Post by Alexander Locke on Feb 12, 2008 6:02:46 GMT -4
Memoirs To Locke Away
Prologue
I hate people.
I hate their expectations, their sense of all-knowing. They think they know us by watching us throw ourselves around the ring every God damn week, and if they don't get what they want, they throw hissy-fits and boycott the shows they once shelled out to see because one guy does a moonsault and it looks a little smoother. When did injuries and hardcore wrestling ever cease?
You see, these people...
They're nothing. They mean nothing. For me, it's a job, and that job entails that I beat the living shit out of people I don't even know with each passing week. I'm not in it for the fame or the glory — though it would be nice for people to appreciate what I "create" for them nonetheless — I'm in this because it pays well, and because second to my love of music is combat, where music failed for me.
You see. People. They're all nothing. We go out and we fight in that squared circle weekly and all these people do are sit there and do the same God damned thing over and over. They cheer or boo. Nevermind that it's like preaching to a God damned two-response robot from the 1980s, I prefer to think of the lot of them as unfortunate cases. Lobos, if you will. Lobotomy patients, the lot of them.
These lobos make me sick with their very existence. The blacks and the whites, the yellows and the browns. The fat people and the thin people, the muscly people and the limp people. The women and the boys, the men and the girls. End of the day, the lot of them are the same. They all follow the same rhythm and herd like sheep to these "wrestling events" to see one person they hate by default take on someone they love by default. There's no complication to it.
It's like the American political system's obsession with "right" and "left". There can be no in between. There's always a black and white answer to everything in America.
I wanted to be that complexity, but they just hate me for trying anything new.
Just like back when I made music.
Nine albums. These lobos loved the first four, then suddenly they did a double take and imploded when they realised that one musician can make different kinds of music and not embody one genre as opposed to many, so that's why I became public enemy #1 in music with my next two albums, Ibsen and Moondrifter. I had to appease them with my last three, all the while keeping a straight face and pretending it was all part of the job.
God, I'm so disgusted with the state of everything.
I'm too appalled to keep writing.
Let these memoirs detail my journey through the land of lobos, and let them sum up the kind of man I start off as and the kind of man I become.
