Dominic Royce Chapter One: Unravelling the Vanity.
Aug 14, 2018 20:12:22 GMT -5
Speede, Stephen Singh, and 1 more like this
Post by Dominic Royce on Aug 14, 2018 20:12:22 GMT -5
"People always wonder. What is it, that makes us who we are? What is it, that defines the choices we make in life? Is it ourselves, or is it a force that even we cannot truly comprehend? Is our life truly something that we create, or is it created for us, before we are even born? Questions, that nobody has truly figured out the answers to yet. Queries, that keep us all awake at night, as they resonate within the depths of our mind. Deep within our core.
I'd be lying to you if I said I haven't had nights where I just couldn't fall asleep, thinking about the very same questions. Pondering, whether the choice to enter the world of professional wrestling was one that I had made for myself, or whether it had been chosen for me. Whether or not it was something that I was always going to gravitate myself towards. No matter what choices I made.
It's only natural to have them; it is something that is inherently thought about, when you truly take the time to reflect on what leads you to certain situations. Circumstances that occur within the span of your life. Just as it was for me. Especially when those plans, aren't what you always expect them to be."
Opening up the cameras, it can now be seen that a twenty-three year old is sitting atop a jet black recliner. His eyes, focused only upon the lens of the camera positioned in front of him and attired in a midnight black t-shirt, denim jeans and black business-casual style Nike sneakers. The background appears to be of a medium sized home in Tuscaloosa, Alabama - a location that is known to be the residence of Dominic Royce.
A man, who has been renowned for his steady rise up American wrestling ranks, as well as his philosophical; precise approach to wrestling as a whole. An approach that he takes into his life outside of wrestling as well. His eyes focused, a slight smile peers out from the right corner of his mouth, before a soft exhale floats from his lips.
"I never planned to enter the wrestling industry. Growing up, it was something that never crossed my mind. I always wanted to be one of three things. A doctor, a psychiatrist or a lawyer. Each of which, would allow me to probe further into the mind of those around me. Enable me, to find the answers to just why we find ourselves headed in the directions we do. Just what it is, that makes us all tick. Whether or not, we are the ones who design the path we find ourselves walking.
So, why am I here? Why is it, that I elected to enter the wrestling world, if it is something that I never truly set out to do? Why did I lead myself astray, from the path I wished to lead?"
His eyes softly burning, he remembers back to the times growing up, when he would sit in his room. Studying, reading through mountains of textbooks on medicines, psychological teachings and the law. Attempting to maintain his knowledge as he ventured further down the road of decision. The road, that would lead to one of those three professions. Raising his right hand up from the recliner, he gently places it atop his thigh.
"That is what I am trying to answer myself. It was something that occurred one day whilst I was at the University of Auburn, studying psychology. A friend of mine, who I knew was prominent in this scene, asked me if I wanted to come and try it out. Explaining that it was a "real life movie" and an industry that could enhance my studies of the mind. A means, for me to further enter the psyche of people; understand them better. Further decryption, on the mysteries that hadn't truly been explored within the mind. Initially, I didn't see the purpose.
Yes, it could help with enhancing my knowledge base. It could enable me to discover the deepest chambers of the wrestlers mind, but I didn't see the need to approach it. I didn't see how it would actually help in the long term. After all, it was a foreign world to me. I'll be honest: I actually never as much as watched wrestling growing up, so to be invited into the circle was new. A fresh outlook on something I felt had been clearly defined."
He remembers it as if it happened yesterday. The words of his friend. Entering the gym and being confronted immediately by the stench of "blood, sweat and tears" attacking his nostrils. The sounds, that reminded him of B-grade movies that he had watched in his youth. Yet he enjoyed it.
He couldn't explain it; it wasn't something that he could rationalise. All he knew is that he enjoyed the essence it brought. The sense, of actually being able to say that he ventured into something new. That if it were a part of his bucket list, that he could check it off.
"Though I knew it couldn't hurt to sample it. That it would simply be naive of me, to base judgement on it, without having being able to say I tried that. That I had an educated opinion on the subject matter - yet something that not even I could foresee occurred. A sense begin to manifest in my mind that this was a career I should explore. A path, that I should be more open to venturing down - even if it was only for the duration of college. Even if I never wished to wander into the ring again in my life.
I found myself actually challenging my own beliefs. My own mentality. Questioning everything that I thought I had known about how the human mind worked. It didn't even take a week for me to realise that's why my friend offered it to me. That's why he asked me to join him at the training sessions. To experience it all for myself. For that, I eternally thank him."
His focus unwavering, you can hear the reflective nature of his words as they leave his lips. You can sense just how much it actually warms his heart, to be able to look back upon those moments.
"It was then that I also began to realise that maybe it was all aligning. That maybe, this was the true passage I was meant to lead; that becoming a doctor or psychiatrist was merely secondary. Something, to compliment indulging myself within the untapped market of professional wrestling. Of discovering, just how each portion. Each piece of the puzzle, falls into its place to compose the symphony that we enjoy. Each composition, that makes up our identity. With each session. Each slam against the canvas. Each blow that rattled throughout my body, I began to feel liberated.
I began to feel free from the burdens. The toils that had worn me down. Each test, that had caused me to have multiple sleepless nights - my mind fixated on ensuring that not only did I pass them. That I attained a perfect score. Which I did - time and time again, but it got tiring after a while. It got boring, consistently being the best; being the smartest. Wrestling changed that."
His smile growing, he blinks. A flash of himself laying atop the azure mats in the gym, looking up at the ceiling. At an opponent, who had managed to pin him to the mat for the famed "three count" staring down at him. Arm extended flashing within his mind as he re-opens them.
"It was finally something that I hadn't perfected. That I didn't know the answer to - which is why I sit before you here today. Fully immersed. Fully indulged in unravelling the secrets. The mysteries of the ring. Attempting to decipher, the aura that surrounds this industry; just what attracts people to it like moths are attracted to flames.
Even if the personas that reside within this industry are - shall we just say - less than what you would associate with in general discourse. Or rather, not the sharpest tools in the shed. After all, wrestling does of course, have its barbaric roots."
Pausing, he knows that these words are going to get a rise out of the audience. That there'll be people screaming and yelling at him. Telling him how he shouldn't try and talk down to them. Both as wrestlers and as consumers, but that's never been something he's worried himself with. It's like he read. "The words of a genius, will sound crazy to fools" being one of the key phrases.
One, that immediately resonated with him - when he thought back to all the vilification. All the criticism that legitimate scientists and other geniuses have received over the years. Merely because people didn't wish to believe the words they were speaking. Or more so, weren't open to their thought processes being challenged. Slightly smiling, Dominic raises his right leg, folding it over his left before returning his focus to the lens.
"It's one of the main draws to wrestling. The ability to be able to "shut off" your mind - to simply return to your primitive instincts. To the days when cavemen prospected and "Me Smash. Me Win" was the main way one would convey their message. Simpler times to some, but an overall regression from the status that we find ourselves in today as a progressive society.
In the name of "entertainment" as if we had gone back to the days of gladiatorial combat in the Roman coliseums. Being honest, that's what we do. We go back to those days; act out the fantasy of being a gladiator that modern society has shunned. Whether or not it is what we should be enabling."
Feeling his mind gentle pulsate with each word that leaves his lips, he allows himself another exhale. This one, slightly more relaxed than the one that preceded it, even if his face is still stoic. Still focused directly on the lens in front of him.
"That we should be accepting, as a vital cog within the machine of our culture. Nevertheless, it is at least an intriguing base for investigation. A place, to unlock just what it; its combatants hold within their cores. Commencing with Kennedy Matthews, who has been allocated the "accolade" of going down as the initial experiment. The first, to allow her mind to be unlocked; the mysteries she holds to be unravelled before your own eyes."
Raising his left hand slightly, he brings it up to around chin level. Almost as if he is preparing to commence a psychological evaluation of his opponent. A means, for him to acquire a mental advantage over her, in the lead up to their match next week on Slam. Thinking to himself, of the best method to approach this examination, in order to achieve the desired result.
"The first thing I see when I look at Kennedy, is that she lives off her money. She appears to thrive off the silver spoon that dangles from her mouth; expects that to acquire her 'preferential treatment'. For people to admire her, merely because she has enough money to splash around on material possessions. On crafting herself, into this 'desirable image'.
An image, that she wishes to use in order to mask the insecurities that lay within. Hide the fact, that she hates everything that she claims to be. Hoping that contrary to what she had been told, that money can buy her happiness. Or at least, the belief that she is happy anyways."
Pausing, he nods his head, looking slightly downwards to represent a "pen and paper" being atop his lap, although there isn't actually one. It's more of a method to entice the viewer into believing that they are attaining a legitimate insight into the processes of a psychological examination. Tilting his head back up, he makes a mental note of his observations so far; reminds himself of the next point that he wishes to make.
"The second thing I noticed, is that she seems to flaunt her looks. Almost as if she wants to play up the fact that the fans. Usually those who haven't had female contact or are easily deceived by the shallow aspects, will turn into putty that she can mould. Craft in the palm of her hand. Instagram appears to be her preferred method of doing so; we all know the type of characters that usually use that platform as their main, or even secondary social media outlet. She personifies them.
The "look at me, I'm pretty" or "I'm shallow and vain" crowd, who think that just because somebody either follows them or 'likes' one of their posts, that they have a connection. No. If you believe that somebody actually likes your vanity, you're just deluding yourself. Well, deluding yourself more. They 'like' your posts because just like you, they are shallow and see things at the surface level.
Refusing to go any deeper because that would force them to admit that all they want, is to get "laid" so they can brag about it to their equally shallow & vain friends. Or in Kennedy's face, the false sense of admiration & adulation to be granted to them. To subside the insecurity. To make them feel like they are everything they say they are.
To try and validate their constant flaunting. Their supposed 'sultry' photographs and teasing nature. No different to how cheerleaders were in high school. Riding off coattails and using their looks and supposed "charm" to justify being shallow and narcissistic. Vilifying those who don't fit in with their vanity."
His eyes remaining focused, he refreshes his mental notes, feeling images of times where he encountered cheerleaders throughout his schooling. How they are a splitting image of the mannerisms that Kennedy has shown on her Instagram account. He then lets out a deep breath, before glancing downward at the imaginary notepad once more.
"Is that all you can do, Kennedy? It was too easy to find aspects to pick apart; expose to the world. After all, you even conveyed them yourself. Even if you don't fully comprehend what I am telling you. Even if within that head of yours, you think this is me creating shit. Making up dirt to vilify you before we set foot in the ring. It was you that made this all public knowledge. Then again, you probably wanted that, didn't you?
As I said, it plays right into your vanity. Just like your comments on said platform, pleading ignorance to who I am. Trying to convince yourself, that I can merely be dismissed. That I am no threat to you, even if deep down. Beyond the ignorance and self-obsession, you know that everything I have told you is the truth. That it is the reflection, that you never wanted to see. That you are really no better than the people who try and advance themselves using solely their looks."
Stopping himself, Dominic slightly laughs.
"Actually, you are one of those people. That's why you're here, isn't it? That's why you actually believe that you can win this week? That the people's shallow nature, will be enough to make them lust for you to prevail. Sadly, that's really not how it works. At Slam, you will become the first participant in the cause. The first, to fall at the hands of the secrets of your own mind. All I have to do, is inflict the fatal wounds. Believe me, I'll have a lot of fun doing that and showing the fans just how fragile you really are. Piece by piece."
At this point, Dominic motions to the previously unseen camera operator to cut the feed. His statement having been made. The commentary, having reached its conclusion.
"Adios, Kennedy. Come Monday, your dirty little secrets are laid to rest."
STATIC.
I'd be lying to you if I said I haven't had nights where I just couldn't fall asleep, thinking about the very same questions. Pondering, whether the choice to enter the world of professional wrestling was one that I had made for myself, or whether it had been chosen for me. Whether or not it was something that I was always going to gravitate myself towards. No matter what choices I made.
It's only natural to have them; it is something that is inherently thought about, when you truly take the time to reflect on what leads you to certain situations. Circumstances that occur within the span of your life. Just as it was for me. Especially when those plans, aren't what you always expect them to be."
Opening up the cameras, it can now be seen that a twenty-three year old is sitting atop a jet black recliner. His eyes, focused only upon the lens of the camera positioned in front of him and attired in a midnight black t-shirt, denim jeans and black business-casual style Nike sneakers. The background appears to be of a medium sized home in Tuscaloosa, Alabama - a location that is known to be the residence of Dominic Royce.
A man, who has been renowned for his steady rise up American wrestling ranks, as well as his philosophical; precise approach to wrestling as a whole. An approach that he takes into his life outside of wrestling as well. His eyes focused, a slight smile peers out from the right corner of his mouth, before a soft exhale floats from his lips.
"I never planned to enter the wrestling industry. Growing up, it was something that never crossed my mind. I always wanted to be one of three things. A doctor, a psychiatrist or a lawyer. Each of which, would allow me to probe further into the mind of those around me. Enable me, to find the answers to just why we find ourselves headed in the directions we do. Just what it is, that makes us all tick. Whether or not, we are the ones who design the path we find ourselves walking.
So, why am I here? Why is it, that I elected to enter the wrestling world, if it is something that I never truly set out to do? Why did I lead myself astray, from the path I wished to lead?"
His eyes softly burning, he remembers back to the times growing up, when he would sit in his room. Studying, reading through mountains of textbooks on medicines, psychological teachings and the law. Attempting to maintain his knowledge as he ventured further down the road of decision. The road, that would lead to one of those three professions. Raising his right hand up from the recliner, he gently places it atop his thigh.
"That is what I am trying to answer myself. It was something that occurred one day whilst I was at the University of Auburn, studying psychology. A friend of mine, who I knew was prominent in this scene, asked me if I wanted to come and try it out. Explaining that it was a "real life movie" and an industry that could enhance my studies of the mind. A means, for me to further enter the psyche of people; understand them better. Further decryption, on the mysteries that hadn't truly been explored within the mind. Initially, I didn't see the purpose.
Yes, it could help with enhancing my knowledge base. It could enable me to discover the deepest chambers of the wrestlers mind, but I didn't see the need to approach it. I didn't see how it would actually help in the long term. After all, it was a foreign world to me. I'll be honest: I actually never as much as watched wrestling growing up, so to be invited into the circle was new. A fresh outlook on something I felt had been clearly defined."
He remembers it as if it happened yesterday. The words of his friend. Entering the gym and being confronted immediately by the stench of "blood, sweat and tears" attacking his nostrils. The sounds, that reminded him of B-grade movies that he had watched in his youth. Yet he enjoyed it.
He couldn't explain it; it wasn't something that he could rationalise. All he knew is that he enjoyed the essence it brought. The sense, of actually being able to say that he ventured into something new. That if it were a part of his bucket list, that he could check it off.
"Though I knew it couldn't hurt to sample it. That it would simply be naive of me, to base judgement on it, without having being able to say I tried that. That I had an educated opinion on the subject matter - yet something that not even I could foresee occurred. A sense begin to manifest in my mind that this was a career I should explore. A path, that I should be more open to venturing down - even if it was only for the duration of college. Even if I never wished to wander into the ring again in my life.
I found myself actually challenging my own beliefs. My own mentality. Questioning everything that I thought I had known about how the human mind worked. It didn't even take a week for me to realise that's why my friend offered it to me. That's why he asked me to join him at the training sessions. To experience it all for myself. For that, I eternally thank him."
His focus unwavering, you can hear the reflective nature of his words as they leave his lips. You can sense just how much it actually warms his heart, to be able to look back upon those moments.
"It was then that I also began to realise that maybe it was all aligning. That maybe, this was the true passage I was meant to lead; that becoming a doctor or psychiatrist was merely secondary. Something, to compliment indulging myself within the untapped market of professional wrestling. Of discovering, just how each portion. Each piece of the puzzle, falls into its place to compose the symphony that we enjoy. Each composition, that makes up our identity. With each session. Each slam against the canvas. Each blow that rattled throughout my body, I began to feel liberated.
I began to feel free from the burdens. The toils that had worn me down. Each test, that had caused me to have multiple sleepless nights - my mind fixated on ensuring that not only did I pass them. That I attained a perfect score. Which I did - time and time again, but it got tiring after a while. It got boring, consistently being the best; being the smartest. Wrestling changed that."
His smile growing, he blinks. A flash of himself laying atop the azure mats in the gym, looking up at the ceiling. At an opponent, who had managed to pin him to the mat for the famed "three count" staring down at him. Arm extended flashing within his mind as he re-opens them.
"It was finally something that I hadn't perfected. That I didn't know the answer to - which is why I sit before you here today. Fully immersed. Fully indulged in unravelling the secrets. The mysteries of the ring. Attempting to decipher, the aura that surrounds this industry; just what attracts people to it like moths are attracted to flames.
Even if the personas that reside within this industry are - shall we just say - less than what you would associate with in general discourse. Or rather, not the sharpest tools in the shed. After all, wrestling does of course, have its barbaric roots."
Pausing, he knows that these words are going to get a rise out of the audience. That there'll be people screaming and yelling at him. Telling him how he shouldn't try and talk down to them. Both as wrestlers and as consumers, but that's never been something he's worried himself with. It's like he read. "The words of a genius, will sound crazy to fools" being one of the key phrases.
One, that immediately resonated with him - when he thought back to all the vilification. All the criticism that legitimate scientists and other geniuses have received over the years. Merely because people didn't wish to believe the words they were speaking. Or more so, weren't open to their thought processes being challenged. Slightly smiling, Dominic raises his right leg, folding it over his left before returning his focus to the lens.
"It's one of the main draws to wrestling. The ability to be able to "shut off" your mind - to simply return to your primitive instincts. To the days when cavemen prospected and "Me Smash. Me Win" was the main way one would convey their message. Simpler times to some, but an overall regression from the status that we find ourselves in today as a progressive society.
In the name of "entertainment" as if we had gone back to the days of gladiatorial combat in the Roman coliseums. Being honest, that's what we do. We go back to those days; act out the fantasy of being a gladiator that modern society has shunned. Whether or not it is what we should be enabling."
Feeling his mind gentle pulsate with each word that leaves his lips, he allows himself another exhale. This one, slightly more relaxed than the one that preceded it, even if his face is still stoic. Still focused directly on the lens in front of him.
"That we should be accepting, as a vital cog within the machine of our culture. Nevertheless, it is at least an intriguing base for investigation. A place, to unlock just what it; its combatants hold within their cores. Commencing with Kennedy Matthews, who has been allocated the "accolade" of going down as the initial experiment. The first, to allow her mind to be unlocked; the mysteries she holds to be unravelled before your own eyes."
Raising his left hand slightly, he brings it up to around chin level. Almost as if he is preparing to commence a psychological evaluation of his opponent. A means, for him to acquire a mental advantage over her, in the lead up to their match next week on Slam. Thinking to himself, of the best method to approach this examination, in order to achieve the desired result.
"The first thing I see when I look at Kennedy, is that she lives off her money. She appears to thrive off the silver spoon that dangles from her mouth; expects that to acquire her 'preferential treatment'. For people to admire her, merely because she has enough money to splash around on material possessions. On crafting herself, into this 'desirable image'.
An image, that she wishes to use in order to mask the insecurities that lay within. Hide the fact, that she hates everything that she claims to be. Hoping that contrary to what she had been told, that money can buy her happiness. Or at least, the belief that she is happy anyways."
Pausing, he nods his head, looking slightly downwards to represent a "pen and paper" being atop his lap, although there isn't actually one. It's more of a method to entice the viewer into believing that they are attaining a legitimate insight into the processes of a psychological examination. Tilting his head back up, he makes a mental note of his observations so far; reminds himself of the next point that he wishes to make.
"The second thing I noticed, is that she seems to flaunt her looks. Almost as if she wants to play up the fact that the fans. Usually those who haven't had female contact or are easily deceived by the shallow aspects, will turn into putty that she can mould. Craft in the palm of her hand. Instagram appears to be her preferred method of doing so; we all know the type of characters that usually use that platform as their main, or even secondary social media outlet. She personifies them.
The "look at me, I'm pretty" or "I'm shallow and vain" crowd, who think that just because somebody either follows them or 'likes' one of their posts, that they have a connection. No. If you believe that somebody actually likes your vanity, you're just deluding yourself. Well, deluding yourself more. They 'like' your posts because just like you, they are shallow and see things at the surface level.
Refusing to go any deeper because that would force them to admit that all they want, is to get "laid" so they can brag about it to their equally shallow & vain friends. Or in Kennedy's face, the false sense of admiration & adulation to be granted to them. To subside the insecurity. To make them feel like they are everything they say they are.
To try and validate their constant flaunting. Their supposed 'sultry' photographs and teasing nature. No different to how cheerleaders were in high school. Riding off coattails and using their looks and supposed "charm" to justify being shallow and narcissistic. Vilifying those who don't fit in with their vanity."
His eyes remaining focused, he refreshes his mental notes, feeling images of times where he encountered cheerleaders throughout his schooling. How they are a splitting image of the mannerisms that Kennedy has shown on her Instagram account. He then lets out a deep breath, before glancing downward at the imaginary notepad once more.
"Is that all you can do, Kennedy? It was too easy to find aspects to pick apart; expose to the world. After all, you even conveyed them yourself. Even if you don't fully comprehend what I am telling you. Even if within that head of yours, you think this is me creating shit. Making up dirt to vilify you before we set foot in the ring. It was you that made this all public knowledge. Then again, you probably wanted that, didn't you?
As I said, it plays right into your vanity. Just like your comments on said platform, pleading ignorance to who I am. Trying to convince yourself, that I can merely be dismissed. That I am no threat to you, even if deep down. Beyond the ignorance and self-obsession, you know that everything I have told you is the truth. That it is the reflection, that you never wanted to see. That you are really no better than the people who try and advance themselves using solely their looks."
Stopping himself, Dominic slightly laughs.
"Actually, you are one of those people. That's why you're here, isn't it? That's why you actually believe that you can win this week? That the people's shallow nature, will be enough to make them lust for you to prevail. Sadly, that's really not how it works. At Slam, you will become the first participant in the cause. The first, to fall at the hands of the secrets of your own mind. All I have to do, is inflict the fatal wounds. Believe me, I'll have a lot of fun doing that and showing the fans just how fragile you really are. Piece by piece."
At this point, Dominic motions to the previously unseen camera operator to cut the feed. His statement having been made. The commentary, having reached its conclusion.
"Adios, Kennedy. Come Monday, your dirty little secrets are laid to rest."
STATIC.