Post by English/Corpse on Jun 16, 2014 18:52:45 GMT -6
V.O.W Presents
A Casanova English Original
The Other Side of Paradise
I just don't get it. I just don't get
the management in VOW. I don't understand why they are missing this
opportunity. It is inevitable I will rip the spotlight from all these
old faces. In less then a year of active competition I have tore a
fucking path to that spotlight. I will have my name in lights. I put
on what may be match of the fucking year, and you give Matt the main
event. How far do I have to pry the eyes of these giants open?
My cell phone had my attention for the
time being. It has been a while since I heard from my mother, and
right now was just not the time. I used to think that my mother was
going to die, now I think she it a cockroach. No matter how man
needles find the veins, no matter how many collapse under the stress
of an on and off drug relationship she never truly gives up. I think
it is a terrible thing, it eats at the back of my mind like a fucking
parasite. Truth be told maybe I should be thankful. Maybe that is
where I get my resilience, my stamina. The thoughts of the one I left
behind for the better though are always followed by the memories of
the ones I left behind that I love.
My brother, my grandmother. My
resentment stains the need to see them. The day I buried my
grandfather was the last time I held them in my arms with my
“everything is going to be okay” bullshit speech I didn't
believe, but fed to them. They to eat up like hungry pigs. They
couldn't handle it themselves, they weren’t there everyday like I
was. They didn't watch the color gradually fade from his eyes. They
didn't get called by the wrong name, and they didn't watch him drool
on himself as he tried to articulate thought. They had no idea how
deep the wounds where. They have no idea what it had opened me up to.
This Revolution is what it has led me to.
The final moments of that man's life
shaped the rest of mine. It defined me as a person. It made Casanova
English find what his true calling is. I must open the eyes of the
people. I must show them the way to enlightenment. These people will
see, last week was the beginning of that.
All I can think of is how his breathing
changed. How what was so regular turned into a struggle. I need to
show these people enlightenment, but they didn't watch him die. They
didn't kill him. They don't understand sacrifice.
I stopped looking at my Iphone snapping
the insane amount of concentration I had on my mother's “How have
you been?” text. I looked up at the beautiful stone building that
looked like a castle. The accents were black, and the roof had faded
to a mossy green. This is F. Scott Fitzgerald house, one of the last
great American writers. The Diamond as Big as The Ritz is one of my
favorite short stories. It shows just how far capitalism would go.
Not to mention The Great Gatsby, his look at the upper American class
has helped shape the person I am today. It has helped shape the
revolution. This right here in this stone building, this is where he
started his revolution. This is where he endlessly worked on his
critique of the social class. Fitzgerald was born into the upper
class himself. That is what makes his writing so insightful. He has
it all but he needed writing, needed his passion and it meant more
then money ever would. I walked up the cobble stone pathway tossing
my half burnt cigarette to the ground before hitting the steps.
This is where a new revolution will
begin, right here in Minnesota. I look around at the aged furniture
that is a little too preserved to be authentic. I go up another set
of stairs to where F. Scott Fitzgerald rewrote the manuscript to his
first novel “The Other Side of Paradise”. The novel is about a
young man named Amory who is born into a wealthy family and then
attends a prep school. Amory feels as though he learns more from
society and conversations with his friends then he does in the
confined class room. He eventually joins the war. He sees friends
die, and looses lovers, and he ends up with nothing, not even money
from his parents estate. He does achieve self enlightenment and in
the final moments of the novel he looks up reaching into the sky and
says. . .
"I know myself, but that is all--"
Story of my fucking life. I walk into
that room where Scott himself worked on that novel. I sit on a very
uncomfortable chair made of wood. I pull my camcorder from the bag I
set down beside me and place it on the windowsill. I turn on the
camera, and click record. I sit down in the chair again and pull a
small black recorder from my pocket. I look at the camera not saying
anything. . . I just let the voice of Mr. Wrestling ring off the
stone walls pouring out from the little black recorder.
“ . . .I was under the impression
that we signed somebody special. Somebody brimming with talent, who
could help propel this company to the next level in professional
wrestling. Sadly, that hasn't been the case. . . “
I press stop and shake my head at the
camera laughing a little bit to myself. I rewind a bit to something
their “fearless leader” Frie said.
“...I challenged my roster a few
weeks ago, to perform at a level that would indicate they came to
play. Not just to play for fun, but... to play for keeps. I wanted
them to show myself and those under me that they wouldn't be content
unless it was their name in lights. Their face on posters. Their
presence in the ring, basking under the same limelight that many
won't get to experience in their career. If anyone of our competitors
was a diamond in the rough, or something more valuable, I wanted them
to dig deep. I wanted them to bring their worth to the forefront. Not
to line my pockets, but more than anything else? To give each and
every one of you the kind of Wrestling you DESERVE to see!”
I laugh to myself again before allowing
my voice to overshadow Mr. Wrestling's.
“Did I fulfill your wishes yet? Or
have you just not been paying enough attention? This last week I went
head to head in what the wrestling world would deem one of the best
to ever set foot in the ring. The past two weeks I have been in this
organization I have beaten two former World Champions. What does that
get me? A trip to the insane asylum? You put me in a match with the
mentally damaged, and you reward Matt Slater's valiant effort with
the main event. Contradiction just rules the upper social class I
guess. You cry for a messiah, for a second fucking coming. Here I am.
I am the prophet your small little minds need. See you put me in the
ring with a man who sees things, and a bi-polar bitch. Put me
in-front of these people and I will 'corrupt” minds. Put me in the
ring with the weak minded and The Manson Family may emerge. Maybe I
melt these broken people in to constructive soldiers for the cause.”
I lick my lips and crouch a bit closer
to the camera.
“See Steven, you are looking and
searching, but I AM RIGHT UNDER YOUR NOSE! I am here earning my
opportunity and still you just don't see it. Last week I put on the
match of the night, and I will continue to do so here in VOW, and
whether you like it or not Steven I will be the wave this company
rides into the future.”
I sigh a bit, before leaning back into
the chair as comfortably as I can.
“That is the long game though. This
week I have my hands full with Drake Blake and Vanessa. . .”
As much as I don't want to admit it has
been a while since I felt a woman's touch, by choice of course. I
find Vanessa incredibly sexy, but if there was one thing I learned
from my childhood. . . “Don't stick your dick in crazy.”
“Vanessa it is no secret that you
have a touch of the bi-polar disorder. Were you aware that I also
have the exact same disease that turns you into a cunt? Yeah, see
that’s the thing. I can control it, I can manipulate it. No,
seriously the truth is that you are mentally weak. You are told by
physicians you can't control it, it is one of the best cop-outs there
is. Oh, it wasn't me it was my serotonin chemical imbalance in my
mind which causes me to act that way. I mean you where already in a
cult. . . could you imagine what I could do if you let my hands on
that mind. I told you I have the power to turn this “mental
illness” into something constructive. Vanessa right now you are
controlled by your emotions, you are a mere vessel that is being
tossed about by the waves of strange endorphins. I can make you
great. I can take the broken and fractured pieces of you and turn you
into something entirely new. I know it is hard to grasp. I understand
that it is strange for you to hear, but I cam help you. I mean what
is your affiliation with Seth Iser going to do for your career? Last
week I already showed the world that I posses that same killer
instinct Mr. Iser does. . . I just do it with more flare. I am just
something these people have never seen. I think we're all tired of
being stuck on repeat watching people like Matt Slater, Seth Iser,
and Bobby Backdoor. See Vanessa you are dangerously close to being
lumped in with these men. This is Visionaries of Wrestling. Join the
new breed. . . join The Revolution.”
I smile sadistically.
“Oh, clam down Drake. . . or whomever
the fuck you want to be today. I haven't forgotten about you. See
Drake I see potential in you. I see that bloodthirsty look in your
eyes when you're in that ring. Sometimes I feel your pain. Here is
the truth though “Sick” Drake Blake. You need a crutch. Something
about you just screams that you can't get by on your own. It
subliminally shows in your need to use weapons in the ring, you need
that to defeat your opponents because you become disconnected. If you
are not relying on your weapons, you rely on a voice, if your not
relying on a voice you are relying on your old buddy PKA. You need a
leader. Whether it's in you head, or not. If you want to make the
strides in recovery I see that you want to make then take my hand.
You will fail if you fight it alone. I am beginning to realize this.
I need an army to flock with me to the gates of the oppressors and
open their eyes to the people that will pursue the vision. ”
I widen my eyes letting the silence set
over my offer.
“The choice is yours. Hell you both
can decide after I show you my superiority in the ring, or are you
two stupid enough to underestimate me. I am here to shepherd of the
weak, to rip Vanessa from the arms of Seth Iser, and Drake from his
own mental oppression. You both are sick, you need a doctor. The
truth is hard to swallow, but your prescriptions are about to be
filled.”
“Maybe, you haven't heard. . .
I am The Cure.”
I walk towards the camera allowing my
pants to black out the camera. I shut if off and stare out of the
window allowing the stone frame to surround me as I look out onto the
street. This is where he wrote his story. This is where he began a
journey to self discovery. I smiled reaching out the window into the
cold chill. All I could think of was me standing over the broken
bodies of Drake Blake, and Vanessa. As they refuse to join The
Revolution saying. . .
"I know myself, but that is all--"
Come on kids' see that what it's like,
dancing with the devil on the other side of paradise.