Post by Jack of Blades on Nov 13, 2006 13:14:03 GMT -5
(Let it not be said that public transport is despised by the Bastard Clown. The chance to hear the latest witterings of the mandatory drunk convinced that he is the messiah Christ. A chance to observe the denizens as we pass them on four wheels. The collection of school children flinging what one can only presume is their own faeces at one another from the back seats. The strange young male who seems to be journeying on his maiden bus voyage. In fact, Jack is quite a fan of such mediums of travel if only to validate his belief in humanity's eventual voluntary genocide. So he sits there, an empty seat beside him, looking out the window at God's little joke while on occasion, switching his glare to a paper image in his hand. In the meantime, a small child sitting with her oblivious mother stares at him. After a few moments of unease, she decides that he would make for better interlocution than her own soccer mother. Moving to the empty space, she peers at the image in his hand.)
Girl: Who is that?
Jack of Blades: A man.
Girl: Yes, but what's his name?
Jack of Blades: He went by many. The true spelling of his most usual handle was often debated.
(The girl attempts another look at the image and the camera trails her sight showing the image to be a mulleted man with a moustache. We can make out that he is not of average height but has a physique far beyond what is expected for any man of that size. The camera soon turns away in that we cannot get a true definition of who the man is.)
Girl: Why is he in a boxing ring?
Jack of Blades: Not every sport squared off by wires is that of two three-hundred wife-beaters boxing each other's face in.
(She peers over his seat once again trying to look at the mystery man not knowing that arenas each week chant his name.)
Girl: Is he your dad or something?
Jack of Blades: No but he probably would taught me more than my jet-setting Dorian-Gray-esque father every would have.
Girl: Is he dead or something?
Jack of Blades: As dead as the chanting masses will allow.
Girl: Why do you keep his picture then?
Jack of Blades: To temper my experiences. Here is a man who had numerous problematic experiences and yet managed through family, through friends and through hunger to wrangle them into his grasp and prove himself in his chosen path. A man who came from the ultimate bottom to the apex of his existence. A man whose name is echoed by the select few who knew his legacy and refused to denigrate his persona and fate due to his course of occupation. His picture gives me necessary levity. I judge the world as a hollow void of commercialism and bastards and yet, I acknowledge the success of this past champion as a fair measure. To only acknowledge the evidence that leans towards my conclusion is not a fair equation. By using this picture, this memory and this legend, I can calculate the true sum of both the insincerity and sensibility of this place where we live. That is why I keep this deadman's picture.
Girl: Oh...
Jack of Blades: Say have you ever seen the movie, 'Speed?'
(Blades begins to leave his seat and move away from the girl.)
Girl: No.
(Calling to her.) Jack of Blades: Then this is going to be an entirely new experience.
Girl: Who is that?
Jack of Blades: A man.
Girl: Yes, but what's his name?
Jack of Blades: He went by many. The true spelling of his most usual handle was often debated.
(The girl attempts another look at the image and the camera trails her sight showing the image to be a mulleted man with a moustache. We can make out that he is not of average height but has a physique far beyond what is expected for any man of that size. The camera soon turns away in that we cannot get a true definition of who the man is.)
Girl: Why is he in a boxing ring?
Jack of Blades: Not every sport squared off by wires is that of two three-hundred wife-beaters boxing each other's face in.
(She peers over his seat once again trying to look at the mystery man not knowing that arenas each week chant his name.)
Girl: Is he your dad or something?
Jack of Blades: No but he probably would taught me more than my jet-setting Dorian-Gray-esque father every would have.
Girl: Is he dead or something?
Jack of Blades: As dead as the chanting masses will allow.
Girl: Why do you keep his picture then?
Jack of Blades: To temper my experiences. Here is a man who had numerous problematic experiences and yet managed through family, through friends and through hunger to wrangle them into his grasp and prove himself in his chosen path. A man who came from the ultimate bottom to the apex of his existence. A man whose name is echoed by the select few who knew his legacy and refused to denigrate his persona and fate due to his course of occupation. His picture gives me necessary levity. I judge the world as a hollow void of commercialism and bastards and yet, I acknowledge the success of this past champion as a fair measure. To only acknowledge the evidence that leans towards my conclusion is not a fair equation. By using this picture, this memory and this legend, I can calculate the true sum of both the insincerity and sensibility of this place where we live. That is why I keep this deadman's picture.
Girl: Oh...
Jack of Blades: Say have you ever seen the movie, 'Speed?'
(Blades begins to leave his seat and move away from the girl.)
Girl: No.
(Calling to her.) Jack of Blades: Then this is going to be an entirely new experience.
