Post by Kurt Burton: Script Doctor! on Dec 13, 2007 19:24:38 GMT -5
Warning: Before begining this RP, wait till you have read Thunder's. Unless you are one of the smart ones who can realize that Thunder's RP comes first, and can read this without going, "That don't make sense."
I don’t understand what is going on around here. Why am I facing EBR, again? Why am I facing Obo, again? Does Wayne really think that giving the people this match again will bring viewers to our show?
Life is funny like that. Everything that could be done has been done. Every tear that can be shed has been shed a million times before. Every poem that could be written has already been penned.
Over and over again life repeats itself, bringing us into the same situations hundreds of millions of people have already been through. But we are different. Each of us, and so it is destined that while in the same situations, we cannot make the exact same choices. You can drop a ball, but the ball will never land the exact same way twice.
Very few people understand this. They think they are originators. People like Obo. They think that every thing they do is brand new, fresh and exciting, like a new toy being unwrapped for the first time. Totally unaware that the exact same toy is being unwrapped by some little Asian kid in San Francisco at this exact moment.
EBR is a different story. He has accepted the fact that nothing ever changes. Beyond accepting this, he embraces it. He owns it. And he makes this fact his bitch. Endlessly, ad nauseum, EBR will always make Calvin his bitch, and will probably always own me in that ring.
Does it make me different that I consider myself like both of these men? Or does it make me the same. I understand that we will always be doomed and blessed to endlessly repeat the small intricacies that make up life, given new opportunities every day.
However I am aware that we are weighted by our past, and the pasts of others. Maybe this is the key, that I know things are always different, yet the same. Maybe if I pin EBR this week, it will somehow be a moral victory for him, like when I got my first victory over him (yay me) he ditched CBT. And in that moment he used me, to get what he wanted, thereby still owning me, and winning. Maybe he will throw the match, having bet a lot of money on the Axis, and there by making money at my expense. And maybe the bet would be with Calvin, who would actually be stupid enough to take that bet. And in that way, he owned me, and made Calvin his bitch. But I also know that Obo is right,
Even with the knowledge that I have, that it will never be different, yet always be different, I have to question why so soon? And why do I always work the hardest freaking schedule out of anybody in this place. Since I came back, I have faced EBR, been in a gauntlet tag match against probably a half dozen or so other teams, faced Reverend Shadow, faced EBR and CBT, participated in the Scars and Stripes Battle Royal, on the same night, then faced Obo, and now EBR and Obo. I realize that was one hell of a run on sentence, but think about it. That is what I have done for the past month and a half. And most of them involve EBR. Nobody works a tougher schedule than me. Because I am the Diet Coke, tastes great and I don’t slow you down. But that is beside the point. This schedule is tough, and while repetitive, I am up for it. But can I get someone other than EBR next week.
Ridiculous.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The mass evacuation of the movie theater, no better example of human stupidity exists. It is the definition of the lemming effect. The end credits roll, the lights come up, and immediately, the people rise to their feet, their joints crackling like a bowl of Rice Crispies, and they head towards that glowing red exit sign. Thunder, I mean, Michael and I are the exceptions to this rule. I have got to get used to the fact that he actually has a name.
We sit there, and I realize for possibly the first time how odd of a pair we look. You would never think that we would be on the same page. Here’s Michael, sitting next to me in the theater, dressed in Armani. Who the hell wears Armani to go see a movie? And I sit next to him, clad in my jeans, boots, and a death metal T-shirt. Chains clanging by my side, the only chain he had was probably attached to a gold watch. Yeah, Felix and Oscar don’t have **** on us.
Finally, the mass has scattered, and we exit the darkened room. The light kind of slaps you in the face and makes you its bitch. The feeling is sad for any avid movie go-er like myself. It is the sign that you have left the safe confines of the fantasy world you just curled up inside of, and you are now back in the real world. And I can tell it’s the real world by the first person I see, a gangly acne infested vest wearer, sweeping up the popcorn the drones of this theater have left behind. Disappointing to say the least.
Michael looked downtrodden and concerned. I don’t know how that look had crept over his face, considering the amazing cinematic experience we had just emerged from. But I was intrigued, and I had to ask.
“So, how did you like that?”
“I didn’t”
That’s surprising. I think about it for a second.
“Really? You didn’t like Beowulf?”
“Nope. That movie was horrid. They threw the book out the window.”
“There’s a book.” I cracked a smile to let him know I’m kidding, but I get no reaction. Michael just plods along, looking all too ready to drive home.
“Is there something wrong?”
He looks at me. His face screams yes.
“No.”
We hit the escalator, and I am very confused. I have to approach with tact though. Michael plays it very close to the chest.
“How can you possibly be in a bad mood right now? We just watched a movie with explicit violence, a naked Angelina Jolie, and a scene where a guy LITERALLY gets his arm ripped off and beaten to death with it?”
“I just didn’t like it.”
“OK.”
We fall into an awkward silence the entire ride down the escalator. The echo of the laughter from all of the preteens, coming out of or going into some mindless Disney movie just seems to enhance the silence between us. And there she is. No it’s not her. Thunder has been acting weird since dinner. I don’t quite understand what is going on. But I can find out. I am annoying like that. We step off the escalator, and make our way to the staircase.
“Until you tell me what is bothering you, I am going to talk about every scene of the movie, starting with that beautiful opening sequence with the birds flying over the crystal blue lake…”
“What is your problem?”
“I am trying to find out the same from you.”
“I didn’t like the damn movie, deal with it.”
This isn’t working. There is something eating him up. That’s not a good sign for me. Not when we are facing two of the most decorated men in our federation. And I am teaming with the World champion. One of my brothers. You would think I would feel comfortable. Big match. Big hype. But no, I can’t find my comfort zone. I don’t think he trusts me.
“You know trust is a two way street.”
He eyes me oddly, but remains silent.
“If you can’t trust me, I can’t trust you. We have had this discussion before.”
His gaze has turned harsh. He remained silent, but he was more focused on me than where he was going, which is why he bumped into that elderly lady. He didn’t even stop though.
“Stare a whole right through me, but that ain’t going to change a thing.”
“Is this about Obo and EBR?”
“Would I be making this big of a deal about some self-righteous douche and an attention seeking whore? Look, Obo and EBR are not my concern.”
“You better not be going back into that whole Kurt Burton will beat anyone no sweat thing.”
“I am not saying that.”
He swings open the door. I am getting him pissed. Excellent. His temper goes up, his guard comes down.
“Well what the hell are you saying Kurt? First you start grilling me about that damn movie…”
He keeps on talking, but I am distracted. I see her outdoors, huddled into her black hoodie. I bought her that hoodie. Years ago. She doesn’t look one day older. The same long black hair, spots of red on her face. It couldn’t possibly be…
I have lost track of where I was. I have approached the girl, she has turned away from me. I place my hand on her shoulder.
“Trixie?”
She turns around frightened. It is not her.
“I’m sorry, thought you were someone else.”
I turn, and Thunder is by my side. His concerned eyes say it all. This is not how tonight was supposed to go. We were supposed to have a nice quiet diner, reconnect as friends. I miss my friends. I miss him, and Wayne, and Kat. They are here, but the feel so distant so far away. And it seems like every step I take in the right direction ends up costing me dearly.
“Are you OK? Do you need to sit down?”
“Yeah.” I sit on the bench. I hate when it’s cold out, and I’m holding up, but then I sit on this block of ice piece of crap metal bench, and immediately all the heat leaves my body.
“You are acting really weird, so I am going to ask this once. Are you ok?”
I laugh, and roll my eyes.
“You’re asking me if I am on drugs again?”
“Are you?”
I shake my head as I run my hands through my hair.
“No, but thanks for asking.”
“How about financially?”
What the hell was he checking out my finances for?
“Yeah, I’m doing fine. Wayne raised my salary at the negotiations for me to come back.
“Because if you need help…
“I said I am fine.”
My blood is starting to boil, but it isn’t doing anything about this damn bench.
“How did this turn from you hiding crap from me into me acting strangely?”
“You could be keeping stuff from me?”
“Like what? Bouncing checks? What the hell do my finances have to do with any of this? You are acting odd and distant and it has me concerned.”
“About our match with EBR and Obo.”
“No. It has me concerned about us. Our friendship. I value it, I don’t want to lose it. You seem to not trust me though, and that’s what friendship is, its trust. No secrets, no lies, and the look in your eyes tonight tells me you have a bigger secret than your involvement in that little incident.”
Thunder’s eyes grew wide, like he was watching his prized china falling towards the floor.
“I am not going to say anything incriminating. Do you think I am intellectually- disabled? Drug abuser for seven years and no arrests, I do know the better part of discretion. All I am saying, is you got to trust me.”
“I don’t know who to trust right now.”
Aside from my rage at the corniness of that line, it cuts me, deep.
“Well, I guess you don’t want any untrustworthy individuals staying in your house. I guess I’ll go, there’s a fleabag down the road, considering my current financial situation, I should be saving money, so this seems like a good idea.”
He doesn’t say a word. I walk away, but before I can go, I hear the clitter clatter of little tongues, and I think of hyenas. The two boys look like someone had fed them nothing but corn and lead chips. Their grunts were almost below my level of comprehension, I cannot speak moron very well. But I did hear one word.
“Homos.”
The laughter following it was horrendous, and I felt my IQ drop about fifteen points. I stop, and stare the inbred pimple faced jock in his glassy eyes. The words I could weave together to devour him, about homophobes truly being fudge packers, and the value of keeping grey cells alive, but I don’t. I respond in a language he can understand.
“My arm…”
“Sorry, I didn’t think us homos could hit that hard…”
I walk away. Down the steps. Why the hell did they put so many steps in this damn place? This isn’t a mall, it’s the Dhali Llama’s crib. I reach the end, and I thank god, I have just descended three stories, followed by two stories worth of stairs, outside, in the cold. Sorry, but anyone would be a little cooked. I reach into my pockets for my cigarettes, but something draws my attention, a stain on the ground, brownish red.
I step forward, to get a closer look.
“You did it.”
The voice came out of nowhere, I looked around, but there was no one on the street right now.
“You did it.”
Again, I can’t see anyone. My mind starts swirling in disarray, the brownish stain begins to shimmer, the shimmer turns into pure red, the pure red begins to flow, expanding, but not side to side. Up and Down. The red takes a shape, as crimson dots slip off, falling to the ground, rejoining their originator.
“Trixie?”
She is gone, and I am alone.
The issues of HPPD (Hallucinogen persisting perception disorder) and flashbacks are complicated and subtle, with no definitive explanations currently available. Any attempt at explanation must reflect several observations: first, over 70 percent of LSD users claim never to have "flashed back"; second, the phenomenon does appear linked with LSD use, though a causal connection has not been established; and third, a higher proportion of psychiatric patients report flashbacks than "normal" users.
I don’t understand what is going on around here. Why am I facing EBR, again? Why am I facing Obo, again? Does Wayne really think that giving the people this match again will bring viewers to our show?
Life is funny like that. Everything that could be done has been done. Every tear that can be shed has been shed a million times before. Every poem that could be written has already been penned.
Over and over again life repeats itself, bringing us into the same situations hundreds of millions of people have already been through. But we are different. Each of us, and so it is destined that while in the same situations, we cannot make the exact same choices. You can drop a ball, but the ball will never land the exact same way twice.
Very few people understand this. They think they are originators. People like Obo. They think that every thing they do is brand new, fresh and exciting, like a new toy being unwrapped for the first time. Totally unaware that the exact same toy is being unwrapped by some little Asian kid in San Francisco at this exact moment.
EBR is a different story. He has accepted the fact that nothing ever changes. Beyond accepting this, he embraces it. He owns it. And he makes this fact his bitch. Endlessly, ad nauseum, EBR will always make Calvin his bitch, and will probably always own me in that ring.
Does it make me different that I consider myself like both of these men? Or does it make me the same. I understand that we will always be doomed and blessed to endlessly repeat the small intricacies that make up life, given new opportunities every day.
However I am aware that we are weighted by our past, and the pasts of others. Maybe this is the key, that I know things are always different, yet the same. Maybe if I pin EBR this week, it will somehow be a moral victory for him, like when I got my first victory over him (yay me) he ditched CBT. And in that moment he used me, to get what he wanted, thereby still owning me, and winning. Maybe he will throw the match, having bet a lot of money on the Axis, and there by making money at my expense. And maybe the bet would be with Calvin, who would actually be stupid enough to take that bet. And in that way, he owned me, and made Calvin his bitch. But I also know that Obo is right,
Even with the knowledge that I have, that it will never be different, yet always be different, I have to question why so soon? And why do I always work the hardest freaking schedule out of anybody in this place. Since I came back, I have faced EBR, been in a gauntlet tag match against probably a half dozen or so other teams, faced Reverend Shadow, faced EBR and CBT, participated in the Scars and Stripes Battle Royal, on the same night, then faced Obo, and now EBR and Obo. I realize that was one hell of a run on sentence, but think about it. That is what I have done for the past month and a half. And most of them involve EBR. Nobody works a tougher schedule than me. Because I am the Diet Coke, tastes great and I don’t slow you down. But that is beside the point. This schedule is tough, and while repetitive, I am up for it. But can I get someone other than EBR next week.
Ridiculous.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The mass evacuation of the movie theater, no better example of human stupidity exists. It is the definition of the lemming effect. The end credits roll, the lights come up, and immediately, the people rise to their feet, their joints crackling like a bowl of Rice Crispies, and they head towards that glowing red exit sign. Thunder, I mean, Michael and I are the exceptions to this rule. I have got to get used to the fact that he actually has a name.
We sit there, and I realize for possibly the first time how odd of a pair we look. You would never think that we would be on the same page. Here’s Michael, sitting next to me in the theater, dressed in Armani. Who the hell wears Armani to go see a movie? And I sit next to him, clad in my jeans, boots, and a death metal T-shirt. Chains clanging by my side, the only chain he had was probably attached to a gold watch. Yeah, Felix and Oscar don’t have **** on us.
Finally, the mass has scattered, and we exit the darkened room. The light kind of slaps you in the face and makes you its bitch. The feeling is sad for any avid movie go-er like myself. It is the sign that you have left the safe confines of the fantasy world you just curled up inside of, and you are now back in the real world. And I can tell it’s the real world by the first person I see, a gangly acne infested vest wearer, sweeping up the popcorn the drones of this theater have left behind. Disappointing to say the least.
Michael looked downtrodden and concerned. I don’t know how that look had crept over his face, considering the amazing cinematic experience we had just emerged from. But I was intrigued, and I had to ask.
“So, how did you like that?”
“I didn’t”
That’s surprising. I think about it for a second.
“Really? You didn’t like Beowulf?”
“Nope. That movie was horrid. They threw the book out the window.”
“There’s a book.” I cracked a smile to let him know I’m kidding, but I get no reaction. Michael just plods along, looking all too ready to drive home.
“Is there something wrong?”
He looks at me. His face screams yes.
“No.”
We hit the escalator, and I am very confused. I have to approach with tact though. Michael plays it very close to the chest.
“How can you possibly be in a bad mood right now? We just watched a movie with explicit violence, a naked Angelina Jolie, and a scene where a guy LITERALLY gets his arm ripped off and beaten to death with it?”
“I just didn’t like it.”
“OK.”
We fall into an awkward silence the entire ride down the escalator. The echo of the laughter from all of the preteens, coming out of or going into some mindless Disney movie just seems to enhance the silence between us. And there she is. No it’s not her. Thunder has been acting weird since dinner. I don’t quite understand what is going on. But I can find out. I am annoying like that. We step off the escalator, and make our way to the staircase.
“Until you tell me what is bothering you, I am going to talk about every scene of the movie, starting with that beautiful opening sequence with the birds flying over the crystal blue lake…”
“What is your problem?”
“I am trying to find out the same from you.”
“I didn’t like the damn movie, deal with it.”
This isn’t working. There is something eating him up. That’s not a good sign for me. Not when we are facing two of the most decorated men in our federation. And I am teaming with the World champion. One of my brothers. You would think I would feel comfortable. Big match. Big hype. But no, I can’t find my comfort zone. I don’t think he trusts me.
“You know trust is a two way street.”
He eyes me oddly, but remains silent.
“If you can’t trust me, I can’t trust you. We have had this discussion before.”
His gaze has turned harsh. He remained silent, but he was more focused on me than where he was going, which is why he bumped into that elderly lady. He didn’t even stop though.
“Stare a whole right through me, but that ain’t going to change a thing.”
“Is this about Obo and EBR?”
“Would I be making this big of a deal about some self-righteous douche and an attention seeking whore? Look, Obo and EBR are not my concern.”
“You better not be going back into that whole Kurt Burton will beat anyone no sweat thing.”
“I am not saying that.”
He swings open the door. I am getting him pissed. Excellent. His temper goes up, his guard comes down.
“Well what the hell are you saying Kurt? First you start grilling me about that damn movie…”
He keeps on talking, but I am distracted. I see her outdoors, huddled into her black hoodie. I bought her that hoodie. Years ago. She doesn’t look one day older. The same long black hair, spots of red on her face. It couldn’t possibly be…
I have lost track of where I was. I have approached the girl, she has turned away from me. I place my hand on her shoulder.
“Trixie?”
She turns around frightened. It is not her.
“I’m sorry, thought you were someone else.”
I turn, and Thunder is by my side. His concerned eyes say it all. This is not how tonight was supposed to go. We were supposed to have a nice quiet diner, reconnect as friends. I miss my friends. I miss him, and Wayne, and Kat. They are here, but the feel so distant so far away. And it seems like every step I take in the right direction ends up costing me dearly.
“Are you OK? Do you need to sit down?”
“Yeah.” I sit on the bench. I hate when it’s cold out, and I’m holding up, but then I sit on this block of ice piece of crap metal bench, and immediately all the heat leaves my body.
“You are acting really weird, so I am going to ask this once. Are you ok?”
I laugh, and roll my eyes.
“You’re asking me if I am on drugs again?”
“Are you?”
I shake my head as I run my hands through my hair.
“No, but thanks for asking.”
“How about financially?”
What the hell was he checking out my finances for?
“Yeah, I’m doing fine. Wayne raised my salary at the negotiations for me to come back.
“Because if you need help…
“I said I am fine.”
My blood is starting to boil, but it isn’t doing anything about this damn bench.
“How did this turn from you hiding crap from me into me acting strangely?”
“You could be keeping stuff from me?”
“Like what? Bouncing checks? What the hell do my finances have to do with any of this? You are acting odd and distant and it has me concerned.”
“About our match with EBR and Obo.”
“No. It has me concerned about us. Our friendship. I value it, I don’t want to lose it. You seem to not trust me though, and that’s what friendship is, its trust. No secrets, no lies, and the look in your eyes tonight tells me you have a bigger secret than your involvement in that little incident.”
Thunder’s eyes grew wide, like he was watching his prized china falling towards the floor.
“I am not going to say anything incriminating. Do you think I am intellectually- disabled? Drug abuser for seven years and no arrests, I do know the better part of discretion. All I am saying, is you got to trust me.”
“I don’t know who to trust right now.”
Aside from my rage at the corniness of that line, it cuts me, deep.
“Well, I guess you don’t want any untrustworthy individuals staying in your house. I guess I’ll go, there’s a fleabag down the road, considering my current financial situation, I should be saving money, so this seems like a good idea.”
He doesn’t say a word. I walk away, but before I can go, I hear the clitter clatter of little tongues, and I think of hyenas. The two boys look like someone had fed them nothing but corn and lead chips. Their grunts were almost below my level of comprehension, I cannot speak moron very well. But I did hear one word.
“Homos.”
The laughter following it was horrendous, and I felt my IQ drop about fifteen points. I stop, and stare the inbred pimple faced jock in his glassy eyes. The words I could weave together to devour him, about homophobes truly being fudge packers, and the value of keeping grey cells alive, but I don’t. I respond in a language he can understand.
“My arm…”
“Sorry, I didn’t think us homos could hit that hard…”
I walk away. Down the steps. Why the hell did they put so many steps in this damn place? This isn’t a mall, it’s the Dhali Llama’s crib. I reach the end, and I thank god, I have just descended three stories, followed by two stories worth of stairs, outside, in the cold. Sorry, but anyone would be a little cooked. I reach into my pockets for my cigarettes, but something draws my attention, a stain on the ground, brownish red.
I step forward, to get a closer look.
“You did it.”
The voice came out of nowhere, I looked around, but there was no one on the street right now.
“You did it.”
Again, I can’t see anyone. My mind starts swirling in disarray, the brownish stain begins to shimmer, the shimmer turns into pure red, the pure red begins to flow, expanding, but not side to side. Up and Down. The red takes a shape, as crimson dots slip off, falling to the ground, rejoining their originator.
“Trixie?”
She is gone, and I am alone.
The issues of HPPD (Hallucinogen persisting perception disorder) and flashbacks are complicated and subtle, with no definitive explanations currently available. Any attempt at explanation must reflect several observations: first, over 70 percent of LSD users claim never to have "flashed back"; second, the phenomenon does appear linked with LSD use, though a causal connection has not been established; and third, a higher proportion of psychiatric patients report flashbacks than "normal" users.
