Post by Deleted on Sept 28, 2013 23:44:53 GMT -5
The money keeps the rats warm.
Drip, drip, drip, it was a ways into fall and a sort of dreary dampness has already darkened my surroundings as a chilly downpour rolled through this already oh-so depressing city landscape. I sat in the corner of a H.C. warehouse as the roof leaked failing to entrap the heat inside. A small ash pile slowly forming in front of me. Rodents scuttled around me in search of crumbs but only finding the cold concrete to mock their organic existence. This warehouse was a dark, grayish-greenish shelter which was empty with the exception of all its breathing occupants and a few busted crates. I needed to get away from everyone for a little bit. Sometimes people only served to hurt the purpose and sometimes solitary was a cleansing process for the mind as people tend to fill it with nonsensical babbling. But one starts asking questions when left with himself long enough. Some questions are cathartic and stare down the rabbit hole and then some questions are impertinent to anything and are merely to put distance to the boredom. Idleness is a regression. Though most questions were about how to destroy all those around me. I was angry, but I am always angry so not much had change except my first match back under MY OWN NAME and I lose the best thing I had left in my life. You start thinking revenge is the next best move but then given enough time you eventually want to be petty instead, to just walk away and say “I am bigger than this place” without giving a good reason. But then a mixed feeling of shame and protest rose above like a confusing self-defeating narrative that merely watched its point run down its leg. I wanted to blame everyone else but in a knee jerk reaction, I blamed myself in the assumption that I was automatically wrong. I wanted to say Sarah was the source of this rotting vehement disdain, along with Jonathan Jakobs for stealing MY titles away from me but sometimes it seemed more fitting to turn the finger around on myself when it was easier to give up. The feeling came and went like rain, only sometimes leaving destruction in its wake.
So in the meantime, until I could properly place the blame, I decided to commence a protest of silence. I’m taking the gift I graciously gave to the world and revoking it. Maybe then they will learn to appreciate what they had. I wanted to enhance the world but now I just wanted to see it fall slowly into the sun, to watch all the people panic and pray for a solution. Because it is those types of situations when you realize what it’s all about. In a situation like that, politics is the first thing to go…complete anarchy amongst the ranks Freedom is regression. The world would become so clean, pure, and honest at the sight of undeniable doom, unlike the filthy, insufferable, mud ball we have now. Now, don’t get me wrong, there would definitely be violence and a massive body count but lying and cheating goes straight back to the rats. No campaigning, no bribes and no trust because it only suited a world going up, not one going out. But that is mere speculation for, unfortunately, the world wasn’t flying into the Sun at that very moment…yet (fingers crossed). Sarah’s attempt to buy us off might have worked for the rest of them, but I refused to accept her blood money. She thinks she can make everything better just by giving me more. It was never about the money, it was never about working until retirement…It was about forming a future and leaving this as a small portfolio piece in my ever eclipsing career.
Truly I was insulted by her insinuating that I was that easy to buy off. That, like many other actors and actresses, if you paid me enough I would do everything with a smile. What did I do to make her think I was so cheap to think my career is about money? But no, as further protest, I refused to take the money. But instead of throwing it into her face and making a scene for all the tabloids to see, drama is regression, I chose to protest to myself. I pulled out a hundred dollar bill and stared at it for a moment as if scrutinizing the bill, it might as well have been counterfeit. I lifted it up high by the corner while flicking my lighter under it. The flame lit after a third strike and caught on the green piece of monetary trade which I dropped and let float down to the top of the ash pile. With it, you could have fed a family, clothed a child, bought two new video games or symbolically adopted multiple African Orphans. But instead, I chose to use the money for a different purpose. Every new percentage I got from Sarah Twilight and hey ever infinite reign was destined for the ash pile in front of me. It didn’t matter that no one could see it or that no one else was affected by it, because the fire made me calm and the money keeps the rats warm…
The money keeps the rats warm
The money keeps the rats warm, which I am sure they sought more valuable than any new toy or rent payment. The rats didn’t need to say thanks either, there was no use in fishing for compliments with vermin for all of them were honestly (as honest as rats could be) open about being selfish unlike that of half the EPPW?/WCF? Roster Twilight bought off, to ensure a sort of quid pro quo I assume, in case she ever decided to call upon for favors. I just didn’t want to be the one to owe her when she wanted something she couldn’t get by her own means. It was classic politics and everyone else seemed to be eating it up. Was I supposed to appreciate it when I get tossed in to a hazardous work environment where rules no longer mattered? Was I supposed to jump for joy when I found even grimier fingers controlling the company than before? Did we forget who this was? I’m not petty, pettiness is regression
Was I supposed to cherish my time here when I was surrounded by such clowns and an obvious loss of control? Though, as much as the risks worried me, it became slightly more interesting when I heard ‘no DQ’. As much as the fans liked it, I appreciated it more with the simple fact that whether I was smashing a chair over some guy’s head or being hit in the head with a glass bottle, no wrong was being performed, for it was pure and simple punishment and sacrament where all animalistic tactics were forgiven and sins were beaten away in a sort of cathartic display. You could (and should) leave all humanity behind and become a sack of meat ready to face the fiercest and most cleansing baptism allowed in the ‘squared circle’ and to tell you the truth, my spirit needs a serious cleansing. For, like many stars and athletes of a major brand, we are terrible, selfish, betray your mothers for a better deal type people and I would also gladly accept it as my duty to perform the sentencing of my ‘brothers in arm’. But, I am a treacherous monster that stepped on all those that tried to help me like they would come back when I made it to the top…but here I was, all the way at the bottom and more alone than I had been in years. Again, when one is by himself for so long, one starts to ask questions, some are just meant to hurt, and others are meant to unbury thoughts you idly buried too shallow to fully ignore. What if there was going to be no gain in burning all the bridges I passed over? What if there was never going to be a way back? What if the damage was already done?
I mocked and alienated so many people thinking it all had to pay off at one point; that they would all forget about it after I hit the big times, but only now was I realizing all the trouble I caused and all the lives I ruined. My trail of deceit began further back than my wrestling career in terms of all the people I berated, all the film crews I tortured, all the fights I started and all the supporting actors I sank with spiteful criticism in the disguise of a caring, helpful actor. I said things no one should ever feel the need to say to another human being; sometimes to protect my job and sometimes to just strike at the very core of a nerve. But, I had already begun my two thousand-two hundred and some odd lashings as one inopportune event proceeded another.
Just last week, I was on set for the Turkish film I still had to take part in under contractual agreement (a more direct punishment for a rash decision for a less than satisfying point). All the psychos became untraceable as all activity dropped and we hit dead ends on every lead. So, I had even more time to think and hate as I watched Henry Cohen walk on and off set whenever he felt like it, just to mock my sort of ‘mistaken isolation’. It was a rather talkative scene of the movie which established nothing except the pure pretentiousness that only a block head could get down on paper. I was seated in a restaurant at a table next to the window as a gloomy forecast could be seen creeping up outside like a heavy handed enactment of foreshadowing. I had not yet taken my vow of silence, though I still wasn’t very talkative. My character was still very human at the moment but was supposed to begin worrying if there was a curse. Who funds this crap? The first line was “What is a human being?” the director argued with himself whether to make it a voice over while I stared pensively out the window or whether for me to say it right there as if reciting poetry to an invisible audience…at least that is what I assumed he was saying. I started to think up my own subtitles to his Turkish rambling. “I am super important director man, bow to me!” “We need at least twenty five percent more feeling, but with a little less feeling, you know what I mean?” “We are all fucking with you, there is no movie being made. This is just a legal form of torture and the best part is you signed on to it.”
Well, the set was quiet now and cameras were rolling. The overall monologue was very wordy and full of nonsense about capitalism or war or something; it wasn’t very clear. First line…: “What is a human being?”…I peered out the window watching all the extras passing by; the unrelated people, the mere filler for the shot to sell a reality. They were nobody to anyone, not even to the people that played them. No continuity, no thoughts, no consequence…No humanity what so ever. If there was a scene where one got shot, you wouldn’t care…That is a human being.
Most people are just fodder for you to push through so the reality seemed consistent. If there is a goal and they are in the middle of it, there is nothing stopping you…Doubt is regression. Too many people make friends when so many of them are just problems, problems, problems. You make friends, you are almost assured to come across a point where their goal will cross your goal and then you will have to make a choice. At the end of the day, the only mouth you had to feed was yours. Those rules didn’t just apply to acting, they apply to every facet you can fit it in, even wrestling…S-PAC might be the biggest thing to happen to me in the last few years but I will never ever put them ahead of me. There is not one person I wouldn’t scalp for the golden prize. That is a human being.
John Gable: What is a human being?...
All of a sudden there was a stomping from a distance as a door slammed reverberated through the fake restaurant. All heads turned as Joseph Mantel entered the scene with his burnt, deformed face contorted in such a rage that I almost thought I saw him smile.
Joseph Mantel: This is long overdue.
Indeed it was as he grabbed me by the neck and shoved my head through the window, sending shards flying everywhere. There was a shriek from one of the extras as everyone backed off in fear. Joseph threw me to the ground and proceeded to kick me; alternating frequently between my stomach and face. A few from the film crew attempted to jump to my rescue but wouldn’t you know it, Henry Cohen appeared on set just in time to stop them. But I didn’t protest, reacting is regression, for I was ill with the sickness of questions again and the only answer that came to mind was I deserved this.
I deserved this.
I deserved this film I was stuck in. I deserved this wrestling scam I was stuck in. I deserved this endless beating I was stuck in. As much as I would care to succeed and as much as I fought for it, I overall knew I didn’t deserve it. I was all the wrong decisions wrapped up in one human being. Even if I made it to the very top, I knew my legacy would be tainted by such things as the Actor’s studio freak out, the arrest for beating down a homeless person and the three flops I had driven my career into. I had a shot. I had that one film I needed and I turned it away in my pursuit to prove a weaker point and to validate myself. But it meant nothing now as I felt my insides crumbling and my face compacting like I was decaying from the inside out. Blood poured from my nose, it dripped from my mouth and it spilled from the cuts from the shards of glass as it sank into the lines of the tiled floor, creating paths like red rivers dividing out. I stared in a half consciousness as the blood flowed over the glass shards and stained the feet of the chair. I had to discipline myself, become a soldier, to recognize the enemy and effectively take him down. It meant I had to take a beating once in a while, which I knew I would survive with enough patience. Pain is weakness leaving the body, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, Wolff’s law, so on and so forth. It would pay off in the end. Building a better Gable every day.
Do you remember the soldier?…The one from when I first arrived; the innocent man who had no idea how to take a life and who had no intention of seeing any massacres. No?...hmmm…Later, after the stitching and bruising had set in, I felt the need to let some steam out in the only way I knew how…It was a dead field clouded with smoke as only blurry balls of light poked through the aftermath of a terrible calamity. Further into the diabolical scene, tents could be seen next to sickly soldiers gathered around the fires. Their blue greatcoats were stained with blood and dirt and their faces were paler than their horses. Some men were carrying around the injured on stretchers and others pushing around cannons and salvaging other much needed supplies. At the end of these pathetic rows of tents was a pole with a busted wall of planks behind it. A man was tied to the pole in grey pants and a white blouse stained with blood. They put the blindfold over his eyes as four gunmen lined up in front. They loaded their muskets as a fellow soldier walked up from the side in an officer’s uniform with pristine color and threading with a document in hand that was rolled at both ends. The soldier spoke with a valiant booming voice as he read off the crimes this man was sentenced for.
Soldier: For your crimes against the supreme holy army which includes but is not limited to: firing on allies, selling supplies to the enemy and abandoning your post in the heat of combat. I hereby sentence you to death. May God have mercy on your soul. Take aim!!!
The gunners raised their weapons and took aim. The addressing soldier had his saber raised high in the air and was moments from bringing it down when a pistol fired off and echoed through the now lifting smoke. Everyone’s heads turned to find me standing with my gun in the air and stitches across my face. I limped forward as my eye twitched and my boots fell further apart with every step. I slowly passed the firing squad as they parted awkwardly with their eyes to the ground sympathetically. I looked to the well-dressed soldier with a stare of disdain as I snorted and limped closer to the traitor. You know why they had multiple men on a firing squad? It’s because only one rifle had a bullet so none of the men knew who killed the prisoner so they could continue going on guilty free and clean. Apparently no one can have a heavy heart when there is so much fighting around them. But the majority that fear this plain of existence fail to capitalize on the glory of battle. It used to be that the most dishonorable thing that could happen to you was a knife in the back because then the whole army would know you were a shameful coward but now they lighten the blow by taking the guilt of death off your chest. No one ever won a War by worrying about his eternal soul. The only way to succeed in War is to take the grief and wear it like weights to strengthen the mind in such a way no one can understand without taking a life. One could assume he was the cause of someone else’s down fall but unless he laid witness to it himself, he will never have to accept it.
I approached the prisoner as he panicked and squirmed in the ropes of his sentence. I circled around him as he tried to yell out but a gag muffled his cries…He didn’t look like a traitor; he just looked like any other soldier with the exception of the uniform. For all I knew, all these men were traitors and deserved to eat a bullet. Who wasn’t guilty of something terribly horrible? Who didn’t deserve some sort of punishment for the transgression of simply being alive?
I made my way all the way around the prisoner until I was at his left side. I lifted my pistol and placed it right against the temple of his skull. His cries died down has he breathed heavily with tears running down his cheeks while banging his head against the pole in frustration. Regret is regression.
Boom!!!
Blood spurted out the other side as the prisoner went limp. The devil’s deed was done and the other soldiers merely stared in awe as I limped away. This old soldier understood the necessity of death, the need for battle and the mandatory struggle most would rather brush aside if they could. The only way to rise above the mud and grime is to dive head first into the depths of death and only then could you ‘win’ which is more or less surviving. But it wasn’t enough to act out tragedy and suffering. One should explore his own darkness before he can drop all guilt and horror. So, few weeks before, I met with Michael to settle some things in my head if I wanted to begin my cleansing! I found myself in an all too cliché image as I laid on a couch while Michael sat in a Lay-Z-Boy as we improvised a session in his living room. I wasn’t expecting much since there was no credibility in a quack trained by RVN. Even during the first session when we had all the psychos around us, it was very apparent that there was no longer a standard in the psychological practice.
Michael Estepp: Tell me about your mother…
John Gable: No…
Michael Estepp: That sounds like a red flag…
John Gable: You’re a red flag!
Michael Estepp: You are making this more difficult than it has to be.
John Gable: So are you.
Michael Estepp: What am I doing wrong?
John Gable: Breathing.
He sighed as he shook his head and jotted some notes down on a clip board.
Michael Estepp: Okay, let’s try again. You came to me, what seems to be the problem?
John Gable: Well, that is a rather open ended question. Where should I start? I hate almost everyone I meet, I have an uncontrollable impulse to destroy all those above me, I burnt a stake to a crisp…and still ate it, there is a leaking facet in my hotel room that kept me up last night, my white pajamas with black stripes got mixed with my black pajamas with white stripes and I know no one would see it but I would just feel ridiculous if I wore the wrong shirt with the wrong pants…
Michael Estepp: My fault for thinking you were going to take this seriously…
John Gable: Sorry…I am…I’m just not taking you seriously.
Michael Estepp: Well for the moment, pretend I am someone else.
John Gable: I gonna pretend you are Michael Caine…you’re Michael Caine now.
Michael sighed again as he rubbed his forehead. I wanted to test him for once, to see if he was stable enough to evaluate me. So far he wasn’t doing well but hey, it’s still early in the game.
Michael Estepp: When you called me, You made it seem like you were serious about picking your brain apart.
John Gable: No, I’m not aiming to pick my brain. I’ve been to the inside and out of it. I have torn my head to pieces figuring it out. What I want is to get all this shit out of my head. There is a deep sensation that if I get pushed in the wrong way, I might do something I will regret. There is this deep beat in my head that comes and goes with my outbursts…One, two, three, four…one, two, three, four…over and over and over. I find myself getting the urges to burn everything down, taking me with it. Though then I get these moments where I feel I can’t show my face anywhere from all the shame I faced. Those days I just want my whole life to fast forward to my death bed and see who is there grieving. There is this thick jumble of grief when I try to sleep at night, like a tooth ache that is just painful enough to constantly keep your mind active but distracted. I’m not talking about anger management; I am not talking about medication. I just want to stop thinking about these terrible things.
Michael Estepp: It’s not how it works. I can’t just extract specific parts of your brain.
John Gable: Well, good thing I’m not paying for this.
Michael Estepp: You’re not paying?
John Gable: Stay on topic Mr. Caine. Ninety percent of the job is showing up.
Michael Estepp: I can’t imagine why anyone would want you dead…Anyways; let’s get back to the beat in your head. When did you first notice it?
I was about to answer but then I paused for a moment. The very moment was so clear in my head; there was no question what was causing it. It was the day my life went from bad to hell. Though the odd part is when I think back to that night while I was standing in that nightmare of a mansion and all I remembered was the shadows. All the other details were whitened out or blurry. The only moment I fully recalled was when Alexis dropped to her knees in disbelief at what she had done. I couldn’t very well just say that though, there was a reason I buried it.
John Gable: Somewhere around the time I teamed with that ungrateful Spaniard Morientes…
Michael Estepp: Was there any specific event that triggered it?
John Gable: You ever teamed with a Spaniard…It’s like vacationing with an Italian. It’s enough to make you snap. I assume it’s enough to turn someone postal.
Michael paused for a moment and stared at me as if a vague suspicion rolled through his head. He tapped the top of the pen against the clip board as he swayed his jaw in a contemptuous way. He reclined the chair and placed his hands behind his head while he let out an unimpressed groan.
Michael Estepp: Fine, I’ll leave it at that. But how do you feel when you start hearing the beat. Is it a sort of anxiety or anger?
John Gable: Neither, it is more spiteful in a way. I get this feeling of a divine purpose as I get ideas. Not like a message from God or anything crazy like that. It’s like someone tells me to react and it feels right.
Michael Estepp: Do you tend to act on these impulses?
John Gable: Sometimes. There is a good amount of times I suppressed it but sometimes it just gets too powerful.
Michael Estepp: Did you regret acting upon those impulses?
I chuckled. I had cornered myself when I was trying so hard not to be overpowered by his poking. Some questions were meant to help and learn and some questions were meant to dominate and condescend. I hated being ‘explored’ as it ‘twere…I always felt like it was a battle for who chose the direction of these conversation but this brain wizards always managed to cheat with their quick turnaround strategy. There would be no place for it in my version of the end of the world. One day I was going to send a therapist out of the room crying and on that day will celebrate like it’s the apocalypse.
John Gable: Let me be frank with you. There are somethings I’m more proud of than others. When I destroyed Cheetah Fighter with that chair, it felt so good and I still don’t regret it one bit. I proved a point and I’m gonna prove it again if I have to.
He looked off into the distance like he was pondering a thought from earlier then he turned back to me and leaned forward with interest.
Michael Estepp: You talk about work a lot…
John Gable: My work is my life, doc.
Michael Estepp: hmmm, yes…But I don’t think you are telling me everything.
John Gable: Do you need to know everything?
Michael Estepp: It would help.
John Gable: You know what would help me?
Michael Estepp: If you would cooperate with me.
John Gable: If this was an audition and you were Quentin Tarantino…but Alas, you are Michael Caine. Such a twisted web we weave.
I run my hand over the leather of the couch as I stared at the wall to the side of me, studying the white and off-white floral pattern.
Michael Estepp: I have a suggestion for you.
John Gable: I already broke into Warner Brothers studios once. If they catch me again, they’ll call the cops.
Michael Estepp: Are you familiar with the term regression?
John Gable: I assume it’s brain magic like the rest of your spells.
Michael Estepp: It is a term Freud coined. It is the reaction someone has after something displeasing happens where they revert back to a childish or primitive state. What it sounds like to me is you are letting your instincts get the best of you. The change has to come from accepting that you think these thoughts but that you cannot act on them. So what I want you to do s whenever you start hearing the beat rising, address the issue at hand and focus on what you get the impulse to do and call yourself out on it. Like if you feel the need to smash something, just catch yourself in the act and acknowledge the problem like “destruction is childish and immature”. You’ll be surprised how honest you can be with yourself when you really really want to change. I hope that the more you stop yourself and realize what you are doing, the more often you will be able to prevent it. Maybe keep a list of times it happens or notches on a post. As long as you realize what you are doing is the wrong reaction, then you will understand the root of the problem.
John Gable: So, what you are telling me is that I am shit out of luck and have to deal with it myself.
Michael Estepp: No, I’ll still be here, but you have to make the steps. I can’t force you.
John Gable: You brain wizards are some fucked up guys. I can’t believe people pay you for this shit.
Michael Estepp: Speaking of which…
I sat up on the couch and stretched out as if waking from a deep sleep.
John Gable: Charge it to the company. Apparently there is money to burn with all these raises people are getting.
Quack, quack, quack. What a load of shit. It is all instant psychotherapy mix. Just add water and you have bullshit within minutes. He knew I didn’t want to be there and I knew he didn’t want to spend his day listening to me, so I decided to take the old chap’s advice for now. But seriously, I wasn’t over reactive. I didn’t have a regression problem and I certainly wasn’t crazy. I seriously think I am the only sane person left. There was nothing I had to worry about. I just needed to act like everything was normal. After all, wasn’t that my job? I decided that I was fine and would continue with my cleansing process without Michael. Denial is regression.
(Fin)
Drip, drip, drip, it was a ways into fall and a sort of dreary dampness has already darkened my surroundings as a chilly downpour rolled through this already oh-so depressing city landscape. I sat in the corner of a H.C. warehouse as the roof leaked failing to entrap the heat inside. A small ash pile slowly forming in front of me. Rodents scuttled around me in search of crumbs but only finding the cold concrete to mock their organic existence. This warehouse was a dark, grayish-greenish shelter which was empty with the exception of all its breathing occupants and a few busted crates. I needed to get away from everyone for a little bit. Sometimes people only served to hurt the purpose and sometimes solitary was a cleansing process for the mind as people tend to fill it with nonsensical babbling. But one starts asking questions when left with himself long enough. Some questions are cathartic and stare down the rabbit hole and then some questions are impertinent to anything and are merely to put distance to the boredom. Idleness is a regression. Though most questions were about how to destroy all those around me. I was angry, but I am always angry so not much had change except my first match back under MY OWN NAME and I lose the best thing I had left in my life. You start thinking revenge is the next best move but then given enough time you eventually want to be petty instead, to just walk away and say “I am bigger than this place” without giving a good reason. But then a mixed feeling of shame and protest rose above like a confusing self-defeating narrative that merely watched its point run down its leg. I wanted to blame everyone else but in a knee jerk reaction, I blamed myself in the assumption that I was automatically wrong. I wanted to say Sarah was the source of this rotting vehement disdain, along with Jonathan Jakobs for stealing MY titles away from me but sometimes it seemed more fitting to turn the finger around on myself when it was easier to give up. The feeling came and went like rain, only sometimes leaving destruction in its wake.
So in the meantime, until I could properly place the blame, I decided to commence a protest of silence. I’m taking the gift I graciously gave to the world and revoking it. Maybe then they will learn to appreciate what they had. I wanted to enhance the world but now I just wanted to see it fall slowly into the sun, to watch all the people panic and pray for a solution. Because it is those types of situations when you realize what it’s all about. In a situation like that, politics is the first thing to go…complete anarchy amongst the ranks Freedom is regression. The world would become so clean, pure, and honest at the sight of undeniable doom, unlike the filthy, insufferable, mud ball we have now. Now, don’t get me wrong, there would definitely be violence and a massive body count but lying and cheating goes straight back to the rats. No campaigning, no bribes and no trust because it only suited a world going up, not one going out. But that is mere speculation for, unfortunately, the world wasn’t flying into the Sun at that very moment…yet (fingers crossed). Sarah’s attempt to buy us off might have worked for the rest of them, but I refused to accept her blood money. She thinks she can make everything better just by giving me more. It was never about the money, it was never about working until retirement…It was about forming a future and leaving this as a small portfolio piece in my ever eclipsing career.
Truly I was insulted by her insinuating that I was that easy to buy off. That, like many other actors and actresses, if you paid me enough I would do everything with a smile. What did I do to make her think I was so cheap to think my career is about money? But no, as further protest, I refused to take the money. But instead of throwing it into her face and making a scene for all the tabloids to see, drama is regression, I chose to protest to myself. I pulled out a hundred dollar bill and stared at it for a moment as if scrutinizing the bill, it might as well have been counterfeit. I lifted it up high by the corner while flicking my lighter under it. The flame lit after a third strike and caught on the green piece of monetary trade which I dropped and let float down to the top of the ash pile. With it, you could have fed a family, clothed a child, bought two new video games or symbolically adopted multiple African Orphans. But instead, I chose to use the money for a different purpose. Every new percentage I got from Sarah Twilight and hey ever infinite reign was destined for the ash pile in front of me. It didn’t matter that no one could see it or that no one else was affected by it, because the fire made me calm and the money keeps the rats warm…
The money keeps the rats warm
The money keeps the rats warm, which I am sure they sought more valuable than any new toy or rent payment. The rats didn’t need to say thanks either, there was no use in fishing for compliments with vermin for all of them were honestly (as honest as rats could be) open about being selfish unlike that of half the EPPW?/WCF? Roster Twilight bought off, to ensure a sort of quid pro quo I assume, in case she ever decided to call upon for favors. I just didn’t want to be the one to owe her when she wanted something she couldn’t get by her own means. It was classic politics and everyone else seemed to be eating it up. Was I supposed to appreciate it when I get tossed in to a hazardous work environment where rules no longer mattered? Was I supposed to jump for joy when I found even grimier fingers controlling the company than before? Did we forget who this was? I’m not petty, pettiness is regression
Was I supposed to cherish my time here when I was surrounded by such clowns and an obvious loss of control? Though, as much as the risks worried me, it became slightly more interesting when I heard ‘no DQ’. As much as the fans liked it, I appreciated it more with the simple fact that whether I was smashing a chair over some guy’s head or being hit in the head with a glass bottle, no wrong was being performed, for it was pure and simple punishment and sacrament where all animalistic tactics were forgiven and sins were beaten away in a sort of cathartic display. You could (and should) leave all humanity behind and become a sack of meat ready to face the fiercest and most cleansing baptism allowed in the ‘squared circle’ and to tell you the truth, my spirit needs a serious cleansing. For, like many stars and athletes of a major brand, we are terrible, selfish, betray your mothers for a better deal type people and I would also gladly accept it as my duty to perform the sentencing of my ‘brothers in arm’. But, I am a treacherous monster that stepped on all those that tried to help me like they would come back when I made it to the top…but here I was, all the way at the bottom and more alone than I had been in years. Again, when one is by himself for so long, one starts to ask questions, some are just meant to hurt, and others are meant to unbury thoughts you idly buried too shallow to fully ignore. What if there was going to be no gain in burning all the bridges I passed over? What if there was never going to be a way back? What if the damage was already done?
I mocked and alienated so many people thinking it all had to pay off at one point; that they would all forget about it after I hit the big times, but only now was I realizing all the trouble I caused and all the lives I ruined. My trail of deceit began further back than my wrestling career in terms of all the people I berated, all the film crews I tortured, all the fights I started and all the supporting actors I sank with spiteful criticism in the disguise of a caring, helpful actor. I said things no one should ever feel the need to say to another human being; sometimes to protect my job and sometimes to just strike at the very core of a nerve. But, I had already begun my two thousand-two hundred and some odd lashings as one inopportune event proceeded another.
Just last week, I was on set for the Turkish film I still had to take part in under contractual agreement (a more direct punishment for a rash decision for a less than satisfying point). All the psychos became untraceable as all activity dropped and we hit dead ends on every lead. So, I had even more time to think and hate as I watched Henry Cohen walk on and off set whenever he felt like it, just to mock my sort of ‘mistaken isolation’. It was a rather talkative scene of the movie which established nothing except the pure pretentiousness that only a block head could get down on paper. I was seated in a restaurant at a table next to the window as a gloomy forecast could be seen creeping up outside like a heavy handed enactment of foreshadowing. I had not yet taken my vow of silence, though I still wasn’t very talkative. My character was still very human at the moment but was supposed to begin worrying if there was a curse. Who funds this crap? The first line was “What is a human being?” the director argued with himself whether to make it a voice over while I stared pensively out the window or whether for me to say it right there as if reciting poetry to an invisible audience…at least that is what I assumed he was saying. I started to think up my own subtitles to his Turkish rambling. “I am super important director man, bow to me!” “We need at least twenty five percent more feeling, but with a little less feeling, you know what I mean?” “We are all fucking with you, there is no movie being made. This is just a legal form of torture and the best part is you signed on to it.”
Well, the set was quiet now and cameras were rolling. The overall monologue was very wordy and full of nonsense about capitalism or war or something; it wasn’t very clear. First line…: “What is a human being?”…I peered out the window watching all the extras passing by; the unrelated people, the mere filler for the shot to sell a reality. They were nobody to anyone, not even to the people that played them. No continuity, no thoughts, no consequence…No humanity what so ever. If there was a scene where one got shot, you wouldn’t care…That is a human being.
Most people are just fodder for you to push through so the reality seemed consistent. If there is a goal and they are in the middle of it, there is nothing stopping you…Doubt is regression. Too many people make friends when so many of them are just problems, problems, problems. You make friends, you are almost assured to come across a point where their goal will cross your goal and then you will have to make a choice. At the end of the day, the only mouth you had to feed was yours. Those rules didn’t just apply to acting, they apply to every facet you can fit it in, even wrestling…S-PAC might be the biggest thing to happen to me in the last few years but I will never ever put them ahead of me. There is not one person I wouldn’t scalp for the golden prize. That is a human being.
John Gable: What is a human being?...
All of a sudden there was a stomping from a distance as a door slammed reverberated through the fake restaurant. All heads turned as Joseph Mantel entered the scene with his burnt, deformed face contorted in such a rage that I almost thought I saw him smile.
Joseph Mantel: This is long overdue.
Indeed it was as he grabbed me by the neck and shoved my head through the window, sending shards flying everywhere. There was a shriek from one of the extras as everyone backed off in fear. Joseph threw me to the ground and proceeded to kick me; alternating frequently between my stomach and face. A few from the film crew attempted to jump to my rescue but wouldn’t you know it, Henry Cohen appeared on set just in time to stop them. But I didn’t protest, reacting is regression, for I was ill with the sickness of questions again and the only answer that came to mind was I deserved this.
I deserved this.
I deserved this film I was stuck in. I deserved this wrestling scam I was stuck in. I deserved this endless beating I was stuck in. As much as I would care to succeed and as much as I fought for it, I overall knew I didn’t deserve it. I was all the wrong decisions wrapped up in one human being. Even if I made it to the very top, I knew my legacy would be tainted by such things as the Actor’s studio freak out, the arrest for beating down a homeless person and the three flops I had driven my career into. I had a shot. I had that one film I needed and I turned it away in my pursuit to prove a weaker point and to validate myself. But it meant nothing now as I felt my insides crumbling and my face compacting like I was decaying from the inside out. Blood poured from my nose, it dripped from my mouth and it spilled from the cuts from the shards of glass as it sank into the lines of the tiled floor, creating paths like red rivers dividing out. I stared in a half consciousness as the blood flowed over the glass shards and stained the feet of the chair. I had to discipline myself, become a soldier, to recognize the enemy and effectively take him down. It meant I had to take a beating once in a while, which I knew I would survive with enough patience. Pain is weakness leaving the body, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, Wolff’s law, so on and so forth. It would pay off in the end. Building a better Gable every day.
Do you remember the soldier?…The one from when I first arrived; the innocent man who had no idea how to take a life and who had no intention of seeing any massacres. No?...hmmm…Later, after the stitching and bruising had set in, I felt the need to let some steam out in the only way I knew how…It was a dead field clouded with smoke as only blurry balls of light poked through the aftermath of a terrible calamity. Further into the diabolical scene, tents could be seen next to sickly soldiers gathered around the fires. Their blue greatcoats were stained with blood and dirt and their faces were paler than their horses. Some men were carrying around the injured on stretchers and others pushing around cannons and salvaging other much needed supplies. At the end of these pathetic rows of tents was a pole with a busted wall of planks behind it. A man was tied to the pole in grey pants and a white blouse stained with blood. They put the blindfold over his eyes as four gunmen lined up in front. They loaded their muskets as a fellow soldier walked up from the side in an officer’s uniform with pristine color and threading with a document in hand that was rolled at both ends. The soldier spoke with a valiant booming voice as he read off the crimes this man was sentenced for.
Soldier: For your crimes against the supreme holy army which includes but is not limited to: firing on allies, selling supplies to the enemy and abandoning your post in the heat of combat. I hereby sentence you to death. May God have mercy on your soul. Take aim!!!
The gunners raised their weapons and took aim. The addressing soldier had his saber raised high in the air and was moments from bringing it down when a pistol fired off and echoed through the now lifting smoke. Everyone’s heads turned to find me standing with my gun in the air and stitches across my face. I limped forward as my eye twitched and my boots fell further apart with every step. I slowly passed the firing squad as they parted awkwardly with their eyes to the ground sympathetically. I looked to the well-dressed soldier with a stare of disdain as I snorted and limped closer to the traitor. You know why they had multiple men on a firing squad? It’s because only one rifle had a bullet so none of the men knew who killed the prisoner so they could continue going on guilty free and clean. Apparently no one can have a heavy heart when there is so much fighting around them. But the majority that fear this plain of existence fail to capitalize on the glory of battle. It used to be that the most dishonorable thing that could happen to you was a knife in the back because then the whole army would know you were a shameful coward but now they lighten the blow by taking the guilt of death off your chest. No one ever won a War by worrying about his eternal soul. The only way to succeed in War is to take the grief and wear it like weights to strengthen the mind in such a way no one can understand without taking a life. One could assume he was the cause of someone else’s down fall but unless he laid witness to it himself, he will never have to accept it.
I approached the prisoner as he panicked and squirmed in the ropes of his sentence. I circled around him as he tried to yell out but a gag muffled his cries…He didn’t look like a traitor; he just looked like any other soldier with the exception of the uniform. For all I knew, all these men were traitors and deserved to eat a bullet. Who wasn’t guilty of something terribly horrible? Who didn’t deserve some sort of punishment for the transgression of simply being alive?
I made my way all the way around the prisoner until I was at his left side. I lifted my pistol and placed it right against the temple of his skull. His cries died down has he breathed heavily with tears running down his cheeks while banging his head against the pole in frustration. Regret is regression.
Boom!!!
Blood spurted out the other side as the prisoner went limp. The devil’s deed was done and the other soldiers merely stared in awe as I limped away. This old soldier understood the necessity of death, the need for battle and the mandatory struggle most would rather brush aside if they could. The only way to rise above the mud and grime is to dive head first into the depths of death and only then could you ‘win’ which is more or less surviving. But it wasn’t enough to act out tragedy and suffering. One should explore his own darkness before he can drop all guilt and horror. So, few weeks before, I met with Michael to settle some things in my head if I wanted to begin my cleansing! I found myself in an all too cliché image as I laid on a couch while Michael sat in a Lay-Z-Boy as we improvised a session in his living room. I wasn’t expecting much since there was no credibility in a quack trained by RVN. Even during the first session when we had all the psychos around us, it was very apparent that there was no longer a standard in the psychological practice.
Michael Estepp: Tell me about your mother…
John Gable: No…
Michael Estepp: That sounds like a red flag…
John Gable: You’re a red flag!
Michael Estepp: You are making this more difficult than it has to be.
John Gable: So are you.
Michael Estepp: What am I doing wrong?
John Gable: Breathing.
He sighed as he shook his head and jotted some notes down on a clip board.
Michael Estepp: Okay, let’s try again. You came to me, what seems to be the problem?
John Gable: Well, that is a rather open ended question. Where should I start? I hate almost everyone I meet, I have an uncontrollable impulse to destroy all those above me, I burnt a stake to a crisp…and still ate it, there is a leaking facet in my hotel room that kept me up last night, my white pajamas with black stripes got mixed with my black pajamas with white stripes and I know no one would see it but I would just feel ridiculous if I wore the wrong shirt with the wrong pants…
Michael Estepp: My fault for thinking you were going to take this seriously…
John Gable: Sorry…I am…I’m just not taking you seriously.
Michael Estepp: Well for the moment, pretend I am someone else.
John Gable: I gonna pretend you are Michael Caine…you’re Michael Caine now.
Michael sighed again as he rubbed his forehead. I wanted to test him for once, to see if he was stable enough to evaluate me. So far he wasn’t doing well but hey, it’s still early in the game.
Michael Estepp: When you called me, You made it seem like you were serious about picking your brain apart.
John Gable: No, I’m not aiming to pick my brain. I’ve been to the inside and out of it. I have torn my head to pieces figuring it out. What I want is to get all this shit out of my head. There is a deep sensation that if I get pushed in the wrong way, I might do something I will regret. There is this deep beat in my head that comes and goes with my outbursts…One, two, three, four…one, two, three, four…over and over and over. I find myself getting the urges to burn everything down, taking me with it. Though then I get these moments where I feel I can’t show my face anywhere from all the shame I faced. Those days I just want my whole life to fast forward to my death bed and see who is there grieving. There is this thick jumble of grief when I try to sleep at night, like a tooth ache that is just painful enough to constantly keep your mind active but distracted. I’m not talking about anger management; I am not talking about medication. I just want to stop thinking about these terrible things.
Michael Estepp: It’s not how it works. I can’t just extract specific parts of your brain.
John Gable: Well, good thing I’m not paying for this.
Michael Estepp: You’re not paying?
John Gable: Stay on topic Mr. Caine. Ninety percent of the job is showing up.
Michael Estepp: I can’t imagine why anyone would want you dead…Anyways; let’s get back to the beat in your head. When did you first notice it?
I was about to answer but then I paused for a moment. The very moment was so clear in my head; there was no question what was causing it. It was the day my life went from bad to hell. Though the odd part is when I think back to that night while I was standing in that nightmare of a mansion and all I remembered was the shadows. All the other details were whitened out or blurry. The only moment I fully recalled was when Alexis dropped to her knees in disbelief at what she had done. I couldn’t very well just say that though, there was a reason I buried it.
John Gable: Somewhere around the time I teamed with that ungrateful Spaniard Morientes…
Michael Estepp: Was there any specific event that triggered it?
John Gable: You ever teamed with a Spaniard…It’s like vacationing with an Italian. It’s enough to make you snap. I assume it’s enough to turn someone postal.
Michael paused for a moment and stared at me as if a vague suspicion rolled through his head. He tapped the top of the pen against the clip board as he swayed his jaw in a contemptuous way. He reclined the chair and placed his hands behind his head while he let out an unimpressed groan.
Michael Estepp: Fine, I’ll leave it at that. But how do you feel when you start hearing the beat. Is it a sort of anxiety or anger?
John Gable: Neither, it is more spiteful in a way. I get this feeling of a divine purpose as I get ideas. Not like a message from God or anything crazy like that. It’s like someone tells me to react and it feels right.
Michael Estepp: Do you tend to act on these impulses?
John Gable: Sometimes. There is a good amount of times I suppressed it but sometimes it just gets too powerful.
Michael Estepp: Did you regret acting upon those impulses?
I chuckled. I had cornered myself when I was trying so hard not to be overpowered by his poking. Some questions were meant to help and learn and some questions were meant to dominate and condescend. I hated being ‘explored’ as it ‘twere…I always felt like it was a battle for who chose the direction of these conversation but this brain wizards always managed to cheat with their quick turnaround strategy. There would be no place for it in my version of the end of the world. One day I was going to send a therapist out of the room crying and on that day will celebrate like it’s the apocalypse.
John Gable: Let me be frank with you. There are somethings I’m more proud of than others. When I destroyed Cheetah Fighter with that chair, it felt so good and I still don’t regret it one bit. I proved a point and I’m gonna prove it again if I have to.
He looked off into the distance like he was pondering a thought from earlier then he turned back to me and leaned forward with interest.
Michael Estepp: You talk about work a lot…
John Gable: My work is my life, doc.
Michael Estepp: hmmm, yes…But I don’t think you are telling me everything.
John Gable: Do you need to know everything?
Michael Estepp: It would help.
John Gable: You know what would help me?
Michael Estepp: If you would cooperate with me.
John Gable: If this was an audition and you were Quentin Tarantino…but Alas, you are Michael Caine. Such a twisted web we weave.
I run my hand over the leather of the couch as I stared at the wall to the side of me, studying the white and off-white floral pattern.
Michael Estepp: I have a suggestion for you.
John Gable: I already broke into Warner Brothers studios once. If they catch me again, they’ll call the cops.
Michael Estepp: Are you familiar with the term regression?
John Gable: I assume it’s brain magic like the rest of your spells.
Michael Estepp: It is a term Freud coined. It is the reaction someone has after something displeasing happens where they revert back to a childish or primitive state. What it sounds like to me is you are letting your instincts get the best of you. The change has to come from accepting that you think these thoughts but that you cannot act on them. So what I want you to do s whenever you start hearing the beat rising, address the issue at hand and focus on what you get the impulse to do and call yourself out on it. Like if you feel the need to smash something, just catch yourself in the act and acknowledge the problem like “destruction is childish and immature”. You’ll be surprised how honest you can be with yourself when you really really want to change. I hope that the more you stop yourself and realize what you are doing, the more often you will be able to prevent it. Maybe keep a list of times it happens or notches on a post. As long as you realize what you are doing is the wrong reaction, then you will understand the root of the problem.
John Gable: So, what you are telling me is that I am shit out of luck and have to deal with it myself.
Michael Estepp: No, I’ll still be here, but you have to make the steps. I can’t force you.
John Gable: You brain wizards are some fucked up guys. I can’t believe people pay you for this shit.
Michael Estepp: Speaking of which…
I sat up on the couch and stretched out as if waking from a deep sleep.
John Gable: Charge it to the company. Apparently there is money to burn with all these raises people are getting.
Quack, quack, quack. What a load of shit. It is all instant psychotherapy mix. Just add water and you have bullshit within minutes. He knew I didn’t want to be there and I knew he didn’t want to spend his day listening to me, so I decided to take the old chap’s advice for now. But seriously, I wasn’t over reactive. I didn’t have a regression problem and I certainly wasn’t crazy. I seriously think I am the only sane person left. There was nothing I had to worry about. I just needed to act like everything was normal. After all, wasn’t that my job? I decided that I was fine and would continue with my cleansing process without Michael. Denial is regression.
(Fin)
