Post by ritualmadness on Dec 5, 2011 11:36:41 GMT -4
Vindicate
Vin•di•cate
[vin-di-keyt]
Verb (used with an object)
1. to provide justification for.
2. obsolete to set free
Backstage, Pro-Wrestling Arena, Phoenix, AZ (August 2005)
The changing room is full of the hustle and bustle of the post-show party, enveloped by the low hum of incessant chatter complemented by the occasional extraneous noise: a loud guffaw in response to some crude joke, the imitated protest of the groped showgirl, the squelch of a fart, the nostril vibrations of someone hoovering a line of cocaine; the air saturated with the scent of drying sweat, blood and liniment; the floor a collage of discarded bandages, jock straps and crushed beer cans.
This was the scene of John Dionysus’ lowest ebb. After years of embittered grief, struggling against the weight of universal ‘lightness’, shadow boxing his addictions, John Dionysus had convinced the fans, convinced his opponents, convinced the bookers, convinced himself that he could live and could be good and could be the person every wanted him to be.
You can be the man John.
It’s yours for the taking.
Show ‘em you are the real deal.
As the house lights dimmed he could slowly piece together like a jigsaw puzzle the evocations of his stream of consciousness: the roar of the fans welcoming him; the foul-mouthed taunts from the champ ejaculated to provoke and demean him; the brightness of the lights overhead; the pounding of the referee’s hand against the mat inches from his ears; the ring of the bell; the taste of defeat saturating every nerve of his mouth; the pleas; the sympathies; the jeers; a cup thrown; a coolness of saliva on his sweaty, sizzling skin; the look, that look.........of disgust.
I cannot be the man you want me to be.
World Wrestling Alliance Headquarters (11/1/11)
For six years one word plagued the mind of John Dionysus: a plague born of the memory that poisoned his soul; the memory of that look; a look that expressed a thousand words of hate but could not be spoken by even one. In spite of every attempt to drown it out, to push beyond the sturdy walls of his unconscious mind, the word persisted: vindication.
It was the word that drove Dionysus into the depths of the abyss and pulled him back out again. The word delivered him into the arms of his saviour, his protector, his biggest pimp; back into the sanctuary of the ritual madness where goliath fought goliath on the altar dedicated to the very God whose name he had taken; to become once more the sacrificial lamb for the insatiable masses.
Tonight is your night.
This bear can’t fly anymore.
Become the man they want you to be.
Vindication.
Vindication...
VINDICATION! .........
So it was and so it would be that John Dionysus would lean over the precipice and stare into the abyss, and the abyss would stare back, and John Dionysus would wink and smile and say ‘no more’. His time was coming...his time had come!
What transpired was a fuzzy blur, but the American Freebear, the flyin’ ursine, had his wings clipped; his fait accompli had come to fruit. This was not the bear’s night, but the night the world stood and clapped and cheered for John Dionysus...the new Heavyweight Champion.
That was eight days ago: Monday October 24th 2011. Forty pounds of gold and leather....worthless....meaningless....empty.
I’m not the man they wanted me to be.
I was that man, but it was taken from me.
Vindication...
Vin•di•cate
[vin-di-keyt]
Verb (used with an object)
1. to provide justification for.
2. obsolete to set free
Backstage, Pro-Wrestling Arena, Phoenix, AZ (August 2005)
The changing room is full of the hustle and bustle of the post-show party, enveloped by the low hum of incessant chatter complemented by the occasional extraneous noise: a loud guffaw in response to some crude joke, the imitated protest of the groped showgirl, the squelch of a fart, the nostril vibrations of someone hoovering a line of cocaine; the air saturated with the scent of drying sweat, blood and liniment; the floor a collage of discarded bandages, jock straps and crushed beer cans.
This was the scene of John Dionysus’ lowest ebb. After years of embittered grief, struggling against the weight of universal ‘lightness’, shadow boxing his addictions, John Dionysus had convinced the fans, convinced his opponents, convinced the bookers, convinced himself that he could live and could be good and could be the person every wanted him to be.
You can be the man John.
It’s yours for the taking.
Show ‘em you are the real deal.
As the house lights dimmed he could slowly piece together like a jigsaw puzzle the evocations of his stream of consciousness: the roar of the fans welcoming him; the foul-mouthed taunts from the champ ejaculated to provoke and demean him; the brightness of the lights overhead; the pounding of the referee’s hand against the mat inches from his ears; the ring of the bell; the taste of defeat saturating every nerve of his mouth; the pleas; the sympathies; the jeers; a cup thrown; a coolness of saliva on his sweaty, sizzling skin; the look, that look.........of disgust.
I cannot be the man you want me to be.
+ + +
World Wrestling Alliance Headquarters (11/1/11)
For six years one word plagued the mind of John Dionysus: a plague born of the memory that poisoned his soul; the memory of that look; a look that expressed a thousand words of hate but could not be spoken by even one. In spite of every attempt to drown it out, to push beyond the sturdy walls of his unconscious mind, the word persisted: vindication.
It was the word that drove Dionysus into the depths of the abyss and pulled him back out again. The word delivered him into the arms of his saviour, his protector, his biggest pimp; back into the sanctuary of the ritual madness where goliath fought goliath on the altar dedicated to the very God whose name he had taken; to become once more the sacrificial lamb for the insatiable masses.
Tonight is your night.
This bear can’t fly anymore.
Become the man they want you to be.
Vindication.
Vindication...
VINDICATION! .........
So it was and so it would be that John Dionysus would lean over the precipice and stare into the abyss, and the abyss would stare back, and John Dionysus would wink and smile and say ‘no more’. His time was coming...his time had come!
What transpired was a fuzzy blur, but the American Freebear, the flyin’ ursine, had his wings clipped; his fait accompli had come to fruit. This was not the bear’s night, but the night the world stood and clapped and cheered for John Dionysus...the new Heavyweight Champion.
That was eight days ago: Monday October 24th 2011. Forty pounds of gold and leather....worthless....meaningless....empty.
I’m not the man they wanted me to be.
I was that man, but it was taken from me.
Vindication...
