Post by Jack of Blades on Apr 11, 2007 21:20:54 GMT -5
No complicated words. Everybody's sick of them. No attempts at pseudo-philosophy. Everybody’s sick of them. No obtrusive pieces of black comedy. Everybody’s sick of them. No redundant references to popular culture. Everybody’s sick of them. No attempts to shoehorn myself into a detached character. I'm sick of it. Just me, myself, the factor of Hank Brown and his trusty microphone.
Hank Brown: Hello, there. I'm here with current World Champion, Jack of Blades for a rare interview about how things are going in the greatest federation alive, the WCF, his recent title defence against Creeping Death and of course, his match against the debuting 'Merc' at XIII. So, Jack, perhaps we can start of with your current opinion of how things are going for you in the WCF?
The hardest place to see a mountain is at its apex. Now, while you scramble around trying to discover some hidden meaning in that little parable, I'm just going to go ahead and explain it to you, because, frankly, I'm tired of trying to spew forth some rigorous effort to sound unique. Ever since I won this belt, I'm no longer feeling any sort of drive or desire. No desire to compete. No desire to be Jack. Maybe it's because I feel I’ve accomplished all I can, maybe it's because as soon as your name is declared as the victor, you realize the sum and amount of time you have wasted on such a futile exercise as this one. I don't feel the same way I did in my interplay with Striker Skyler. I don't feel that excitement that I did each week when I devised the next step in my predation of Ellis Island. I don't think I've produced anything comparable to my physical repertoire with Dake Ken. And why is this? Cite any reason you want. Diluted rivalries, uncaring opponents et all. But what it boils down to is pure apathy.
Hank Brown: That's rather candid of you. Do you think we'll ever see the resurrection of the highly respected, controversial, answer-to-everything, Jack of Blades?
Probably not. And that's what annoys me the most. I live this life outside of the WCF's sphere of influence and all these ideas come into my head. Ones that I'm really passionate about. Things that make me think that this is going to be the next 'Boom' series. But, they inevitably get lost in translation. Maybe I've become too comfortable in my little world of high vernacular and bubbling existentialism. Maybe it's because any idea I express is immediately tracked against 'the willing suspense of disbelief.' However, if we have some tertiary gimmick walking around ala a man whose body fluids are apparently of an extremely considerable PH, he's adorned with praise.
Hank Brown: You seem to be slightly resentful about certain events or people walking around the WCF with you as you just referenced there?
I'm not particularly disgruntled at such ideas and people. I'm actually rather envious. They treat this whole little adventure as exactly what it is: a façade. I can't do that. I treat it with what I consider due respect. Emptying any creative will remaining from simply surviving the day into shaping my ideals and putting them forward in a variety of ways. They, on the other hand, are simply content to produce an exaggerated idea and role and leave it at that. And kudos to them. It's when their achievements are treated as superior to one's own that you need to worry.
Hank Brown: Are you saying that you aren’t getting enough respect from the roster?
To say such a thing would be a damn lie. And I know that. I'm treated as the number one guy, the alpha male. All I'd like to propose is this question: Was Skyler Striker's, Lawnmower Jones', and to sound boastful, my own produce the week of WAR inferior to that of Biohazard's? You don’t need to answer. Just go flicking through WCF.com.
Hank Brown: Don't you feel that's a little greedy and conceited suggesting that some people's work and work ethic is superior to that of other members?
Yeah. I could see the destabilizing effect such an ego would have on a business if it were to function outside of the confines we are in.
Hank Brown: Which means?
Our vocation is a competitive one. And we can’t define it as anything else. Want to talk about wages? Fame? Success? Where is it? No, we do this out of some undeniable urge to compete and prove ourselves as befitting of the highest point of the hierarchy. And when that idea is compromised for appreciation for cartoon characters and politicking than it all goes to fuck.
Hank Brown: Politicking?
I suppose you’d like me to expand on that. Let's just say I've been rather shocked at some of the choices made to elect Creeping Death’s bi-monthly 'shoot' rants as greater entertainment than those articles that show true craft and care.
Hank Brown: But is that truly politicking when Creeping Death's observations are often delivered with dry wit and considerable perspective?
No, it's not. I know you're looking for some kind of definite answer but you're not going to get one. The only point I want to make on this is that I think it's damn insulting to my 'colleagues' to have their effort graded as less than some bitter commentary on the health of this little practice of ours. Maybe even this acerbic piece of bile is being viewed with some admiration. I hope not. There's nothing of value in this. It's just a process of venting. Whether it's necessary or not is irrelevant.
Hank Brown: Has anybody else shared your feelings on the matter?
I don't know. Don't particularly care. All I'd like to think of is that someone will find this and acknowledge some truth in it. And if there's any truth I'd like them to find it's that this whole thing is of no value. That we should all be completely germane to the idea of advancement.
Hank Brown: No value?
Well, let's see. I remember a time when each and every piece of the correspondance needed from me was delivered on time and with added suggestions and the like. Hell, I may be insane but I'm punctual. I focus painstakingly on my output each week always attempting to, because I'm a showman, outdo myself. What does the time I spend each week on this stuff amount to? An idle clown belittling it as 'pointless gibberish' and then requesting my appearance against one of his uninteresting minions.
Hank Brown: I apologize for my incredulousness but you're beginning to sound like a broken record. Perhaps we should move onto your match against 'Merc?'
What hasn't been said that hasn't already? I'd like to think we've given the viewers their money worth already without the match taking place. Tooth and nail, all that. Of course, I should be proud that he's adopted some of my tactics into his little approach. However, he's taken to them with the control of a sugar-enhanced ADHD rush. I always like to think that my remarks cut close to my opponent. That I manage to integrate aspects from both sides of the curtain effectively. Of course, I do this with the intention to deride but no to contradict the very definition of my opponent. The world in which we act is a realm of fallacies and exaggeration. One that even I, someone bearing a supposedly unstable mindset, must appreciate. As soon as the persona is said to only be a person, there's just no point.
Hank Brown: Perhaps you could expand on this?
Fine. I could say that Ace Resoland's real name is Adam Schmidt. Next Thursday, he has his driving test. He was given a car by his grandparents. It's a Ford but not being a car fanatic, I couldn't tell you its specific name. It's listerine green. The kind of hue that reminds of you of grass and vomit simultaneously. He spends his days stacking shelves at your local green-grocers. Sound like someone who should be respected as a former Tag champion? I could then say that Jack of Blades, myself, is a bored gap-year student who enjoys the forgotten activities of writing and reading. His relationships often last about two weeks as his girlfriend (if she's of particular value to him) will cheat on him or he'll become bored and systematically make an effort to erode her morale. His father is an alcoholic who managed to run the family business into the ground within a matter of months after control was given. On Fridays, Jack of Blades enjoys drinking unhealthy amounts of Vodka while watching that programme with the ugly latino girl because he thinks the receptionist on it is rather attractive. I could say all these things but they're untrue. They could be histories of someone out there. But as soon as such candid facts, insurmountable truths (not just insults but real definitions) are introduced, this little game of ours turns beyond sour. And then it just ends up as Jack Blaine Nolan versus whatever Merc's real name is.
Hank Brown: Can we expect Jack of Blades to stay with the WCF much longer?
Indeed. With talent dropping like flies (I wonder why), its only fair that this aging primadonna take as much airtime as possible. However, unless you can find some sort of elixir that allows me to feel the way I did five months ago, I'd imagine this time is going to be painful for us both.
Hank Brown: Anything else to add?
Not really. Just that I'm going to stay and play like a good little boy. I'm going to plan my strategies for the match. I'm going to play my little mindgames. I'm going to keep my title. And I'm going to do it all while not giving a flying fuck about this place. Because, in the end, that's the most heelish thing to do.
And so, Blades walks off unusually flustered for someone of his composition. This of course leaves Hank Brown to find some conclusion in all this vitriol.
Hank Brown: Some very stro--
This door's locked too!
Hank Brown: Hello, there. I'm here with current World Champion, Jack of Blades for a rare interview about how things are going in the greatest federation alive, the WCF, his recent title defence against Creeping Death and of course, his match against the debuting 'Merc' at XIII. So, Jack, perhaps we can start of with your current opinion of how things are going for you in the WCF?
The hardest place to see a mountain is at its apex. Now, while you scramble around trying to discover some hidden meaning in that little parable, I'm just going to go ahead and explain it to you, because, frankly, I'm tired of trying to spew forth some rigorous effort to sound unique. Ever since I won this belt, I'm no longer feeling any sort of drive or desire. No desire to compete. No desire to be Jack. Maybe it's because I feel I’ve accomplished all I can, maybe it's because as soon as your name is declared as the victor, you realize the sum and amount of time you have wasted on such a futile exercise as this one. I don't feel the same way I did in my interplay with Striker Skyler. I don't feel that excitement that I did each week when I devised the next step in my predation of Ellis Island. I don't think I've produced anything comparable to my physical repertoire with Dake Ken. And why is this? Cite any reason you want. Diluted rivalries, uncaring opponents et all. But what it boils down to is pure apathy.
Hank Brown: That's rather candid of you. Do you think we'll ever see the resurrection of the highly respected, controversial, answer-to-everything, Jack of Blades?
Probably not. And that's what annoys me the most. I live this life outside of the WCF's sphere of influence and all these ideas come into my head. Ones that I'm really passionate about. Things that make me think that this is going to be the next 'Boom' series. But, they inevitably get lost in translation. Maybe I've become too comfortable in my little world of high vernacular and bubbling existentialism. Maybe it's because any idea I express is immediately tracked against 'the willing suspense of disbelief.' However, if we have some tertiary gimmick walking around ala a man whose body fluids are apparently of an extremely considerable PH, he's adorned with praise.
Hank Brown: You seem to be slightly resentful about certain events or people walking around the WCF with you as you just referenced there?
I'm not particularly disgruntled at such ideas and people. I'm actually rather envious. They treat this whole little adventure as exactly what it is: a façade. I can't do that. I treat it with what I consider due respect. Emptying any creative will remaining from simply surviving the day into shaping my ideals and putting them forward in a variety of ways. They, on the other hand, are simply content to produce an exaggerated idea and role and leave it at that. And kudos to them. It's when their achievements are treated as superior to one's own that you need to worry.
Hank Brown: Are you saying that you aren’t getting enough respect from the roster?
To say such a thing would be a damn lie. And I know that. I'm treated as the number one guy, the alpha male. All I'd like to propose is this question: Was Skyler Striker's, Lawnmower Jones', and to sound boastful, my own produce the week of WAR inferior to that of Biohazard's? You don’t need to answer. Just go flicking through WCF.com.
Hank Brown: Don't you feel that's a little greedy and conceited suggesting that some people's work and work ethic is superior to that of other members?
Yeah. I could see the destabilizing effect such an ego would have on a business if it were to function outside of the confines we are in.
Hank Brown: Which means?
Our vocation is a competitive one. And we can’t define it as anything else. Want to talk about wages? Fame? Success? Where is it? No, we do this out of some undeniable urge to compete and prove ourselves as befitting of the highest point of the hierarchy. And when that idea is compromised for appreciation for cartoon characters and politicking than it all goes to fuck.
Hank Brown: Politicking?
I suppose you’d like me to expand on that. Let's just say I've been rather shocked at some of the choices made to elect Creeping Death’s bi-monthly 'shoot' rants as greater entertainment than those articles that show true craft and care.
Hank Brown: But is that truly politicking when Creeping Death's observations are often delivered with dry wit and considerable perspective?
No, it's not. I know you're looking for some kind of definite answer but you're not going to get one. The only point I want to make on this is that I think it's damn insulting to my 'colleagues' to have their effort graded as less than some bitter commentary on the health of this little practice of ours. Maybe even this acerbic piece of bile is being viewed with some admiration. I hope not. There's nothing of value in this. It's just a process of venting. Whether it's necessary or not is irrelevant.
Hank Brown: Has anybody else shared your feelings on the matter?
I don't know. Don't particularly care. All I'd like to think of is that someone will find this and acknowledge some truth in it. And if there's any truth I'd like them to find it's that this whole thing is of no value. That we should all be completely germane to the idea of advancement.
Hank Brown: No value?
Well, let's see. I remember a time when each and every piece of the correspondance needed from me was delivered on time and with added suggestions and the like. Hell, I may be insane but I'm punctual. I focus painstakingly on my output each week always attempting to, because I'm a showman, outdo myself. What does the time I spend each week on this stuff amount to? An idle clown belittling it as 'pointless gibberish' and then requesting my appearance against one of his uninteresting minions.
Hank Brown: I apologize for my incredulousness but you're beginning to sound like a broken record. Perhaps we should move onto your match against 'Merc?'
What hasn't been said that hasn't already? I'd like to think we've given the viewers their money worth already without the match taking place. Tooth and nail, all that. Of course, I should be proud that he's adopted some of my tactics into his little approach. However, he's taken to them with the control of a sugar-enhanced ADHD rush. I always like to think that my remarks cut close to my opponent. That I manage to integrate aspects from both sides of the curtain effectively. Of course, I do this with the intention to deride but no to contradict the very definition of my opponent. The world in which we act is a realm of fallacies and exaggeration. One that even I, someone bearing a supposedly unstable mindset, must appreciate. As soon as the persona is said to only be a person, there's just no point.
Hank Brown: Perhaps you could expand on this?
Fine. I could say that Ace Resoland's real name is Adam Schmidt. Next Thursday, he has his driving test. He was given a car by his grandparents. It's a Ford but not being a car fanatic, I couldn't tell you its specific name. It's listerine green. The kind of hue that reminds of you of grass and vomit simultaneously. He spends his days stacking shelves at your local green-grocers. Sound like someone who should be respected as a former Tag champion? I could then say that Jack of Blades, myself, is a bored gap-year student who enjoys the forgotten activities of writing and reading. His relationships often last about two weeks as his girlfriend (if she's of particular value to him) will cheat on him or he'll become bored and systematically make an effort to erode her morale. His father is an alcoholic who managed to run the family business into the ground within a matter of months after control was given. On Fridays, Jack of Blades enjoys drinking unhealthy amounts of Vodka while watching that programme with the ugly latino girl because he thinks the receptionist on it is rather attractive. I could say all these things but they're untrue. They could be histories of someone out there. But as soon as such candid facts, insurmountable truths (not just insults but real definitions) are introduced, this little game of ours turns beyond sour. And then it just ends up as Jack Blaine Nolan versus whatever Merc's real name is.
Hank Brown: Can we expect Jack of Blades to stay with the WCF much longer?
Indeed. With talent dropping like flies (I wonder why), its only fair that this aging primadonna take as much airtime as possible. However, unless you can find some sort of elixir that allows me to feel the way I did five months ago, I'd imagine this time is going to be painful for us both.
Hank Brown: Anything else to add?
Not really. Just that I'm going to stay and play like a good little boy. I'm going to plan my strategies for the match. I'm going to play my little mindgames. I'm going to keep my title. And I'm going to do it all while not giving a flying fuck about this place. Because, in the end, that's the most heelish thing to do.
And so, Blades walks off unusually flustered for someone of his composition. This of course leaves Hank Brown to find some conclusion in all this vitriol.
Hank Brown: Some very stro--
This door's locked too!
