Post by adm on Aug 29, 2011 8:55:28 GMT -6
I didn't grow up with my mother, and so losing her for real was like, some sort of latent childhood, some sort of unresolved issue. When she left for real, it was sort of like, I was done.
Billy Corgan
Waking up the morning after is always the hardest part. The morning after a big loss, a hard loss. My body aches from my head to my toes, and I have loosed one burden from myself. A burden I carried for too long, something thrust upon me because...well...because of YOU. You were a drug addict, struggling to even show up in any form, and then...I beat you and Gardener for the Honor Championship to allow you the break you needed to go to rehab. So...are you going to thank me, Spike? Or are you going to make comparisons to Dr. Jonas Potter, to whom you have also lost.
However, if you had been following my reign, you'd realize I cared not for the belt. When did I really show it off? Not much. I didn't want it, as I said, it was THRUST upon me for your sake, for Gardener's sake. I was the third wheel in the feud between you two. So, just remember that as you take your sweet time to respond to my little vignette and speak in your British accent on how much better you are than me, simply because you are, right? I mean, I didn't beat the REAL Spike Kane, I beat the drug-addled one. I did that twice. So, are you really the Real you now? Well...I'll leave that for you to answer, as I try to find the real me.
****
"I feel myself slipping. I did something very bad on Saturday. Yes, I understand...it's an addiction. Something I can't get rid of without your help. I know, it's just a hiccup on the way to redeeming myself and my soul for God. Yes, I appreciate the concern. Thank you Dr. Bachmann. I'll see you later this week for an appointment. Bye."
Bates hangs up the phone in the hotel room, and flicks his tongue through his teeth, trying to get the last bits of blood from the tops of his bottom teeth. The match last night was intense, and the constant rib shots from Potter have left their damage. He feels the pain running up and down each rib, as they return to their normal places and firmness after taking the punishment dealt out. Bruises are forming on each side, as he sits up from the covers and his muscular body is shown. Every last bit of his torso looks like it has taken a beating, and it will take even more today.
He gets up, half-dressed and half-dragging himself to the bathroom of the hotel where he rests his hands on the sink to stare at himself in the mirror. Bruises line his rib cage, his neck is red, his face is loose and dragging a little from exhaustion. The only thought running through his mind is that he needs coffee, he needs breakfast, and then he'll go to the gym.
"God, I look like hell. No one will want to look at me like this."
He looks around the bathroom, and finds what he's looking for. He begins to put on some foundation to cover up the weariness of his face as we fade to black.
****
You know, I should probably do this, for my own sanity. Thank you, Dr. Potter. Thank you for showing the world that you had the technical know-how to take everything I dished out and make me pass out. I didn't quit, I'll make sure that is made evident, but what happened, is what was expected. My soul wanted to keep fighting, I wanted to keep taking you on, but I simply could not muster the strength to even lift my own head. I was unconscious, and you won. You did well for yourself, Dr. Potter. Good job, and hopefully you can respect and HONOR that championship more than I did.
And Spike, you won as well. Against the uh...Giant idiot Twins, but you won. So congratulations to you and that uh...twin brother...god this sounds like a *** damn soap opera, anyway...that twin of yours, Brad. Congratulations on your win. Does it feel good to be on the winning side again, Spike? Even against lower lifeforms like those two? Yeah, I'm sure it does. I'm sure it helps you keep yourself sober. I know the longing to inject into those arms of yours must be pretty strong before that. You lost a couple of big matches against "nobodies", and you felt yourself slipping back to the bottom of the roster. You must be so relieved you have beaten someone, staved off the demons of doubt for just a little while longer.
You have to be very sure of yourself this week. I mean, you've "lost" to me twice now. I HATE to bring up the Honor Championship victory I have over you, taking your title, but hey, it's there in the history books, why not use it. Then, there was the match we had when I was becoming somebody in this place, and you were the returning Legend come from god-knows-where to try and rebuild your fame here after disappearing as one of the few people who won the World Championship. So, what kind of things are going through your mind now? Are they thoughts of "I can't beat Bates, I haven't done it before" or are they "He got lucky, I was stoned."? What kind of things are going through the rusty cogs in your brain, or are you just trying not to think right now because the bottle, the needle, the straw...they all are calling your name again.
I must say, you look REALLY GOOD these days. It is evident in your physique you haven't used in a while. I mean, look at you. Probably one of the better ones...physically. I really will enjoy being in a match with the Great Spike Kane. I mean, a month or two ago, I almost was forced to say "Hey, did you see that match where I won this title. Yeah...that was the LATE Great Spike Kane. Sorry he died of an overdose, though. I really wanted to beat him again."
All I need to do, is go to the ring at the Main Event for Trauma, and show you just a little of the definition of that word. A bit of blunt force, a bit of airway constriction, a bit of Distress, a psychological shock, or just a plain old...
I'm not looking to make myself into the killer of Spike Kane, but I think after all those years of drugs, you're on your last leg already. Just like all the rest. You are a statistic, a typical. My addiction isn't drugs, isn't alcohol, isn't prescriptions. My heart, my body, is pristine compared to that rotted out carcass you drag around. I can almost smell the decay of your vital organs from here. I can see the jaundice of your liver failing. I see the fire slowly going out in your eyes as that thump-thump is slowing, slowing...till you finally die in that ring of a heart attack.
It just seems like the odds are against you lasting much longer, Mr. Legend. So enjoy your time while it lasts, because I do guarantee, your days are numbered due to the things you've done in your past. So enjoy it, enjoy it as your body breaks and wears down until the death comes to take you away. Leaving nothing but a legacy of "What could have been" if you had never taken drugs, spoiling your life and career. So come on, refute my claims, I'm not a doctor, but I can point you to one.
****
In the gym, Kristoff Liam Bates is working out like there is no tomorrow. His body aches, his bruises are darker, but he continues to work. The others in the gym, as he couldn't find one to occupy alone, stare at him as they see his face. He has put on makeup to cover up the weariness of his face, and he looks familiar to another wrestler. Perhaps it's genetics, perhaps it's intentional, but as he continues to work himself for the next match, one is left with the question as to where he came in possession of makeup in the first place. And also, how the hell a man like him could learn how to properly apply it to cover the wear and tear on his body from wrestling.
That's me in the corner
That's me in the spotlight
Losing my religion
Trying to keep a view
And I don't know if I can do it
Oh no, I've said too much
I haven't said enough
Billy Corgan
Waking up the morning after is always the hardest part. The morning after a big loss, a hard loss. My body aches from my head to my toes, and I have loosed one burden from myself. A burden I carried for too long, something thrust upon me because...well...because of YOU. You were a drug addict, struggling to even show up in any form, and then...I beat you and Gardener for the Honor Championship to allow you the break you needed to go to rehab. So...are you going to thank me, Spike? Or are you going to make comparisons to Dr. Jonas Potter, to whom you have also lost.
However, if you had been following my reign, you'd realize I cared not for the belt. When did I really show it off? Not much. I didn't want it, as I said, it was THRUST upon me for your sake, for Gardener's sake. I was the third wheel in the feud between you two. So, just remember that as you take your sweet time to respond to my little vignette and speak in your British accent on how much better you are than me, simply because you are, right? I mean, I didn't beat the REAL Spike Kane, I beat the drug-addled one. I did that twice. So, are you really the Real you now? Well...I'll leave that for you to answer, as I try to find the real me.
****
"I feel myself slipping. I did something very bad on Saturday. Yes, I understand...it's an addiction. Something I can't get rid of without your help. I know, it's just a hiccup on the way to redeeming myself and my soul for God. Yes, I appreciate the concern. Thank you Dr. Bachmann. I'll see you later this week for an appointment. Bye."
Bates hangs up the phone in the hotel room, and flicks his tongue through his teeth, trying to get the last bits of blood from the tops of his bottom teeth. The match last night was intense, and the constant rib shots from Potter have left their damage. He feels the pain running up and down each rib, as they return to their normal places and firmness after taking the punishment dealt out. Bruises are forming on each side, as he sits up from the covers and his muscular body is shown. Every last bit of his torso looks like it has taken a beating, and it will take even more today.
He gets up, half-dressed and half-dragging himself to the bathroom of the hotel where he rests his hands on the sink to stare at himself in the mirror. Bruises line his rib cage, his neck is red, his face is loose and dragging a little from exhaustion. The only thought running through his mind is that he needs coffee, he needs breakfast, and then he'll go to the gym.
"God, I look like hell. No one will want to look at me like this."
He looks around the bathroom, and finds what he's looking for. He begins to put on some foundation to cover up the weariness of his face as we fade to black.
****
You know, I should probably do this, for my own sanity. Thank you, Dr. Potter. Thank you for showing the world that you had the technical know-how to take everything I dished out and make me pass out. I didn't quit, I'll make sure that is made evident, but what happened, is what was expected. My soul wanted to keep fighting, I wanted to keep taking you on, but I simply could not muster the strength to even lift my own head. I was unconscious, and you won. You did well for yourself, Dr. Potter. Good job, and hopefully you can respect and HONOR that championship more than I did.
And Spike, you won as well. Against the uh...Giant idiot Twins, but you won. So congratulations to you and that uh...twin brother...god this sounds like a *** damn soap opera, anyway...that twin of yours, Brad. Congratulations on your win. Does it feel good to be on the winning side again, Spike? Even against lower lifeforms like those two? Yeah, I'm sure it does. I'm sure it helps you keep yourself sober. I know the longing to inject into those arms of yours must be pretty strong before that. You lost a couple of big matches against "nobodies", and you felt yourself slipping back to the bottom of the roster. You must be so relieved you have beaten someone, staved off the demons of doubt for just a little while longer.
Then, you face me.
You have to be very sure of yourself this week. I mean, you've "lost" to me twice now. I HATE to bring up the Honor Championship victory I have over you, taking your title, but hey, it's there in the history books, why not use it. Then, there was the match we had when I was becoming somebody in this place, and you were the returning Legend come from god-knows-where to try and rebuild your fame here after disappearing as one of the few people who won the World Championship. So, what kind of things are going through your mind now? Are they thoughts of "I can't beat Bates, I haven't done it before" or are they "He got lucky, I was stoned."? What kind of things are going through the rusty cogs in your brain, or are you just trying not to think right now because the bottle, the needle, the straw...they all are calling your name again.
Spike, we want you to take us. Please come back.
I must say, you look REALLY GOOD these days. It is evident in your physique you haven't used in a while. I mean, look at you. Probably one of the better ones...physically. I really will enjoy being in a match with the Great Spike Kane. I mean, a month or two ago, I almost was forced to say "Hey, did you see that match where I won this title. Yeah...that was the LATE Great Spike Kane. Sorry he died of an overdose, though. I really wanted to beat him again."
Well here is my chance.
All I need to do, is go to the ring at the Main Event for Trauma, and show you just a little of the definition of that word. A bit of blunt force, a bit of airway constriction, a bit of Distress, a psychological shock, or just a plain old...
Physical Injury.
I'm not looking to make myself into the killer of Spike Kane, but I think after all those years of drugs, you're on your last leg already. Just like all the rest. You are a statistic, a typical. My addiction isn't drugs, isn't alcohol, isn't prescriptions. My heart, my body, is pristine compared to that rotted out carcass you drag around. I can almost smell the decay of your vital organs from here. I can see the jaundice of your liver failing. I see the fire slowly going out in your eyes as that thump-thump is slowing, slowing...till you finally die in that ring of a heart attack.
It just seems like the odds are against you lasting much longer, Mr. Legend. So enjoy your time while it lasts, because I do guarantee, your days are numbered due to the things you've done in your past. So enjoy it, enjoy it as your body breaks and wears down until the death comes to take you away. Leaving nothing but a legacy of "What could have been" if you had never taken drugs, spoiling your life and career. So come on, refute my claims, I'm not a doctor, but I can point you to one.
****
In the gym, Kristoff Liam Bates is working out like there is no tomorrow. His body aches, his bruises are darker, but he continues to work. The others in the gym, as he couldn't find one to occupy alone, stare at him as they see his face. He has put on makeup to cover up the weariness of his face, and he looks familiar to another wrestler. Perhaps it's genetics, perhaps it's intentional, but as he continues to work himself for the next match, one is left with the question as to where he came in possession of makeup in the first place. And also, how the hell a man like him could learn how to properly apply it to cover the wear and tear on his body from wrestling.
That's me in the corner
That's me in the spotlight
Losing my religion
Trying to keep a view
And I don't know if I can do it
Oh no, I've said too much
I haven't said enough