Post by English/Corpse on Aug 13, 2014 20:02:24 GMT -6
VOW Presents
A Casanova English Original
Love Interruption
I'm not used to failure, it sickens me.
It makes me feel like I have let them all down. I am supposed to
cleanse them, I am supposed to lead them to their own salvation. . .
or oblivion. Whatever they see fit, but I didn't do it. I didn't
clasp the gold that they scream for, that they worship. I didn't slay
the false prophet PKA like I assured them. I thought I had him in the
palm of my hand. I thought I had them in the palm of my hand, but
this. . . the first taste of defeat. . . and it all played out like a
fucking Cinderella story for Patrick Kay Anthony. My destiny has been
hindered, my will has been struck. It's not the loss that really
stings, it's the loosing focus. It's the fact that all it takes is
one simple falter, one simple side step and I go down this sad. . .
pathetic path of self despair, self loathing. I delve deep into the
existential reality that this life is my only shot at changing
things. Ben Franklin once said “Either write something worth
reading or do something worth writing.” I have sadly tried my hand
at both. The journey must continue though. I owe it to myself, I need
to leave my mark. I need to be the reason the tyrants sleep with one
eye open. . . even after I am gone. I will be the ghost that
whispered, that sang
The Revolution
Lately all I have heard is static.
Heatstroke was not the best night for Casanova English. Star escaped
my grasp, he poked fun at me with that show of superhuman strength.
How can I help him if he refuses to be saved? How can I enlighten
these people if they will not listen? I waged a war with PKA. I gave
him everything I had. I put my soul into that for these ungrateful
fans. I put a memory into their sick little minds. Maybe that is what
it's about at the end of the day. There is something that digs deep
into my DNA, something I try to constantly ignore, but there it
lingers in the back of my mind like a ticking fucking time bomb
waiting to go off. You know they have seen it's onset a lot earlier
then you think. I am talking 40's, I'm talking just reaching that mid
life crisis. . . then all the sudden it's not so “mid” life. The
Jones curse. . . even when I take on the name English it chases me.
No matter how far I run. No matter what I do to erase the images of
his final moments in that hospital bed, I still see his face. Not the
face I want to remember, not the strong jaw bone. . . but the him I
was forced to stare at those final months. The him with the sunk in
eyes. It looms over me like a shadow. I saw the strongest man I knew
wither away to dust. I witnessed the light fade out of his eyes. I
saw him piss and shit himself like he was a fucking child. I had him.
. . him my own uncle ask
“Who are you?”
He was the man who saved my life. He
pulled me to salvation when all was lost, and I couldn't return the
favor. No matter the head I had on my shoulders, no matter how much
of a genius I thought I was I couldn't cure this. I couldn't do a God
damn thing. All I could do was watch a man die. A man I loved, a man
I respected. A man that taught me I should die changing the world if
I could. He was a man that taught me to leave a mark, to excel to my
greatness. He taught me all this because he didn't. He had all this
potential and it was stuffed out by his geographical location, by his
responsibilities. His greatness was hindered only by himself. He
allowed his heart to be too big, and when you allow your heart to
swell too many things end up working their way inside then all the
sudden your not living for you. You are living to please another
person, a system, an idea. It's all bullshit. It will all be exposed.
I just need to pull myself out of this fucking gutter.
All this is coming back, and for one
reason. It's all coming back because of one person, because of her
chasing, fighting to give me her own idea of salvation. She's
foolish, you can't achieve that in this world. She sent him to stalk
me, she lingers over me as my deepest regret. The only thing I ever
ran from.
“Kimberly, you stupid bitch.”
I slur tossing back another shot of
whiskey. Love, love is the deadliest weapon of all. It has caused the
downfall of civilizations, the brutality spawned by love is
unbelievable. I can't get he out of my head. My mind floats from the
worst moments of my sad existence before all this, to the best
moments. I had no responsibilities, no obligations, but then again I
had no purpose. I tug a hand full of hair madly. I cannot let love,
let emotion get in the way of my work. This isn't about me, this
isn't about what makes me happy. It's far beyond that. This is
something greater. This is something that love cannot interrupt. I
mush push it out of my veins like the distracting poison it is. I
can't think of his curvacious yet slender body, I can't help but
think of those big beautiful eyes, those lips. Those lips that always
found mine no matter the vulgarities and idiocy they spoke. Comfort,
I was comfortable. I have to push out of that, art is never
comfortable. It all comes rushing back in waves, the darkness, the
pain, the inhumanity. My biggest weakness is self pity. I get to this
moment, this despair, this loss of all hope. If anyone saw it, if
anyone knew. . . I would be exposed. This is humanity's toll on me.
This is the scar it leaves on me. . . not physically mentally.
In failure I think of my mother. . . of
the pills. I think of the abuse. The family I carried on my back. The
blood I have shed for a family with no respect, no support for MY
CAUSE! People don't understand that abandonment was the best decision
here. I know the things that will arise from my ideas, I know how
they paint me as an anti-Christ. I couldn't bring them with me to
endure this struggle on the path to truth. I must estrange myself to
save them. I must cause pain in order to heal. I must leave her to
bring her peace. Why can't she see? Why would I put her through the
pain of being with me? I'm dying. . . but aren’t we all? That's
what makes me sick, we're all dying. I just have enough sense to try
and do something with the time I have here. I am destine to forget,
destine to have my mind consumed by a disease. Every profound idea,
any image of her. . . everything will wash away into a sea of
complete blackness. This is my curse, this is my karma. . , and if I
am going to hell I need to make it worth it. I am destine to forget
the lives I have touched, or the lives I have destroyed. I have to
promise one thing though. . . no one. . . no one is ever going to ask
me. . .
“Who are you?”
Ever again.
I walk over to the window of my hotel
room. The wind busts through the decaying seal around the window. I
run my hand slowly up and down the crevasse stopping my finger over
the spots where I can see a hole. I can feel a flash of air burst
through the tiny withered cracks. This seal used to be strong. It
used to hold that window in place perfectly, but here it is withered.
It is deteriorating. . . and if it comes to the point where the seal
becomes so weak, well the window doesn’t matter. It only needs this
piece to disappear for it to no longer serve a purpose. I like the
fact that the cockroaches crawl the floors at night, that I can hear
the howls of whores, I like the fact that I can almost hear that
brisk inhale from the next room as a man launches a white powder up
his nose. I am the scum, I am the filth. We are bacteria, eating away
at the bottom on the scraps we are fed. We will kill to gain control.
I look across the street, and there it is in the darkness staring
back at me. . . a white mask on someones face looking right at me. .
. right dead in my eyes. Most people would be frightened. Me. . .
I'm intrigued.
Though I am tremendously resisting I have to sleep, I promised Mr. Yates an interview in the morning. Oh yes, there is work to be done.
Time to wake
up Casanova. Time to ignite The Revolution. Fuck pity, fuck mercy.
There is no rest for the wicked.
I look on smoking a cigarette as Darius
Yates stands in front of a large VOW logo. He smiles wide, but it
could be fake considering the person he is about to interview. Darius
wears a very elegant light gray plaid suit. He stands with complete
confidence, one thing I like about the kid.. He speaks to the VOW
fan's talking about my recent folly. My eyes are still bloodshot from
the night before, redness litters the edge of my eyes looking like I
am just coming down off of a speed binge.
“Ladies and gentleman of VOW I would
like to present to you a very special interview. This is an interview
with one of the men that headlines Heatstroke. Ladies and gentleman
the man that fell just a little short . . . Casanova English.”
I blow a puff of smoke into frame
before I step into it.
“I bet that you loved saying that
Yates, and I bet the idiotic fans at home think the exact same. You
think that this is going to stop me? Your hero has won one battle.
This just feeds the fire, this just builds The Revolution more. I
mean what would it be without causing difficulty? Enlightenment is
not an easy road. Don't worry I haven't given up on your broken
little brains. I haven't decided it is time for me to make my exit
yet. No, I am just getting started here in VOW. PKA was the better
man on ONE night. . . cherish that. Hold that close to your hearts
because when I get my chance again . . . and I will get my chance
again. . . I will be a champion. I will hold the gold that
hypnotizes, then. . . then you all will listen attentively to
Casanova English. I was designed to be a champion. I am the most
interesting man in wrestling. I am the most intelligent entertaining
specimen there is. Win loose or draw. . . you will know my name. You
will understand my pain. You will join my revolution. . . or you will
die trying to stop it.”
“Well Casanova that is not the only
spot in which you failed at Heatstroke. You tried to cage Star like
an animal. You made an attempt to force him to miss his own match
with Rayne, but then you planned on making his sit in that cage and
watch you win the VOW Xcel Championship.”
“Yeah, it all would of worked out
too. Maybe, that is part of the reason I lost. I mean I'm not making
excuses. Just if Star had of been in that cage watching me accomplish
everything he ever wanted maybe he would wake up. I wanted to make
him watch the hope get sucked out of that jam packed arena in
Brookings. Sometimes though, plan's just don't go accordingly. Now I
have angered the beast have I? Now, I am slowly bringing out the
humanity in Star. I am making him doubt himself. Every time he steps
in that ring I am in the back of his mind. I mean isn't it blatant? I
was just in a war at Heatstroke as he was, but I am strapping these
boots on. I doubt little Star will even show up to Breakthrough. He
is probably mulling over the scenarios on how to stop me.”
I flash a wide grin as I take a drag
off my cigarette.
“See Yates the more angry I get Star
the better. He becomes uncalculated and confused. He just isn't
adaptable to this worlds sense of war.”
“Well maybe it is a good thing for
you that Star may not be at Breakthrough. You do have a handful to
deal with in Stacy Jones, and after her loss at Heatstroke she will
be gunning to prove a point, and honestly who better to prove a point
against than Casanova English? You came into VOW blazing a trail. . .
what if it is all fizzled out?”
Yates likes to try and get under my
skin. With the crap I have put him though, especially the kidnapping
of Laura I can't blame the fella. I am the devil to most, the problem
is I like it.
“Aw, Stacy.”
I dare not say her last name. It is
something we share. It is something I resent, maybe stomping out her
bright flame would be enough to put all those thoughts behind me.
Maybe, if I bury yet another Jones I can forget. . . I can move on.
“Stacy, you couldn't get the job
done. See people think it is so hard to win a match involving
multiple opponents. If it's not a triple threat it's easy. You just
pick your spots. Let the other lions injure each other. Then you pick
your opening. Some people would call that a coward, men would call
that smart.”
I take another puff off of my half gone
stick of cancer, and blow it's carcinogenic cloud in the direction of
Yates intentionally who takes a step back, waving his hand in front
of his nose in protest.
“Stacy don't talk to me like you know
me. Like you have any idea what my train of thought is. You people
only know what I show you. Trust me Stacy I don't see the detective
quality IQ in you. So I don't think you have a shot in hell in
reading me. You think I want to prove something? Pft. . . look what I
have already done. I have beaten World Champions, I have stopped
people this company thought were their next rising star. I have been
beaten once. That is more then most people on the VOW roster can say.
Am I ashamed? Nah. PKA beat me. There is no shame in getting tricked
once. So do I have anything to prove? No. I walked through every
other part of that tournament because I was a strategic genius. How
far did Stacy Jones get?
I take a long haul off my cigarette
letting smoke flow out of my mouth as I smile teeth clenched.
“That's what I thought. I have
nothing to prove to you Stacy, or these people for that matter. I
have something to show you. I am here to lead you to enlightenment.
You PROVE to me you are worthy, I don't have to prove a fucking thing
to you. I have done that already. Look how they fear me, look how you
fear me. I am the most dangerous, unpredictable, genius this business
has to offer. I will constantly show you that week after week. I am
out to push The Revolution into reality. This isn't about win's or
loses, this isn't about single battles. . . or a couple bodies here
or there. This is a war. I am the breath of fresh air this industry
needs, I'm the Dark Visionary. I am the missing link. I will bring
this place to greatness, then I will burn it to the ground. The only
PROOF you will need then is your own seared bubbling flesh."
I take the final haul off of the
cigarette and toss it on the ground hard. Yates shakes his head as he
stomps it out to avoid a fair hazard. I stare dead at the camera.
"I am not afraid of your judgment Stacy.
I have made my bed. I have shown my sins in pride. I have embraced
the darkness. Not even God will judge me."
"I am The Prophet, The Philosopher
I am The Modern Day Messiah."
I walk off camera abruptly and hear
Yates closing it out as professionally as possible. I rub my swollen
eyes, belching slightly and the stench of stale whiskey pollutes my
breath. This is it. I have to refocus. I can't let my emotions get
the best of me. This is it. I have an underground that is slowly
growing. I have a new family to fight for. Everyone is a hero
somewhere.