Mayhem Earion: A New Prospect Has Arrived
My dear Mayhem,
Yep. That’s your name. See, little dude, your dada is fond of names and the stories behind them. You’ll discover soon enough that stories are one of the best things in this world. In fact, this right here is your first story. The story of your name. I have one of my own for my own name, see, one that I am fond of as well. So I thought I’d give you yours too. For you to carry all through your life.
Most nights you’ll find Dada up on his lonesome perch, a mug of steaming coffee in one hand and a benevolent little green ciggy between his fingers on the other. Stroked by the haze, he is taken into his familiar little hammock of thoughts. Dada dwells in them, with them, you see. They constantly accompany him like good old friends, like blood brothers. Among them are memories too. Some good. Others great. Still others too painful to just gaze upon. While amongst these mortal Valars, he almost thought of giving you another name.
Lennon.
He’s generally a swell guy. Created some insanely good music. But it was one of his lines that suddenly shot through Dada’s immaculately clear but hazy head. “Life’s what happens when you’re busy making other plans,” Lennon once said. Sums up you and me and your mum a bit. But no, you’re Mayhem Earion. Mayhem son of the sea.
There are wild things living in your dada’s gray soul. They do not have names—I’m sorry to disappoint you. They have shapes though. Cloud shapes, I think. There are wispy ones, blown hither and thither by the wind. Others look like smoke, ever rising, ever disappearing. But there are those that are pregnant with heavy, dark stones. These are the ones that need taming, sometimes silencing. Either way, they must be reined in, controlled. But your dada does not always have the tools to do so. So he disappears into a world where there is no other person but him. He likes to just sit there and think of shi—sorry. Stuff, I meant to say stuff. Think of stuff.
It’s mighty entertaining in there—or out there, I’m not really sure. But yeah, it feels awesome there. Only two guys really get that. Jax and Bauer. They sit together in that place a lot. Well, they walk and run too, but that’s generally what they do. They go to their own secret little world. A secret little break that no one else can find. Oh, you’ll meet those boys pretty soon. They’ll tell you more stories that Dada can’t even match. And you’ll understand too.
Small caution though. Please don’t tell anyone else about it because they won’t get it. We have to be kind most of the times. So please spare them the indignity of trying to grasp something they possibly cannot.
While it is great staying in that good place, it is not too healthy. It takes about five to eight years of your life when you stay there for too long. So you gotta retreat once in a while. You gotta step out into the world and face those big wolf clouds. And it gets tiring, you know—staring at them right in the face and trying to be brave all the while getting fiery nips at your heels. Yep, sometimes you have to be strong enough, brave enough. When your courage fails, however, try not to worry too much. It’s all right. It happens. You have to accept that too.
There are a lot of things in life that need acceptance.
Those heavy dark clouds. That entertaining huge expanse of space. Those wolves. Those wild things. All that is what your dada is made of. It makes up your mum too, I think. And together, they created you, little Mayhem. Lotsa beautiful things come out of a little or more chaos. This world, this universe, was born out of one. There was also a man once who preached love and had twelve friends. He had to run the gauntlet of pure mayhem to scatter light throughout the world. But for all the mayhem your dada and mum caused, you, beautiful sunshine, has emerged. I think you are the best mayhem I caused, little dude. Along the way, you and I and mum will try and earn that Men of Mayhem patch. We will create mayhem and ride out into this world. We will join them crows and “fly with black.” We will be “free from this human trap.”
Oh, hey! What about Earion? Any story about that?
Oh, you know, it’s just on account of your proud dada. Pronounced \ˈyär-yən\, it’s Quenya for “son of the sea.” On account of, you know, your dada and mum both worshiping the genius of Tolkien and growing up in towns fed and nurtured by the sea. Nothing much.
And there you go again, little dude. You’re throwing up that mean and grumpy cry of yours. Yes, you are living up to your name this early.
Through all the mayhem all of us will create, I got you.
hora somni 