What's In a Name?

     Vagabond Genesis believed everything about a name is not only crucial as to what it implies, propagates, and elevates, but also predetermines the first impression of the one who has no knowledge of the stranger who stands before them. Not just the moral or ethical implications a name exudes, but the fireworks or meltdown that is promoted on the big screen of inquisitiveness everyone possesses, but often fears to allow the examination of that dark side of the moon within us all.

    Names, like fossils, leave an indelible stain on the imagination of the ones who examine them if they are allowed the unfettered means to roam the possible prophetic recesses of their minds.

    If anyone would know about the implications involved with a name, it would be Vagabond Genesis. His formative years were warped by the moniker that preceded the first impression made by his premature balding, and overly aggressive ears and nose. His eyes, although considered large for the size of his face, fell within the parameters of acceptable according to some, even though not necessarily desirable.   

    He felt that he could deal with the distractions generated by his face despite the misplaced match of two people who should never have had children.  Their congealed efforts nonetheless blended practicality with a vision of everything they were not, giving Vagabond a negative balance when it came to possibility.

    Vagabond realized that naming was a universal way of endowing your creation with individuality, and the premonition of status, regardless of the abilities inherited by the one expected to become what he or she may not want, or be capable of attaining.

Vagabond, although he believed he was average, which allows for no end of conjecture when it came to remaining nebulous to the point of becoming invisible, even to oneself, left him with the nagging feeling he’d been adopted or stolen. Had he not found a small innocuous book that someone left on the green Naugahyde of a bus bound for the un-nerving nostalgia he knew awaited him once he was able to rid himself of the weight of expectation; he would not have envisioned himself a nun.

     John Browns Biblical Reckoning was a small book, just eleven and a half pages, but packed with hindsight that could not be ignored, at least by Vagabond. The thesis of the impactful book was the reverse of what was, and the acceptance of what could have been had certain auspicious events not taken place.

    Moses’s return from the Burning Bush Tour, was just one example of what can happen to ones mind if left unattended.

    “What would the world of tomorrow be like?” John Browns ink shouted. What would it be like had we not been tethered to the old stories and beliefs, despite the contradictions in the promotions they were advancing. Suppose there never was the concept of good and evil? Suppose that stealing, blasphemy, and coveting your neighbors wife had not been labeled illicit acts against morality, and a roadblock to the inevitable payoff heaven, but deemed deeds to emulate. There would be no congressional mores to contemplate on the gallows. 

The more Vagabond considered the teachings of John Brown, the more he realized he’d been living under a black cloud attributable to a name that he had no involvement in creating. He had been branded by the likes of the scarlet letter and the bar code, which although making commerce flow more efficiently, remained ugly and unimaginative.

    The only recourse left to those when it rains, is to get an umbrella or go indoors, or so he believed, as did John Brown; “you can manipulate the programmed outcome by simply refusing to accept the inherent message, regardless of the comedic banter and antics of the delivery person,” Brown stated on page 6. 

    The more he considered the alternatives, the more he found himself contemplating revolution. He had read on the back of a cereal box dedicated to nutrition and civics, that Rasputin, although not popular and considered unpleasant, managed to be the impetus for a revolution that changed the face of history, although for not more than fifteen minutes of celestial time in the scheme of things, but did manage to uplift the peasant spirit of those who always wanted to see the demise of those they considered privileged. The Romanovs were dispatched with haste as the new revolutionaries were thirsty for justice, bread, and perhaps roses.

    One thing led to another as the wheels of revolution churned in his head, and he came to the conclusion that although he was not Russian, and disliked murder no matter the excuse, he could follow the tactics of revolution and become synonymous with Brown’s theory of believing only what made sense to you, regardless of others perceptions or facts.

    The more he pondered the situation that he would live the remainder of his days under a cloud with his name on it, the more he realized he could use the negativity it provided to his advantage. Being that the majority of people were unhappy and believing it was somebody else’s fault, he could simply use their negativity to embarrass them by proclaiming they had no shame, and little recourse when it came to being saddled with names like Bill or Susan.

    Vagabond would begin a podcast exemplifying the names that everyone considered deviant, even in a culture made up of deviants, which made it all the more acceptable. He would introduce a legal ease initiative so that you could change your name on line and not be subjected to the suspicions of the courts and the traditional stogy judges who manipulated them, not to mention the exorbitant fees that funded the staginess.

    Vagabond figured, that if the majority of those who believed their names were normal, could be convinced that being normal was a detriment to their ability to be productive in a digital manner, they would regard him, and a small number of malcontents, as the cool kids on the block.

     The Sesame euphoria that enveloped him caused him to search for John Brown to question him about the possibility of starting a new religion, founded on the reverse order of all things organic or natural, or synthetically ironic, what did it matter? It all depended upon your degree of self-delusion. The thought gave him the constipated feeling he used to get when standing alone before an audience and expected to be mesmerizing, despite his consternation.

      John Brown had heard of the growing movement to install him as the Lolli Pope. He understood it to be a fated position similar to the Grand Puma or Dalai Lama.  Vagabond had decided the new religious philosophy would allow him to become a different person than the one he’d grown used to, if not comfortable with, and he began to reconsider his need to change. He pondered the notion on page 11 that change didn’t always engender the anticipated outcome.

    John Brown having looked at his prognostic assumptions decided it was far too risky physically and emotionally, and moved to the foothills of the Himalayas, to a small village named Gird, to avoid having to make an indecisive decision that could get him killed, or have his reputation impugned.

     He sent a brief but pungent note to Vagabond, explaining his aversion to bright lights and night sweats. He explained he would do his penance as all righteous devotes of indecisiveness should do, by continuing to import a sense of seasoning to the black and white lives of the sherpa class. He also mentioned he had started a band, The Lost Heads, which were primarily dedicated to bringing the Gregorian Chants back to life by adding a synthesizer and a xylophone, and where appropriate, words devotes could understand.

    Vagabond of course was disappointed until he saw the arrow at the bottom of the page suggesting he turn over the paper he held. There, in all capital letters in the Baroque style, asked a simple question that the Baptist suggested should be entertained only after absorbing the sound and intent of a musical triangle; hopefully not being confused with the three-way configuration of deviant minds or the Holy Trinity. 

    The question was from an old adage which left no excuse for an answer to be considered, but one. “Why not change?” Your name, your fate, your face, all implicit in the question. The suggestion was uncomplicated, yet powerful. Although Vagabond initially entertained the idea he could not consolidate the notion of who he had become, with who he had been, while being predetermined by an imposters name, or by those who knew him on a superficial level, he decided he had nothing to lose but dignity, which he found to be based solely on assumption.

    Vagabond ruminated on the question for several minutes before deciding, was it asking too much of the fortitude he had manufactured over the past years, to abandon a shell he had meticulously created to protect himself from his own doubts, to change. 

    No! He would continue to endure the ramifications of the At First Sight indictment hoisted on many of those inheritors of names they could not live up to, or hide from.

    His commitment however wilted as it always did, and he began to question the genesis of his name in hopes of reinventing his personal outlook on what it implied.     

Vagabond: A person who wanders.

Genesis: Origin, beginnings, birth.

    The words lifted his understanding of what he had been predestined to aspire to, a wandering beginner. He could live with that.

    He fell asleep that night wondering about the missing middle name he was never given, or had it been kept from him for reasons undisclosed, or simply lost in translation.

    His night was uneventful, but he awoke with the word “Interrupted,” emblazoned on his mind, and no idea where he’d left the thesaurus.  His head throbbed with a notion that todays tomorrows promised little, and yet what else did he have to look forward to? Heaven was no longer as appealing as it once had been, and he wasn’t getting any prettier.

    Vagabond Genesis realized that most answers could be found in the first mirror one could find. Looking at yourself objectively will tell you everything you really don’t want to know, he surmised. He proceeded to break every mirror in the house despite the omen of bad luck.