Post by Jack of Blades on Feb 13, 2009 11:53:27 GMT -5
Pitch Black. Nothingness. The small click of a switch. A spotlight sputters into life providing a singular pillar of light to permeate the midnight dark. Footsteps heard in the middle-distance. A figure steps in to the bar-light glow: Jack of Blades. Another source of light is produced as Blades moves into his jacket pocket removing and then lighting a singular cigarette. The composition while sparse makes an immediate suggestion to the audience. The lack of a visible background. Jack’s centralized and illuminated position. The cigarette hanging haphazardly from his mouth. The implication is that Jack is facing the quick death of a firing squad. In reality? He is just facing the quick death of the video camera.
Jack of Blades: I’m going to try something different today.
An illicit drag of the cigarette.
Jack of Blades: You see, I like it when things are big. Quotidian life is an incredibly dull experience. It is just monotony wrapped in ennui coated in languor and spiked with tedium. In this grey little world of ours, pain becomes a commodity; a valuable currency. To be burnt is to feel something. To bleed is to know your heart is still pumping.
The smoke vapours spiral from the death-stick creating fleeting patterns in the stagnant air.
Jack of Blades: But, why should life be so boring? If only people would follow the example I have set for them. I believe that a trip to the doctors for a routine pap smear should carry with it the pomp and pageantry of the circus. And, that’s why, when I heard that Skyler Striker wanted a match for me, I prepared for the usual antics. I had the London Philharmonic on standby so I could conduct a harmonized musical representation of Jade’s conception. I booked ferry tickets so I could stare outwards at the open ocean and make some fleeting philosophical reference to the nature of the elements. I decided to forgo washing any clothing this week so I could treat the WCF fan base to a whirlwind tour of my local laundrette.
Jack’s shoulders drop. It all comes flooding back to him; he in his comfort zone.
Jack of Blades: And then I remembered that the best way to tackle boredom is to change things around. Variety and cocaine are the two spices of life after all. Well, for Logan, mustard is the spice of life but he’s a special case. Been beat too many times for the World Title if you catch my drift.
Jack spirals his right index finger around his temple at the mention of Logan; the international hand gesture for ‘crazy.’ Pot calling the kettle…
Jack of Blades: So, rather than put on some redundant show, all theatrics and no drama if you will, I have decided, rather bravely I might add, to address Skyler Striker directly. No slight of hand. No thinly veiled allegory. Just me talking to you, Mr Striker. But what to talk about?
Jack inhales a lungful of toxic tar as he looks upwards as if trying to find an answer in the ceiling.
Jack of Blades: Perhaps I could share my plan on how to stabilize the apocalyptic maelstrom that is the international economy. Or maybe I could converse on the Gaza conflict and pretend that have any kind of understanding of the socio-political motivations behind it. But, I’ve got a different topic in mind; one that demands my time. You see, Skyler, I’d like to talk to you about something in particular. Something specific. I’d like to talk to you about ‘The Tap.’
Another sharp, smooth inhalation of the cigarette.
Jack of Blades: And, no, I’m not talking about some hair metal band that emerged from the mockumentary format and now straddles the realms of the real and the fictional. I’m talking about one of five ways that you can win a wrestling match. Pinfall. Total knock-out. Disqualification. Count out and submission.
Jack comes closer to the camera now; he is about to hit his stride.
Jack of Blades: For some reason, the latter of these was always considered the most potent. For the victor comes the satisfaction in seeing your opponent buckle under your power, your viciousness. For the loser, you are forced to physically admit your inferiority much to your aggressor’s gain. Of course, these are ridiculous assumptions. Surely it is just as embarrassing to lie prone for three seconds while your fellow competitors sweats and breathes all over your person than it is to repeatedly stroke the mat.
The cigarette is almost dead now.
Jack of Blades: Perhaps such assumptions derive from the level of activity that each method of losing necessitates. To be pinned is a passive act. One merely reaches a level of unconscious where they are no longer able to feel a two-hundred-and-fifty pound athlete lie across their chest. To submit, however, is firmly a dynamic decision. It is one that is dependent on conscious deliberation. A choice must be made. To quit or not to quit. A choice I once made.
The cigarette is launched from Blades’ fingers like something intrusive, revolting. A look of distaste emerges across his face.
Jack of Blades: You see, before I met you, I used to like The Tap. There was something immensely satisfying about seeing your opponent furiously pat the canvas like he was trying to pleasure it to a climax. It even had the potential to cool my rather eclectic mind. I desired to see that unspoken agreement; that physical signifier that denoted that I was indeed the better man. But, like I said, that was before I met you.
Blades strokes the hair away from his forehead and draws himself closer to the camera.
Jack of Blades: I used to think of myself as a man without restrictions. But, you proved me wrong. At Payback 2007, you trapped my legs and proceeded to recline backwards. And what did I do? I committed The Tap. Now, I could argue that my defeat came about through a culmination of factors. The intense dissatisfaction of possessing the title. My relegation to Creeping Death’s sidekick. But, that’s not the point. I thought I had no limits; you proved I did.
The smile is back, much larger than before.
Jack of Blades: And that’s what tonight is about. That’s why I demanded our little encounter be fought under ‘I Quit’ stipulations. You see, I can guess what you’ve been thinking this week. You wanted a match without any flavour. Just a straight little fight between you and I. But now, with these new rules in place, I imagine you’ve been thinking that this is about revenge. That I want you to buckle to me the same way I did to you all those years ago. Not true, my platinum haired friend. Tonight, is not about taking you to your limits. It is about dispelling the notion that I have any. I’ve got all sorts of sick little games for you to play tonight; all sorts of machinations in mind. In a normal match, I can win simply by tugging onto your tights. In the realm we shall fight in tonight, however, the only way to win is let yourself go. And, I want to know how far I’m willing to go. You’ll sing for me tonight; I’ll see that tap again.
His words are frantic; his gesticulation wild.
Jack of Blades: So, I’ll leave you with my final thoughts. Skyler, you are an idiot. Not a particularly original bon mot, I know but just hear me out. Last week, you claimed that this match was about you obtaining some degree of closure. You fool, you already had it. Our story was a closed one. The hero won. The champion of the masses was successful. You beat me, remember? For the World Title? That’s a pretty definite ending to me!
His energy grows; his movements electric.
Jack of Blades: In our little fable, the white knight slayed the evil monster and the evil monster went anathema for two years. What more do you want? You see, because of your insistence, you have turned your fairytale into a tragedy. One of Shakespearean merit. As Creeping Death said, “You walked right into it.”
Suddenly, his posture is calm. His voice settled. His movements reserved. He has just realized something.
Jack of Blades: But, perhaps, there is another reason why you want that golden ideal of closure. Maybe it is not about providing a definite end to our series of tête-à-têtes. Maybe it is about a new beginning. You see, we’ve heard rumours that you want to start again. That you want to spurn this life of spandex and steroids. That you want to pursue other endeavours. That you want to watch Jade blossom into a beautiful young lady. That you’re fed up of waking up at four o’clock in the morning to hit the gym. That you want to edify the mind rather than scar the body.
Jack moves himself into an extreme close-up. He wants this last sentence to carry with it considerable weight.
Jack of Blades: But to do all that, you’ve gotta say two little words to this unsavoury environment of ours. Two little words that I’ll be more than willing to help you spit out: “I QUIT!”
Riotous laughter. Fade to black.
