricate, and sometimes it is hard to make him out amongst all the bones. Sometimes even he knows not what he has done. He awes the mindless. It is always amazing. Fortunate for us, Jorden emerges to proffer work. He then usually returns to his cave. Sometimes he builds a fire.
Jeremy Alisauskas
Jeremy Bastard has always been a loyal soldier for non-existent armies. Standing on the wings, he was asked if he would kindly take a step forward. This made it considerably easier for the wings to flap, especially as his foot was so firmly planted. He has proved himself in battle repeatedly, and knows that the imports lie not with the man on the hill overlooking the field, but with the man on the field giving the man on the hill something at which to look. Past Services include Guitaring in the ranks of The Murdered, which led, quite logickally, Unto Ashes, for which he received the Black Heart of Excellence and Absentia. He currently mans this same gun in Autodrone with the siren below, though in his position in umbrella brigade, it is not his only one. Gods speeds to this brave lad.
Angel Lorelei
Angel Lorelei sprouted from fallen Cherry Blossoms nourished with the icker (sic[k]) of fallen infantrymen. First seeing Mr. Jeremy Bastard in distress, she salvaged him back to health and heath before adopting a role as Head and Only Nurse for a much larger* though smaller** soldiery, even if most of the medication supplied is expired (she maintains a constant vigil on its quality and qualities). Never one to discriminate (and not that she could be stopped anyway), the Brigade frequently finds the lovely Miss Lorelei too busy fighting to administer treatment, inflicting wounds of her own in her dresses, and then dressing them in turn. As there are not so many privates available to fall, she also finds time for a base in Autodrone with the aforementioned Bastard. May she outlive the Lady of the Lamp. Not hard to do as she is long gone.
* in concept
** in number
Erin Rivera
Ern Merriman sits. And in doing so, she points us the way. She is our sitting statue of life, liberty, and the pursuit of nothing. She also sees. And listens. And feels. And thinks. But mainly, she sits. Except when she sings and dances. Then she is doing a different kind of sitting.
Poison Eve
There is an Eve that is sometimes viewed historically as a betrayer (rather unfairly, we might add). This Eve is anything but. A boon to all who would hold him, he illustrates beautifically the notion of poison as cure, in this case for whatever ails you. Should you need a key, he has a number of them. They may not fit any locks, but stick with that long enough and we learn how irrelevant that is. Eve sings and dances. Except when he sits (cf Erin Rivera). Speaking of cf, he works well in tandem with Erin, and together, they have a number of hearts that they hand out to any who might have them. The hearts share some kinship with the keys, in that they have no specific circulatory receptacles. But stick with that long enough and we learn that they are all of them ours, and ours are alls.
You
umbrella brigade is you, if you wish. Or if you do not wish. Even saying this is problematic, as it implies there is someone other than you to tell you this, and furthermore, it implies there is a you. And furtherfurthermore, that there is an umbrella brigade. Other than the one that isnt, of course.
