Post by CM Poor on May 29, 2012 8:01:51 GMT -5
Hometown Throwdown
The Clash. London, England.
New York City, New York. The Ramones
Belfast, North Ireland. Stiff Little Fingers.
Seattle, Washington. Michael Kyzer.
Didn't see that one coming, did you?
There's nothing quite like the return to one's hometown to really light a fire under one's ass. It's not always necessarily the type of reunion to warm the cockles of one's heart. Sometimes, but not always. David Brennan, for example, cites a hometown for the sole purpose of allowing the harp the company has hired to spout needless introductions, rendered as such by a barage of fans so unwittingly devoted to a brand and a product that they'll have memorized an introductory theme by a competitor's second appearance, to keep her job for another day. Really - wouldn't you love to compare notes? Pay stubs. How much does that broad get paid to spout off "Allentown, Pennsylvania" on a weekly basis, and how does that compare to the pay out and per diem for any one of Brennan's fellow passengers?
Getting sidetracked.
No, David Brennan wouldn't blink twice about a show in Allentown, and really, who would? Short of maxing out attendance at 15,000, you'd have to go next door to even get a decent turnout. No, no hometown pride here. It's not really that much of a remarkable city, anyway. Oh, they'll try and make it out to be. "Fastest growing city in Pennsylvania!" "Pennsylvania's THIRD most populace city!" Woop-dee-f*ckin'-doo.
Growing up, David had always envied those who got to grow up in more riveting locales. How he'd long to have grown up with the punks and skins in New York City. Or the way he'd ostracize his mother early on, traveling north to "see dad" in Boston every other weekend, just to get the chance to revel in their burgeoning punk scene. To get to a decent "local" show, he'd have to travel to Philly, and even then, nothing could touch New York or Boston.
David's contempt for his hometown would only strengthen his resolve and he found other, like minded punks and skins, bored to tears with the minutiae of growing up in an entirely unremarkable, unimpressive, downright boring town. And as they'd grow, they'd settle. Find jobs. Marry. Enroll their kids in the local schools. And so the beat goes, the cycle begins anew. A whole new generation of kids resigned to an underwhelming life of half-living. Lather, rinse, repeat. Dah-dah, dah-dah, dah-dah.
Imagine his excitement, then, to have actually landed in, and be traveling through the great city of Seattle.
The Space Needle.
Safeco Field.
Rain.
The Melvins.
Nirvana.
Alice In Chains.
Soundgarden.
Even Pearl Jam, I guess.
F*ck Pearl Jam.
Now Seattle. There's a real city. Spilling over the brim with tourism, and rain, and culture. Local music. Damn good local music. Maybe not Boston good, or NYC good, but still, way better than Philly good.
And so here's David Brennan, resident tough guy, hard as nails, skinhead of The New Epoch, gleaming like a little kid out the windows of the roomy Denali as it tears through the streets of a city David had, before today, only read about. Even a tough guy, hard as nails skinhead is gonna have a dream or two residing in that clean cropped dome of theirs, and David had himself a right perfect bucket list of cities in the world he'd one day visit before his face to face with Saint Peter and the pearly gates, and today, he'd cross one more off the list.
He'd finally made it.
The great northwest.
Seattle.
Kyzer's hometown.
Kyzer's hometown.
Kyzer's hometown.
He glances to the seat opposite him. Kyzer hadn't said much of anything since the ride began. David, frankly, hadn't noticed - between his outright tourism and Drakz and DMK chatting up a storm up front, the silence of one passenger had hardly made for anything resembling an awkward ride. It's only now that he considered it.
In spite of his outright distaste for Allentown, people still seemed to flock there like madmen, tongues hanging out of their head, very much the same was his was just moments ago. They'd built up the downtown area to accomodate it. People would come in droves, drive their hard earned money into the city's overnight accomodation and automobile rental industries, and then scatter out to the Amish Country, or to Philly, or to any of the other actual tourist driven locations that Pennsylvania had to offer that weren't called Allentown. Then at night, they'd come back, shack up in their Sheratons and their Marriotts, sink a little more dough into the restaurants around town, then when they got home, they could talk all about the history they saw in Philly, and the culture they saw in Intercourse, and even tell all their friends how they stayed in the city from the Billy Joel song.
Allentown, on the map.
He sits back in his seat almost instantly, sneaking only glances now out the window and DMK continues tearing ass through the city. He hadn't considered it before, but did Michael feel the same way about his own homecoming? They say a big part of hometown contempt is the fact that you can only see and do all there is to see and do so much. Even people living in tourist destinations must grow weary of the constant barrage of tourists and sightseers. In fact, to really ponder the notion, Kyzer, for all he knew, could downright loathe the stigma that came with hailing from the birthplace of grunge and rock 'n roll excess, especially now, given his newfound sobriety. He had been awfully quiet, right down to the moment they'd met up. Was he secretly teeming with a fiery desire to just get through this and skip town to the next show? It frustrated David. Kyzer was almost easier to read under the influence. His own influence, that is. David, now like always, still had a perfectly good buzz going, but this new clean Kyzer, while still an enigmatic force to be reckoned with, was something entirely new, and reading him was simply not an option.
Still, Michael's stoic, silent demeanor could be any number of things brewing inside him. David hadn't approached sobriety in years, but the mind works in incredibly mysterious ways those first couple weeks. Months even, if your unfortunate enough to face that type of detox. And after all, what was it that Kyzer had told him before they boarded their plane earlier in the week?
"Big things in Seattle, David. Big things."
That was strange. As if reading his train of thought, Kyzer had just answered the question brewing in his mind. Mysterious ways. Still, to plan big things for another weekly, just because it happens to occur in your own hometown. Guy couldn't possibly hate the place that much. Again, a show in Allentown, and David might just ask for the night off.
Leaning his head back, his train of thought is interrupted by the sudden interjection of music. It's guitar driven, a little too effect heavy, but its got a decent beat. Nothing David would ever willingly put on for a ride, but he wasn't riding shotgun now, was he? He taps his foot in synch with the beat for a few bars, almost content to shut his eyes and ponder on all he's just taken in, when he's jarred back to reality. The song has cut away from its steady rock beat, to soft, harmonized female vocals, and a light piano accompaniment.
"F*ck me rigid, what the f*ck is this, man?!"
"Seattle, mate!"
"Not the city, this sh*t on the stereo!"
"Tonight's the big debut of the three man fighting force that is The New Epoch. First time we'll be rolling down the ramp together - figured we'd need a theme song."
"And that's what you came up with?"
"F*ck with their heads. Get 'em rotten in the brain, then wreck 'em in the ring."
"You're the worst DJ ever, Drakz."
Drakz just smiles, faces front in his seat again, and cranks the stereo to full blast.
The song fit them to a T, at any rate. Eccentric, inconsistent, and jarring. The full makeup of The New Epoch. Kyzer's focus was shifted, like he could see through the fog. This new reality he woke up to every morning had done things to him. Not just making him hard to read, but his mindset was all new. Drakz was, seemingly, always focused on a chaotic edge. F*cking with people's minds. Getting inside their heads. That was his edge, and he was damn good at it. Kyzer, it seems, had his eyes set on bigger, and better. Global. David could only imagine the full scope of the plans Kyzer had in mind, not just for Seattle, but above, and beyond. David saw similarities in the way he operated now, that he didn't want to fully accept. Painful similarities, and he'd do well not to dwell on them. After all, he just wanted to fight. To get violent. He fit in this little unit rather mishapenly, the same way he fit into.....well, better not to dwell on it. That the past and this is now.
He'd made it to Seattle.
F*ck.
Fight. He could do that. The New Epoch had the red carpet laid out for them this week.
Drake Elias.
Raider.
Ace Bennett.
One of these things is not like the others. You might answer "Drake", for not having fully latched on to Raider and Bennett's eradication plan lobbied at The New Epoch.
You'd be wrong.
Raider and Elias. They've done their time, and they got lucky. Got edge on him. Got the win. As Drakz has shown the world, David reserves that right for a select few people to accomplish twice. Growing up, that was the mark. You lost a fight, and it had to happen again. It's what kept things moving on the streets. Kept them fresh. The struggle was never over, because someone was always losing.
David Brennan didn't like losing.
David Brennan doesn't like losing.
Six man tag. Get his hands on Raider and Elias, and that third word is going to be awfully hard to live up to. Sure, Michael and Drakz have their issues with the guys as well, but this? Well, this is personal. Somehow, he had to imagine they'd understand, too. Probably let him get more than his fair share of swipes in. He reaches down to his feet, lifting the lid of the small cooler he's got resting on the floor. Unusual cooler, for David Brennan. No ice. No replenishment. Just three empties. Labeled, in heavy, black sharpie ink.
Raider.
Drake Elias.
And don't forget...
"Don't sweat it, Dave. Imagine the mind f*ck when you saunter out this little bit and then take the ever loving sh*t out of Ace Bennett!"
Finishing my god damned thoughts, god dammit stop it!
...and Ace Bennett.
Confident little Ace Bennet. His opponent, and mere stepping stone into the Elimination Chamber at Survival Of The Fittest. Funny, the spearhead, de facto leader of his team, and he's yet to even get the up on David Brennan. And yet, he's the initiate. The one to call him out, to get the fire burning. Losing keeps the wounds open. Guarantees a follow up.
Doesn't make it any less silly.
David's seen this type before. They come in. The fight. They lose. They go away. They come back, and this time, they've got 'the fire'. 'The rage'. They become the all new, all better them, and they're convulsing, and sweating, and foaming at the mouth, ready for their rematch.
And they get knocked on their asses once more.
It's not a fire, or a rage. Bennett isn't all new, or all better. He's just the same old Ace, who ate boot before, and is going to eat boot again.
But first, he's got to eat six of them. Two for each member of The New Epoch.
In Kyzer's hometown.
In Seattle.
That's right there is an undeniable truth. You can't beat a man in his own hometown. Not on his own turf. David fought, and lost, plenty of fights on the streets of Boston while "visiting dad". But those guys who came back to Allentown looking for blood? He may have hated the place, but David had every last punk and skin in that city behind his back. That wasn't just another venue. Another arena. Hate it as he may, that was HIS city. And this city? Whether the love is there or not, whether or not he hates the attached stigma that comes with being Michael Kyzer and coming from the birthplace of grunge, excess, and rain, this is is his city. And tonight, he's brought the ones he has chosen to have his back, and so tonight, whether they're from Allentown, Pennsylvania or...
"Hey Drakz..."
"....huh?"
"Where are you....f*ck it. Never mind.
The now all too familiar scent of grass fills the cabin.....well, whereever the f*ck Drakz is from, tonight, it becomes their city, too.
The New Epoch's city.
The New Epoch's show.
The New Epoch's ring.
He doesn't quite know how these clowns expect to win. Not on The New Epoch's home turf.
You can't beat a man in his own hometown.
The Clash. London, England.
New York City, New York. The Ramones
Belfast, North Ireland. Stiff Little Fingers.
Seattle, Washington. Michael Kyzer.
Didn't see that one coming, did you?
There's nothing quite like the return to one's hometown to really light a fire under one's ass. It's not always necessarily the type of reunion to warm the cockles of one's heart. Sometimes, but not always. David Brennan, for example, cites a hometown for the sole purpose of allowing the harp the company has hired to spout needless introductions, rendered as such by a barage of fans so unwittingly devoted to a brand and a product that they'll have memorized an introductory theme by a competitor's second appearance, to keep her job for another day. Really - wouldn't you love to compare notes? Pay stubs. How much does that broad get paid to spout off "Allentown, Pennsylvania" on a weekly basis, and how does that compare to the pay out and per diem for any one of Brennan's fellow passengers?
Getting sidetracked.
No, David Brennan wouldn't blink twice about a show in Allentown, and really, who would? Short of maxing out attendance at 15,000, you'd have to go next door to even get a decent turnout. No, no hometown pride here. It's not really that much of a remarkable city, anyway. Oh, they'll try and make it out to be. "Fastest growing city in Pennsylvania!" "Pennsylvania's THIRD most populace city!" Woop-dee-f*ckin'-doo.
Growing up, David had always envied those who got to grow up in more riveting locales. How he'd long to have grown up with the punks and skins in New York City. Or the way he'd ostracize his mother early on, traveling north to "see dad" in Boston every other weekend, just to get the chance to revel in their burgeoning punk scene. To get to a decent "local" show, he'd have to travel to Philly, and even then, nothing could touch New York or Boston.
David's contempt for his hometown would only strengthen his resolve and he found other, like minded punks and skins, bored to tears with the minutiae of growing up in an entirely unremarkable, unimpressive, downright boring town. And as they'd grow, they'd settle. Find jobs. Marry. Enroll their kids in the local schools. And so the beat goes, the cycle begins anew. A whole new generation of kids resigned to an underwhelming life of half-living. Lather, rinse, repeat. Dah-dah, dah-dah, dah-dah.
Imagine his excitement, then, to have actually landed in, and be traveling through the great city of Seattle.
The Space Needle.
Safeco Field.
Rain.
The Melvins.
Nirvana.
Alice In Chains.
Soundgarden.
Even Pearl Jam, I guess.
F*ck Pearl Jam.
Now Seattle. There's a real city. Spilling over the brim with tourism, and rain, and culture. Local music. Damn good local music. Maybe not Boston good, or NYC good, but still, way better than Philly good.
And so here's David Brennan, resident tough guy, hard as nails, skinhead of The New Epoch, gleaming like a little kid out the windows of the roomy Denali as it tears through the streets of a city David had, before today, only read about. Even a tough guy, hard as nails skinhead is gonna have a dream or two residing in that clean cropped dome of theirs, and David had himself a right perfect bucket list of cities in the world he'd one day visit before his face to face with Saint Peter and the pearly gates, and today, he'd cross one more off the list.
He'd finally made it.
The great northwest.
Seattle.
Kyzer's hometown.
Kyzer's hometown.
Kyzer's hometown.
He glances to the seat opposite him. Kyzer hadn't said much of anything since the ride began. David, frankly, hadn't noticed - between his outright tourism and Drakz and DMK chatting up a storm up front, the silence of one passenger had hardly made for anything resembling an awkward ride. It's only now that he considered it.
In spite of his outright distaste for Allentown, people still seemed to flock there like madmen, tongues hanging out of their head, very much the same was his was just moments ago. They'd built up the downtown area to accomodate it. People would come in droves, drive their hard earned money into the city's overnight accomodation and automobile rental industries, and then scatter out to the Amish Country, or to Philly, or to any of the other actual tourist driven locations that Pennsylvania had to offer that weren't called Allentown. Then at night, they'd come back, shack up in their Sheratons and their Marriotts, sink a little more dough into the restaurants around town, then when they got home, they could talk all about the history they saw in Philly, and the culture they saw in Intercourse, and even tell all their friends how they stayed in the city from the Billy Joel song.
Allentown, on the map.
He sits back in his seat almost instantly, sneaking only glances now out the window and DMK continues tearing ass through the city. He hadn't considered it before, but did Michael feel the same way about his own homecoming? They say a big part of hometown contempt is the fact that you can only see and do all there is to see and do so much. Even people living in tourist destinations must grow weary of the constant barrage of tourists and sightseers. In fact, to really ponder the notion, Kyzer, for all he knew, could downright loathe the stigma that came with hailing from the birthplace of grunge and rock 'n roll excess, especially now, given his newfound sobriety. He had been awfully quiet, right down to the moment they'd met up. Was he secretly teeming with a fiery desire to just get through this and skip town to the next show? It frustrated David. Kyzer was almost easier to read under the influence. His own influence, that is. David, now like always, still had a perfectly good buzz going, but this new clean Kyzer, while still an enigmatic force to be reckoned with, was something entirely new, and reading him was simply not an option.
Still, Michael's stoic, silent demeanor could be any number of things brewing inside him. David hadn't approached sobriety in years, but the mind works in incredibly mysterious ways those first couple weeks. Months even, if your unfortunate enough to face that type of detox. And after all, what was it that Kyzer had told him before they boarded their plane earlier in the week?
"Big things in Seattle, David. Big things."
That was strange. As if reading his train of thought, Kyzer had just answered the question brewing in his mind. Mysterious ways. Still, to plan big things for another weekly, just because it happens to occur in your own hometown. Guy couldn't possibly hate the place that much. Again, a show in Allentown, and David might just ask for the night off.
Leaning his head back, his train of thought is interrupted by the sudden interjection of music. It's guitar driven, a little too effect heavy, but its got a decent beat. Nothing David would ever willingly put on for a ride, but he wasn't riding shotgun now, was he? He taps his foot in synch with the beat for a few bars, almost content to shut his eyes and ponder on all he's just taken in, when he's jarred back to reality. The song has cut away from its steady rock beat, to soft, harmonized female vocals, and a light piano accompaniment.
"F*ck me rigid, what the f*ck is this, man?!"
"Seattle, mate!"
"Not the city, this sh*t on the stereo!"
"Tonight's the big debut of the three man fighting force that is The New Epoch. First time we'll be rolling down the ramp together - figured we'd need a theme song."
"And that's what you came up with?"
"F*ck with their heads. Get 'em rotten in the brain, then wreck 'em in the ring."
"You're the worst DJ ever, Drakz."
Drakz just smiles, faces front in his seat again, and cranks the stereo to full blast.
The song fit them to a T, at any rate. Eccentric, inconsistent, and jarring. The full makeup of The New Epoch. Kyzer's focus was shifted, like he could see through the fog. This new reality he woke up to every morning had done things to him. Not just making him hard to read, but his mindset was all new. Drakz was, seemingly, always focused on a chaotic edge. F*cking with people's minds. Getting inside their heads. That was his edge, and he was damn good at it. Kyzer, it seems, had his eyes set on bigger, and better. Global. David could only imagine the full scope of the plans Kyzer had in mind, not just for Seattle, but above, and beyond. David saw similarities in the way he operated now, that he didn't want to fully accept. Painful similarities, and he'd do well not to dwell on them. After all, he just wanted to fight. To get violent. He fit in this little unit rather mishapenly, the same way he fit into.....well, better not to dwell on it. That the past and this is now.
He'd made it to Seattle.
F*ck.
Fight. He could do that. The New Epoch had the red carpet laid out for them this week.
Drake Elias.
Raider.
Ace Bennett.
One of these things is not like the others. You might answer "Drake", for not having fully latched on to Raider and Bennett's eradication plan lobbied at The New Epoch.
You'd be wrong.
Raider and Elias. They've done their time, and they got lucky. Got edge on him. Got the win. As Drakz has shown the world, David reserves that right for a select few people to accomplish twice. Growing up, that was the mark. You lost a fight, and it had to happen again. It's what kept things moving on the streets. Kept them fresh. The struggle was never over, because someone was always losing.
David Brennan didn't like losing.
David Brennan doesn't like losing.
Six man tag. Get his hands on Raider and Elias, and that third word is going to be awfully hard to live up to. Sure, Michael and Drakz have their issues with the guys as well, but this? Well, this is personal. Somehow, he had to imagine they'd understand, too. Probably let him get more than his fair share of swipes in. He reaches down to his feet, lifting the lid of the small cooler he's got resting on the floor. Unusual cooler, for David Brennan. No ice. No replenishment. Just three empties. Labeled, in heavy, black sharpie ink.
Raider.
Drake Elias.
And don't forget...
"Don't sweat it, Dave. Imagine the mind f*ck when you saunter out this little bit and then take the ever loving sh*t out of Ace Bennett!"
Finishing my god damned thoughts, god dammit stop it!
...and Ace Bennett.
Confident little Ace Bennet. His opponent, and mere stepping stone into the Elimination Chamber at Survival Of The Fittest. Funny, the spearhead, de facto leader of his team, and he's yet to even get the up on David Brennan. And yet, he's the initiate. The one to call him out, to get the fire burning. Losing keeps the wounds open. Guarantees a follow up.
Doesn't make it any less silly.
David's seen this type before. They come in. The fight. They lose. They go away. They come back, and this time, they've got 'the fire'. 'The rage'. They become the all new, all better them, and they're convulsing, and sweating, and foaming at the mouth, ready for their rematch.
And they get knocked on their asses once more.
It's not a fire, or a rage. Bennett isn't all new, or all better. He's just the same old Ace, who ate boot before, and is going to eat boot again.
But first, he's got to eat six of them. Two for each member of The New Epoch.
In Kyzer's hometown.
In Seattle.
That's right there is an undeniable truth. You can't beat a man in his own hometown. Not on his own turf. David fought, and lost, plenty of fights on the streets of Boston while "visiting dad". But those guys who came back to Allentown looking for blood? He may have hated the place, but David had every last punk and skin in that city behind his back. That wasn't just another venue. Another arena. Hate it as he may, that was HIS city. And this city? Whether the love is there or not, whether or not he hates the attached stigma that comes with being Michael Kyzer and coming from the birthplace of grunge, excess, and rain, this is is his city. And tonight, he's brought the ones he has chosen to have his back, and so tonight, whether they're from Allentown, Pennsylvania or...
"Hey Drakz..."
"....huh?"
"Where are you....f*ck it. Never mind.
The now all too familiar scent of grass fills the cabin.....well, whereever the f*ck Drakz is from, tonight, it becomes their city, too.
The New Epoch's city.
The New Epoch's show.
The New Epoch's ring.
He doesn't quite know how these clowns expect to win. Not on The New Epoch's home turf.
You can't beat a man in his own hometown.
I dont know good luck 
Pearl Jam". That was a really good laugh, and several others one were provided from there. The interactions with Drakz were all pretty hilarious. I even got a chuckle out of the reference to the Billy Joel song. But from that Pearl Jam line, everything just picked up in quality for me greatly, and I don't really know why. Maybe I just needed a laugh, don't really think that's it but yeah.
