Post by Benjamin Atreyu on May 1, 2016 16:12:51 GMT -5
Everything was decided at once.
The universe was once a dense singularity which then rapidly expanded, sending forth trillions upon trillions of particles through a dark nebulous hellscape from which there is no escape. From that moment, everything was decided. That big bang was the only real sense of chance that the universe ever experienced. From then on out, its all been a series of carefully calculated reactions, constantly clattering together to influence all future actions of the aforementioned particles. No movement, idea, or action was made in a vaccuum. Everything is derivative of some sort of influence.
Life moved forward from a pocket and settled into place like a string of drool from the gaping mouth of a retarded God.
From there life grew. The lands began to take on green hues, the ocean vomited air breathing rodents, four legs became two, the land became a tool, tools became property, property could be stolen, disputes were settled with violence, death spread, systems sink into place, letting law crawl from the dilapidated womb of human understand in such a haphazard way that man still spends years of his life attempt to fix even minor portions of it. The world becomes self-aware and thus men must define themselves from the uniform mass and become the thinkers, creating definition to an otherwise blurry view of life. Categories become habit in the electrical impulses of the brain. All becomes life, but life becomes a diced, colors, and divided version of itself until the perfect system of cause and effect is no longer visible. Life is a series of separate, seemingly unrelated events, and man makes his own choices.
Oh, how horrible. Truly the dead are the lucky ones.
all thoughts, all concepts, are products of the big bang. All choices, all reactions are products of context, having been given those concepts and thoughts.
How tragic. We figureo ut so much, just to kill ourselves with it. I will teach you how to change a lightbulb, and you will know how to change it, but if something besides the lightbulb breaks, you will never know what it is. You will forever think it is the lightbulb, yes? If you do not understand life, you will never be able to truly know it. All this knowledge you acquire only hurts you. It is ignorance with pauses.
Benjamin thinks about this. Thinks. Thinks. Thinks. Ponders and thinks. He curses thought and thinks on thoughts. He thinks and breathes. Thinks about breath, and then curses breath. He curses curses and thinks about redundancy. All these thoughts are useless. He thinks about uselessness and thinks about how useless thoughts are. How pointless, why give us it. I don't want this; return to sender.
He thinks about Trios. I don't want this; return to sender. But its too late to get out now, isn't it? You're stuck with Occulo and Dustin Beaver, both men you've beaten, and going into slam as Team...BOA...
Hell
Fucking hell.
Goddamn fucking shit hell.
Benjamin rubs his forehead and thinks more. Had one particle in space had a slightly different trajectory, its stands to reason that something might be altered ever-so-slightly, resulting in a completely different outcome. If it had been an inch, maybe the room Benjamin had been in when he agreed would have been green instead of blue, and maybe that slight different might have been enough to make him decline (maybe the money they would have paid him wouldn't have been enough to join). Maybe if the particle had been a foot away, wrestling never takes off into the mainstream, thus Benjamin never sees his first wrestling show, thus never becomes a wrestler. Maybe if the particle was a yard off, Benjamin could have retired young off of his father's business and, instead of throwing his body repeatedly into the mat for the amusement of others, he could be relaxing on a beach on some private island named after him.
Benjamin Island.
No.
Atreyu Island.
Atreyu's Island.
BA Island.
The Isle of Atreyu.
God's Island.
Maybe if the particle had been a mile off, they'd all be too close to the sun and would have burned up by now, leaving the Earth a fried and desolate landscape devoid of any form of life.
Benjamin thinks about nothing. Not absence of thought, but the thought of absence. The idea of nothing. The concept of not existing. To have no sense and no context. To not know art, thus not miss it. To not even be an ethereal spirit in the flotsam and jetsam of possible existence. To be nothing, not even an idea. Not even a character in a story. To have no idea of Benjamin Atreyu.
No trace.
No remainder.
No emergence or exit.
Living is dirt, isn't it... Henson is turning everything upside down and inside out, the trios has suddenly crashed down on top of him, and it seems any win is then immediately followed up by a bullshit loss which stops any traction right in its tracks. Living is dirt. If only that room had been green. Return to sender.
Do we have a chance as Team BOA? Benamin thinks aloud, begrudgingly, disregarding his previous curses of said subject. Of course we do. Might as well be fighting syphilitic geriatric invalids on their way out of 'God's green Earth'. If he did not allow himself to think in such terms, he would be lying to himself. He could hate the idea of trios, and anticipate the loss, allowing himself to trudge forward into a new direction of equal futility, but he lacks the ability to let go of the matter with such ease. He knew they could win this match up. There was no doubt about that.
The Unholy Alliance. That is what Shadowlove kept saying. "The Handsome Half-breed" (the fuck does that even mean?) kept using that name over and over again. When did this become a kung-fu movie? Why must everything be so heavy? House of Ophelia, the Unholy Alliance, Pantheon, etc. etc. etc.
etc.
etc.
etc.
It never ends. They just keep coming up with dumber names? Why? To sound tough (tuff)? Why does it matter? We spend all our time trying to come up with dumb names? "The Mad God"? What was I thinking?[/i] That maybe, much like slight changes in the universes posturing could result in distinct changes in the outcome of this story, that a slight name change could affect the over all outcome of your positioning in the world, Atreyu. Not a bad thought, but a horribly flawed one in the sense that humans should not play the game of chaos, they simply do not know enough.
I only accepted the name Team BOA, because I lacked the wherewithal to give a shit. Que sera sera, I guess. Dead in the air, might as well hit the ground head first for all I care.
The Unholy Alliance, huh? Melodramatic, maybe, but I guess anything a mongoloid with an over inflated ego would come up with would be melodramatic, wouldn't it? Man in stature, but a child at heart...or the brain. Hmm, if a particle had moved slightly to the right, maybe he'd have been born without a nose. An amusing thought, but hardly important.
The Unholy Alliance. The unlikely pairing of Cormack, Shadow, and CJ Pheonix. Makeshift team v. Makeshift team. Hardly the match of the year, but interesting none-the-less, isn't it? Well, interesting in that sort of amusing retarded-child-following-a-laser-pointer kinda way. It's going to be a murder, no doubt, but there is no more apt a metaphor for this shit stain of a tournament than to have it start with two teams that have no reason to be teams.
Am I bitter? Yeah. Trios has always been a pain in the ass for me. Mismatched team ups, disappearing partners. Never gotten into the finals. I hate tournament season. Doesn't mean anything. What am I supposed to do? Enjoy the reverie of shitting on any team that goes against us like we are some sort of underdog fraternity? To believe that we can come together and feel like a real team and not like a bunch of guys paid to wrestle together? Camaraderie? Is that the goal? No. Not happening. I'll team with them, but this is such a bullshit waste of my time.
The Unholy Alliance. The Unholy Alliance. Team BOA vs. The Unholy Alliance.
Does anyone care?
Does anyone even know this match is happening besides the people in it?
Do all the people in the match even know its happening?
I wish I didn't.
Benjamin Atreyu, the man, the myth, the failure, sighs.
As I Lay Sighing fun book title, he immediately curses the tangent. Need to stick on topic for the sake of the RP. Can't win the matches on bad jokes alone...though it has worked in the past (cue Text-Bat RPs for a lack of a better idea for an RP).
Where was the glory I was supposed to have? I was supposed to be a prized singles competitor, but it seems I just keep attaching myself to teams when I feel my career slipping into inevitable irrelevancy.
Atreyu Island would be quite nice.
Would be better than wrestling.
Fucking wrestling. Dumb fucking sport. A bunch of assholes yell at each other for a week, wrestle one day for a couple of minutes, and then everyone gets all pissy, depressed, and egotistical. What a load of shit. Thank god I have to die at some point. If I was immortal, I'd have to take matters into my own hands.
I use to be good at this, right? I use to be a respected competitor, right? People use to give a shit right?
To think, just a foot of difference in the universe and maybe I'd be happy. Instead of miserable every week, hating something I use to love a little more with each passing day.
Return to sender.
Please, return to sender.
Just fucking return to sender.
Maybe there will be a moment in the day where I feel a legit bit of ambition, and for that moment, things are exciting again, throwing the world into a new perspective where nothing can leave me with a lack of motivation.
Nothing except time.
Time salts all wounds.
Time kills all.
Eventually, that moment passes and leaves nothing but a vast hole that a person could stick their head into. Ambition melts into lethargic hate for everything on this forsaken planet, leaving me to just sit and whisper cathartic statements to myself. Kill them all. Destroy them all. Burn it to the ground. They are all worthless.
Oh, how silly it seems. The baby that needs to coax itself into thinking it is better off than it really is. Yes, baby, the world does revolve around you. They can all burn in hell, can't they, baby? You're right and you'll always be right. Shake your fist at them and justify why you're better off not bothering, because fuck trying, right?
Dumb, stupid, shitty baby. You pissed away your inheritance, you flake all the time, you keep leaving just to crave validation and comeback, but what does returning get you? Nothing, but a realization of why you never had that validation. You were never that good to begin with, you sniveling shit pile. You'll leave again, and the process will start all over again.
Want to know how to end the process? Let the Unholy Alliance destroy you. Not destroy your team, just you. One of two things will happen. Either you let them break your body so severely that you PHYSICALLY can't come back, or you're beat so badly by that team of half-wit cock suckers that you have to quit the business, change your name, and disappear forever into the void. What will it be, Benjy?
He did call you Benjy, didn't he? Shadowlove that is. Because he doesn't respect you. Nor should he. What have you done lately? When was the last time you won a title? When was the last time you got an achievement of any sort? You worthless piece of human feces. No one should respect your stupid ass.
Here is the worst part. You know that's an out you have, to let them destroy you, but you won't let them, will you? You're going to try to win, because you don't know any better. You could go in there with every intention to lose,
but it would never happen that way would it?
Of course not. You'll start to get into it. Instinct takes over. The instinct that keeps bringing you back. Then you'll start trying, trying to win. Like muscle memory, it just happens. You have to try. You're going to prolong this whole mess, aren't you.
Benjamin throws something, anything, against a wall. Doesn't matter what. Doesn't matter against what wall. Doesn't matter what damage it does. The universe dictated all of it. Even when you try to defy it, your decision to try and act against your initial instinct is just an effect of your surroundings.
Slaves to existence.
Benjamin curses it. He curses The Unholy Alliance. He curses himself.
The universe was once a dense singularity which then rapidly expanded, sending forth trillions upon trillions of particles through a dark nebulous hellscape from which there is no escape. From that moment, everything was decided. That big bang was the only real sense of chance that the universe ever experienced. From then on out, its all been a series of carefully calculated reactions, constantly clattering together to influence all future actions of the aforementioned particles. No movement, idea, or action was made in a vaccuum. Everything is derivative of some sort of influence.
Life moved forward from a pocket and settled into place like a string of drool from the gaping mouth of a retarded God.
From there life grew. The lands began to take on green hues, the ocean vomited air breathing rodents, four legs became two, the land became a tool, tools became property, property could be stolen, disputes were settled with violence, death spread, systems sink into place, letting law crawl from the dilapidated womb of human understand in such a haphazard way that man still spends years of his life attempt to fix even minor portions of it. The world becomes self-aware and thus men must define themselves from the uniform mass and become the thinkers, creating definition to an otherwise blurry view of life. Categories become habit in the electrical impulses of the brain. All becomes life, but life becomes a diced, colors, and divided version of itself until the perfect system of cause and effect is no longer visible. Life is a series of separate, seemingly unrelated events, and man makes his own choices.
Oh, how horrible. Truly the dead are the lucky ones.
all thoughts, all concepts, are products of the big bang. All choices, all reactions are products of context, having been given those concepts and thoughts.
How tragic. We figureo ut so much, just to kill ourselves with it. I will teach you how to change a lightbulb, and you will know how to change it, but if something besides the lightbulb breaks, you will never know what it is. You will forever think it is the lightbulb, yes? If you do not understand life, you will never be able to truly know it. All this knowledge you acquire only hurts you. It is ignorance with pauses.
Benjamin thinks about this. Thinks. Thinks. Thinks. Ponders and thinks. He curses thought and thinks on thoughts. He thinks and breathes. Thinks about breath, and then curses breath. He curses curses and thinks about redundancy. All these thoughts are useless. He thinks about uselessness and thinks about how useless thoughts are. How pointless, why give us it. I don't want this; return to sender.
He thinks about Trios. I don't want this; return to sender. But its too late to get out now, isn't it? You're stuck with Occulo and Dustin Beaver, both men you've beaten, and going into slam as Team...BOA...
Hell
Fucking hell.
Goddamn fucking shit hell.
Benjamin rubs his forehead and thinks more. Had one particle in space had a slightly different trajectory, its stands to reason that something might be altered ever-so-slightly, resulting in a completely different outcome. If it had been an inch, maybe the room Benjamin had been in when he agreed would have been green instead of blue, and maybe that slight different might have been enough to make him decline (maybe the money they would have paid him wouldn't have been enough to join). Maybe if the particle had been a foot away, wrestling never takes off into the mainstream, thus Benjamin never sees his first wrestling show, thus never becomes a wrestler. Maybe if the particle was a yard off, Benjamin could have retired young off of his father's business and, instead of throwing his body repeatedly into the mat for the amusement of others, he could be relaxing on a beach on some private island named after him.
Benjamin Island.
No.
Atreyu Island.
Atreyu's Island.
BA Island.
The Isle of Atreyu.
God's Island.
Maybe if the particle had been a mile off, they'd all be too close to the sun and would have burned up by now, leaving the Earth a fried and desolate landscape devoid of any form of life.
Benjamin thinks about nothing. Not absence of thought, but the thought of absence. The idea of nothing. The concept of not existing. To have no sense and no context. To not know art, thus not miss it. To not even be an ethereal spirit in the flotsam and jetsam of possible existence. To be nothing, not even an idea. Not even a character in a story. To have no idea of Benjamin Atreyu.
No trace.
No remainder.
No emergence or exit.
Living is dirt, isn't it... Henson is turning everything upside down and inside out, the trios has suddenly crashed down on top of him, and it seems any win is then immediately followed up by a bullshit loss which stops any traction right in its tracks. Living is dirt. If only that room had been green. Return to sender.
Do we have a chance as Team BOA? Benamin thinks aloud, begrudgingly, disregarding his previous curses of said subject. Of course we do. Might as well be fighting syphilitic geriatric invalids on their way out of 'God's green Earth'. If he did not allow himself to think in such terms, he would be lying to himself. He could hate the idea of trios, and anticipate the loss, allowing himself to trudge forward into a new direction of equal futility, but he lacks the ability to let go of the matter with such ease. He knew they could win this match up. There was no doubt about that.
The Unholy Alliance. That is what Shadowlove kept saying. "The Handsome Half-breed" (the fuck does that even mean?) kept using that name over and over again. When did this become a kung-fu movie? Why must everything be so heavy? House of Ophelia, the Unholy Alliance, Pantheon, etc. etc. etc.
etc.
etc.
etc.
It never ends. They just keep coming up with dumber names? Why? To sound tough (tuff)? Why does it matter? We spend all our time trying to come up with dumb names? "The Mad God"? What was I thinking?[/i] That maybe, much like slight changes in the universes posturing could result in distinct changes in the outcome of this story, that a slight name change could affect the over all outcome of your positioning in the world, Atreyu. Not a bad thought, but a horribly flawed one in the sense that humans should not play the game of chaos, they simply do not know enough.
I only accepted the name Team BOA, because I lacked the wherewithal to give a shit. Que sera sera, I guess. Dead in the air, might as well hit the ground head first for all I care.
The Unholy Alliance, huh? Melodramatic, maybe, but I guess anything a mongoloid with an over inflated ego would come up with would be melodramatic, wouldn't it? Man in stature, but a child at heart...or the brain. Hmm, if a particle had moved slightly to the right, maybe he'd have been born without a nose. An amusing thought, but hardly important.
The Unholy Alliance. The unlikely pairing of Cormack, Shadow, and CJ Pheonix. Makeshift team v. Makeshift team. Hardly the match of the year, but interesting none-the-less, isn't it? Well, interesting in that sort of amusing retarded-child-following-a-laser-pointer kinda way. It's going to be a murder, no doubt, but there is no more apt a metaphor for this shit stain of a tournament than to have it start with two teams that have no reason to be teams.
Am I bitter? Yeah. Trios has always been a pain in the ass for me. Mismatched team ups, disappearing partners. Never gotten into the finals. I hate tournament season. Doesn't mean anything. What am I supposed to do? Enjoy the reverie of shitting on any team that goes against us like we are some sort of underdog fraternity? To believe that we can come together and feel like a real team and not like a bunch of guys paid to wrestle together? Camaraderie? Is that the goal? No. Not happening. I'll team with them, but this is such a bullshit waste of my time.
The Unholy Alliance. The Unholy Alliance. Team BOA vs. The Unholy Alliance.
Does anyone care?
Does anyone even know this match is happening besides the people in it?
Do all the people in the match even know its happening?
I wish I didn't.
Benjamin Atreyu, the man, the myth, the failure, sighs.
As I Lay Sighing fun book title, he immediately curses the tangent. Need to stick on topic for the sake of the RP. Can't win the matches on bad jokes alone...though it has worked in the past (cue Text-Bat RPs for a lack of a better idea for an RP).
Where was the glory I was supposed to have? I was supposed to be a prized singles competitor, but it seems I just keep attaching myself to teams when I feel my career slipping into inevitable irrelevancy.
Atreyu Island would be quite nice.
Would be better than wrestling.
Fucking wrestling. Dumb fucking sport. A bunch of assholes yell at each other for a week, wrestle one day for a couple of minutes, and then everyone gets all pissy, depressed, and egotistical. What a load of shit. Thank god I have to die at some point. If I was immortal, I'd have to take matters into my own hands.
I use to be good at this, right? I use to be a respected competitor, right? People use to give a shit right?
To think, just a foot of difference in the universe and maybe I'd be happy. Instead of miserable every week, hating something I use to love a little more with each passing day.
Return to sender.
Please, return to sender.
Just fucking return to sender.
Maybe there will be a moment in the day where I feel a legit bit of ambition, and for that moment, things are exciting again, throwing the world into a new perspective where nothing can leave me with a lack of motivation.
Nothing except time.
Time salts all wounds.
Time kills all.
Eventually, that moment passes and leaves nothing but a vast hole that a person could stick their head into. Ambition melts into lethargic hate for everything on this forsaken planet, leaving me to just sit and whisper cathartic statements to myself. Kill them all. Destroy them all. Burn it to the ground. They are all worthless.
Oh, how silly it seems. The baby that needs to coax itself into thinking it is better off than it really is. Yes, baby, the world does revolve around you. They can all burn in hell, can't they, baby? You're right and you'll always be right. Shake your fist at them and justify why you're better off not bothering, because fuck trying, right?
Dumb, stupid, shitty baby. You pissed away your inheritance, you flake all the time, you keep leaving just to crave validation and comeback, but what does returning get you? Nothing, but a realization of why you never had that validation. You were never that good to begin with, you sniveling shit pile. You'll leave again, and the process will start all over again.
Want to know how to end the process? Let the Unholy Alliance destroy you. Not destroy your team, just you. One of two things will happen. Either you let them break your body so severely that you PHYSICALLY can't come back, or you're beat so badly by that team of half-wit cock suckers that you have to quit the business, change your name, and disappear forever into the void. What will it be, Benjy?
He did call you Benjy, didn't he? Shadowlove that is. Because he doesn't respect you. Nor should he. What have you done lately? When was the last time you won a title? When was the last time you got an achievement of any sort? You worthless piece of human feces. No one should respect your stupid ass.
Here is the worst part. You know that's an out you have, to let them destroy you, but you won't let them, will you? You're going to try to win, because you don't know any better. You could go in there with every intention to lose,
but it would never happen that way would it?
Of course not. You'll start to get into it. Instinct takes over. The instinct that keeps bringing you back. Then you'll start trying, trying to win. Like muscle memory, it just happens. You have to try. You're going to prolong this whole mess, aren't you.
Benjamin throws something, anything, against a wall. Doesn't matter what. Doesn't matter against what wall. Doesn't matter what damage it does. The universe dictated all of it. Even when you try to defy it, your decision to try and act against your initial instinct is just an effect of your surroundings.
Slaves to existence.
Benjamin curses it. He curses The Unholy Alliance. He curses himself.
