Post by Braxton Locus on Jun 16, 2019 0:43:23 GMT -5
Hi, can you see me? Sometimes it feels like I’m hidden in plain site. You see my face, you see my body, but you do not see me. I am the man behind the curtain. Pulling levels and flipping switches to operate this meat machine but you do not see me. You see Sammy Badmoon and you think ‘that’s Braxton Locus’. You are only half right. How do I explain it? All the time, I’ll get questions about what it means to have these personas. ‘Is it dissociative identity disorder?’, ‘Is it acting?’, ‘is it playing pretend?’ I have yet to find a way to describe it that satisfies their curiosity. Are they being obtuse or am I obfuscating?
Maybe the problem is that I’ve never had to explain it to myself. It’s never been something I’ve questioned. It’s real. I’m Sammy Badmoon, but Sammy Badmoon is not me. This is where I begin to lose people. Maybe it would be more appropriate to think of me as invisible ink. Sammy is the big bold black marks; easy to see and uncomplicated. But underneath, hidden from view, is a message buried under dirt and grime.
Anytime I think ‘I wish I could...’, Sammy says “I’m going to...”. Anytime I think ‘I can’t...’, Sammy says “Try and stop me!”. But you only ever hear Sammy. Freedom behind a mask. Freedom in invisible ink. I’ve never stolen anything in my life but just an hour ago, Sammy hopped a fence and stole a whole wheel of Gouda out of the back of a delivery truck. I wasn’t even hungry...But Sammy is always hungry. He ran and ran, block after block. No one was chasing him but he’d be damned if that was going to stop him. Sammy could go the distance but this time he went until his knees ached, until his lungs were about to collapse, until he no longer knew where he was and only then did he stop running.
Why did he go so far? Because I wanted to stop. I wanted to return the cheese and profusely apologize. But Sammy Badmoon doesn’t say sorry. Even now, he is in the back alley of some random apartment buildings, sitting on a knocked-over trash can, picking at the big wheel of cheese slowly and passively as he thinks to himself. Sammy didn’t just want the cheese. He could’ve easily gone into the store and bought it. What Sammy wanted was the prize of getting away. But now he’s stuck with an oversized aged gouda and the sense of victory has faded away.
“It wasn’t good enough...”, He mumbles to himself as he stares into the red brick wall ahead of him. Not crimson but maroon in a sun bleached sort of way. “It wasn’t good enough!” He stands to his feet which still ache in his big leather boots from the pounding on the sidewalk. Lifting the cheese up behind his head, he chucks it down the alleyway as hard as he can. It hits the ground and splits a part, small chunks flying off with the bigger sections bouncing a couple feet before coming to rest in the dirt coating of the asphalt. “I thought it was going to be a masterpiece! The crowd was on their feet, losing their minds but at the end of it all, with my hand raised high in the air, I felt a pang in my heart and all I could think was that it wasn’t good enough!” It is safe to say this isn’t about the cheese…
“We were both violent and bloody! Angry and desperate! We both wanted it so bad that we did everything we could! It was ambitious, yes. It was even electric! It was a showcase of determination that put a perfect little bow on the end of the broadcast. But it wasn’t good enough!” Sammy squats down and lightly brushes his hand across a couple of half broken bottles laying next to each other, gathering it all up into a small pile of shards. Almost completely silent, he whispers, “but I have another chance…”
Slowly, fighting against his burning knees, he stands tall and places his boot on top of the glass. Sammy please stop. CRUNCH! Cracking can be heard as he begins applying pressure. Bigger pieces audibly shattering before suddenly muffled by the same oppressive boot. As his boot reaches the ground, for a moment, Sammy just stares down without a word. A shard miraculously pushed through the thick rubber and penetrated into Sammy’s now bleeding foot.
Only an elongated sigh before grabbing the aluminum lid of the dilapidated waste bin and another from the can across the way. He starts his march around the alley, banging the lids together, shouting up to the open apartment windows. “Wake up everybody! It isn’t over yet! You get another chance at seeing Sammy Badmoon take it all! If you thought what you saw at Alpha Rising was something, you ain’t seen nothing yet! Just wait until the aNtIcApAtEd DEBUT of MoNdAy NiGhT METAAAAAL!...FUCK!”
Sammy slams the lids to the ground, abandoning them to the dirt and runs his grimy fingers through his wild, fiery hair. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” Burning in futility as he punches and kicks the unmoving, uncaring wall. Only bloodying his knuckles to unsatisfying, muffled thuds before giving a quick turn and throwing his back into it. “You have to be better, Shmitty-boy. Don’t be just another weather-beaten man groping for glory. You have to want something more than that. It might be easy for most people to say without actually meaning it, but I promise you that I am different. This isn’t just going to be a wrestling match. This isn’t about victory. This isn’t about titles, though I know you’ve had plenty of them in the past. This isn’t even about APW. Maybe you won’t get it. Hehehe. Maybe I am just being difficult. Maybe all anyone cares about is the gold, the power, the fame, and the bitches. But I have a feeling you’re different Mr. Jones.”
Sliding down the wall, Sammy sits with his knees to his chest and his arms to his side like dead weights. “I don’t know what makes you tick, but I feel like it is something deep inside you. Something that tells you ‘no’ so you have to say yes! This never ending feeling of breaking out of a cage your trying to lock yourself in! I see that determination not to get captured. I see it because it takes one to know one.”
He reaches under his boot and struggles to get a grip on the shard. “God damn it...Now, you may not look at me and see anything in common. That’s because you’re not looking hard enough. I haven’t really caught your attention. But that’s okay. I’ll make sure to get your attention on Monday. Then you’ll understand. You’ll understand you can’t fight me and your demons at the same time. I’m an enabler and eventually you’ll have to let go...”
After a moment or so of finagling, Sammy finally pulls out the shard and observes it between his thumb and his middle finger, admiring the small, fine point covered in blood. “If you don’t, I can’t achieve MY dream. If you don’t, I will feel very insulted. If you don’t, I will be convinced it is because you don’t take me seriously, you don’t take my threats seriously, you don’t see ME!” Please Sammy, let’s go home. “But I’m not going anywhere! If what it takes is me standing in the way of you becoming World Champion? Then I’ll do it! Because as you once said, ‘Smith Jones is NOTHING without the rabid pursuit of the one thing he craves most in this life.’ You remember that? Way back in XHW, your old stomping grounds? It was July of Twenty-Twelve, the match that week was you, Succubus, and Minion versus Ruthless Aggression, Audree Gates, and Jeremy Westbrooke...But I digress. Just trust me. I’ve been studying you. Because I like you...A part of you...But be sure that I will end your pursuit for the World title if it comes to it.”
He flicks away the glass. Bye bye, defier of the boot. You were a worthy adversary. “You hear that, Smith!? I’m going to break that precious dream of yours unless you give me what I want!” Sammy pushes himself up to his feet in a lanky manner, chuckling to himself. “‘But what do you want, Sammy? You haven’t made that clear?’...I guess it never was very clear. I can wax poetic all day but it will only slow things down if I don’t just come out and say it. Maybe that is why Jubei fell short of my expectations. What I want, Mr. Jones, is something to die for. I want that pinnacle where it is all or nothing! I want that moment in my life where I am on top of the proverbial scaffolding, my face bloody, the crowd is breathless, the battle has left the world torn to ribbons, and the only way to end it is for me to jump! Sacrifice my body for one awe-inspiring moment! I’m not gunning for titles. Because if I win it and then I lose it, then what?! That fantasy I chased is gone! A fleeting rush of endorphins that makes me feel emptier. I want a definitive note for myself! Because much like you, Winston, I am also nothing without my obsessions...
“And you’re going to give it to me! You have a violent streak in you, so I know you can give me what I want. But will you? While going around on a motivational speaking tour? Give me a fucking break! I didn’t know the once world shattering ring general has become a swindler, a conman, a hype-bitch for a bunch of uninspired fucks!” Sammy took a finger and closed off one side of his nose before letting a massive farmer snot onto the ground.
“I don’t want that Smith. That Smith is a bitch! I want the old Smitty. I want that person you’re hiding away! I know he’s in there. Someone that violent and that much of a bastard doesn’t just go away! And this Monday, you WILL let him out! Even if I have to pry him out myself! Because...I love that Smitty. I admire him. I watch him. I watch those old clips of him as X-Core champion and I look at you now and I know you are hurting him! You are smothering him! You are hiding him away from me and it isn’t fair! You don’t know what it is like being hidden away by the one person your supposed to trust, yourself! It is a dark and lonely place and you resent it so bad that that same person who houses you and keeps you alive is the one person you want to destroy!” Sammy, let’s not do this right now. “He deserves to be free! Not trapped inside you! You selfish bastard! You’re not going to beat me without him, so you might as well give in!.”
A moment of calm sweeps over Sammy as the lines in his face, bearing frustration and intensity, fade away. “I did...And look at me now…” Sammy holds out his arms, displaying himself to the world. “I’m happy...” Debatable. “I’m honest…” Until you’re not. “I’m free…” Oh how the caged bird sings. “You don’t see it now, Mr. Jones. But, I am trying to help you. You need more in this life than gold and ‘motivation’...You need what I need. You need a reason to die for. You don’t see it now, but you will. You may not believe me. But, come Monday Night...You WILL see me!”
The arms fall and Sammy is left wondering where he is. The burst of rage is moving on and with it, so does Sammy. This alleyway is no longer inviting as the sun begins to descend, sending long shadows through across the streets. The humid, oppressive heat turns to a chill breeze that carries the smell of grilling and exhaust fumes through the air. His head sinking into his shoulders, Sammy decides it is time to leave and with his hands deep in his pockets, does just that. He carries me in his eyes, lets me smell the nostalgic whiffs of summer, but does not humor me in my daydreams and reminiscing of the days it reminds me of. To me, it was the never changing staples of my society and my culture. To Sammy, it was bad poetry. And as Sammy’s always said “Writers are liars and poets are the best liars.”
He finds a street sign and orients himself to where we are, only to find out he is miles away from anywhere he wants to be. I ask myself how we plan to get home but Sammy just wants to sulk, kick himself for going this far over a wheel of cheese. But, as I said before, it was never about the cheese. Not that Sammy would listen. He doesn’t want to look too deeply into it but what else can I do?
“Wasting it. Such a waste! I’m tired of all this nonsense!” Thoughts bellow through the silence. But I shut it out. It isn’t easy. I have to bury deep. But it fights against me. I have to do everything I can to hold on to Sammy. He wavers but with some willpower and a little lying to myself, I hold it together and Sammy continues walking. We both snarl and breathe deep. No matter how I feel about Sammy or how Sammy feels about Braxton, I can’t let my guard down. My mind is a weary place and sometimes it threatens to bite back at me...My intrusive thoughts...but it is all I can do to just keep it all together. Please, Sammy. Let’s go home.
Sammy concedes and finds the closest bus stop. It is a bit of a wait as the bus is behind schedule but as soon as it arrives, we step on and ride it into the approaching night. We watch as we pass by the residents and their lives. A feeling of sonder reflection consumes this ride and my mind is taken into a place of tranquility as I face the question I end with everyday. “Who am I?” I am still just invisible ink.
Maybe the problem is that I’ve never had to explain it to myself. It’s never been something I’ve questioned. It’s real. I’m Sammy Badmoon, but Sammy Badmoon is not me. This is where I begin to lose people. Maybe it would be more appropriate to think of me as invisible ink. Sammy is the big bold black marks; easy to see and uncomplicated. But underneath, hidden from view, is a message buried under dirt and grime.
Anytime I think ‘I wish I could...’, Sammy says “I’m going to...”. Anytime I think ‘I can’t...’, Sammy says “Try and stop me!”. But you only ever hear Sammy. Freedom behind a mask. Freedom in invisible ink. I’ve never stolen anything in my life but just an hour ago, Sammy hopped a fence and stole a whole wheel of Gouda out of the back of a delivery truck. I wasn’t even hungry...But Sammy is always hungry. He ran and ran, block after block. No one was chasing him but he’d be damned if that was going to stop him. Sammy could go the distance but this time he went until his knees ached, until his lungs were about to collapse, until he no longer knew where he was and only then did he stop running.
Why did he go so far? Because I wanted to stop. I wanted to return the cheese and profusely apologize. But Sammy Badmoon doesn’t say sorry. Even now, he is in the back alley of some random apartment buildings, sitting on a knocked-over trash can, picking at the big wheel of cheese slowly and passively as he thinks to himself. Sammy didn’t just want the cheese. He could’ve easily gone into the store and bought it. What Sammy wanted was the prize of getting away. But now he’s stuck with an oversized aged gouda and the sense of victory has faded away.
“It wasn’t good enough...”, He mumbles to himself as he stares into the red brick wall ahead of him. Not crimson but maroon in a sun bleached sort of way. “It wasn’t good enough!” He stands to his feet which still ache in his big leather boots from the pounding on the sidewalk. Lifting the cheese up behind his head, he chucks it down the alleyway as hard as he can. It hits the ground and splits a part, small chunks flying off with the bigger sections bouncing a couple feet before coming to rest in the dirt coating of the asphalt. “I thought it was going to be a masterpiece! The crowd was on their feet, losing their minds but at the end of it all, with my hand raised high in the air, I felt a pang in my heart and all I could think was that it wasn’t good enough!” It is safe to say this isn’t about the cheese…
“We were both violent and bloody! Angry and desperate! We both wanted it so bad that we did everything we could! It was ambitious, yes. It was even electric! It was a showcase of determination that put a perfect little bow on the end of the broadcast. But it wasn’t good enough!” Sammy squats down and lightly brushes his hand across a couple of half broken bottles laying next to each other, gathering it all up into a small pile of shards. Almost completely silent, he whispers, “but I have another chance…”
Slowly, fighting against his burning knees, he stands tall and places his boot on top of the glass. Sammy please stop. CRUNCH! Cracking can be heard as he begins applying pressure. Bigger pieces audibly shattering before suddenly muffled by the same oppressive boot. As his boot reaches the ground, for a moment, Sammy just stares down without a word. A shard miraculously pushed through the thick rubber and penetrated into Sammy’s now bleeding foot.
Only an elongated sigh before grabbing the aluminum lid of the dilapidated waste bin and another from the can across the way. He starts his march around the alley, banging the lids together, shouting up to the open apartment windows. “Wake up everybody! It isn’t over yet! You get another chance at seeing Sammy Badmoon take it all! If you thought what you saw at Alpha Rising was something, you ain’t seen nothing yet! Just wait until the aNtIcApAtEd DEBUT of MoNdAy NiGhT METAAAAAL!...FUCK!”
Sammy slams the lids to the ground, abandoning them to the dirt and runs his grimy fingers through his wild, fiery hair. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” Burning in futility as he punches and kicks the unmoving, uncaring wall. Only bloodying his knuckles to unsatisfying, muffled thuds before giving a quick turn and throwing his back into it. “You have to be better, Shmitty-boy. Don’t be just another weather-beaten man groping for glory. You have to want something more than that. It might be easy for most people to say without actually meaning it, but I promise you that I am different. This isn’t just going to be a wrestling match. This isn’t about victory. This isn’t about titles, though I know you’ve had plenty of them in the past. This isn’t even about APW. Maybe you won’t get it. Hehehe. Maybe I am just being difficult. Maybe all anyone cares about is the gold, the power, the fame, and the bitches. But I have a feeling you’re different Mr. Jones.”
Sliding down the wall, Sammy sits with his knees to his chest and his arms to his side like dead weights. “I don’t know what makes you tick, but I feel like it is something deep inside you. Something that tells you ‘no’ so you have to say yes! This never ending feeling of breaking out of a cage your trying to lock yourself in! I see that determination not to get captured. I see it because it takes one to know one.”
He reaches under his boot and struggles to get a grip on the shard. “God damn it...Now, you may not look at me and see anything in common. That’s because you’re not looking hard enough. I haven’t really caught your attention. But that’s okay. I’ll make sure to get your attention on Monday. Then you’ll understand. You’ll understand you can’t fight me and your demons at the same time. I’m an enabler and eventually you’ll have to let go...”
After a moment or so of finagling, Sammy finally pulls out the shard and observes it between his thumb and his middle finger, admiring the small, fine point covered in blood. “If you don’t, I can’t achieve MY dream. If you don’t, I will feel very insulted. If you don’t, I will be convinced it is because you don’t take me seriously, you don’t take my threats seriously, you don’t see ME!” Please Sammy, let’s go home. “But I’m not going anywhere! If what it takes is me standing in the way of you becoming World Champion? Then I’ll do it! Because as you once said, ‘Smith Jones is NOTHING without the rabid pursuit of the one thing he craves most in this life.’ You remember that? Way back in XHW, your old stomping grounds? It was July of Twenty-Twelve, the match that week was you, Succubus, and Minion versus Ruthless Aggression, Audree Gates, and Jeremy Westbrooke...But I digress. Just trust me. I’ve been studying you. Because I like you...A part of you...But be sure that I will end your pursuit for the World title if it comes to it.”
He flicks away the glass. Bye bye, defier of the boot. You were a worthy adversary. “You hear that, Smith!? I’m going to break that precious dream of yours unless you give me what I want!” Sammy pushes himself up to his feet in a lanky manner, chuckling to himself. “‘But what do you want, Sammy? You haven’t made that clear?’...I guess it never was very clear. I can wax poetic all day but it will only slow things down if I don’t just come out and say it. Maybe that is why Jubei fell short of my expectations. What I want, Mr. Jones, is something to die for. I want that pinnacle where it is all or nothing! I want that moment in my life where I am on top of the proverbial scaffolding, my face bloody, the crowd is breathless, the battle has left the world torn to ribbons, and the only way to end it is for me to jump! Sacrifice my body for one awe-inspiring moment! I’m not gunning for titles. Because if I win it and then I lose it, then what?! That fantasy I chased is gone! A fleeting rush of endorphins that makes me feel emptier. I want a definitive note for myself! Because much like you, Winston, I am also nothing without my obsessions...
“And you’re going to give it to me! You have a violent streak in you, so I know you can give me what I want. But will you? While going around on a motivational speaking tour? Give me a fucking break! I didn’t know the once world shattering ring general has become a swindler, a conman, a hype-bitch for a bunch of uninspired fucks!” Sammy took a finger and closed off one side of his nose before letting a massive farmer snot onto the ground.
“I don’t want that Smith. That Smith is a bitch! I want the old Smitty. I want that person you’re hiding away! I know he’s in there. Someone that violent and that much of a bastard doesn’t just go away! And this Monday, you WILL let him out! Even if I have to pry him out myself! Because...I love that Smitty. I admire him. I watch him. I watch those old clips of him as X-Core champion and I look at you now and I know you are hurting him! You are smothering him! You are hiding him away from me and it isn’t fair! You don’t know what it is like being hidden away by the one person your supposed to trust, yourself! It is a dark and lonely place and you resent it so bad that that same person who houses you and keeps you alive is the one person you want to destroy!” Sammy, let’s not do this right now. “He deserves to be free! Not trapped inside you! You selfish bastard! You’re not going to beat me without him, so you might as well give in!.”
A moment of calm sweeps over Sammy as the lines in his face, bearing frustration and intensity, fade away. “I did...And look at me now…” Sammy holds out his arms, displaying himself to the world. “I’m happy...” Debatable. “I’m honest…” Until you’re not. “I’m free…” Oh how the caged bird sings. “You don’t see it now, Mr. Jones. But, I am trying to help you. You need more in this life than gold and ‘motivation’...You need what I need. You need a reason to die for. You don’t see it now, but you will. You may not believe me. But, come Monday Night...You WILL see me!”
The arms fall and Sammy is left wondering where he is. The burst of rage is moving on and with it, so does Sammy. This alleyway is no longer inviting as the sun begins to descend, sending long shadows through across the streets. The humid, oppressive heat turns to a chill breeze that carries the smell of grilling and exhaust fumes through the air. His head sinking into his shoulders, Sammy decides it is time to leave and with his hands deep in his pockets, does just that. He carries me in his eyes, lets me smell the nostalgic whiffs of summer, but does not humor me in my daydreams and reminiscing of the days it reminds me of. To me, it was the never changing staples of my society and my culture. To Sammy, it was bad poetry. And as Sammy’s always said “Writers are liars and poets are the best liars.”
He finds a street sign and orients himself to where we are, only to find out he is miles away from anywhere he wants to be. I ask myself how we plan to get home but Sammy just wants to sulk, kick himself for going this far over a wheel of cheese. But, as I said before, it was never about the cheese. Not that Sammy would listen. He doesn’t want to look too deeply into it but what else can I do?
“Wasting it. Such a waste! I’m tired of all this nonsense!” Thoughts bellow through the silence. But I shut it out. It isn’t easy. I have to bury deep. But it fights against me. I have to do everything I can to hold on to Sammy. He wavers but with some willpower and a little lying to myself, I hold it together and Sammy continues walking. We both snarl and breathe deep. No matter how I feel about Sammy or how Sammy feels about Braxton, I can’t let my guard down. My mind is a weary place and sometimes it threatens to bite back at me...My intrusive thoughts...but it is all I can do to just keep it all together. Please, Sammy. Let’s go home.
Sammy concedes and finds the closest bus stop. It is a bit of a wait as the bus is behind schedule but as soon as it arrives, we step on and ride it into the approaching night. We watch as we pass by the residents and their lives. A feeling of sonder reflection consumes this ride and my mind is taken into a place of tranquility as I face the question I end with everyday. “Who am I?” I am still just invisible ink.
