Post by Benjamin Atreyu on Dec 1, 2013 17:54:56 GMT -5
This isn’t the heart of a human. The heart of the human stopped beating a long time ago. This is the heart of a thing that should not be allowed to walk this Earth, something filled with such vile hatred that the only end result it could come to is hurting someone in the chaos that is its existence. The beating of its heart is irregular and erratic at best, an uncontrollable war drum pounding for the leveling of all of civilization. Its arteries are either filled with holes or with plague, assuring us that this thing cannot be alive, because no living thing can feel the sort of misanthropic tendencies that is pumping through this thing’s body. This heart is made up of a mix of cancer, late night depression, and a sense of self-destruction soaking in a pot of nihilism for the better part of a lifetime. This isn’t the heart of a human.
Lungs of ash, a stomach of fire, a spine made of pain, this is the collection of organs that allows this thing to live, defiant of the rules of nature and God, as it continues to walk around on its legs made up of brief moments of rationalized makeshift success. When it breathes, it only takes air from the planet and exhales a toxic exhaust that will never dissipate, eventually burning holes in the o-zone bringing the swift end of its enemies that much closer. No maker would dare take credit for the bipedal machine whose brain burns under the flame known only as “waiting”. Yes, it waits, but not with ease or with comfort. It waits, listening to the clock tick away, slowly bringing the next day closer, because that is all it is capable of until its hands can find the next throat to squeeze, the next bone to break, the next hope to destroy. That is how it spends its time
It had not always been like this. A faint sense of optimism had once pumped through the running river that is its veins, forcing it to look on yonder to the horizons with the awe-inspiring vision of a future that could have been. It often woke to the sound of the grinding gears of potential and fell asleep to the gentle whispers of a pending tomorrow, under the impression that, at any point, success could merely be a stone’s throw away from its doorstep. The word “futility” was simply a reference for the attempts that the opposition made to try and inhibit its path to glory; something it felt had been destined from birth to happen. The problem with a heart of that sort is that it opens itself up to attack with pride as its only defense and if said defense is penetrated and a wound is opened, an infection begins to fester, an infection that spreads until it overwhelms it entirely and dissolves whatever humanistic tendencies it had left, consuming the few passionate emotions it had. Sludge is now the only thing that flows through its body, trashing the body, slowly destroying it, watching it decay into something…unholy.
This heart belongs to Benjamin Atreyu; estranged son, empireless tycoon, falling angel, failing wrestler, and former human.
“So, are you going to tell me or not,” Derek Stone asked as he sat across from our ex-tag team champion.
“Huh,” Benjamin had not been paying attention. He head was buzzing with the thoughts of his next upcoming failure against Jonny Fly, Steve Orbit, and Jeff Purse at Slam. Ever since having lost the titles, he has felt a bit of kilter and it didn’t seem to be getting any better since time passed. Along with his loss against Odin in the Pot-luck Slam, it was safe to say his mind was anywhere but there at the current moment, something Derek Stone found a bit disconcerting.
“Lets try this again,” Derek sighed, “First off, why were you in a police station last week? Secondly, why did I have to go and bail you out instead of your S-PAC buddies? Thirdly, What has been with you lately? I’ve seen you a bit ‘off’ before, but you’re in a whole other county right now, Benjy.” Derek knew Benjamin as a calm and collected individual, even in the most stressful of times, so to watch him act so despondent and unfocused was something of a shock. Sure, he’s had his moments of irrational behavior; his random self-exile to Japan, attacking his own manager, etc. etc. etc., but that was all done under the mask of a reasonable and well-adjusted human being, to see him so exposed felt unnerving and Derek felt as if he was staring at a time bomb just ready to go off.
“I…,” Benjamin started, but quickly trailed off, his gaze looking through the wall behind Derek and millions of miles into the distance.
“Benjamin!” Derek yelled, attempting to snap Benjamin out of whatever fugue state he had plunged himself into, “you, jail, story, sometime today.”
For a moment, Benjamin’s eyes fixed on Derek’s, as if a glass wall between them had just been shattered by the power of Derek’s vocal chords, “Huh? Oh, yes…the reason I was detained by the police…”
“Yeah?” Derek leaned in, ready to hear the story, the one that had been plaguing him for quite some time now.
“Its nothing all that exciting,” Benjamin lied, “just a misunderstanding…”
Last Week
Hey there, first time at Rick’s Bar? Uh…yeah, kind of pass by this place a lot, decided to stop in and give it a look. Well, glad you did. Though, I should warn you, we are having a concert in the other room, tonight. So, it might get a tad loud. I deal with loud a lot at my job, I’ll be fine. Good to hear. Who’s playing? Huh? Who’s playing, tonight? Oh, I don’t know. A couple of local bands, no one really well known. Fun. What can I get for ya? Got Finnegan’s? Only from the bottle. Fine with me. Know when the show starts? Why, you interested in catching some of the local talent? Ha. Nah, just wondering how long until I have to scream over the sound system to get a drink. Yeah, kind of figured it wouldn’t be your kind of crowd. Starts in about ten minutes. Ah…what do you mean by ‘not my kind of crowd’? Oh, it was nothing against you, but its just a bunch of punk bands, attracts the rowdy types, no one violent or anything, just…umm…rambunctious. Nice word choice. Well, as long as they to try and pick a fight with me, I should be fine. I’m sorry if it seems I’m getting a bit nosey, but I feel like I’ve seen you before. You aren’t someone famous are ya? I just have one of those faces, I get that all the time. Ah, I imagine. The name’s Jack. Ben. Nice to meet you, Ben.
Guitar amp feedback followed by a resounding power chord.
Seems like they are getting ready to start. Anything you want before being drowned out by the three chord fest? Another Finnegan’s for when I’m finished with this one. Kick drum please. thump thump Thump Thump THUMP THUMP THUMP! THUMP! Sound check, always a pleasure to sit through. Yeah, this is going to be fun, I can tell already. Snare drum, please. pah pah Pah Pah PAH PAH PAH! PAH! I’ve sat through so many of these, it isn’t even funny. If it’s a touring band or an experienced one, it goes by fairly easy, but if they’re new to the whole ‘live show’ thing, it can be excruciating. I can imagine. Funny thing, I was going to school for music production for a little bit, didn’t end up working out obvious, but I learned all these dirty little tricks sound people do when it comes to making the headlining back look good. Dirty tricks? Low tom drum please. thumm thumm Thumm Thumm THUMM THUMM THUMM! THUMM! Yeah, like say this were a bit more high end of a venue and that we had a better sound system, the sound guy will actually lock it in such a way that the openers can’t be louder than a certain point, and then unlock it for when the headliner comes on. Assuring everyone that the headliner will be the loudest band, thus making it so none of the openers can steal the show. Exactly, but here, we don’t have that kind of technology, plus the sound system is shit so everyone gets the same bad quality sound. Well, good to know they all get shafted to the same degree. Guitar please. braaa braaa Braaa Braaa BRAAA BRAAA BRAAA! BRAAA! How much more of this is there? Depends on the number of band members. From where I am sitting, looks like a three piece, so we just got bass, vocals, then full ensemble, then it’s a good twenty minutes of blaring guitars. Bass please. bumbumbum BumBumBum BUMBUMBUM BUM!BUM!BUM! You know, a part of me, not a huge part, but a part none-the-less, has always wanted to start a band. How come you haven’t then? A much larger part of me decided my calling was elsewhere. How is that going for you? Could be better, but I haven’t put a bullet through my head or anyone else’s, so I consider that a win…for now. Well, whatever keeps you happy, man. More whatever keeps you sane. How so? Vocals please. check check Check Check CHECK CHECK CHECK! CHECK! Cash,credit… Well, I tried chasing what I thought would make me happy, but I quickly found I was losing my grasp on everything, I had no structure and it was driving me insane. What I do now is organized, well managed, keeps structure in my life, and isn’t threatening to drive me insane anytime soon. I can see that, man.
The Band’s Set Commences.
Band Name “The Classless Asses”. Song one “We Put the Capitals in CaPiTaLiSm”. Benjamin’s first impression review:
I’m not sure if you could imagine Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart standing up before his audience of thousands all waiting for his marvelous works and going “How y’all mother fuckers doing?”, or going into a string of cursing about “the cocksucking upper-class”, but if you could, I doubt it would be any more amusing than watching a wasted street urchin fumbling with his guitar doing the same things while a dozen inattentive faces stared back at him, all with a sort of practiced apathy that would shame even a seasoned performer. This band, “The Classless Asses” as they like to call themselves, seem to stem from the “let’s pretend it’s still the 80’s and that we’re all oppressed serfs instead of spoiled middle-class kids” school of performing and have filled the few opening minutes of their set trying to ‘jazz up’ the crowd with a string of cursing and a few archaic phrases laden with anti-rich rhetoric to try and prove to them that they are truly the ‘underdogs’.
Their first ‘future single’ is a fairly unoriginal piece with a not-so-clever title, “We Put the Capitals in CaPiTaLiSm”. While I was unable to make out most of the words over the blaring guitars, thrashing drums, and the singer’s own slurred singing, I am pretty sure that the song didn’t have an incredibly positive message about the state of the free market or in the people who prospered from it, but that might just be my assumption clouding my judgment. The melody, in all its vast simplicity, didn’t exactly harken back to the days of the beach boys or the height of the British invasion, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t have its own sort of…appeal? The crowd did seem to get into as they began running in circles, crashing into their compatriots all in the name of good-old-fashioned-head-bashing-fun. Though, in any other setting, that might be a sigh of immense rage and displeasure, I assure you it is quite normal here. In fact, this song would definitely get my pick to be in a compilation entitled “Songs to Smash Yourself Into a Wall By” as the ‘music’ seems to provoke that exact response. My final thoughts on this first impression? I’d prefer to spend my time swallowing battery acid in large gulps while smashing my dick with a ballpeen hammer, but to each their own.
The Band’s Set Continues. Benjamin Attempts to Tune It Out Until it Finally Comes to An End.
Enjoying the show so far? Oh yeah, just oodles of fun, I especially like the part where the lead singer yelled ‘fuck’ into the microphone. Yeah, but that’s what these cats dig, ya know? That sort of chaos and raw element to the music, it makes them feel unrestricted and unrefined. I mean, take what you were saying about structure and management. You can dig that stuff, but some prefer that uncontrolled nature of not knowing what they are gonna do tomorrow. The idea of being on a set schedule feels like being trapped in a small box to them. And I assume most of them lack the fear of getting lost in their ‘open’ lives? Yeah, but sometimes you’d wish they would have it. Just because they don’t fear it doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen. I mean, a lot of them are alcoholics, some a druggies, some spend their time begging for change, some come in on a Wednesday waiting for a show that happened back on Monday. It’s sad, but that’s what happens. Both sides of the point have their casualties though, man. Think about how many people live by the sword of structure and how many of them die with a bullet smashing through their skull. I guess so, but what about you then? I just do what makes me happy, and this is what makes me happy. It’s not much, but its enough, a good balance. Well, I guess you’ve showed us all, then, haven’t you?
Pabst Blue Ribbon. Coming right up, my good man. By the by, solid set out there tonight, crowd seemed into it. Yeah, that’s the kind of shit I live for. All these fuckers getting together and fighting against the same thing. Ear drums? Huh? What was that? Nothing, was just thinking out loud. You were saying something about fighting against something? Yeah, the fucking privileged one percent who think they can walk all over us, man. Those fuckers have had it good for far too long by working off the sweat of the hard working men and women. Like yourself? Come on, man. I mean no offense, I was just asking. Yeah, like me. So, what do you do for a living when you aren’t…jumping around on stage screaming words into a microphone while a bunch of kids run into each other…or as you would call it, ‘singing’. Dude, this isn’t the place for that. Again, no offense, just asking a question. That’s fine. To answer your question, I am currently in between jobs. You mean, no job? Hey, fuck you. Sorry, maybe I just misunderstood. When you said ‘between jobs’ did you mean you were sleeping in an alley way between two businesses? Why don’t you go fuck yourself? Oh, how original, another ‘fuck’ from the man of few words, and by ‘few words’ I mean the size of your vocabulary. Guys, come on, calm down. No, this fucker is looking for a fight, he going to get one. I fight people three times bigger than you for a living. Glass smashing How are ya gonna like it when I slit you from ear to ear? Seriously, put the bottle down or I’m gonna call the cops. No, if the kid wants to play rough. THUD! Oh shit! The fuck did you just do? Slam his head against the counter? I figured that was clear enough. That’s it, I’m calling the cops. Fuck, I think he is bleeding.
Present Day
“So, there was a scuffle between two audience members, you broke it up, but in doing so, they thought you were part of it and that’s why the cops arrested you?” Derek seemed to be in disbelief.
“I know, it sounds ridiculous, but that’s how it happened,” Benjamin refused to look Derek in the eye, not really caring if he believed him or not.
“Fine, if that’s what you say happened, then that’s what happened.”
“…Derek?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m scared.”
“Of what?”
“…Of what I’m becoming. When I left wrestling, I went a dark place, I came back to get some order back in my life…but now I’m scared I’m sinking back into the chaos.”
“What do you mean?”
“…I’m becoming reckless…I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I can just feel myself drifting into something dangerous and I am trying my best to keep away from it, but I can feel it all slip out of my hands, it’s becoming too much.”
“Benjamin, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“…it’s like watching a house go up in flames and now knowing how to put it out. It’s like watching the sun go out and not knowing how to set it ablaze again. I’m becoming this hateful…thing. I find myself up in the middle of the night, outside, just lost in thought, thinking about how easy it would be to just smash everything. I’m speeding down roads without even thinking about, hurling myself down the highway at a hundred miles an hour and hoping that something jumps into my way. I want to see something splatter against my windshield and become an afterthought. Fuck, it all sounds so heavy handed, like I’m one of those ridiculous characters from WCF, but its imprinting itself deep inside me, this sort of uncaring depravity, this sort of careless abandonment.”
“Like a sort of destructive apathy.”
“YES! DEREK! I’m supposed to be an educated man, reasonable on all accounts and articulate on all matter, ignorant of them or not, so what is going on with me?”
“Sometimes its that intelligence that drives people mad. When enough fights against you for long enough, it all seems empty. When you strip life away to is basic facts, without the notion of law, emotion, or sympathy, its just a giant mass of chaos.”
“At first it was that, but I’ve dealt with that for years…this is something worse…this NEED to destroy, as if none of this deserved to exist, that it all deserved to burn in a giant inferno. I can’t explain it, its so abstract in my head that it’s a mess. Its getting worse. I’ve been picking fights with people, looking for confrontation, wanting, waiting for it to happen. I’m not crazy, but I feel like I’m cascading down into this rancid hole and I’m losing perspective. Its this impulse.”
“Far be it for me, not being a psychologist, to try and interpret your problem, but could it be because of your recent losses?”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
“How scared are you about your upcoming match?”
“Scared shitless.”
“and that makes you…?”
“Want to just smash it all, disappear. This pathetic, petty hatred just shoot right through me and all I can think is every grinning face in the audience ending up dead…”
“Its because you no longer have that control in the ring that you had when you were holding the titles, and since you don’t have you, you want to take control of something and the only way you can take control is by destroying something, smashing it in your grasp because controlling something like that is the ultimate sense of control. You won’t care about winning, you won’t care about strategy, you’ll just want to see it go limp in your grasp.”
“What do I do?”
“I don’t know…”
The feeling, its there, deep in its ‘heart’. hate, kill, destroy. hate, kill, destroy. Hate, Kill, Destroy. Hate, Kill, Destroy. HATE, KILL, DESTROY. HATE, KILL, DESTROY. HATE! KILL! DESTROY! HATE! KILL! DESTROY! This is not the heart of a human.
Lungs of ash, a stomach of fire, a spine made of pain, this is the collection of organs that allows this thing to live, defiant of the rules of nature and God, as it continues to walk around on its legs made up of brief moments of rationalized makeshift success. When it breathes, it only takes air from the planet and exhales a toxic exhaust that will never dissipate, eventually burning holes in the o-zone bringing the swift end of its enemies that much closer. No maker would dare take credit for the bipedal machine whose brain burns under the flame known only as “waiting”. Yes, it waits, but not with ease or with comfort. It waits, listening to the clock tick away, slowly bringing the next day closer, because that is all it is capable of until its hands can find the next throat to squeeze, the next bone to break, the next hope to destroy. That is how it spends its time
It had not always been like this. A faint sense of optimism had once pumped through the running river that is its veins, forcing it to look on yonder to the horizons with the awe-inspiring vision of a future that could have been. It often woke to the sound of the grinding gears of potential and fell asleep to the gentle whispers of a pending tomorrow, under the impression that, at any point, success could merely be a stone’s throw away from its doorstep. The word “futility” was simply a reference for the attempts that the opposition made to try and inhibit its path to glory; something it felt had been destined from birth to happen. The problem with a heart of that sort is that it opens itself up to attack with pride as its only defense and if said defense is penetrated and a wound is opened, an infection begins to fester, an infection that spreads until it overwhelms it entirely and dissolves whatever humanistic tendencies it had left, consuming the few passionate emotions it had. Sludge is now the only thing that flows through its body, trashing the body, slowly destroying it, watching it decay into something…unholy.
This heart belongs to Benjamin Atreyu; estranged son, empireless tycoon, falling angel, failing wrestler, and former human.
“So, are you going to tell me or not,” Derek Stone asked as he sat across from our ex-tag team champion.
“Huh,” Benjamin had not been paying attention. He head was buzzing with the thoughts of his next upcoming failure against Jonny Fly, Steve Orbit, and Jeff Purse at Slam. Ever since having lost the titles, he has felt a bit of kilter and it didn’t seem to be getting any better since time passed. Along with his loss against Odin in the Pot-luck Slam, it was safe to say his mind was anywhere but there at the current moment, something Derek Stone found a bit disconcerting.
“Lets try this again,” Derek sighed, “First off, why were you in a police station last week? Secondly, why did I have to go and bail you out instead of your S-PAC buddies? Thirdly, What has been with you lately? I’ve seen you a bit ‘off’ before, but you’re in a whole other county right now, Benjy.” Derek knew Benjamin as a calm and collected individual, even in the most stressful of times, so to watch him act so despondent and unfocused was something of a shock. Sure, he’s had his moments of irrational behavior; his random self-exile to Japan, attacking his own manager, etc. etc. etc., but that was all done under the mask of a reasonable and well-adjusted human being, to see him so exposed felt unnerving and Derek felt as if he was staring at a time bomb just ready to go off.
“I…,” Benjamin started, but quickly trailed off, his gaze looking through the wall behind Derek and millions of miles into the distance.
“Benjamin!” Derek yelled, attempting to snap Benjamin out of whatever fugue state he had plunged himself into, “you, jail, story, sometime today.”
For a moment, Benjamin’s eyes fixed on Derek’s, as if a glass wall between them had just been shattered by the power of Derek’s vocal chords, “Huh? Oh, yes…the reason I was detained by the police…”
“Yeah?” Derek leaned in, ready to hear the story, the one that had been plaguing him for quite some time now.
“Its nothing all that exciting,” Benjamin lied, “just a misunderstanding…”
Last Week
Hey there, first time at Rick’s Bar? Uh…yeah, kind of pass by this place a lot, decided to stop in and give it a look. Well, glad you did. Though, I should warn you, we are having a concert in the other room, tonight. So, it might get a tad loud. I deal with loud a lot at my job, I’ll be fine. Good to hear. Who’s playing? Huh? Who’s playing, tonight? Oh, I don’t know. A couple of local bands, no one really well known. Fun. What can I get for ya? Got Finnegan’s? Only from the bottle. Fine with me. Know when the show starts? Why, you interested in catching some of the local talent? Ha. Nah, just wondering how long until I have to scream over the sound system to get a drink. Yeah, kind of figured it wouldn’t be your kind of crowd. Starts in about ten minutes. Ah…what do you mean by ‘not my kind of crowd’? Oh, it was nothing against you, but its just a bunch of punk bands, attracts the rowdy types, no one violent or anything, just…umm…rambunctious. Nice word choice. Well, as long as they to try and pick a fight with me, I should be fine. I’m sorry if it seems I’m getting a bit nosey, but I feel like I’ve seen you before. You aren’t someone famous are ya? I just have one of those faces, I get that all the time. Ah, I imagine. The name’s Jack. Ben. Nice to meet you, Ben.
Guitar amp feedback followed by a resounding power chord.
Seems like they are getting ready to start. Anything you want before being drowned out by the three chord fest? Another Finnegan’s for when I’m finished with this one. Kick drum please. thump thump Thump Thump THUMP THUMP THUMP! THUMP! Sound check, always a pleasure to sit through. Yeah, this is going to be fun, I can tell already. Snare drum, please. pah pah Pah Pah PAH PAH PAH! PAH! I’ve sat through so many of these, it isn’t even funny. If it’s a touring band or an experienced one, it goes by fairly easy, but if they’re new to the whole ‘live show’ thing, it can be excruciating. I can imagine. Funny thing, I was going to school for music production for a little bit, didn’t end up working out obvious, but I learned all these dirty little tricks sound people do when it comes to making the headlining back look good. Dirty tricks? Low tom drum please. thumm thumm Thumm Thumm THUMM THUMM THUMM! THUMM! Yeah, like say this were a bit more high end of a venue and that we had a better sound system, the sound guy will actually lock it in such a way that the openers can’t be louder than a certain point, and then unlock it for when the headliner comes on. Assuring everyone that the headliner will be the loudest band, thus making it so none of the openers can steal the show. Exactly, but here, we don’t have that kind of technology, plus the sound system is shit so everyone gets the same bad quality sound. Well, good to know they all get shafted to the same degree. Guitar please. braaa braaa Braaa Braaa BRAAA BRAAA BRAAA! BRAAA! How much more of this is there? Depends on the number of band members. From where I am sitting, looks like a three piece, so we just got bass, vocals, then full ensemble, then it’s a good twenty minutes of blaring guitars. Bass please. bumbumbum BumBumBum BUMBUMBUM BUM!BUM!BUM! You know, a part of me, not a huge part, but a part none-the-less, has always wanted to start a band. How come you haven’t then? A much larger part of me decided my calling was elsewhere. How is that going for you? Could be better, but I haven’t put a bullet through my head or anyone else’s, so I consider that a win…for now. Well, whatever keeps you happy, man. More whatever keeps you sane. How so? Vocals please. check check Check Check CHECK CHECK CHECK! CHECK! Cash,credit… Well, I tried chasing what I thought would make me happy, but I quickly found I was losing my grasp on everything, I had no structure and it was driving me insane. What I do now is organized, well managed, keeps structure in my life, and isn’t threatening to drive me insane anytime soon. I can see that, man.
The Band’s Set Commences.
Band Name “The Classless Asses”. Song one “We Put the Capitals in CaPiTaLiSm”. Benjamin’s first impression review:
I’m not sure if you could imagine Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart standing up before his audience of thousands all waiting for his marvelous works and going “How y’all mother fuckers doing?”, or going into a string of cursing about “the cocksucking upper-class”, but if you could, I doubt it would be any more amusing than watching a wasted street urchin fumbling with his guitar doing the same things while a dozen inattentive faces stared back at him, all with a sort of practiced apathy that would shame even a seasoned performer. This band, “The Classless Asses” as they like to call themselves, seem to stem from the “let’s pretend it’s still the 80’s and that we’re all oppressed serfs instead of spoiled middle-class kids” school of performing and have filled the few opening minutes of their set trying to ‘jazz up’ the crowd with a string of cursing and a few archaic phrases laden with anti-rich rhetoric to try and prove to them that they are truly the ‘underdogs’.
Their first ‘future single’ is a fairly unoriginal piece with a not-so-clever title, “We Put the Capitals in CaPiTaLiSm”. While I was unable to make out most of the words over the blaring guitars, thrashing drums, and the singer’s own slurred singing, I am pretty sure that the song didn’t have an incredibly positive message about the state of the free market or in the people who prospered from it, but that might just be my assumption clouding my judgment. The melody, in all its vast simplicity, didn’t exactly harken back to the days of the beach boys or the height of the British invasion, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t have its own sort of…appeal? The crowd did seem to get into as they began running in circles, crashing into their compatriots all in the name of good-old-fashioned-head-bashing-fun. Though, in any other setting, that might be a sigh of immense rage and displeasure, I assure you it is quite normal here. In fact, this song would definitely get my pick to be in a compilation entitled “Songs to Smash Yourself Into a Wall By” as the ‘music’ seems to provoke that exact response. My final thoughts on this first impression? I’d prefer to spend my time swallowing battery acid in large gulps while smashing my dick with a ballpeen hammer, but to each their own.
The Band’s Set Continues. Benjamin Attempts to Tune It Out Until it Finally Comes to An End.
Enjoying the show so far? Oh yeah, just oodles of fun, I especially like the part where the lead singer yelled ‘fuck’ into the microphone. Yeah, but that’s what these cats dig, ya know? That sort of chaos and raw element to the music, it makes them feel unrestricted and unrefined. I mean, take what you were saying about structure and management. You can dig that stuff, but some prefer that uncontrolled nature of not knowing what they are gonna do tomorrow. The idea of being on a set schedule feels like being trapped in a small box to them. And I assume most of them lack the fear of getting lost in their ‘open’ lives? Yeah, but sometimes you’d wish they would have it. Just because they don’t fear it doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen. I mean, a lot of them are alcoholics, some a druggies, some spend their time begging for change, some come in on a Wednesday waiting for a show that happened back on Monday. It’s sad, but that’s what happens. Both sides of the point have their casualties though, man. Think about how many people live by the sword of structure and how many of them die with a bullet smashing through their skull. I guess so, but what about you then? I just do what makes me happy, and this is what makes me happy. It’s not much, but its enough, a good balance. Well, I guess you’ve showed us all, then, haven’t you?
Pabst Blue Ribbon. Coming right up, my good man. By the by, solid set out there tonight, crowd seemed into it. Yeah, that’s the kind of shit I live for. All these fuckers getting together and fighting against the same thing. Ear drums? Huh? What was that? Nothing, was just thinking out loud. You were saying something about fighting against something? Yeah, the fucking privileged one percent who think they can walk all over us, man. Those fuckers have had it good for far too long by working off the sweat of the hard working men and women. Like yourself? Come on, man. I mean no offense, I was just asking. Yeah, like me. So, what do you do for a living when you aren’t…jumping around on stage screaming words into a microphone while a bunch of kids run into each other…or as you would call it, ‘singing’. Dude, this isn’t the place for that. Again, no offense, just asking a question. That’s fine. To answer your question, I am currently in between jobs. You mean, no job? Hey, fuck you. Sorry, maybe I just misunderstood. When you said ‘between jobs’ did you mean you were sleeping in an alley way between two businesses? Why don’t you go fuck yourself? Oh, how original, another ‘fuck’ from the man of few words, and by ‘few words’ I mean the size of your vocabulary. Guys, come on, calm down. No, this fucker is looking for a fight, he going to get one. I fight people three times bigger than you for a living. Glass smashing How are ya gonna like it when I slit you from ear to ear? Seriously, put the bottle down or I’m gonna call the cops. No, if the kid wants to play rough. THUD! Oh shit! The fuck did you just do? Slam his head against the counter? I figured that was clear enough. That’s it, I’m calling the cops. Fuck, I think he is bleeding.
Present Day
“So, there was a scuffle between two audience members, you broke it up, but in doing so, they thought you were part of it and that’s why the cops arrested you?” Derek seemed to be in disbelief.
“I know, it sounds ridiculous, but that’s how it happened,” Benjamin refused to look Derek in the eye, not really caring if he believed him or not.
“Fine, if that’s what you say happened, then that’s what happened.”
“…Derek?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m scared.”
“Of what?”
“…Of what I’m becoming. When I left wrestling, I went a dark place, I came back to get some order back in my life…but now I’m scared I’m sinking back into the chaos.”
“What do you mean?”
“…I’m becoming reckless…I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. I can just feel myself drifting into something dangerous and I am trying my best to keep away from it, but I can feel it all slip out of my hands, it’s becoming too much.”
“Benjamin, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“…it’s like watching a house go up in flames and now knowing how to put it out. It’s like watching the sun go out and not knowing how to set it ablaze again. I’m becoming this hateful…thing. I find myself up in the middle of the night, outside, just lost in thought, thinking about how easy it would be to just smash everything. I’m speeding down roads without even thinking about, hurling myself down the highway at a hundred miles an hour and hoping that something jumps into my way. I want to see something splatter against my windshield and become an afterthought. Fuck, it all sounds so heavy handed, like I’m one of those ridiculous characters from WCF, but its imprinting itself deep inside me, this sort of uncaring depravity, this sort of careless abandonment.”
“Like a sort of destructive apathy.”
“YES! DEREK! I’m supposed to be an educated man, reasonable on all accounts and articulate on all matter, ignorant of them or not, so what is going on with me?”
“Sometimes its that intelligence that drives people mad. When enough fights against you for long enough, it all seems empty. When you strip life away to is basic facts, without the notion of law, emotion, or sympathy, its just a giant mass of chaos.”
“At first it was that, but I’ve dealt with that for years…this is something worse…this NEED to destroy, as if none of this deserved to exist, that it all deserved to burn in a giant inferno. I can’t explain it, its so abstract in my head that it’s a mess. Its getting worse. I’ve been picking fights with people, looking for confrontation, wanting, waiting for it to happen. I’m not crazy, but I feel like I’m cascading down into this rancid hole and I’m losing perspective. Its this impulse.”
“Far be it for me, not being a psychologist, to try and interpret your problem, but could it be because of your recent losses?”
“No shit, Sherlock.”
“How scared are you about your upcoming match?”
“Scared shitless.”
“and that makes you…?”
“Want to just smash it all, disappear. This pathetic, petty hatred just shoot right through me and all I can think is every grinning face in the audience ending up dead…”
“Its because you no longer have that control in the ring that you had when you were holding the titles, and since you don’t have you, you want to take control of something and the only way you can take control is by destroying something, smashing it in your grasp because controlling something like that is the ultimate sense of control. You won’t care about winning, you won’t care about strategy, you’ll just want to see it go limp in your grasp.”
“What do I do?”
“I don’t know…”
The feeling, its there, deep in its ‘heart’. hate, kill, destroy. hate, kill, destroy. Hate, Kill, Destroy. Hate, Kill, Destroy. HATE, KILL, DESTROY. HATE, KILL, DESTROY. HATE! KILL! DESTROY! HATE! KILL! DESTROY! This is not the heart of a human.
