Post by Braxton Locus on Jun 7, 2019 12:43:37 GMT -5
He’s esoteric but cathartic. An atonal bombardment of flash and glam. The ill will of a rock star, plunging his surroundings and himself into pandemonium and annihilation. Lighting fires just to feel the heat, devouring his relationships just to feel the cold, blurring down the highway in the dark of night just to feel alive, and cutting his fist on the smashed glass of his bathroom mirror just to feel anything at all. The kind of nihilism only an estranged mother could love. He is edgy and despondent. Unlikeable and immature. Glorious and powerful. He is my anxiety and my selfishness. He is Sammy Badmoon and he was the first persona I ever created.
He is the persona in Persona Non Grata. He comes out and I get scars. He comes out and I lose friends. He comes out and I am forever damaged in ways in which there is no recompense. But it’s not an isolated experience of self-destruction, it is a kazikame attempt to take the world out with him. Bombing the path he lays until the only thing he has left to give is himself. A performer who is so embroiled in passion that he is willing to give his body...my body...to the cause.
His hair is many long, bright, honey-orange wisps of dissonance, existing without order and in conflict. His eyes are an unflinching stare of piercing blue, hidden behind cheap shades. His smile, always a devious smirk of mischief and ill-intent. Arms that swing purposelessly but with intent on each step. Hips that sway with a sexually charged swagger, a sensual energy dangerously bordering on boredom. And a perfect strut in unwieldy boots, exact steps of heel-toe-heel-toe-heel-toe; never a stumble.
Leather jackets and ripped shirts fill his closet but ice covers his neck and fingers. Chains and chains and chains and chains, always ready to fulfill the need of a noose if the occasion arises. I’m no stranger to ink but Sammy Badmoon only ever wants to do his own. So, now I have a black crack running down my arm for no rhyme or reason. He never wants me to forget he is there.
But, I want to make it clear that he does not hold me hostage. In the end, it is all just me. My decisions and my consequences. Sammy is just a mask for me to let it all out, to keep from rotting from the inside out with that burning bolt of stress that has plagued me since I was a child. Even if Sammy hurts, he is my freedom and liberation. Sammy is my friend.
Sammy might be a bad cliche, but he doesn’t care. He knows what aesthetic he wants and he lives it like a religion. The hardest part about Sammy is that he doesn’t get tired. He is constantly pushed forward on his own frustrations for greatness. A greatness only he can define. And its defined with flare, commotion, and unnecessary property damage. And that is exactly what he plans to achieve.
Where is Sammy at this moment? Maybe palming jewelry from a pawn store, or irritating the residence of a broken down urban town with his yelling and berating of lame suckers falling for gentrification. Or maybe laying across a moldy loveseat in a condemned apartment his friend refuses to fix up, one foot crossing over the other and his hands behind his head. All I know is that I’m not there. I am surviving in the aether as Sammy does what he needs to to make me feel whole again.
But as he lays across the deep red couch with holes where the stuffing pokes through, he is thinking. He is thinking about the exposed drywall, he is thinking about his missing cat, he is thinking about the rising tariffs to China that are putting farmers out of the job. But he isn’t considering any of it. What he is considering is one special moment in particular. Fantasizing and breaking down, scene by scene, the pinnacle of his potential. The ending note in a symphony of debuts. He will be the lasting impression in an opportunity to truly steal the limelight and exist in the most ultimate form...as a star amongst the sky.
“A...P...Double...U...” He lingers on in his train of thought as he stares up to the hard water stained ceiling. Trying to see if he can spot a religious figure. Maybe a Jesus, a Buddha, an Ishtar. Hell he’d even settle for Deepak Chopra. But all he can see is himself. But to him, he just looks like a shapeless blob of dark rings.
“Al...pha…” he taps his foot onto the open air, catching the rhythm that’s in his head. This is when the music flows. This is when his fire starts to build...A moment of silence passes as his vacant face of contemplation turns into a snarl. A deep sigh escapes him. He pulls his hands out from behind his head and tries shakes off the pins and needles. For some reason he is unable to rid himself of the feeling and it begins to frustrate him. He starts pounding his fist against the wood of the couch, letting out a yell of frustration as he rolls off and onto the bare wood floor.
He pushes himself onto his knees and shouts into the encroaching silence. “Does anyone else feel that?!” He continues to pound his fist, this time onto a poor, old coffee table. BOOM! BOOM! Reverberating off the walls. “That unbearable torture of waiting!” He gets on one foot then the other with his arms hanging limply at his side. He kicks the coffee table with an air of annoyance as if pestered by its incessant questions. It scrapes along, rough wood against its laminate top.
“Nothing is worse! Here I have this unbelievable opportunity and every hour that goes by is so agonizing!” He twirls in the center of the living room with his arms spread wide, it seems like he’s on the verge of laughter. Then a stray wooden chair crosses his sights, leading him to strut over with all manner of conviction, CLACK! CLACK! CLACK! Grabbing the chair, he drags it over to the middle of the room and loudly slams his big black boot on top.
“I am sick of it! I just want to start feeling my knuckles ache! My lungs on fire! Fist pounding against my face!” Sammy smacks himself across the temple. Slowly, a red blotch fades into being as an impression of where the strike landed. “I didn’t even care who my opponent was! Any ol’ bum would have been a good fit just to get started. But then I read such an interesting name across the VEE ESS from mine. Ma...su...da...Ju...bei…” The name imminates from his lips like a dark secret.
Sammy suddenly takes a seat in the chair, propping his head up with his fist, a pose of deep thought as if suddenly troubled. “The Master?...” A shrug. “What matters is this man is tough! I heard people call him a never-was or a conman at best, but that doesn’t matter. Yes, yes. What indeed matters is that he is tough!” And just as quickly as he sat down, he stands back up, violently booting the chair away, across the room. His fists tighten, looking like he is ready to explode with excitement. “Yes! I want them as tough as they come! I can only hope him sitting in a suit in the corner office hasn’t softened him up! Because I want this mean old bastard to make me bleed! I want him to blacken my eyes! I want him to break something! But I don’t want him to think it’s going to be easy, because for every wound he lays upon me, I will gleefully return back!”
His arms manically wrap around him, shifting and groping; slow moving up to his face. His black gloved hands digging their tips into his cheeks as a screech sails through his pearl white teeth. “And then I read the words...Main...EE...vent...I hope Jubei understands what kind of opportunity we have! Whatever god is out there, has given me a gift he gives to so few people. This opportunity isn’t about jockeying for position! This isn’t about displaying my potential to the people at the top. This is a divine opening to create a masterpiece…” His fingers tangle into his fiery hair, gripping against the scalp, ever so slightly stretching the skin.
“You ever heard a song so perfect that it seems like everything that led to that moment was brought in from an intelligent design? That paths HAD to cross, HAD to shift, HAD to crash! Because it was too important that this THING! This cataclysmic event! HAS to exist?! I have and it is the only thing that convinces me that any of this is worth it! Reaffirming that there is a purpose! Is a reason! By all that is good, there MUST be a god and he MUST be a fan of the Beatles!
“I am telling you right now that THAT is exactly what is happening! My parents copulating! Jubei’s and New Blood’s fall from grace! The emergence of the alphabet just to see the rise of three indifferent letters! A...P...Double...U…It MUST mean something! It is our divine duty to go out there and create something that they WILL be talking about for years to come! There is no question about it! THIS is the purpose! THIS is the intent! Our clashing of body, spirit, and blood is not an accident, or a whim of chance! I am telling you that this is our moment to chisel our names into the structure of life! The first date set of a company that could go belly up the week after but that won’t matter because in this cloud of the unknowable, in this tangled web of anticipation to see what this company has to offer, we are at the top of the list! The very thing they are all waiting for! There is no better time to call your shot and absolutely obliterate the barrier that keep us human!”
Sammy’s hands slowly slides down his face, a finger or two catching on his lip before proceeding down his body and returning to the familiar limpness at his sides. “And yet...I have to wait. The present is a prison for me. Everyone else probably have their plans and their preparations. Masuda-san is definitely familiar to that busy life-style with once having whole companies to his disposal, being plastered on the cover of forbe-rip-off magazines with nice watches just to be plastered next week on “The Globe” for this or that. Never letting a moment pass by without meticulous planning. Sure, I can respect that and I won’t even question the dedication he’ll have for this match. Men like him don’t do anything unless they are willing to do it one hundred percent. But me, I have one thing.” A finger raised to signify the isolation of a lone thought. “One thing that I want. It isn’t power. It isn’t praise. It isn’t perfection. It is immortality. Man’s empires will fall, their corporations will one day be liquidated, their statues will either crumble or be defaced by a new generation. Because as you die, you will lose control. So, why try to grasp it? Jubei-chan. Why work so hard to be so pointlessly disciplined when you know that when you die, your bowels will release and all that sterned face terror you have constructed for yourself will die in a smile of rictus.” A chuckle of anxious energy, quickly interrupted by a snort and a shake of the head.
“Instead, I want what only I can give myself and no one can take away from me. A deep cut into that pretty little face of humanity. A cut so ugly that no one will be able to look at it without thinking of me. The residue of which will always be there no matter how much they try to mask it with makeup. And sadly, that includes you, my friend. I know you are looking to dominate me like you’ve dominated your underlings. You want this satisfaction of total control. But, that isn’t what you’re going to get. Because the truth is I’m not looking to win. Hehe. Yeah, I mean it would be a plus. To own that last beautiful image of me standing tall above your broken body with my hand raised high and everything fades to black. But What I want more than that is to make sure you don’t leave that ring the same man as you entered. Again...When they see you, I want them to think, ‘Sammy Badmoon’. When your entourage sees you, I want them to think ‘Sammy Badmoon really did a number on him’. When your yes-men see you, I want them to think ‘Sammy Badmoon didn’t take it, so why should I?!’.”
Sammy jumps up onto the couch in one swift movement, his hands held up high, shouting out to the heavens, “When they all see you on the cover of the magazines with your nice suits and your rolex watches, and your ‘Eastern Discipline’...I want the headline to read ‘The man that Sammy Badmoon took to task and we all LOVED IT!’...That is what I want. No titles, no gold, no women, no fancy cars, no control. I want Sammy Badmoon to be a masterpiece…”
A hop down right into the couch, laying as he was; legs crossed and hands behind his head. “But I have to wait...It is a shame you will never know my plight. You all might be playing the Three-D chess but I think I understand it better than any of you could possibly conceive...Yes, yes...I can see the forest for the trees. I just have to wait...I just have to wait…You don’t know what’s coming, APW. Nothing is going to go like any of those big wigs planned. The moment they hired me was the moment they invited Addu into their home...But still, I have to wait.”
And so wait he did. Sammy is not a patient man. But he will wait to have his way. He will let everyone else have their moment first if he gets to have the biggest bang of them all. Because his moment will be the most baffling, head-scratching, discerning cacophony of brilliance. Black and white turns to orange and blue when Sammy is around and I hate it. But, I can’t live without it. He is more than what I will ever admit to being. He has the motivation and none of the regret.
But he is only one of the masks I wear. If you meet Sammy, then consider yourself lucky. Because, Sammy doesn’t hate you. Sammy is self-absorbed. He is indifferent. But he isn’t malicious. When I created these personas, I didn’t get to choose what came to me. I merely unlocked the gates and what was inside just came out. And it is safe to say that I wasn’t ready for what was inside. I hope Sammy stays for a few more months. I really don’t want to change just yet. Give me some time. Give me some time. Give me some time.
“La-da-da-dee-da-da-doo…Sssssshhhhhh...I will be home soon…”
He is the persona in Persona Non Grata. He comes out and I get scars. He comes out and I lose friends. He comes out and I am forever damaged in ways in which there is no recompense. But it’s not an isolated experience of self-destruction, it is a kazikame attempt to take the world out with him. Bombing the path he lays until the only thing he has left to give is himself. A performer who is so embroiled in passion that he is willing to give his body...my body...to the cause.
His hair is many long, bright, honey-orange wisps of dissonance, existing without order and in conflict. His eyes are an unflinching stare of piercing blue, hidden behind cheap shades. His smile, always a devious smirk of mischief and ill-intent. Arms that swing purposelessly but with intent on each step. Hips that sway with a sexually charged swagger, a sensual energy dangerously bordering on boredom. And a perfect strut in unwieldy boots, exact steps of heel-toe-heel-toe-heel-toe; never a stumble.
Leather jackets and ripped shirts fill his closet but ice covers his neck and fingers. Chains and chains and chains and chains, always ready to fulfill the need of a noose if the occasion arises. I’m no stranger to ink but Sammy Badmoon only ever wants to do his own. So, now I have a black crack running down my arm for no rhyme or reason. He never wants me to forget he is there.
But, I want to make it clear that he does not hold me hostage. In the end, it is all just me. My decisions and my consequences. Sammy is just a mask for me to let it all out, to keep from rotting from the inside out with that burning bolt of stress that has plagued me since I was a child. Even if Sammy hurts, he is my freedom and liberation. Sammy is my friend.
Sammy might be a bad cliche, but he doesn’t care. He knows what aesthetic he wants and he lives it like a religion. The hardest part about Sammy is that he doesn’t get tired. He is constantly pushed forward on his own frustrations for greatness. A greatness only he can define. And its defined with flare, commotion, and unnecessary property damage. And that is exactly what he plans to achieve.
Where is Sammy at this moment? Maybe palming jewelry from a pawn store, or irritating the residence of a broken down urban town with his yelling and berating of lame suckers falling for gentrification. Or maybe laying across a moldy loveseat in a condemned apartment his friend refuses to fix up, one foot crossing over the other and his hands behind his head. All I know is that I’m not there. I am surviving in the aether as Sammy does what he needs to to make me feel whole again.
But as he lays across the deep red couch with holes where the stuffing pokes through, he is thinking. He is thinking about the exposed drywall, he is thinking about his missing cat, he is thinking about the rising tariffs to China that are putting farmers out of the job. But he isn’t considering any of it. What he is considering is one special moment in particular. Fantasizing and breaking down, scene by scene, the pinnacle of his potential. The ending note in a symphony of debuts. He will be the lasting impression in an opportunity to truly steal the limelight and exist in the most ultimate form...as a star amongst the sky.
“A...P...Double...U...” He lingers on in his train of thought as he stares up to the hard water stained ceiling. Trying to see if he can spot a religious figure. Maybe a Jesus, a Buddha, an Ishtar. Hell he’d even settle for Deepak Chopra. But all he can see is himself. But to him, he just looks like a shapeless blob of dark rings.
“Al...pha…” he taps his foot onto the open air, catching the rhythm that’s in his head. This is when the music flows. This is when his fire starts to build...A moment of silence passes as his vacant face of contemplation turns into a snarl. A deep sigh escapes him. He pulls his hands out from behind his head and tries shakes off the pins and needles. For some reason he is unable to rid himself of the feeling and it begins to frustrate him. He starts pounding his fist against the wood of the couch, letting out a yell of frustration as he rolls off and onto the bare wood floor.
He pushes himself onto his knees and shouts into the encroaching silence. “Does anyone else feel that?!” He continues to pound his fist, this time onto a poor, old coffee table. BOOM! BOOM! Reverberating off the walls. “That unbearable torture of waiting!” He gets on one foot then the other with his arms hanging limply at his side. He kicks the coffee table with an air of annoyance as if pestered by its incessant questions. It scrapes along, rough wood against its laminate top.
“Nothing is worse! Here I have this unbelievable opportunity and every hour that goes by is so agonizing!” He twirls in the center of the living room with his arms spread wide, it seems like he’s on the verge of laughter. Then a stray wooden chair crosses his sights, leading him to strut over with all manner of conviction, CLACK! CLACK! CLACK! Grabbing the chair, he drags it over to the middle of the room and loudly slams his big black boot on top.
“I am sick of it! I just want to start feeling my knuckles ache! My lungs on fire! Fist pounding against my face!” Sammy smacks himself across the temple. Slowly, a red blotch fades into being as an impression of where the strike landed. “I didn’t even care who my opponent was! Any ol’ bum would have been a good fit just to get started. But then I read such an interesting name across the VEE ESS from mine. Ma...su...da...Ju...bei…” The name imminates from his lips like a dark secret.
Sammy suddenly takes a seat in the chair, propping his head up with his fist, a pose of deep thought as if suddenly troubled. “The Master?...” A shrug. “What matters is this man is tough! I heard people call him a never-was or a conman at best, but that doesn’t matter. Yes, yes. What indeed matters is that he is tough!” And just as quickly as he sat down, he stands back up, violently booting the chair away, across the room. His fists tighten, looking like he is ready to explode with excitement. “Yes! I want them as tough as they come! I can only hope him sitting in a suit in the corner office hasn’t softened him up! Because I want this mean old bastard to make me bleed! I want him to blacken my eyes! I want him to break something! But I don’t want him to think it’s going to be easy, because for every wound he lays upon me, I will gleefully return back!”
His arms manically wrap around him, shifting and groping; slow moving up to his face. His black gloved hands digging their tips into his cheeks as a screech sails through his pearl white teeth. “And then I read the words...Main...EE...vent...I hope Jubei understands what kind of opportunity we have! Whatever god is out there, has given me a gift he gives to so few people. This opportunity isn’t about jockeying for position! This isn’t about displaying my potential to the people at the top. This is a divine opening to create a masterpiece…” His fingers tangle into his fiery hair, gripping against the scalp, ever so slightly stretching the skin.
“You ever heard a song so perfect that it seems like everything that led to that moment was brought in from an intelligent design? That paths HAD to cross, HAD to shift, HAD to crash! Because it was too important that this THING! This cataclysmic event! HAS to exist?! I have and it is the only thing that convinces me that any of this is worth it! Reaffirming that there is a purpose! Is a reason! By all that is good, there MUST be a god and he MUST be a fan of the Beatles!
“I am telling you right now that THAT is exactly what is happening! My parents copulating! Jubei’s and New Blood’s fall from grace! The emergence of the alphabet just to see the rise of three indifferent letters! A...P...Double...U…It MUST mean something! It is our divine duty to go out there and create something that they WILL be talking about for years to come! There is no question about it! THIS is the purpose! THIS is the intent! Our clashing of body, spirit, and blood is not an accident, or a whim of chance! I am telling you that this is our moment to chisel our names into the structure of life! The first date set of a company that could go belly up the week after but that won’t matter because in this cloud of the unknowable, in this tangled web of anticipation to see what this company has to offer, we are at the top of the list! The very thing they are all waiting for! There is no better time to call your shot and absolutely obliterate the barrier that keep us human!”
Sammy’s hands slowly slides down his face, a finger or two catching on his lip before proceeding down his body and returning to the familiar limpness at his sides. “And yet...I have to wait. The present is a prison for me. Everyone else probably have their plans and their preparations. Masuda-san is definitely familiar to that busy life-style with once having whole companies to his disposal, being plastered on the cover of forbe-rip-off magazines with nice watches just to be plastered next week on “The Globe” for this or that. Never letting a moment pass by without meticulous planning. Sure, I can respect that and I won’t even question the dedication he’ll have for this match. Men like him don’t do anything unless they are willing to do it one hundred percent. But me, I have one thing.” A finger raised to signify the isolation of a lone thought. “One thing that I want. It isn’t power. It isn’t praise. It isn’t perfection. It is immortality. Man’s empires will fall, their corporations will one day be liquidated, their statues will either crumble or be defaced by a new generation. Because as you die, you will lose control. So, why try to grasp it? Jubei-chan. Why work so hard to be so pointlessly disciplined when you know that when you die, your bowels will release and all that sterned face terror you have constructed for yourself will die in a smile of rictus.” A chuckle of anxious energy, quickly interrupted by a snort and a shake of the head.
“Instead, I want what only I can give myself and no one can take away from me. A deep cut into that pretty little face of humanity. A cut so ugly that no one will be able to look at it without thinking of me. The residue of which will always be there no matter how much they try to mask it with makeup. And sadly, that includes you, my friend. I know you are looking to dominate me like you’ve dominated your underlings. You want this satisfaction of total control. But, that isn’t what you’re going to get. Because the truth is I’m not looking to win. Hehe. Yeah, I mean it would be a plus. To own that last beautiful image of me standing tall above your broken body with my hand raised high and everything fades to black. But What I want more than that is to make sure you don’t leave that ring the same man as you entered. Again...When they see you, I want them to think, ‘Sammy Badmoon’. When your entourage sees you, I want them to think ‘Sammy Badmoon really did a number on him’. When your yes-men see you, I want them to think ‘Sammy Badmoon didn’t take it, so why should I?!’.”
Sammy jumps up onto the couch in one swift movement, his hands held up high, shouting out to the heavens, “When they all see you on the cover of the magazines with your nice suits and your rolex watches, and your ‘Eastern Discipline’...I want the headline to read ‘The man that Sammy Badmoon took to task and we all LOVED IT!’...That is what I want. No titles, no gold, no women, no fancy cars, no control. I want Sammy Badmoon to be a masterpiece…”
A hop down right into the couch, laying as he was; legs crossed and hands behind his head. “But I have to wait...It is a shame you will never know my plight. You all might be playing the Three-D chess but I think I understand it better than any of you could possibly conceive...Yes, yes...I can see the forest for the trees. I just have to wait...I just have to wait…You don’t know what’s coming, APW. Nothing is going to go like any of those big wigs planned. The moment they hired me was the moment they invited Addu into their home...But still, I have to wait.”
And so wait he did. Sammy is not a patient man. But he will wait to have his way. He will let everyone else have their moment first if he gets to have the biggest bang of them all. Because his moment will be the most baffling, head-scratching, discerning cacophony of brilliance. Black and white turns to orange and blue when Sammy is around and I hate it. But, I can’t live without it. He is more than what I will ever admit to being. He has the motivation and none of the regret.
But he is only one of the masks I wear. If you meet Sammy, then consider yourself lucky. Because, Sammy doesn’t hate you. Sammy is self-absorbed. He is indifferent. But he isn’t malicious. When I created these personas, I didn’t get to choose what came to me. I merely unlocked the gates and what was inside just came out. And it is safe to say that I wasn’t ready for what was inside. I hope Sammy stays for a few more months. I really don’t want to change just yet. Give me some time. Give me some time. Give me some time.
“La-da-da-dee-da-da-doo…Sssssshhhhhh...I will be home soon…”
