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About Notchilous



On the small island of Jamaica, there were three young brothers Notchy, Irie and Mr. Bloodclat, they were the sons of a screen printer. These boys were always seen together and because of this, they were called the gang of three by the elders. They lived in a time when the city streets of all fourteen capitals were filled with unrest between the political farties of the land and the defenseless citizens. The brothers watched many of their friends, warriors and their parents killed in this war. The use of false education and the suppression of religious beliefs made slaves of many both physically and spiritually to this new foreign tyrannical system. After the first wave of attack by the state many bowed in fear of losing their lives and others who tried to flee the cities were tracked down by the use of data from smart phones and super computers. When caught they were forced instantly to be processed and micro chipped. Thousands of young resistors were made to suffer in public as an example for the ones that wanted to be free, and this turned many good friends into enemies.

It was a rainy Wednesday evening when the usual radio program was interrupted, the voice of Sarapis the leader of the ruling party the JNO (Jamaica’s New Order) gave the announcement that his PO-LICE force is conducting an all island search to find the children of the resistance and made special mention, “the gang of three should be brought in, alive or dead, all should stay indoors for the next twenty four hours and anyone found on the street will be arrested on spot.” Now the deafening sound of the sirens meant that the PO-LICE were on their street searching from door to door, the sound of screams and gunshots echoed in the air. The only chance the boys had to stay alive was an old Volkswagen panel van that belonged to their daddy, a vehicle he was working on for years. Notchy the eldest uncovered it and checked if it could still run, a quick turn of the key and the lights came on in the dashboard and the starter spun but no sound from the engine “shit no gas” shouted Irie. Irie knew where his dad had a drum of VPfuel and quickly filled the thirsty beast, another turn of the key and it sputtered. Irie instructed his brother to pump the gas pedal a few times and try again, this time the engine roared to life and now the smell of burning petrol filled the air. The brothers gathered all they could with the sound of sirens getting closer with every second, Notchy gave the throttle two rapid pumps and the Germany beast barked twice and popped fire from the tail pipe. For Notchy the driveway was like the quarter mile drag strip his dad taught him to drive on “Put on your seat belts” Notchy shouted as he engaged the first gear and stepped on the accelerator. The old bus left the spot like a bullet as the second gear was selected the drive way seemed to disappear and with a flick of the steering it was sideways through the gate and in front of the Babylon cruisers. Ever under control the old bus got into line for the straight, it was then placed in third gear with a shot of NOS and the German engineering responded magnificently, the Babylon cruiser tried to respond but to no avail. Every corner the Volkswagen cleared the sound of the exhaust and red lights disappeared a little more into the dark rainy night, heading to a place they only heard about in stories.

“Are we the last of the resistance now” Irie asked with wondering eyes “Maybe” responded Mr. Bloodclat “What are we going to do now that we have no home and the law wants us,” Irie asked looking more worried at this time. It was only last week they did the Babylon Be Still graffiti on the side of the Governor General’s office for all to see, “Could it be that,” Irie asked “Yes and Sarapis daughter told him she is pregnant for me,” Notchy revealed with a grin on his face. Irie and Mr. Bloodclat steered at each other shocked in silence. A few hours later the Sun was rising and the hills seemed calm, it only took a few more corners to see some people that they recognized. It was some vendors their dad used to do business with, they were t shirt wholesalers and screen printing suppliers. They got out of the city long before the state of emergency was called some two years ago. The brothers were told of the system’s control over all the businesses, the licenses they needed, the selling only to the system’s stores and in the nights they were set upon by henchmen who worked for the state. They would steal and burn their goods if they did not join the order and get their chips. During the first wave many dealers were jailed when they resisted and their goods were taken as crown goods and sold to the masses with what they wanted printed on them. As they sat by the fireside the boys awareness of the system and its effects were made clearer.

The next morning they headed east to the place that didn’t exist. A journey taking them beyond the borders of their jailed cities deep into the hills of the Allerdyce District. It had to be late evening when they saw what they were looking for, the red flag with the white circle and the black plus sign in the center with the word that means “Respect” inscribed on it. The flag was majestic as it blew in the distance. It was the symbol the elders spoke about when they were younger, it represented an army like no other and the word written on it was Notchilous. The closer they got they could hear a distinct sound that they all recognized but hadn’t heard in a long time, back when their dad used to blast his home sound system in the neighbourhood. It would make the neighbours complain bitterly about their glass a mash inna dem house; it was the sound of beating drums that created a force that resonated with them. The excitement was overwhelming now and the old Volkswagen van took to the treacherous road like a thirsty dog takes to Catherine's Peak water.

They arrived at their destination in a cloud of dust with the tires screeching to a stop on the warm asphalt. They were bewildered with what they saw, not the look of an army base but a simple dwelling that had a garden in front, filled with medicinal plants of many sorts and colours that could cure almost any ailment, large palm trees that seemed to touch the sky, the place was tranquil and alive with a positive energy. The place had a feeling like time stood still from some ancient past, the music, the smell of incense and even the attire of the elder guard at the gate. The number forty three written on the gate represented the number seven when added together in numerology which meant the spiritual number of completion, just as the stories were told to them. They disembarked from the battle weary German chariot, “Yes I, We deh yah!” Mr. Bloodclat shouted as the elder guard known as the Star Gate Keeper greeted them and informed them that they were expecting them for days now.  Time was of the essence but Before they could enter the gates, they had to remove their shoes and wash their heads, hands and feet in the fountain of cleansing to remove all the negative vibrations that had followed them. Now fully cleansed they were lead into the Yard Of Justice. The center of the yard had a table of pure gold, shaped like a six pointed star with a magnificent throne at one of its table’s points. The table filled with a multitude of coloured lit candles, fruits of all kind, many large crystal containers of water and in the center a scroll of names was displayed. They were told to sit around the table on small wooden benches facing the sun that was about to set. Nineteen elders who wore red robes entered into the yard. These were the high council and were followed by seventy three armor bearers dressed in full white from head to toe with breast plates which bore the Notchilous logo in gold. They looked outstanding and by this time the boys where in total amazement.

It was not long after a figure dressed in full red wearing a smiling mask with the word Notchilous across it emerged from the small dwelling. This tall mystical figure sat on the throne in front of the boys with the sun now setting behind him. He was the greatest warrior in his time, legend has it that he annihilated many powerful invaders with only his words, when Babylon heard his name many pissed their pants. He was the man who slapped the Queen’s face in Halfway Tree, he is called the commander of the blazing fire, the true champion, the defender of the cause, the one who never retreats and the only one to cause a mass disturbance in the system, his name, Notchilous Machabeus.

The mighty Lion was in their presence and with a calm voice he greeted them by their names “Andrew Notchy the original warrior of old,” Notchy was shocked and asked “What does warrior of old mean?” he answered, “You are like Nanny of the Maroons a guerrilla tactician, a Paul Bogle, a serious man, that’s the spirit you have. You see the injustice around you and you react and let your words be felt, you correct the lies and let the truth be told.” ”Sir Richard, the black knight, Mr. Bloodclat, a name given to you because of your rebel ways, you are the one that speaks his mind, you love the ladies for sure and can be a bit unruly at times and Mr. Bryan aka Irie P the youngest, the strategist, a deep thinker, the herbalist, the problem solver, the builder of things and the overseer of all projects. Irie asked “the P what does it stand for” he responded “People, Irie People, this name is also a title and the mission.” “What mission?” they asked, the Mystic General answered “You will return to the cities and create an army of your brothers and sisters, you will teach them the ways of the Notchilous Order through creative designs on t shirts. The youths need to know of the past, the words that were spoken, the rudeboy styles and the adults need to be reminded of their roots, culture and the lifestyle of the real and a nearly forgotten Jamaica. The boys were warned that not everyone will be and can be a Notchilous, many are informers, many have no clue and many are followers of fuckery. The true Notchilous stands alone, this brand is for the bold, it is the movement for the wise and prudent, those who wear it are a part of a distinguished elite. The colours and the words represents the wearer bringing forth his or her beliefs. At times the wearer’s name will be changed to the title of Notchilous when the message resonates with others. Notchilous symbolizes strength of culture and pride, it is the key to unlocking the dormant warrior inside of us like our past heroes and ancestors and when this is accomplished then we all can unite and strike a mighty blow and Babylon will fall.

The young warriors were now motivated to take on the task ahead but there was one thing they had to know, “Who are you and how did you know we were coming?” said Notchy to the masked elder, the elder stood slowly and removed the mask, it was their grandpa, the boys were startled beyond words. “Grandpa!” they shouted with wide eyes, they recognized him from a picture they saw one day in the garage, but when they asked their Dad about him he said that you were dead. “Dead until the time of resurrection,” Grandpa asserted. “It is time for Serapis to feel some of what his Grand Father felt from me.” You are all legendary Grand Masters, the sun has set for me but it is rising in three folds with you my grandsons and everybody will speak about you boys forever. On the scroll their names were already written to lead a new army of Notchilonians and with their trusty red and white Volkswagen and the fiery words from their grandpa the King, the mighty princes set off to conquer Babylon one t-shirt at a time.