WEBVTT - Book of Changes

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<v Speaker 1>Following a production by r pointing of this episode contains

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<v Speaker 1>depictions of drug use. A second Oil Atlas station, take

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<v Speaker 1>a lifetime of tension between landsfolk and recombined, and seal

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<v Speaker 1>it all up in the depths, crush it beneath three

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<v Speaker 1>D atmospheres worth of pressure, see what happens close quarters

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<v Speaker 1>and an extreme environment. Those factors alone were probably enough

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<v Speaker 1>to generate a certain amount of enhanced cohesion US, no

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<v Speaker 1>matter how long the download lines, no matter their thirst

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<v Speaker 1>for surface media, Atlas was cut off, perhaps not so

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<v Speaker 1>much the bottom of the world as the very edge

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<v Speaker 1>of it. I began to see what Veil was after,

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<v Speaker 1>and despite all the crap, maybe it really was there

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<v Speaker 1>for the finding. I left Hoffman to his atrium. I

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<v Speaker 1>expected to run right back into Jack's, but it appeared

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<v Speaker 1>I was chaperone free, not that they needed a physical

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<v Speaker 1>guard to keep tabs on me. There were cameras everywhere,

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<v Speaker 1>which of course made the situation with Bouklyn all the

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<v Speaker 1>more grating. Footage existed, or had existed, to tell us

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<v Speaker 1>just where Golden Boy had gone. Command suspected the Triton's.

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<v Speaker 1>They'd been pretty explicit. I wasn't sure what Hoffman had

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<v Speaker 1>to do with it all, but he knew more than

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<v Speaker 1>he led on. I ignored his advice on the virtues

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<v Speaker 1>of cleanliness and a good night's sleep. The basilisk drug

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<v Speaker 1>wouldn't let me settle just yet. Anyway, I headed back

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<v Speaker 1>to the bazaar and squeezed my way into the barrel eye.

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<v Speaker 1>It was as much bar as you could possibly cram

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<v Speaker 1>into a space so narrow, just bar and stools and

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<v Speaker 1>a wall of glittering bottles, all beneath the neon glow.

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<v Speaker 1>I poured myself through the crowd. They eyed me with suspicion.

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<v Speaker 1>Even with my tattoos covered, I stood out in such

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<v Speaker 1>a tight knit community, and word had likely spread. Perhaps

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<v Speaker 1>that's why a spot opened up at the bar so

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<v Speaker 1>quickly I took it and caught the bartender's double lidded eyes.

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<v Speaker 1>What are you having whiskey? You want the good stuff

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<v Speaker 1>with the cheap stuff? You have good stuff down here? Well, hey,

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<v Speaker 1>you never know when a fresh face is going to

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<v Speaker 1>show up, probably with a company spending account. Sure top shelf.

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<v Speaker 1>Let's say it's more middle a double then, gotcha. Before

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<v Speaker 1>I could ask him anything more useful, he moved over

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<v Speaker 1>to another patron, so I drank. It didn't matter how

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<v Speaker 1>confident the black drug made me feel. I still needed

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<v Speaker 1>something to do with my hands, a prop, a reason

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<v Speaker 1>for squirming into a place like this and asking inconvenient questions.

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<v Speaker 1>I had another. I showed off one of my blades

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<v Speaker 1>to a plastered a u V Tech, but refused to

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<v Speaker 1>do a knife trick. That's more of a drink six thing.

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<v Speaker 1>The crowd swelled, hot with mingled sweat and the saccarin

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<v Speaker 1>breath of the Inebriated, I brushed off a bramble bearded

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<v Speaker 1>worker's offer for an other drink and rose to follow

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<v Speaker 1>the bartender out through the bead curtained rear exit. The

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<v Speaker 1>room was tight. I worked my way out into the

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<v Speaker 1>bazaar's back alley, just in time to watch him slip

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<v Speaker 1>into a toilet pod. I stalled and pretended to check

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<v Speaker 1>out a handful of ragged flyers plastered to the rear

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<v Speaker 1>of the bar addiction services, a prayer group of some kind.

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<v Speaker 1>I glanced back down the row of pods and saw

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<v Speaker 1>a familiar face. It stared back at me from the crowd,

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<v Speaker 1>behind a trio of cavorting drunks by a tobacco machine.

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<v Speaker 1>It was vail. I kept a poker face, but began

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<v Speaker 1>moving my way toward her through the crowd. After all,

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<v Speaker 1>why wouldn't a nosy newcomer like me chat up a

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<v Speaker 1>random blonde with a staring problem. I was just glad

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<v Speaker 1>she'd made it out of the crate. I'd scarcely closed

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<v Speaker 1>half the distance before she ducked away. I followed, pushing

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<v Speaker 1>my way through the drunks, but I lost her almost immediately.

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<v Speaker 1>I stood there a moment, scanning the crowd as it

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<v Speaker 1>moved around me, until the jostle of bodies became too much,

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<v Speaker 1>and I just moved with them. I didn't blame her.

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<v Speaker 1>Chatting with me was trouble. Chatting with her was trouble.

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<v Speaker 1>I was just a little too intoxicated to think about it. Honestly,

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<v Speaker 1>I was a little too intoxicated in general. I gave

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<v Speaker 1>up on the bartender and whatever dead end tips might

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<v Speaker 1>have come of it, and I had no interest in

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<v Speaker 1>anything else he might be peddling. I kept walking. Mm Hmmtoric,

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<v Speaker 1>ye heaven, and ye that dwell in them, whoa to

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<v Speaker 1>the inhabitors of the earth and of the sea, for

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<v Speaker 1>the devil is calmed down? Unto you, Having great wrath,

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<v Speaker 1>because he knoweth that he has but a short time.

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<v Speaker 1>And I stood upon the sands of the sea, and

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<v Speaker 1>Saul beast rise up out of the sea, having seven

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<v Speaker 1>heads and ten horns, and upon his horns ten crowns,

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<v Speaker 1>and upon his heads the name of blasphemy. See, my children,

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<v Speaker 1>it is all foretold the inhabitors of the earth, the

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<v Speaker 1>inhabitors of the sea. The Book of Revelation spoke to

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<v Speaker 1>this very day and age, as we gather as a

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<v Speaker 1>people on the very threshold of armor, getting for it

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<v Speaker 1>is written. And the second Angel poured out his vial

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<v Speaker 1>upon the sea, and it became as the blood of

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<v Speaker 1>a dead man, and every living soul died in the sea.

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<v Speaker 1>And the fifth Angel poured out his vial upon the

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<v Speaker 1>seat of the beast, and his kingdom was full of darkness.

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<v Speaker 1>And they gnawled their tongues in pain. For in one hour,

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<v Speaker 1>so great riches has come to night the Word of God.

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<v Speaker 1>Praise Jesus and blessed him who rocked above the water,

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<v Speaker 1>and not blow these the Holy book. God is still

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<v Speaker 1>speaking to us. Can I get an amen? Can I

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<v Speaker 1>see those calm units in the air? God, He's still speaking. God,

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<v Speaker 1>he still seeing God. He speaks, He speaking God's silos

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<v Speaker 1>speaking sickle speed, still sickness, God sick is sleeping. Jana

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<v Speaker 1>Bari first made her splash in Atlanta's art world five

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<v Speaker 1>years ago. Her latest work explores the recombined experience in America.

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<v Speaker 1>Tabitha Vale has more. Jana Bari Studio in South Atlanta

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<v Speaker 1>occupies the gymnasium of a former elementary school. Look closely

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<v Speaker 1>and you can still see the lines of a basketball

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<v Speaker 1>court on the wooden planks. It also once provided shelter

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<v Speaker 1>for climate refugees. Now it's home to a series of

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<v Speaker 1>six concrete wall fragments from around the country, each once

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<v Speaker 1>part of the nation's coastal fortifications against a growing recombined population.

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<v Speaker 1>This one's from Louisiana. So I'm trying to incorporate the

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<v Speaker 1>right mixture of immigrant cultures and the murals. So it's

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<v Speaker 1>a lot trickier than you might think. You've got centuries

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<v Speaker 1>of cross cultural and multi lingual heritage there, all before

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<v Speaker 1>the oil crisis. Of course. A Bori made her name

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<v Speaker 1>in the art world with the use of decay primed

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<v Speaker 1>meta pigments, creating murals that aged and eroded mere minutes

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<v Speaker 1>after exposure. For her walls project, however, she's depending on

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<v Speaker 1>traditional paints and practical materials. This wall segment is my favorite.

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<v Speaker 1>See this smugglers doors board right through the concrete and

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<v Speaker 1>that's why they discarded it. The boy grew up in Atlanta,

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<v Speaker 1>one of some ten thousand transgend children legally adopted by

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<v Speaker 1>sister and parents before the outlaw of the practice. Through

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<v Speaker 1>her art, she attempts to communicate the transgend experience to

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<v Speaker 1>a wider audience, and in doing so, explore her own roots.

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<v Speaker 1>I never fit in anywhere growing up, and when people

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<v Speaker 1>found out, they treated me like I was exotic, or

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<v Speaker 1>told me that I belonged on a trawler at least

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<v Speaker 1>on the other side of these walls. I mean, even

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<v Speaker 1>friends tried to convince me that I should just be

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<v Speaker 1>content and be grateful. But I'm not. I mean, are you,

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<v Speaker 1>I'm not content. I wandered through the crowded avenues of

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<v Speaker 1>the bazaar, A complex I came to realize wasn't a

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<v Speaker 1>single large module, but three of them lined up beside

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<v Speaker 1>each other, all within the vast sprawl of Atlas. The

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<v Speaker 1>second elongated chamber was much like the first, composed of

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<v Speaker 1>overlapping spheres and stuffed with cheap, prefabricated structures to create

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<v Speaker 1>the semblance of a crowded cityscape. It was mostly more

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<v Speaker 1>of the same food stands and vending machines. A stall

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<v Speaker 1>where a recombined tattoo artist inscribed someone's back with a

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<v Speaker 1>graph inc scanner a noisome arcade. But it wasn't all

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<v Speaker 1>commerce and consumption. In the Atlas Bazaar, I passed by

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<v Speaker 1>divination machines as gaudy as any pachinko or slot. Their

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<v Speaker 1>palm raiding panels and ore a lens is smudged with

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<v Speaker 1>the oil of countless fingerprints. The mechanical hands of an

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<v Speaker 1>e ching machine moved beneath a plexiglass bubble to flip

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<v Speaker 1>coins and position yarrow stalks. A mere app couldn't cut it,

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<v Speaker 1>we like our ancient fortune telling physical the machines gave

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<v Speaker 1>way to slender alcoves devoted to deities and spirits from

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<v Speaker 1>a dozen cultures. Recombined Jesus as well as his predecessor,

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<v Speaker 1>the Schwissien lords of Water, Mary, Ganesha, Ma Trea, and

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<v Speaker 1>the Buddha. Their gold leaf glistered in the light of

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<v Speaker 1>glow sticks and artificial candles littered round their bases. I

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<v Speaker 1>even spied an altar to the mother and father. Abstract

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<v Speaker 1>coral figures not worshiped till the advent of the Second

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<v Speaker 1>oil Age. The faithful clustered about. They were all races,

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<v Speaker 1>all creeds, all genders, both branches of human genetic lineage.

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<v Speaker 1>Bald heads bowed into gild necks, just stalls away from

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<v Speaker 1>their landsfolk, compatriots, all reaching out for something to hold

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<v Speaker 1>their hand through the chaos. I admired their devotion, their

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<v Speaker 1>ability to find solace in a demon haunted world and

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<v Speaker 1>distill hope from silent stone. And at the same time

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<v Speaker 1>I despised them for their certainty, the very strain of

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<v Speaker 1>madness that my mother absconded with to the Christ of

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<v Speaker 1>the wilderness society and their landlocked compound to await some

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<v Speaker 1>fabled rapture or return. I stopped and caught my breath

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<v Speaker 1>beside an empty vestibule. It's God removed for repairs, no doubt,

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<v Speaker 1>I meaned against the wall. The basilisk was wearing thin.

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<v Speaker 1>I felt for the applicator in my jacket, and since

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<v Speaker 1>the subdermal doses inside me each just a mental exercise

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<v Speaker 1>away from deployment. But no, I needed actual sleep. If

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<v Speaker 1>I was going to face marsh and keep her naiads

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<v Speaker 1>out of my head apatheis conditioned or not, I needed rest.

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<v Speaker 1>I looked up into the darkness of the alcove. For

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<v Speaker 1>a fleeting second, I sensed someone lurking watching me from within.

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<v Speaker 1>I strained my eyes and saw that the stall was occupied.

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<v Speaker 1>After all, A shadowy saint stood in the murk. The

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<v Speaker 1>substance of the statue somehow geologic eroded, like something warped

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<v Speaker 1>in the deepest thermal vents. I pushed myself up off

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<v Speaker 1>the wall and left her. I let the communit guide

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<v Speaker 1>me out of the bazaar through twisting corridors and past

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<v Speaker 1>recombined workers, still glistening with seawater, just returned from their

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<v Speaker 1>toils in open ocean. I reached the habitat module and

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<v Speaker 1>scanned my way into a spherical room. In doing this,

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<v Speaker 1>from the perils of the design, weapons and were imperfections.

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<v Speaker 1>You didn't think of it as a control the se

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<v Speaker 1>an ideal of tentative to No, not now, I'm not

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<v Speaker 1>doing this now. I stripped out of my gear and

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<v Speaker 1>stumbled into the rooms shower pod. I let it wash

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<v Speaker 1>over me, burning the grind him and sweat from my

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<v Speaker 1>body in a cloud of billowing steam. They are relentless.

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<v Speaker 1>They open is very fun, but you too have been

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<v Speaker 1>pretty men. Stop stop a rash, exceed, come off just

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<v Speaker 1>a bit more. No, I'm not ready. Three, No kud

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<v Speaker 1>I need now. The second oil Age was produced by

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<v Speaker 1>Robert Lamb, Alex Williams, Lauren Vogelbaum, and Josh Thain. This

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<v Speaker 1>episode featured on Joel Masters as snow Pond, Lauren Vogelbaum

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<v Speaker 1>as Tabitha Vale, Julie Douglas as Janny Bory, Jed Drummond

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<v Speaker 1>as Pastor Obelisk, and Chuck Bryant as the Bartender. Supporting

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<v Speaker 1>voice work by Gina Rakiki and Alexander Williams intro Altro,

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<v Speaker 1>and supporting music created by the weirding Mondule. Learn more

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<v Speaker 1>at Module dot band camp dot com, pass Shire Radio,

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<v Speaker 1>visit the Heart radio app, Papple Podcasts, or wherever you

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<v Speaker 1>listen to your favorite shows.