Post by adm on Aug 13, 2011 10:33:33 GMT -6
A certain degree of neurosis is of inestimable value as a drive, especially to a psychologist.
Sigmund Freud
Well, didn't we hit the nail on the head, Mr. Sense. You make so much of yourself. I mean, you're accurate in figuring out that I didn't do much research on you, but with so much history of you to be run through, you can't expect every new opponent to know you like they know themselves, do you? I mean, you think I have no right to utter Angel's name, when it is he who helped get me the title I hold around my waist. You may be right to think I'm a disgrace to the belt, but weren't you also an Honor Champion? Weren't you also a disgrace to the championship? Ah...it comes full circle when you give me time to see things clearly. You've been around since, well...just after I left for good after my one-night-only 3rd Year match with Gib.
You've been in nCw almost a year, and in that year you've made a name that means more than the history you accuse me of not learning. Indeed, you may be correct about my unwillingness to know you, but what is there to really know? You come from a troubled past. You have been committed to an insane asylum. You were outcast from your home country of the UK because the asylum closed up and they wanted you "put down" as it were. I know enough, after some very tedious and I must say, boring digging. To be honest, you seem to remind me of a certain few other tragic characters from nCw's past.
Nero, Dark Prophet, the list goes on.
Psychologically, you are antisocial sociopath with a hint of anarchistic philosophy. You are a true sadist, reveling in the blood and gore, bones and destruction, that you have created your career out of. But yet, where do you sit? One half of the tag champions with Jimmy Zane? Somewhere I've been before, albeit for only a week, but I've been there. You're carrying that dead-weight around as if it's an honor. Whatever faction you're in, whatever you call yourselves, it doesn't really matter much. It doesn't matter when you STILL are only a Tag Champion. It doesn't matter much that I STILL am only the Honor champion, having men like Jonas Potter and Bob Pooler and Spike all coming at me like they think this is the World Championship. I'm sorry to say, Lex, but after what you've done, you really can't do much or say much about me negatively, because after the research I've done...
WE ARE PRACTICALLY THE SAME MAN!
In a different life, I'd have been you. Had i fully snapped when I was married, had I lost my mind and soul to my job and gone "Postal" after being fired as my position was shipped to a non-English speaking Hindu, I'd have been just like you. I'd have been locked up, instead of taken to nCw for recovery. I'd have lost it all sooner, rather than later. And now, look at the two of us, peas in a pod...well, it'd be a rather large pod to fit your frame, but you get the idea. You had a normal life, I had a normal life. The split in the path, like the splits in your personality, echo the underlying truth about this world and all existence.
If you poke at someone long enough, if you put them down for too long, their reactions can be very volatile and very unpredictable.
So before you go on and continue to accuse me of something, well, something I'm not. I'd really enjoy for you to take a minute and see the similarities between us, instead of just the differences. Because in truth, we both are "not" monsters...we both are just a little disturbed in the head. And that's why you are where you are, and I am where I am...and why management decided to throw us together to see what happened. Because to tell you the truth, Lex.
This match, it makes a lot of Sense.
****
The partly-cloudy sky allows enough sun to shine down to illuminate the world of San Francisco. But in the end, it won't be long before I catch my plane for the East Coast for Collision tomorrow night. I can't believe, after only being home for a week and a half, that I'm going to be leaving again, with no clue when I'll be returning. The temperature on the clock for the bank I pass says that it is fifty-six degrees, to many in summer time, this is chilly, but it's about where I'm used to after all the years living in Sunnyvale.
I duck into the restaurant, and unload "my" Championship. I can't help but continually feel like this thing was just handed to me, instead of earned. Even after defeating Pooler in a well-fought match, it doesn't seem like it's mine. It seems more like it is just a symbol of what they wish me to be. Honorable, instead of the "Monster" Bates I used to be. "Trained lapdog" instead of the unpredictable human being I truly am and can be.
"Hey, Kris, get your ass over here!"
John doesn't realize, of course, we are in a slightly ritzy restaurant for my last lunch in San Francisco. Gary Danko is a very uptight and delicious place to eat. And when it's on his dime, I'm not opposed to eating where he likes to splurge his cash. The hardwood finish and soft lighting makes this a great place for a date, or business meeting. Today, it's a bit more business than pleasure.
"You realize where we are, right?"
"Yeah, and the owner bought his second house from me a year ago, so I get to do what I want here, and usually get to run a tab."
"Aren't you the fag man today?"
He puts his hand over my mouth as I sit down, as if to try and hush me from my bad joke.
"It's fat man. And you better not forget it."
"Call it a...Freudian Slip."
He looks perturbed, "And I'll call you a Freudian ****, sit down and order. I know there's something big behind those glasses of yours today."
"My brain?"
"No, your troubles, thoughts...I know you, Kris. We went to High School and College together. I KNOW when you are in turmoil."
He's right, he can see it in my eyes. The navy suit, the slicked-back hair, the cheesy smile, it's all a front for the true problems going on within me. I look down at the menu, using it to hide my face. I don't want to explain to him now what is bothering me. I don't want to explain how I went to a bar, picked up a woman, and brought her home. How I woke up next to her the morning after, and began to feel sickened by my own desperation. I was acting like Steve Awesome, when I am nothing like him, though our last names may be the same.
The waiter, a man dressed all in black as if he actually was trying to be a chef, walks to the table and smiles at John.
"Johnathan, lovely to see you again. Shall I get you the usual?"
"Indeed you shall. I am always partial to that item for lunch, if you were to ask me tonight, I'd probably get the Lamb, but seafood for lunch is always a delectable treat."
I am buried in the menu, trying to hide my shame and my frustration at my own desperation in romance. It isn't even romance, when you are both drunk and just dying to go home and do that. I feel sick to my stomach. Suddenly, food doesn't seem that appetizing, but I really could go for some wine. Lots of wine.
"I'll just have a glass of red wine while I decide."
"Kris, are you sure you want to drink before your food?"
"Yes, I'm sure. I just...I need to think. This is such a great restaurant it's hard to choose."
"I totally understand, sir. Danko is one of the best in San Francisco, and even our regulars often have to take a few minutes to decide."
I was playing a fool, and making a good showing as well. I couldn't help but try to be the man behind my facade. The smile, the nice clothes. Inside I felt like a derelict, a homeless man begging for change. Instead of change, the thing I beg for is love and understanding. And someone to try and quell the thoughts in my head of...
"Kris, I think I figured it out."
He is looking at his iPhone, and has the promo Lex Sense produced cued up. He is calling me a homosexual, saying I was fantasizing about the priest. Indeed, that remark is bothering me, but it is only the tip of the proverbial iceberg of my inner turmoil.
"What he said doesn't matter to me."
"Are you kidding? I can see the rage beginning to well up in you as you listen to him. He's calling you a faggot, a queer, a..."
My tie is too tight. I begin to loosen it as the frustration begins to rise. I can't hold back the beginnings of tears in my eyes. Lex is saying exactly what has been said to me since I was a teenager. He's hitting me where it hurts, telling lies to dig deep under my skin, to get to me. To...
"I'm not gay! He's WRONG!"
The restaurant gets quiet. I find myself standing, with my tie removed. A single tear streams down my face and I remove my thick glasses to press my fingers to my eyes.
"John...I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to..."
"It's alright. I understand. You're going through a lot. Before, you had someone to come home to after the road. Or you had friends to hang around to make the loneliness more bearable. But you're not an introverted antisocial freak like him. You're an extroverted, kind and gentle man on the inside. You are easily hurt, you are..."
I put my hand on his shoulder, "Stop, you're just going to embarrass me."
"Sorry, man. I just understand what you're going through. I'm empathetic to your cause. You were with Kendra for seven years. You were with Julietta for three months. Your mother died and you had no one to get you through it but a bottle of whiskey. You've cut back on drinking, but the demons and questions remain. You've had trouble getting back into dating because of how horrible the last relationship was, and realizing now that you're back in nCw, that any woman you are with will be put into the crossfire like Kendra was. A helpless female who needs a strong knight to protect her, when you feel you are without sword or armor."
"Stop it, seriously. I don't need you explaining to me who I am."
"No, but I need to remind you that I see it too. That you aren't just imagining who you are, that you really are a kind soul. You deserve a good woman, Kristoff. You deserve happiness. You're just rushing things a bit, that's all."
"Thanks..."
The waiter returns with my wine and I take a couple sips as I collect myself. The rest of the customers have returned to their conversations and their food. I am not important to them, most of this crowd doesn't watch Wrestling, and I'm glad for it. I need to be anonymous when I'm home, the fame is sometimes a bit too much to handle.
"I will have the bison, monsieur."
"Ah, an excellent choice."
I take another sip of wine, and think to the woman I had in my bed. Alcohol led to that interaction. And alcohol will probably lead to another one when I reach Buffalo tonight and feel the itch of human contact once again. The plane is calling just a few hours from now, and for now, I should just relax.
****
Whatever words you say, Lex, I accept them. Whatever you call me, be it a cheap Steve Awesome impersonation or a faggot or whatever you want, it's your words to say. But words, as you know, can cause a reaction. They can tip a man from sanity to insanity. They can cause a defensive, or offensive, reaction. Be careful what you say and do between now and Sunday, because I'm privy to your mind games. I know that you are, like the bullies I had to deal with in High School, just eliciting a reaction for your own selfish sadistic needs. But when the blood begins to pour from you after I take my briefcase and beat you down to MY level, with the ref's back turned, you'll understand why I am more honorable than you are. I'm not a bully, I'm not a sadistic anarchist. And I don't break men just for the fun of it. I just do my job, and if I break a spirit or two along the way, at least it doesn't cripple or kill anyone. I'm not you, but the similarities will definitely keep me up at night. See you at Collision, Lex. Hopefully you'll bring your Sense.
But the Solitary Refinement of your room spits you back out onto the streets.
And now your desperate
And in need of human contact.
And Then
You meet me
And your whole world changes
Because everything I say is everything you've ever wanted to hear
Sigmund Freud
Well, didn't we hit the nail on the head, Mr. Sense. You make so much of yourself. I mean, you're accurate in figuring out that I didn't do much research on you, but with so much history of you to be run through, you can't expect every new opponent to know you like they know themselves, do you? I mean, you think I have no right to utter Angel's name, when it is he who helped get me the title I hold around my waist. You may be right to think I'm a disgrace to the belt, but weren't you also an Honor Champion? Weren't you also a disgrace to the championship? Ah...it comes full circle when you give me time to see things clearly. You've been around since, well...just after I left for good after my one-night-only 3rd Year match with Gib.
You've been in nCw almost a year, and in that year you've made a name that means more than the history you accuse me of not learning. Indeed, you may be correct about my unwillingness to know you, but what is there to really know? You come from a troubled past. You have been committed to an insane asylum. You were outcast from your home country of the UK because the asylum closed up and they wanted you "put down" as it were. I know enough, after some very tedious and I must say, boring digging. To be honest, you seem to remind me of a certain few other tragic characters from nCw's past.
Nero, Dark Prophet, the list goes on.
Psychologically, you are antisocial sociopath with a hint of anarchistic philosophy. You are a true sadist, reveling in the blood and gore, bones and destruction, that you have created your career out of. But yet, where do you sit? One half of the tag champions with Jimmy Zane? Somewhere I've been before, albeit for only a week, but I've been there. You're carrying that dead-weight around as if it's an honor. Whatever faction you're in, whatever you call yourselves, it doesn't really matter much. It doesn't matter when you STILL are only a Tag Champion. It doesn't matter much that I STILL am only the Honor champion, having men like Jonas Potter and Bob Pooler and Spike all coming at me like they think this is the World Championship. I'm sorry to say, Lex, but after what you've done, you really can't do much or say much about me negatively, because after the research I've done...
WE ARE PRACTICALLY THE SAME MAN!
In a different life, I'd have been you. Had i fully snapped when I was married, had I lost my mind and soul to my job and gone "Postal" after being fired as my position was shipped to a non-English speaking Hindu, I'd have been just like you. I'd have been locked up, instead of taken to nCw for recovery. I'd have lost it all sooner, rather than later. And now, look at the two of us, peas in a pod...well, it'd be a rather large pod to fit your frame, but you get the idea. You had a normal life, I had a normal life. The split in the path, like the splits in your personality, echo the underlying truth about this world and all existence.
If you poke at someone long enough, if you put them down for too long, their reactions can be very volatile and very unpredictable.
So before you go on and continue to accuse me of something, well, something I'm not. I'd really enjoy for you to take a minute and see the similarities between us, instead of just the differences. Because in truth, we both are "not" monsters...we both are just a little disturbed in the head. And that's why you are where you are, and I am where I am...and why management decided to throw us together to see what happened. Because to tell you the truth, Lex.
This match, it makes a lot of Sense.
****
The partly-cloudy sky allows enough sun to shine down to illuminate the world of San Francisco. But in the end, it won't be long before I catch my plane for the East Coast for Collision tomorrow night. I can't believe, after only being home for a week and a half, that I'm going to be leaving again, with no clue when I'll be returning. The temperature on the clock for the bank I pass says that it is fifty-six degrees, to many in summer time, this is chilly, but it's about where I'm used to after all the years living in Sunnyvale.
I duck into the restaurant, and unload "my" Championship. I can't help but continually feel like this thing was just handed to me, instead of earned. Even after defeating Pooler in a well-fought match, it doesn't seem like it's mine. It seems more like it is just a symbol of what they wish me to be. Honorable, instead of the "Monster" Bates I used to be. "Trained lapdog" instead of the unpredictable human being I truly am and can be.
"Hey, Kris, get your ass over here!"
John doesn't realize, of course, we are in a slightly ritzy restaurant for my last lunch in San Francisco. Gary Danko is a very uptight and delicious place to eat. And when it's on his dime, I'm not opposed to eating where he likes to splurge his cash. The hardwood finish and soft lighting makes this a great place for a date, or business meeting. Today, it's a bit more business than pleasure.
"You realize where we are, right?"
"Yeah, and the owner bought his second house from me a year ago, so I get to do what I want here, and usually get to run a tab."
"Aren't you the fag man today?"
He puts his hand over my mouth as I sit down, as if to try and hush me from my bad joke.
"It's fat man. And you better not forget it."
"Call it a...Freudian Slip."
He looks perturbed, "And I'll call you a Freudian ****, sit down and order. I know there's something big behind those glasses of yours today."
"My brain?"
"No, your troubles, thoughts...I know you, Kris. We went to High School and College together. I KNOW when you are in turmoil."
He's right, he can see it in my eyes. The navy suit, the slicked-back hair, the cheesy smile, it's all a front for the true problems going on within me. I look down at the menu, using it to hide my face. I don't want to explain to him now what is bothering me. I don't want to explain how I went to a bar, picked up a woman, and brought her home. How I woke up next to her the morning after, and began to feel sickened by my own desperation. I was acting like Steve Awesome, when I am nothing like him, though our last names may be the same.
The waiter, a man dressed all in black as if he actually was trying to be a chef, walks to the table and smiles at John.
"Johnathan, lovely to see you again. Shall I get you the usual?"
"Indeed you shall. I am always partial to that item for lunch, if you were to ask me tonight, I'd probably get the Lamb, but seafood for lunch is always a delectable treat."
I am buried in the menu, trying to hide my shame and my frustration at my own desperation in romance. It isn't even romance, when you are both drunk and just dying to go home and do that. I feel sick to my stomach. Suddenly, food doesn't seem that appetizing, but I really could go for some wine. Lots of wine.
"I'll just have a glass of red wine while I decide."
"Kris, are you sure you want to drink before your food?"
"Yes, I'm sure. I just...I need to think. This is such a great restaurant it's hard to choose."
"I totally understand, sir. Danko is one of the best in San Francisco, and even our regulars often have to take a few minutes to decide."
I was playing a fool, and making a good showing as well. I couldn't help but try to be the man behind my facade. The smile, the nice clothes. Inside I felt like a derelict, a homeless man begging for change. Instead of change, the thing I beg for is love and understanding. And someone to try and quell the thoughts in my head of...
"Kris, I think I figured it out."
He is looking at his iPhone, and has the promo Lex Sense produced cued up. He is calling me a homosexual, saying I was fantasizing about the priest. Indeed, that remark is bothering me, but it is only the tip of the proverbial iceberg of my inner turmoil.
"What he said doesn't matter to me."
"Are you kidding? I can see the rage beginning to well up in you as you listen to him. He's calling you a faggot, a queer, a..."
My tie is too tight. I begin to loosen it as the frustration begins to rise. I can't hold back the beginnings of tears in my eyes. Lex is saying exactly what has been said to me since I was a teenager. He's hitting me where it hurts, telling lies to dig deep under my skin, to get to me. To...
"I'm not gay! He's WRONG!"
The restaurant gets quiet. I find myself standing, with my tie removed. A single tear streams down my face and I remove my thick glasses to press my fingers to my eyes.
"John...I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to..."
"It's alright. I understand. You're going through a lot. Before, you had someone to come home to after the road. Or you had friends to hang around to make the loneliness more bearable. But you're not an introverted antisocial freak like him. You're an extroverted, kind and gentle man on the inside. You are easily hurt, you are..."
I put my hand on his shoulder, "Stop, you're just going to embarrass me."
"Sorry, man. I just understand what you're going through. I'm empathetic to your cause. You were with Kendra for seven years. You were with Julietta for three months. Your mother died and you had no one to get you through it but a bottle of whiskey. You've cut back on drinking, but the demons and questions remain. You've had trouble getting back into dating because of how horrible the last relationship was, and realizing now that you're back in nCw, that any woman you are with will be put into the crossfire like Kendra was. A helpless female who needs a strong knight to protect her, when you feel you are without sword or armor."
"Stop it, seriously. I don't need you explaining to me who I am."
"No, but I need to remind you that I see it too. That you aren't just imagining who you are, that you really are a kind soul. You deserve a good woman, Kristoff. You deserve happiness. You're just rushing things a bit, that's all."
"Thanks..."
The waiter returns with my wine and I take a couple sips as I collect myself. The rest of the customers have returned to their conversations and their food. I am not important to them, most of this crowd doesn't watch Wrestling, and I'm glad for it. I need to be anonymous when I'm home, the fame is sometimes a bit too much to handle.
"I will have the bison, monsieur."
"Ah, an excellent choice."
I take another sip of wine, and think to the woman I had in my bed. Alcohol led to that interaction. And alcohol will probably lead to another one when I reach Buffalo tonight and feel the itch of human contact once again. The plane is calling just a few hours from now, and for now, I should just relax.
****
Whatever words you say, Lex, I accept them. Whatever you call me, be it a cheap Steve Awesome impersonation or a faggot or whatever you want, it's your words to say. But words, as you know, can cause a reaction. They can tip a man from sanity to insanity. They can cause a defensive, or offensive, reaction. Be careful what you say and do between now and Sunday, because I'm privy to your mind games. I know that you are, like the bullies I had to deal with in High School, just eliciting a reaction for your own selfish sadistic needs. But when the blood begins to pour from you after I take my briefcase and beat you down to MY level, with the ref's back turned, you'll understand why I am more honorable than you are. I'm not a bully, I'm not a sadistic anarchist. And I don't break men just for the fun of it. I just do my job, and if I break a spirit or two along the way, at least it doesn't cripple or kill anyone. I'm not you, but the similarities will definitely keep me up at night. See you at Collision, Lex. Hopefully you'll bring your Sense.
But the Solitary Refinement of your room spits you back out onto the streets.
And now your desperate
And in need of human contact.
And Then
You meet me
And your whole world changes
Because everything I say is everything you've ever wanted to hear