Post by Kurt Burton: Script Doctor! on Oct 28, 2007 13:47:00 GMT -5
I spring from my position. Another dream. A terrible dream. Kat turning, Kat joining with another. What is it that haunts me? My world is turning around, my life is changing in dramatic ways. I light my cigarette, inhale the bitter smoke into my lungs. They cry out in pain, but my blood laughs with glee.
Try to think Kurt. You write lyrics. Poetic imagery, the stuff of dreams. There is a meaning in all of this, but what?
The beer can. Let’s start with that. You are a recovering alcoholic. You must be doubting yourself, yeah that’s it. But it was light beer, and I never drank light beer. Too
ing **** crap. A real man drinks whiskey, or bourbon or scotch. Not brown water.
Get up Kurt. Calm down. Shake your legs out. Get the blood flowing into your body. God I hurt all over. My knee feels like Candi Starlight’s fat ass has been sitting on it all night.
Inhale….
Exhale…
Inhale…
Exhale…
OK, I feel better. Where to begin? The dream itself. I was driving with Kat on a dirt road. We passed a homeless man, and she started talking. I should write this down. So she was talking, talking about our matches on Loaded. Every member of the Axis booked in a match, but separated and divided… weakness. She called me weak. And her eyes glowed. She was drinking a beer. Light beer. Kat doesn’t drink beer. She hates the taste. The beer was… why the hell can’t I remember what kind of beer it was. I need a beer. Drop it Kurt, get it out of your head.
So she was drinking a beer… a light beer, and I was driving. But the car was spinning, spinning around and around. And she mocked me. She called me weak. And she laughed. She drank the beer, and continued her tirade. But why? Why was she cutting me down?
Focus. Focus Burton. This crap has to end.
So she drank her beear, and I drove, by a tree. The tree. It looked like something from one of those crappy B movies. She said I was like the tree, cragged, ugly, dying. She said I should walk away…
Walk away…
Kyzer. The beer label said Kyzer Lite. I told her to leave me alone. She grabbed the wheel. Her eye was a cat’s. She caused me to crash. We burned. She laughed.
It was over. I was awake in this crapty hotel room in a crap hole of a town, on my way to another event in which I will be overlooked. Overlooked by a bunch of sycophantic suck ups. This room offends me, on a very deep personal level. The drapes are tacky, like someone reached into a seventies porno and pulled them out. This mattress is so stiff, I think it may have been used in a seventies porno.
What is with these dreams? Why am I being haunted by this never ending pile of crap. Ever since that night in the strip club, I have been tormented by visions of Kat. I miss her. Maybe that’s it. But why would she hurt me? I am hurt. I am bleeding, and I can’t stop the hemorage. Sobriety sucks.
The mini bar is right there.
Get that thought out of your head. You are better than booze. You are strong. You can face this sober. The name of the beer, what was it called. Kyzer light. I remember. In the beginning, that’s what everyone called me. All of the repugnance, but without as much kick. them. them all. I am not a copy. I am not a clone, Shadow. He said it. I remember. Amazing what you can remember without chemicals blocking your neurons.
Shadow used to call me Kyzer Lite. And so that is how he views me. Well, if that’s the case, he’s got his hands full. The church, burning in flames. Maybe I was thinking of Shadow. No. I wouldn’t. I’d never let an uptight prick like that get under my skin.
But he is here. Crawling inside me. He wants me to fail. Take a drink.
STOP IT!
I can’t go back. Not to the way I am. Was. The way I was. I am not that man. I am that man. I need a drink. Right there Kurt. Look at it. The mini bar.
It is short, squat, and stocked to the brim with the nectar of the gods. It isn’t nectar. It never was. It was an illusion. That piss never did anything to me except turn me into an bunghole with an over inflated sense of self worth. But nothing is different. Do I really think I can take down Shadow? Maybe I am Kyzer Lite. Have a drink. They call for you Kurt. It will take away your pain, your agony, your self-doubt. It will leave you strong.
Strong. that. You mean strong like when Yukio beat me in two handicap matches. Strong, like how I hid from the fact I tapped out. Strong, like when I resorted to stealing. No I was weak. I am strong now. I am still weak. I have a disease, and this is the epitome. I wish Kat was here. I would disappoint her, but she would help me. Help me fight this wretched fight to stay sober.
She doesn’t want me. No one does. Every one wishes I was gone. But I will not go. I am the turd trapped in the bowels of this organization, and no enema will purge me. I will stand tall and proud. I will fall, broken and meaningless. Stop it! Stop doubting yourself you stupid son of a bitch you are better than this. The whiskey will cure my doubt. Give in to the sickness Kurt. That is what they want. They want you to fail. To fall. They have delivered the enema, and its name is Shadow.
The door. Open the door to the mini bar. That’s it. Look at all that amber nectar. It calls you. It calls me. Open it Kurt. Yes. That’s it. Tilt the bottle back. Feel the strength come back to you. SPIT IT OUT. That’s going to be one hell of a mess. I am weak. I am strong. Many would have swallowed. But many would not have opened the bottle. It’s still in my hand. Toss it. Drink it. Toss it Drink it. Without it I am nothing. With it I am nothing. I am nothing. But aren’t we all. So I should drink. But drinking makes you weak. Your eyes lie, your body falters. My mind is faltering. Drink up you son of a bitch. Drink up. NO.
I love the sound of shattering glass. That’s going to stain the carpet. I don’t think they care. Go back to bed. Climb into the stiff unyielding mattress. Go to sleep. I am better than I once was. I was a hallow shell of a man. I am now just a broken man. But I will rise forth into new glory. I hope I don’t have another dream.
I will face Shadow. I will probably lose. I will probably tap. But I will try. Harder, stronger, faster than I ever had before. He reminds. Reminds me of my past. Thoseing uptight prick religious sons of bitches who sat there and laughed at my disease and called me pathetic and a wretched soul but all the while they never once stopped to think that maybe their god would want them to help me instead of watching me slowly die by my own sword. . I can’t sleep not. Know. Go get a drink.
That hits the spot. Better than that putrid crap in the fridge. But it isn’t. It’s not the same. Have another smoke. It’ll take your mind off things. This crap will kill me. I am dead. Stop thinking random crap like that. Try to focus. Focus on what is important. Focus on coming out of this match with your legs intact. You know more than most the true pain of the Submission of Repentment. You know that feeling. Your leg pressed against the other, bending backwards, your back betraying your body, adding extra force into his pull he enjoys it. He enjoys that feeling of power. Don’t give it to him.
But I will. I will give him power. And he will take my legs. Stop that negativity. You like your legs. You want to keep them. Don’t let him. Manuever, twist out if it when it happens. Yeah right. But when you win, nothing will block your path. Except myself. I will it up. Just like I’ve ed up everything else. God, I need a drink. Lay back. Relax. Accept the things that you have no control over. Take action over the rest. Rest. Sleep.
Try to think Kurt. You write lyrics. Poetic imagery, the stuff of dreams. There is a meaning in all of this, but what?
The beer can. Let’s start with that. You are a recovering alcoholic. You must be doubting yourself, yeah that’s it. But it was light beer, and I never drank light beer. Too
ing **** crap. A real man drinks whiskey, or bourbon or scotch. Not brown water.Get up Kurt. Calm down. Shake your legs out. Get the blood flowing into your body. God I hurt all over. My knee feels like Candi Starlight’s fat ass has been sitting on it all night.
Inhale….
Exhale…
Inhale…
Exhale…
OK, I feel better. Where to begin? The dream itself. I was driving with Kat on a dirt road. We passed a homeless man, and she started talking. I should write this down. So she was talking, talking about our matches on Loaded. Every member of the Axis booked in a match, but separated and divided… weakness. She called me weak. And her eyes glowed. She was drinking a beer. Light beer. Kat doesn’t drink beer. She hates the taste. The beer was… why the hell can’t I remember what kind of beer it was. I need a beer. Drop it Kurt, get it out of your head.
So she was drinking a beer… a light beer, and I was driving. But the car was spinning, spinning around and around. And she mocked me. She called me weak. And she laughed. She drank the beer, and continued her tirade. But why? Why was she cutting me down?
Focus. Focus Burton. This crap has to end.
So she drank her beear, and I drove, by a tree. The tree. It looked like something from one of those crappy B movies. She said I was like the tree, cragged, ugly, dying. She said I should walk away…
Walk away…
Kyzer. The beer label said Kyzer Lite. I told her to leave me alone. She grabbed the wheel. Her eye was a cat’s. She caused me to crash. We burned. She laughed.
It was over. I was awake in this crapty hotel room in a crap hole of a town, on my way to another event in which I will be overlooked. Overlooked by a bunch of sycophantic suck ups. This room offends me, on a very deep personal level. The drapes are tacky, like someone reached into a seventies porno and pulled them out. This mattress is so stiff, I think it may have been used in a seventies porno.
What is with these dreams? Why am I being haunted by this never ending pile of crap. Ever since that night in the strip club, I have been tormented by visions of Kat. I miss her. Maybe that’s it. But why would she hurt me? I am hurt. I am bleeding, and I can’t stop the hemorage. Sobriety sucks.
The mini bar is right there.
Get that thought out of your head. You are better than booze. You are strong. You can face this sober. The name of the beer, what was it called. Kyzer light. I remember. In the beginning, that’s what everyone called me. All of the repugnance, but without as much kick.
them. them all. I am not a copy. I am not a clone, Shadow. He said it. I remember. Amazing what you can remember without chemicals blocking your neurons. Shadow used to call me Kyzer Lite. And so that is how he views me. Well, if that’s the case, he’s got his hands full. The church, burning in flames. Maybe I was thinking of Shadow. No. I wouldn’t. I’d never let an uptight prick like that get under my skin.
But he is here. Crawling inside me. He wants me to fail. Take a drink.
STOP IT!
I can’t go back. Not to the way I am. Was. The way I was. I am not that man. I am that man. I need a drink. Right there Kurt. Look at it. The mini bar.
It is short, squat, and stocked to the brim with the nectar of the gods. It isn’t nectar. It never was. It was an illusion. That piss never did anything to me except turn me into an bunghole with an over inflated sense of self worth. But nothing is different. Do I really think I can take down Shadow? Maybe I am Kyzer Lite. Have a drink. They call for you Kurt. It will take away your pain, your agony, your self-doubt. It will leave you strong.
Strong.
that. You mean strong like when Yukio beat me in two handicap matches. Strong, like how I hid from the fact I tapped out. Strong, like when I resorted to stealing. No I was weak. I am strong now. I am still weak. I have a disease, and this is the epitome. I wish Kat was here. I would disappoint her, but she would help me. Help me fight this wretched fight to stay sober.She doesn’t want me. No one does. Every one wishes I was gone. But I will not go. I am the turd trapped in the bowels of this organization, and no enema will purge me. I will stand tall and proud. I will fall, broken and meaningless. Stop it! Stop doubting yourself you stupid son of a bitch you are better than this. The whiskey will cure my doubt. Give in to the sickness Kurt. That is what they want. They want you to fail. To fall. They have delivered the enema, and its name is Shadow.
The door. Open the door to the mini bar. That’s it. Look at all that amber nectar. It calls you. It calls me. Open it Kurt. Yes. That’s it. Tilt the bottle back. Feel the strength come back to you. SPIT IT OUT. That’s going to be one hell of a mess. I am weak. I am strong. Many would have swallowed. But many would not have opened the bottle. It’s still in my hand. Toss it. Drink it. Toss it Drink it. Without it I am nothing. With it I am nothing. I am nothing. But aren’t we all. So I should drink. But drinking makes you weak. Your eyes lie, your body falters. My mind is faltering. Drink up you son of a bitch. Drink up. NO.
I love the sound of shattering glass. That’s going to stain the carpet. I don’t think they care. Go back to bed. Climb into the stiff unyielding mattress. Go to sleep. I am better than I once was. I was a hallow shell of a man. I am now just a broken man. But I will rise forth into new glory. I hope I don’t have another dream.
I will face Shadow. I will probably lose. I will probably tap. But I will try. Harder, stronger, faster than I ever had before. He reminds. Reminds me of my past. Those
ing uptight prick religious sons of bitches who sat there and laughed at my disease and called me pathetic and a wretched soul but all the while they never once stopped to think that maybe their god would want them to help me instead of watching me slowly die by my own sword. . I can’t sleep not. Know. Go get a drink. That hits the spot. Better than that putrid crap in the fridge. But it isn’t. It’s not the same. Have another smoke. It’ll take your mind off things. This crap will kill me. I am dead. Stop thinking random crap like that. Try to focus. Focus on what is important. Focus on coming out of this match with your legs intact. You know more than most the true pain of the Submission of Repentment. You know that feeling. Your leg pressed against the other, bending backwards, your back betraying your body, adding extra force into his pull he enjoys it. He enjoys that feeling of power. Don’t give it to him.
But I will. I will give him power. And he will take my legs. Stop that negativity. You like your legs. You want to keep them. Don’t let him. Manuever, twist out if it when it happens. Yeah right. But when you win, nothing will block your path. Except myself. I will
it up. Just like I’ve ed up everything else. God, I need a drink. Lay back. Relax. Accept the things that you have no control over. Take action over the rest. Rest. Sleep.
smiley face is good