Genesis #0
- Alexander
- Dec 24, 2022
- 12 min read
Updated: Oct 18
A Cre8tion Story
The Beginning of All Things
Originally named after a city in the Netherlands, Brooklyn or Breuckelen as the Dutch referred to it became their new stompin' grounds, settling along the Gowanus Bay Coast, what we now know as the Gowanus area of Brooklyn in 1636. Incorporated into a village in 1816, Brooklyn later became a city in 1834. Williamsburg and Bushwick were annexed to it in 1855. Other communities were absorbed until the city of Brooklyn became conterminous with Kings county (Britannica, 2025). Brooklyn would later go onto become a borough in 1898, losing its independence. You can read more on the matter here:
Despite consolidation as part of the Greater New York, Brooklyn is its own flavor! The culture, art, food and innovation: The hotdog, teddy bear and the first rollercoaster were all created in Brooklyn! BAM (The Brooklyn Academy of Music) is the oldest performing arts center in America founded in 1861. We pride ourselves in having the longest-standing library system of New York. And the list goes on and on! For those unfamiliar wit Brooklyn... don't worry, Imma put ya on! Brooklyn has a certain "feel" and/or mode about it. Known for abundant tang, diversity, BOLD exterior artwork, and eclectic music, the Borough of Kings is for sure a potluck of lifestyles, tastes, and experiences. Other boroughs def have their own vibe and feel, and no shade to them; Brooklyn just hit different tho! Real quick, shot out to Da Boogie Down, the birthplace of Hip Hop, Queens, home of Nasty Nas and Roxanne Shanté; Manhattan, the criminal strong of Five Points, and Shaolin, where Killa Beez fly! We love you fam! It's all love among siblings... lemme continue wit what I was sayin'! Fragrances of sofrito, tomato sauce, and jerk seasoning are a mere few of the bountiful aromatics emanating from Brooklyn kitchens. Nana's cooking, along with her stories teleports mind and body to simpler times, grape Kool-Aid in the back of a fridge adorned with doodles and drawings. Abuela's love goes out before her arroz con gandules y chuletas, served with a great big ol' hug to settle even the most uncertain of hearts; Malta on the side door. Ma Dukes' fried chicken sweeps under the nose soon as you get off a pissed-up elevator, chicharrón hooks the nostrils while passing the cuchifrito spot on Broadway. Nonna's gravy and a stern talking to seats the wayward at Sunday dinner. Neurons fire as every sense is engaged, peaked at the promise of something sure tantalize: Smells, sights to behold and sounds!
"Music tames the savage beast" (Congreve, 1697). The question is, what type of beast are you intending to tame? Whatever it is, music can either subdue or bring out the savage animal within you! Whether you're a creature of the night or a beast of burden, let the music take you and make you! Strollin' through Brooklyn, 'specially during summer coupled with its scents will have you more open than a window in a heatwave, nostalgic and in yo' feelin's. That rhythmic melody dancin' its way to you; now, in ya ear, kickin' that flava! You be ready to throw hands, act a fool, or call an ex! Brooklyn fo sure is a beautiful place, yet, it can be grimy and gritty - at times, it be downright harrowing. Watch your way!
Brooklyn Zoo truly is that song and more! Come and visit the birthplace of "The Notorious One", and see his stompin' grounds! Visit and touch down in the place ODB rapped about! I would say Brooklyn don't bite but that's a bold-face lie! Still... pop in and kick it wit us! Snacks can be purchased at your local bodega. You got options! If you would like something more, you can pull up to the Crown Fried on Utica, or hit up Kam Feng on Smith - again... you got options! Whatever you need, we got you! If you need liquor, swing by the spizzot on Hoyt and Warren or your preferred spot. For your safety and well-being, take this advice: Be mindful of the neighborhoods you step foot in, watch yo' mouf, avoid prolonged eye contact with strangers, less you bout that life and yo' knuckle-game strong! Though this ain't the O.K. Corral, when you hear them gunshots, drop! Funny thing though... the aforementioned warnings pale in comparison to the real dangers of Brooklyn! Eyes see, yet fail to perceive what was just seen. Ghoulish, neon abstracts floating in mid-air. Unknown, inky movements in the night sky, trailed by fire, tear asunder the natural mind. And let's not forget the never-ending stench of wet dog!"
"Let me leave you with this final warning. A time is coming where the earth's foundations will give way, and ancient landmarks will be move before completely being erased. Great waters will roar and foam. Mountains shall quake when instructed. Hearts will refuse to beat... hear me; Brooklyn shall not escape! What is coming will not elude The Borough of Churches! Swelled with bodies, aromas, odors and waste; a sound crescendos against pillars, rising your street to the heavens! Enlarged, the people's footprint grows, yet, your territory remains the same! A shadow like death, far, now near, unravels familial fabrics, dividing communities like plunder. It beckons to participate in the erasure of yesteryear. You will know oppression when it comes to your door! Teeth bear the life of the upright and innocent. Greed is its tongue, lapping up the blood of its victims. Claws pick pieces of flesh from between its teeth - never satisfied and never filled is tattooed on its underbelly! One would almost ascribe to it glory and sovereignty, thinking it divine - don't be fooled and don't be a fool! Those accolades belong to another! I gotta split, but imma pass it to my man, Qwon Major. Last thing - I promise! Take with you this nugget of wisdom; life is never one thing! There is beauty in the desert, flowers that grow where there is no sun and comfort for those who mourn. Never forget where you are! Hold your grit and wits close, and watch your way! Peace out to Brooklyn!"
-Winston Davis
"Like my man Winston said, you're in the Borough of Kings! Gems on every corner - wisdom speaks! The man pushing the shoppin' cart utters gibberish. It falls like a seed in earthen vessels, 'til the child, now a man remembers. The vagabond's words - life! "Come, buy and eat, without money and cost!" Not even the bones are left from fair provided by the wise! There's levels and dimensions to this! Precious gems fall from the mouth of Hermana Sandra under a hairdryer. Early she rises to tend to her home. When her family wakes, the compra and cleaning are done, and breakfast awaits her beloved and children. Listen! Be swift to respond and apply what you hear - this is wisdom!"
"Look man, we produce kings, however, they don't stay on the throne! We remember him, cut down like a feral beast! We looked and longed. Saw him ridin' high down Fulton! We marveled at his charisma and grace, and felt the power each time he grabbed the mic and took the stage; Coogi sweater and golden words! We honor our prince who haled from the southeastern part of Brooklyn. He fell outside our protection. Many are they covet the title and prestige of "The King of New York", however, few obtain the position, and when they do, their reign is short-lived!"
"It was type cool jawin' wit you, but I gotta dip! I'm being summoned! Night draws near! You can pull through but gotta be madd quiet! Hop in my shirt pocket! No matter what happens henceforth, fix your face like flint under the heavens, to the heavens. Gird up your loins and forge ahead!"
-Qwon Major
Master's Quarters
Creaked open on silent hinges, calloused hands push open a decrepit door revealing a vast chamber heavy with the scent of antique books, salted cashews and burnt orange peel. Shafts of evening light filtered through tall, arched windows catch on gold trim that trace the room’s edges like molten pathways. Reposed on a lush green, velvet chaise, a bearded man rests. Beside him, a brutalist coffee table. A glass of water and empty teacup on the show piece. Body hair makes snug the bearded man's tunic at the chest and arms. Overworked hands fold over a sheaved dagger. Feet dangle over the lounge. Chatter mouthed from a nearby gramophone whisper sayings of a bygone era. Round and round dances the gramophone's keen choreographer until stopped by the entrant. Its melodic hiss ceases. Aroused as if from enchantment, the bearded man speaks. His eyes still shut, tongue attached to the hard palate; lips gently smack and roll, clearing away corner crust.
"Warfare against such maleficence will not be without significant loss! Our culture is fading, our borders unprotected - neighborhoods left vulnerable! In anguish the natives cry … futile their quest for relief! Under the mandate of Borough Master Pueblo Pablo, Preservationists have abandoned their posts, fleeing to Queens under threat of the sword. They've forsaken their duties, Callum - their land, and some have even aligned with darkness in opposition of the Borough Master and his statutes. His decree was harsh but necessary!" Healthy digits grab and twist patches of facial hair; the bearded man's left hand moves down from his moustache to his chin. Clasping a bunch of hair, he playfully maneuvers it between fingers.
"Faithfulness often requires difficult decisions and a sharp blade! Preservationists who have positioned themselves against us have only brought condemnation upon themselves and their lineage! Nothing good can come of their decision to parade around with darkness."
"Yes, yet ravenous mouths gnash their teeth, and bodies quiver with delight in anticipation of a feast... New York has no king! We suffer 'cause of greed, migration and indifference - these strengthen the malevolent hand against us. Favor is far from us, brother! Callum, I know your thoughts, and my answer has always been the same; the time of kings have passed! My hope died with our last king and was utterly destroyed with the murder of our prince in 2020. Who is there to sit upon the throne?! Who can we crown king? Those in line have either been unfit or slain! Let us hold fast to fond memories and cascade over the waterfall of time into eternity instead of bucking against the inevitable. The Preservationists have lost creditability! Are we not wise men who are unable to see?
"Hmph, "wise men?!" you say?" Callum picks at a hangnail and blisters. He examines his hands. Blood emerges from barely healed flesh wounds and cracked skin.
"Have some decorum!" exclaims the bearded man.
At the wash-bin, Callum studies his brother-in-arms from an oval mirror. Concern creases his brow but wit stirs him. "Decorum?" Callum snickers. "What's a hangnail and a few nicks to a warrior renown as yourself? It is but you and I?" Plunging his hands into the lukewarm water, Callum scrubs them with sing-song. "Nothing like pristine lunulas!" He continues scrubbing. "Why do you hesitate, brother Besir? Do "your" proverbial "rogue cuticles" and "scrapes" restrict you from your duty as a Preservationist? Does your "ailment" keep you from sound judgement?
Thump, Besir slams his fist upon his chest. "Hair is on my face, body and scrotum, not my tongue "wee warrior"!"
Callum chuckles. "Wee warrior."
"You, Besir, speak as a fool! You speak as you know the future and have it seen! Have you traded your allegiance for cowardice? Deny to declare your oath to The Land and its people, and I will know, and my blade will be through your throat; and you, my war torn friend will be with the kings and princes you so long for!"
On his feet with his blade thrusted at Callum, Besir bursts. "Come again with your idol words?" His ear cupped in Callum's direction. A Thwack in tandem with gentle footsteps end Callum and Besir's bickering. Each look to the study's mezzanine. From the columns of books, a voice rises. "Soft words turn away wrath and love bares all things... wisdom always speaks, yet, do we listen? At times she cries out in the square. Other times, she cries from the rooftops declaring salvation. But today, she makes her clarion call from amongst books!" Callum and Besir attempt to bow.
"Do not do it!" the voice exclaims. "My blood flows just like yours, and one day I will return to dust after all is said and done." Callum and Besir return to their stances. "You show reverence, and it is admirable but it is not desired or needed. Time is short, and I and the other Seven Staffs have come to send the Borough Master off." Wild eyes search the study, leveling off at Callum and Besir. A man regaled in fine linen descends down the study's grand staircase. Behind him, a rich cobalt robe stitched with silver and midnight blue patterns cascade marble steps. Up on the mezzanine, Qwon Major appears with a large staff on his right. The man's eyes examine the two from the landing. "What can be said to wise men? Men who perceive what the eyes of flesh cannot. Men who are discerning. You are but flesh and therefore fallible! Watch, and guard your hearts!" Immense light fills the space. Thwack! Striking the floor with his staff, the man and Qwon Major disappear.
Sunset a New Dawn: Death of Borough Master Pueblo Pablo
Propped against a tree, Borough Master Pueblo Pablo faces the west. His eyes fade with the setting sun, labored his breathing. A tender breeze coaxes his cheek to the north. Foraging animals search for food. Their coats and hooves dampened by an afternoon rain. Dead leaves crunch as a hulking silhouette abounds in the direction of Pueblo Pablo. A voice declares. "I've seen many a sunset, but this one is the fairest by far!"
"Micah! Indeed, it is the fairest by far, although I've seen some that would rival all the hidden gems of the world, but you're right! This one takes the cake!" The two laugh. Pablo coughs violently. He grabs a handkerchief from the chest pocket of his fleece, straining to wipe blood from his mouth. Kneeling down, Micah stays Pablo's hand. "Let me." At that moment, seven men appear, each one carrying a staff. They surround Borough Master Pueblo Pablo and Micah, driving their staffs into the ground. A man steps forward, declaring, "You, Pueblo Pablo Eugene Hernandez Ramirez have endured! You have fought well! When pressed, you not falter. When men heaped glory upon you, you did not take it for yourself but placed it where it belonged! When illness ravaged your body, you stood faithful!" Pablo weeps.
"In the darkness, you purposed to be a light - a light to people! You have run your race, and now it has finished my dear friend." The man steps back closing the circle. The seven men begin to sing. Their voices raise then crescendo into a swelling harmony as the sun tucks low behind the horizon. From a kneeling position, Micah prostrates himself; his face buried in the earth. Hands cover him with an ornate turquoise and cobalt blue shawl. Joining in song, rolling thunder adds to the somber chorus. A mighty wind rushes in, wrapping around the men. It's velocity picks up to a violent speed. The seven men stop singing, beginning to speak an unknown language. From among them, a robed man steps into the circle. Feet in leather-bound sandals approach Pueblo Pablo. His eyes lock onto Micah. An amber viscous liquid over the head of Micah, running down Micah's temples and collar, pooling in the earth. "Prepare, prepare! Your life from this day forward will never be the same!"
Many in regal attire congregate in the parlor of the Borough Master's residence. Solemn music plays in the background. Poised and stoic is the posture of most here, yet, something in the air seems to unnerve. With a brave face Callum weaves in between his contemporaries greeting them. In a corner, Besir nurses an Old Fashion; he wipes his brow. A loud THUD from Pueblo Pablo's former quarters confirms the uneasiness. Stances are taken and weapons drawn. Callum, Besir and others storm up the grand staircase, barging into the quarters ready for a fight! Dagger in hand, his index and middle-finger across the blade, Callum attacks low, swooosh, Besir swings his sword upward. Nothing. They look around the study. Wind. An opened window. Sounds of Brooklyn at night. They fan out. A letter. Callum snatches it up. His eyes examine its contents. He rushes to the window: Micah's speed abounding as he ascends through clouds. "What is it?" Besir exclaims.
"Micah's in the wind." Callum hands the letter to Besir. He reads it.
"But he left careful instructions in his stead."
Callum makes haste toward the door. "We must call council now!"
"A steward?!" Besir cries. "What kind of nonsense is this?" Callum plucks the letter from Besir. "Nonsense that you don't care to understand, my friend. If you cannot see, it is because your heart has been examined - has been weighed and has come up short!" Callum passes the letter to his contemporaries.
Brooklyn Zoo Stories. What are they?
An anthology of stories depicting borough culture and life therein. Knitted together with genres of magical realism supernatural fantasy and adventure, the Brooklyn Zoo Stories follow events after Pueblo Pablo, the Borough Master of Brooklyn dies, leaving the highest office in Brooklyn unoccupied. Readied to combat the encroaching darkness, Preservationists, a council of individuals and beings tasked with the protection and care of Brooklyn, its neighborhoods and inhabitants scramble to sound the clarion call and effectively safeguard from what's to come.
Unsure about visiting? We understand! You can have an entire experience without steppin' foot in the Borough of Kings. Check out the Brooklyn Zoo Stories. Enjoy!
- Brooklyn
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