Just what is this ‘Chocolate Rain?’

First I’ll let you a link to the YouTube video if you’re not familiar. It’s here.

I’m keeping myself from posting the lyrics and trying to do a line-by-line interpretation, but I’ll do some quoting which I’ll separate for clarity.

And now I’ll press play and start. Thanks to TayZonday [site still under development, redirects to his YouTube account] for this song. People may criticize it for the repetition of the title lyric, but I think that it’s such a broad concept and its perpetual inclusion between the content lyrics just drives down what it’s really about.

Okay. Chocolate Rain is very much like the so-called American Dream. It’s this drive of nations and men toward wealth and power despite the consequences. Now here’s some of the lyric to back that up:

Some stay dry and others feel the pain
[…]
Build a tent and say the world is dry
[…]
Zoom the camera out and see the lie
[…]
Seldom mentioned on the radio
[…]
Its the fear your leaders call control
[…]
Worse than swearing worse than calling names
[…]
Say it publicly and you’re insane
[…]
Dirty secrets of economy
[…]
Turns that body into GDP
[…]
The bell curve blames the baby’s DNA
[…]
But test scores are how much the parents make
[…]
Which part do you think you’re ‘livin in?
[…]
More than ‘marchin more than passing law
[…]
Remake how we got to where we are.

Those are hopefully in order. Those were some of the major lines that brought me to the conclusion of ‘what is Chocolate Rain?’

It’s especially apparent in lines like Build a tent and say the world is dry. The implication being that most people focus mostly on themselves and if they are okay the world is okay. That’s a fair accusation, I think.

The chocolate rain that falls and we try to catch it is the other big clue here. Imagine you are in a field with 1,000 people and chocolate rain, or maybe a little more effective for my case, $100 bill rain, begins to fall. Look at the parade scene in the first Batman movie. People would start trampling each other for the value that is all around, even if, maybe especially if, there’s enough for everyone.

And that seems to be the nut of this song as far as I can tell. People I know and the internet I normally come across doesn’t especially discuss the meaning behind songs or works that much so I’d be interested in hearing your take on what this song means.

Thanks,

Adam

The Exhibit

The gallery lights burned on
even as the record crowd still
filtered in through those hallowed
doors.

Men chuckled and clinked glasses as
they wandered the exhibit floor. A lady
with her hair up let go her child’s hand
the child ran off and into an old man
who promptly yelled at him.

The the main piece consisted of a large
bowl of silver cast with wet ice perched
between two stone hands. As the night
drew on the ice would melt and slip from
grasp into the bowl.

A famous journalist took note of this as
he grabbed a fresh drink. He stretched
tall and spoke, ‘Fellow patrons ought we
not stop this ice from its demise? Such
a wondrous piece should be preserved
for future generations.’

A few members of the crowd hesitated,
then affirmed his words. Others hid their
faces, afraid to speak. And others still
denounced this notion, said it was what
the artist intended.

‘The artist,’ said the newsman, ‘is not
present at the moment.’ He turned and
asked for the man to step forth. ‘As such
it is not his decision to make. It will be
ruined entirely if we do not act now.’

With that the writer stepped toward
the bowl and began to hoist it in his
arms. A woman shrieked and began
to slap him with her billfold. ‘It’s mine
you clod, I paid good money for it!
Unhand it at once!’

A priest in attendance moved them and
laid hands on the reporter. ‘In the name
of all that’s holy commerce has decided
the outcome, good sir let go.’ And the
local judge stepped up and laid hands
on the man and said, ‘I beg you stop until
the rights of the art can be established by
the court.’

The journalist struggled to free himself
from their arrest, stumbled, cursed, and
sprang forth. But he tripped over the child
and the work went down. The ice cracked
with the hands and the bowl made a horrible
clamor before it settled.

Yellow Lightning

Just a short (~2 pages printed) story I wrote for my mom for Mother’s Day.

“Mom! I’m going with Rob to his house to get supplies!”
Mrs. Conway looked up from her desk. The clock said 11:30.
“Danny, come in here.”
“But Mom, I hafta hurry!,” he yelled back.
“Hurry where?,” she asked as she walked down the hall, only to find him in his Sunday clothes standing in the half-open front door.
“Close that door until we finish talking. It’s almost lunchtime, and where do you think you are going dressed like that?”
“Rob’s mom is makin’ lunch, we’re opening a lemonade stand. Gotta dress nice for the customers.”
Mrs. Conway rolled her eyes. “Okay, go on. But please don’t you mess up those nice clothes.”
“I won’t Mom. Don’t worry,” Danny trailed off as he shot out the door, leaving it open.
Faye Conway sighed as she closed the door. She called Rob’s mother Carol to make sure Danny would be home for supper.

Danny and Rob took their “power lunch” of bologna sandwiches and milk to the back stoop where they had already laid out their supplies.
“We need a good name, first thing. Something to catch the eye of investors,” Rob explained.
“And a logo and a slogan,” Danny said as he chewed the sandwich. “Gotta have a good slogan that sticks in their mind.”
The two sat and ate, brainstorming for the perfect name. Finally, they found it as they finished lunch.

Rob took the dishes in, and set to work on getting the lemonade ready, along with the ice and cups. Meanwhile, Danny got to work drawing up the sign and the logo. They agreed to work on proposals for a slogan and set it down when they got done.

Two hours later Rob was laughing as he plopped down on the back stoop. He looked at the sign.
“Yellow Lightning(TM)” the sign on the top, next to a bright lightning bolt hitting a big wet glass of lemonade with a lemon sticking out the top.
“It really looks great Danny,” Rob said. “What did you think up for the slogan?”
“Well I thought with the lightning, we could use ‘It’s so sweet it’ll shock your feet.'”
Rob frowned. “I don’t think people want to think of their feet when they think of lemonade. The best one I have is ‘Take a minute in the sunshine with Yellow Lightning.'”
The two thought it over, and spat out some new ideas they came across before they arrived at ‘Yellow Lightning — Something to wash those storm clouds down.’
Danny italicized it on the sign below the logo and name, and Rob loaded up the wagon.

Down at the corner Jeff, Will, Cameron, Beth, and George were already waiting for them.
“What took you so long?,” George asked them. “It’s already four. You guys missed the busiest part of the day.”
Danny looked over at Rob and smiled.
“Well you’ll have plenty of time tomorrow and every day if you win the auction. But before all that, my colleague would like to say something.”
Rob jumped on top of the wagon. He quickly pretended to straighten his clip-on tie.
“As I’m sure you all know, you get out of a business what you put in. But everyone knows that. What you need is an edge. An image. You’re not just selling the product. You’re selling you. An image of yourself.
“What we have for you is a name, a sign, and the recipe. Sure, it’s late in the day, but I’ll show you all, right now. Behold the power of…Yellow Lightning.”

Rob and Danny set up the wagon as a table, the sign in front. The next ten cars that stopped, they offered a free cup. Each of them bought a second, and some a third cup, for fifty cents.
The group of potential buyers was amazed.

“That concludes the demo. But we’d like to give each of you a free glass before the bidding starts,” Rob said. He handed each of the children a cup of lemonade.
“We will open—,” Danny started. He stopped himself and jumped up on the wagon. He began again. “We’ll start the bidding at $35.”
“None of us got that kind of money,” George protested.
“Well maybe we shouldn’t do it as a regular auction then. If you guys pool the money you got, become partners like Rob and I did, we can negotiate it. Like my associate has said, you get out what you put in.”

The group moved to the side and huddled together. George walked back over to Rob and Danny.
“We’ll give you $40.”
Rob looked up slowly to George’s eyes.
“$50.”
George glanced back at the other children.
“$45, that’s fair.”
Danny shook his head. “We made over $8 in just half an hour, not even at the peak! You said so. You guys would make that back in less than a week. Maybe even one day if it’s hot enough.”
George relented.
“Okay, $50.”

Rob handed George the sign, along with a slip of paper that had the recipe on it. Danny packed up the wagon.

It was only five when Danny got home.
“I figured you’d stay out there until Dad had to come get you, Danny,” Mrs. Conway said. “The way you were when you left I was sure you had the blood of a businessman in you.”
Danny smiled at his mom. “We sold the business,” he told her. “I made $29.”
“Wow. All in an afternoon, honey? You are a businessman. Who did you sell it to?”
“The other kids bought us out. They saw how much money we were making. It’s a good thing though. That market is getting tough.”
“Why do you say that, son?”
“Rob’s dad was all out of vodka.”

sc–pture

My Deviantart Page (top 12 on that page, starting with bottom right)

It’s annoying that deviantart doesn’t have a better deviation structure set up. This is really not the optimal way to view this.
I have a .pdf output of it, but it’s 24 megabytes, which is rather large to post here…so if you’d like me to send you a copy, drop me an e-mail.

Been Awhile…

So here’s a poem, since it’s been awhile. I guess we can call it The Children.

The Children said “No Thank You Ma’am”
The Children said, The Children said;
The Father said “I Have a Plan”
No Thank You Man, No Thank You Man;

“The Children Are Not Up For Sale,”
The Wise One said and Took My Hand;

“The Children Are All We Have Left,
Now That the Veil Has Touched the Sand;”

“The Wise One Cannot Sleep To-day,”
The Children said, The Children said;

“He Must Remain Awake to Play,”
The Children Pled With Certain Dread;

“And Then To-night I Will Remain,”
The One Wise One Affirmed the Claim;

“Remain to Banish Father’s Fame,”
The Wise One Spoke With His Gaze Trained;

“To Discard the Switch And Light the Den,”
I Said to Him with Mighty Grin;

The Dusty Father Came to Get,
The Wise One Watched Him Throw a Fit,
He Tackled Father to the Ground,
And Said to Him Without a Sound,
“Be Gone So That the Children Play,
Or You’ll Drive Yourself to the Grave;”

Father Nodded And Gave His Wave,
Turned to Look In the Wise One’s Eyes,
Father Said “I Apologize,
Play My Children, Enjoy Your Youth;”

The Father Left Us Alone Then,
But Mother Came to Call Us In;

The Children said “No Thank You Ma’am,”
The Children said, The Children said.