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The Royal

from Fangs of The Universe by TMMC

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about

part one from the basement bootleg

lyrics

In the center of all and nothing, the indefinable blackness, rests a rock. Atop the rock, which is neither large nor small, sits a desk and a chair and a typewriter. The desk is constructed from no determinable materials, but the typewriter is steel; it’s a Royal, a fully functioning Model 10, clean and crisp and glistening. Next to the typewriter is a loosely stacked pile of standard white paper, adjacent from the pen and inkwell in the corner. The makings of a creator’s desk, the tools of a thinker, a storyteller.

A man of middle age and no discernable ethnic background wakes to find himself in the chair, at the desk, his hands resting heavily mere inches from the typewriter’s keys. His name is Adam. Without knowing how he came to be sitting in the chair, at the desk, before the typewriter, alone on top of a solitary rock in the dead of nothing, he finds himself oddly exactly where he was expecting to be one day, hoping to be even; although strangely, he cannot remember ever existing before this. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe nothing did.

He tries to place himself elsewhere in another time, he can’t. The more he forces his thoughts on anything other than his current position, the more he finds himself drawn to the letters on the keys of the Royal. Eventually, he’s consumed by the thought of the Royal, of using it to…to what? As though not of his own choosing, he finds himself lifting a single page from the stack of paper, smoothly inserting it behind the rollers of the Royal, exhaling as it snugly fits into the machine as was intended. And just as autonomously, and again without thinking, he puts his fingers on the keys and begins to type.

First black, and absence, and nothing. And then…light. Only a speck at first, a microscopic fragment of dust in the vast distance. But soon the pecking and dotting of the dark canvas bring pricks of light, to many to count, the collection of which begin to fill the blackness with a pulse of energy, newness from ancient nothing. Then a star, a true and magnificent sphere of burning mass, emerges, slipping from behind the veil of darkness silently; then swirls of dust, various collections of particles, conglomerate formations becoming rocks, which are then jumbled and assembled into larger formations which become planets. Gases twist and turn and form into small orbs, which eventually become large as more and more planets form, each spinning and dancing in a circular fashion around their pulsing stars at the center of each room. A galaxy is then born, and from there another, and another, and then billions more. The Universe, unfolding, spreading like an eternal cloth, growing gigantic and encompassing, its birth unparalleled in the history of anything, which up to this point has contained only nothingness before Adam. With limitless power contained inside its very essence, the Universe awakens. And while still in its infancy, the Universe is already wise and is a very hungry child.

credits

from Fangs of The Universe, released January 1, 2016
Matt Daniels
The Dragon Dagger

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all rights reserved

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TMMC Salt Lake City, Utah

In '01 Matt and The Dagger formed The Madman Chronicles: an acoustic guitar playing songs with narration.

18 years later, The Madman Chronicles (TMMC) has kept the original lineup and the organic, experimental format they're known for, with concept albums, singles, live recordings and more.

Uniquely engaging, fueled by raw emotion and live-energy, TMMC is salty, strange and meaner than hell. ... more

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