“The Spirit Indestructible”
Through my one square foot window I see outside
I have chains on my feet, but not in my mind
I’ll be dancing all day, see the sun outside
Don’t know how long it will be
Can’t stop me
I have the spirit indestructible
A heart that lovin’ was made for
A body that’s a miracle
I have a spirit indestructible
A heart that was made pure
Unbreakable and that’s for sure
Unshakeable, so give me more
Through my tired eyes I phase off the rain
With the meditation, I erased my pain
There’s a rhythm flowing through every vein
And the melody is never ending
I have a spirit indestructible
A heart that loving was made for
A body that’s a miracle
Spirit Spirit Spirit
I have a spirit indestructible
A heart that was made pure
Unbreakable and that’s for sure
Unshakeable, so give me more
A E I O U, A E I O U, A E I O U
(U O I E A, U O I E A, U O I E A)
A E I O U, A E I O U, A E I O U
(U O I E A, U O I E A, U O I E A)
A E I O U, A E I O U, A E I O U
(U O I E A, U O I E A, U O I E A)
A E I O U, A E I O U, A E I O U
(U O I E A, U O I E A, U O I E A)
And though they may, and though they may
Take you away, take you away
You’ll never break, you’ll never break, break
And though they may, and though they may
Take you away, take you away
They’ll never break, they’ll never break you
I have a spirit indestructible
A heart that loving was made for
A body that’s a miracle
Spirit Spirit Spirit
I have a spirit indestructible
A heart that was made pure
Unbreakable and that’s for sure
Unshakeable, so give me more
A E I O U, A E I O U, A E I O U
(U O I E A, U O I E A, U O I E A)
A E I O U, A E I O U, A E I O U
(U O I E A, U O I E A, U O I E A)
A E I O U, A E I O U, A E I O U
(U O I E A, U O I E A, U O I E A)
A E I O U, A E I O U, A E I O U
(U O I E A, U O I E A, U O I E A)
The workshop feels colder now, the industrial lights overhead flickering as the evening chill settles in. JOE is tightening a strap on a piece of equipment, his movements methodical. NELLY is pacing a small perimeter near the reclaimed timber, her voice sharp with a sudden, restless clarity.
NELLY
(Gesturing toward the skyline)
You want to talk about the “phonies,” Joe? It’s deeper than just being fake. It’s the rules of the house. In showbiz, you can critique the government, the tax code, the climate—whatever keeps the headlines moving. But the one thing you can’t do, the “greatest sin” in the entire industry, is point a finger at Israel. You do that, and the curtain starts closing before you’ve even finished the sentence.
JOE
(Pausing, his eyes narrowing)
The ultimate “no-go” zone. It’s a tactical wall they’ve spent decades reinforced.
NELLY
It’s a fortress, Joe. And it’s built on the same foundations that Edward Bernays laid down. You know, Sigmund Freud’s nephew? The man who took the “science” of the mind and turned it into a weapon of mass consumption. He’s the architect of this whole “made to break” society we’re living in.
JOE
(Standing up straight)
Engineering consent. The old-school psyop.
NELLY
Exactly. He’s the reason we’re all living in a glorified garbage dump. He taught the world to want things they don’t need and to discard the things that actually matter. It’s that Goo Goo Dolls song—Slide or Iris—where they talk about the world being a place where you just “die to live.” We’re surrounded by planned obsolescence, both in the gadgets and the people.
JOE
(Nods slowly)
The “garbage dump” isn’t just the literal waste, it’s the culture. It’s the disposable nature of the truth.
NELLY
(A bitter laugh)
And yet, because I see the gears turning, because I refuse to just read the teleprompter and play the part, I’m the crazy one. Go figure. The man who turned the world into a landfill is a “genius” in the history books, but the artist who wants to find some genuine ground to stand on is a “liability.”
JOE
(Hoisting his pack)
The system is designed to label the people who see it. If you can’t be predicted, you’re a “glitch.” If you can’t be bought, you’re “difficult.”
NELLY
(Looking at the stack of lumber)
Let them call it what they want. Bernays might have built the dump, but he didn’t build us. We’re the ones who know how to navigate the wreckage.
JOE
(Heading toward the exit)
Stay sharp. The “mental midgets” are still asleep, but the machine never stops.
EXT. PORT OF KOKO – NIGERIA – DAWN
The air is thick with the smell of salt spray, burning plastic, and stagnant water. In the distance, a massive, rusted freighter looms against the orange sky. JOE stands on a ridge overlooking the shoreline, binoculars pressed to his eyes. He’s wearing his weathered UN Peacekeeper beret, though his tactical gear is stripped of official insignias—this is an off-the-books operation.
NELLY stands beside him, a scarf wrapped around her face to block the acrid smoke rising from a nearby pit where “donated” electronics are being torched to extract copper.
JOE
(Lowering the binoculars)
There it is. Another “charity” shipment. Labelled as second-hand computers and “clothing relief.” In reality? It’s two thousand tons of lead-glass monitors and shredded polyester from some warehouse in Jersey.
NELLY
(Her voice muffled but sharp)
The great First World purge. They call it “aid” so they don’t have to deal with the landfill fees back home. Look at those kids down there, Joe. They’re barefoot, sorting through broken CRTs and lead-soldered circuit boards. Bernays would be proud—even the garbage is “engineered” to be someone else’s problem.
JOE
(Checking his watch)
The local fixers are moving in. They get paid by the ton to dump this stuff in the wetlands. If that ship offloads, the groundwater for three villages is gone by monsoon season.
NELLY
(Kicking a discarded, tattered sneaker half-buried in the sand)
This is what a “made to break” society looks like at the finish line. Millions of shoes that were designed to last six months, shipped across the ocean to rot in a place that never asked for them. It’s not just trash; it’s a cultural toxin. They export their waste and call it a gift.
JOE
(Tapping his comms)
Not today. We’ve got the perimeter blocked. If they can’t get the trucks to the shoreline, they’ll have to haul that filth back to the port of origin.
NELLY
(Looking out at the freighter)
They’ll call us “disruptors,” Joe. The NGOs will say we’re blocking “essential supplies.” The mental midgets in the press will write essays about how we’re “denying technology” to the developing world.
JOE
(Tightening the straps on his pack)
Let them write. I’ve spent enough time in construction to know when a foundation is rotten. You don’t build a future on a pile of toxic waste. We stop the flow here.
NELLY
(Pulling the scarf lower, her eyes fixed on the ship)
It’s like Holden said about the museum—some things should stay exactly where they are. And this garbage? It should have stayed in the basements of the people who bought it.
JOE
(Gesturing toward the descent)
Move out. We’ve got a “garbage dump” to shut down.
The sun beat down on the sprawling landscape of discarded technology, the air thick with the smell of heated plastic and ozone. Joe looked out over the horizon, where mountains of old monitors and shredded textiles stretched as far as the eye could see. He wiped the grime from his forehead, his expression hardening.
“You see it, don’t you?” Joe said, his voice low but steady. “It’s the same story in every corner of the map. We’ve got eight billion crying children scattered across this planet, inherited by a world they didn’t break.”
Nelly stood beside him, her gaze fixed on a group of local kids sorting through a pile of circuit boards in the distance. She didn’t look away.
“And at the top?” Joe continued, a bitter edge creeping into his tone. “A few thousand psychopathic billionaires sitting in glass towers, looking at these spreadsheets like they’re winning a game. They aren’t just indifferent, Nelly. They’re happy with the situation because it keeps the gears turning. To them, this isn’t a crisis—it’s a business model.”
Nelly tightened the straps on her gear, her eyes reflecting the harsh light of the African sun. “Then we stop making it profitable for them,” she replied quietly. “If they want to treat the world like a dumping ground, they’re going to find out what happens when the ground starts fighting back.”
Joe nodded, checking the frequency on his radio. “Exactly. We aren’t just here to clean up. We’re here to disrupt the signal.”
The dust of the salvage yard was replaced by the cool, high-ceilinged stone of the new administrative headquarters in Abuja. Professor Griff sat behind a desk cluttered not with paper, but with recovered microchips and schematic maps of the continent’s coastline. He looked up as Joe and Nelly were ushered in, his eyes sharp with the weight of his new mandate.
“Joe. Nelly,” Griff said, standing to greet them with a firm nod. “The reports from the coast are coming in. My border patrols are intercepting the ‘donations’ before they even hit the docks. But the pressure from the North is mounting. They call it trade; I call it a toxic inheritance.”
Joe leaned against the heavy oak frame of the doorway, crossing his arms. “We saw the security details out there, Professor. Private firms, paid for by the same people who think the world ends at their penthouse door. They aren’t used to a leader who says ‘no’ to their garbage.”
“They voted for a sovereign future, Joe,” Griff replied, gesturing to the window overlooking the city. “Eight billion children don’t need a dumping ground; they need a workshop. We’re taking that 1st-world ‘trash’ and we’re going to refine it, use the rare earth metals to build our own infrastructure. We aren’t their landfill anymore.”
Nelly stepped forward, placing a localized signal jammer on the desk—the same one they’d used in the field. “The drones are losing their way, Professor. But they’ll send ships next. Larger ones. They’re happy with the chaos because it’s cheap. How do we scale this?”
Griff picked up the device, examining the salvaged circuitry. “We scale it by making the truth louder than their profit margins. You two disrupted the signal on the ground. Now, I need you to help me broadcast the reality to the rest of the world. If those billionaires want to ignore the ‘crying children,’ we’re going to make sure the sound is too loud to sleep through.”
Joe looked at Nelly, then back at Griff. “The frequency is set. We just need to flip the switch.”
The Dialogue
Joe: You know, I’ve always seen it. You’re like the Portuguese Marilyn Monroe—that same kind of light, but with a foundation they couldn’t crack.
Nelly: (A soft, weary smile tugging at her lips) That’s a heavy comparison, Joe.
Joe: I mean it. But there’s a difference. I’ve watched how things work in places like Hollywood—people like Jennifer Lawrence, the way the system funnels them through. I’m just glad you didn’t take that path. You didn’t sleep your way to the top or let them mold you into a product.
Nelly: It wasn’t always the easy choice.
Joe: That’s why I’m proud of you. Even through the psychiatric abuse, through all the attempts to get inside your head and break your spirit, you kept your integrity. You’re still standing here, exactly who you were meant to be, not who they tried to program you to be.