Post by coreybull on Jul 3, 2016 21:00:33 GMT -5
"There is a wolf in me...Fangs pointed for tearing gashes...a red tongue for raw meat...and the hot lapping of blood -- I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go."
--- Carl Sandburg "Wilderness"
How many times have we stood here...wind whipping around us...night enveloping us like an old lover...the world threatening to be overrun by the God-machine?
It's a rhetorical question. We know how many nights....we remember them all....even if we don't want to. We can't forget the people that saw us....or the things we did to make them forget us. The information...it rotates around our mind...always there, ready to be called up at a seconds glance. Lists of numbers and images....burial sites and blood contracts. All there if we want it.
We don't want it though.
We were suppose to die...gloriously falling...a thunderstorm of violence and bloodshed. We would have been famous...but nameless. Reality could have taken us apart again and again...a million new lives to never remember this one. Did we fail or did it fail us? It's not really objective. We know all the details though....what we were wearing that day....what every person was wearing that day.
But we do not know the moment that it all changed. We can't remember. We don't know what variable changed. We have covered the slate with chalk and numbers...letters and equations...and one conclusion remains inescapable. The only solution....the only real answer....is to erase it all and start over. And for that....people are going to have to burn.
NGW is going to have to burn.
Not the federation, its just a segregate for the God-machine's plans. But Devlin Scott and his band of corporate lackeys. Oh....they have to burn. For they feed the very thing that is attempting total and complete domination of the world. And man....man fucking made it! Man allowed this to become their new religion. Men like Devlin Scott push the buttons that makes the cogs spin in place. Men like Gavin Grimes....who wear a certain brand or act a certain way....they make the cogs spin in place. Women like Ashleigh Jericho...someone who selfies this, memes that, and re-tweets this.....they make the cogs spin in place.
But we will no longer serve the God-machine like the rest of the sheep. We are the wolf. And we brought with us a pack...other former cogs in the machine turned wolves. We see the truth for what it is....the distractions the God-machine presents to the masses to continue their existence of conformity and obedience:
"Watch these two argue, they are married and now threaten that happiness. You want to watch...you need to watch. Follow! Obey!"
And the masses will do just that. They suck up the life of two prominent stars on the verge of collapse like mosquitoes at a blood bank. But we can not...will not allow humanity to be shackled to a future that will lead us all into nothing. A future that is wracked with mindless automatons walking through the world....breathing....talking...but no individuality. Your concerns will be spread across the net.....
Like for the black dress, comment for the blue dress......
What should my new theme song be, take the poll #Please....
How many shares can this armless, three eyed mule from a desolate country get?
Humanity...individuality....the very souls of man...must be saved. NGW is just one place to make that change....but it is a place that has the masses ears. Exploitation of those people.....the corruption of their lives.....that is what the God-Machine wants men like Devlin Scott to do. Men like Dirk Bentley and Jack Diamond. Men who think money is the answer to all things.....men who rate their self worth by the number of people that follow them on Twitter, that like them on Facebook, that Instagram and Snapchat them.
We are but one step in the process, but we are the most important step. We are the hammer sent to crack the eggs....the fist to squash the flea....the bulldozer sent to mow the grass. While something more appropriate might be just right....we are the guarantee that things get done. And we will use the tools of the God-Machine against it. Our message will not be just electrons on the airwaves...but fists in the ring and blood on the streets. We will carve our message in the hides of it's cogs and present them to the masses like a trophy.
We were suppose to die that day.....instead.....humanity screamed out for a hero....
....now it gets a nightmare to wake it up.
**The warm July Northwoods morning. The road is worn, having never truly seen any use since the building that sits at the end of it became condemned. The once immaculate lawn is now a small field of wild flowers and scrub brush. The trees that once sat trimmed and kept in check are now wild once again, spreading their limbs out like giants. The sign that tells you where you are is now falling to pieces, kids having marked it with graffiti and bullet holes. The boots of the large man in front of the camera can be heard crushing broken glass bottles and tin cans as he walks the teenager made trail that leads to the door. Bull stops and looks over the fading building. This is what remains of the Northwoods Mental Facility. This old brown building, this house of pain, chained and barred and waiting here for the wrecking ball that may never come.
If you believe you are beyond harm, would you enter this place that is so prominent in blood and gore? Bull pushes open the door that no longer has a knob or lock, and we enter a foyer that is pitch black, webs of the eight legged occupants crossing the threshold. Bull walks through as if they are not even there, and we can see little bodies running for breaks in the wood to hide. Inside is almost as frightening as the outside, not for how decayed it is, but how much of this place still exists on the inside. Graffiti is here too, a large six foot tall phallus and balls sits on the wall behind the nurses station, as someone named Eli claims Mary rode it like a stallion. There is no shortage of numbers to call for a good time, all of them claiming complete satisfaction.
But beyond the graffiti is the essence of the place, the pure debauchery that happened behind these walls. In its heyday, this institute ran in the time of experimentation. Drugs not tested anywhere else were fed to patients as if this was a feed mill filled with cows. Some deaths have still to be explained. Other forms of "remodification" were instituted: electroshock therapy, even blood letting. The horrors from centuries earlier, what one man called torture another called science.
Bull continues beyond all this graffiti, passing old instruments of medical use and climbs the stairs. The wood creaks from the weight, begging to break, but holds as the monster climbs. He does not stop on the second floor, spinning the corner and continuing up the stairs. It is the third floor where he slows, looking at everything as if it will leap out at him. Bull cracks his neck and moves forward, walking past a large section that has burned, the fire that originally shut the place down. No one really knows how it started. Rumors of course have run rampant, blaming Bull or someone close to him, but no one really knows. It is here that he stops, just beyond the burnt borders, at a room with the number eighteen on the front. Bull runs his large hand across the fading paint, and pushes the door open. Inside sits a room like many other rooms. But this one contains remnants of the occupant. Drawings on the wall, of a dragon, a demon, of something else. Words such as "We are stronger as one" and We will never fall." are scribbled in crayon. This room, number eighteen on the third floor, once housed the monster in front of us as a child.
Bull enters the room, looking over everything with an unreadable expression in his eyes, and an unknown face under the mask. Its silver glints in the traces of sunlight that sneak in through a hole. He sits on the decaying structure that was a bed, a glimmer in his eye. A chuckle escapes from the mask, and it seems he can not control it, for it spreads like a wild fire, becoming a deep belly laugh into something maniacal. He settles and looks to the camera, his eyes on fire**
"As a child, we first tried to contain it. And now, looking back at those moments...it was kind of like trying to hold on as long as possible during sex. Every part of you wants to be done with it...and we fought so hard against it because...we thought...if we gave in...it would win. And we didn't want it too...at first. We put that on our father you see. We were afraid that the family curse was attempting to condemn us. Attempting to make us in the image of the man that we had so much contempt for...so much utter hatred for. It consumed us....the trying to contain it. But, looking back, we now realize....holding out during sex was a lot easier then containing that which lies inside of us."
**Bull stands, shooting up like a bullet racing for its target and his eyes seem to go black. Even his voice takes on a more fierce quality and tone, something never before heard. It is as if another monster it speaking...something older and more primal**
"And just like that...it was free! A volcanic rush powered through my body! It burned my thoughts in a fever. The meat...the blood...the bone....it had all broken free. Free to take the form of hatred....free to kill! And I liked every dam second of it!"
**Bulls breath comes heavy, and he sits back down**
"But we had to learn to temper that hatred and murderous instinct. We had to harness it, use it only when it was truly needed....or we would be in a different place. Kind of like now. WE have tempered it too much. We have allowed ourselves to become....tame. And being tame will not get the job done. Especially when more then just this place....more then just gold around our waist....is at stake."
"That is why we returned here. Not some wonderfully gimmicky set up. This....this isn't a gimmick to us Jack and Dirk. This was home. This was where we learned of love....of life...of blood and sacrifice. This sick and twisted place taught us the realities of the world. Maybe it was where we first learned of the sinister game played across the world....the new religion. Or maybe that came later....or was something always known. Maybe we were meant to be the broken cog....the wolf amongst the sheep...and we have always known that there was something wrong with the world."
**Bull stands and walks to the wall, running his hand gently over the drawings that have faded over the years**
"We can almost guarantee that Dirk is going to say something about all this. Its just a gimmick to Dirk you see. That's all we are. Even as tag team partners, he was never able to believe in what we truly are. WE don't even know if he tried...and we can't say that we blame him. But after all these years Dirk....how has it not sunk in by now? We have traveled the roads together, partied together, even fought against each other and in all that Dirk....did you ever once see us act any differently then we always do? No....no you didn't. And that is your mistake Dirk. Your standing there, holding this one win you have over us in such high standing...that you believed you actually had the ability to defeat Gavin. Even we know it would have been a tall order for us....not an impossible one though."
"And you Jack. How wonderful of you to return to the beckon call of your favorite bitch. And we both know that is the way you have always viewed Dirk. This whole thing where you appear out of nowhere, after having....from what we can tell....a successful run at owning your own casino....it just doesn't sit well with us. What is this....Drifters 2.0? Didn't this happen last time....Dirk took a shot at the top and failed, so he called in ol Jacky boy to save the day. Oh, we are sure that there is more then just Dirks achy breaky vagina being the reason your here Jack. We know you well enough to know you always have a...for lack of a better term....an ace up your sleeve so to speak. We could speculate till the cows come home, but why bother. It really isn't that important to the match as to why you have returned Jack. Just that your here....and we need to go through you and Dirk to get where we want to be. So be it."
**Bulls arms slowly lower to his sides. He cracks his neck...a chuckle escaping from the mask. When he turns...his eyes...they are as black as the night sky**
"Cause when you get right to it, I fucking hate you both! And hate...hate makes the world go round faster then any other force. Hate is something that will never be in short supply...and it is a force I am proficient in wielding. And I am going to take you two and fucking bury you. And I don't care if it is Axle 2.0 with me....if its fucking Joey Reyes with me....or the ghost of Ace Fucking Static! I'm walking to that ring to ensure that you two have a very bad fucking day. It's people like you that try to put monsters like me down. It's people like you that look down on the little person, expecting them to just listen to what you say and follow obediently Well fuck you both."
"I am going to enjoy this. The others...they would just beat you and win. Me...I am going to bust you open and watch you die."
**Bull moves towards the door, stopping before walking out**
"We told you a nightmare is coming...at Conflict, it will be here. And you only think you know....."
"You have no idea!"
**Bull leaves the room, the camera turning slowly to take in the place that helped birth a monster as it slowly fades to black**
--- Carl Sandburg "Wilderness"
How many times have we stood here...wind whipping around us...night enveloping us like an old lover...the world threatening to be overrun by the God-machine?
It's a rhetorical question. We know how many nights....we remember them all....even if we don't want to. We can't forget the people that saw us....or the things we did to make them forget us. The information...it rotates around our mind...always there, ready to be called up at a seconds glance. Lists of numbers and images....burial sites and blood contracts. All there if we want it.
We don't want it though.
We were suppose to die...gloriously falling...a thunderstorm of violence and bloodshed. We would have been famous...but nameless. Reality could have taken us apart again and again...a million new lives to never remember this one. Did we fail or did it fail us? It's not really objective. We know all the details though....what we were wearing that day....what every person was wearing that day.
But we do not know the moment that it all changed. We can't remember. We don't know what variable changed. We have covered the slate with chalk and numbers...letters and equations...and one conclusion remains inescapable. The only solution....the only real answer....is to erase it all and start over. And for that....people are going to have to burn.
NGW is going to have to burn.
Not the federation, its just a segregate for the God-machine's plans. But Devlin Scott and his band of corporate lackeys. Oh....they have to burn. For they feed the very thing that is attempting total and complete domination of the world. And man....man fucking made it! Man allowed this to become their new religion. Men like Devlin Scott push the buttons that makes the cogs spin in place. Men like Gavin Grimes....who wear a certain brand or act a certain way....they make the cogs spin in place. Women like Ashleigh Jericho...someone who selfies this, memes that, and re-tweets this.....they make the cogs spin in place.
But we will no longer serve the God-machine like the rest of the sheep. We are the wolf. And we brought with us a pack...other former cogs in the machine turned wolves. We see the truth for what it is....the distractions the God-machine presents to the masses to continue their existence of conformity and obedience:
"Watch these two argue, they are married and now threaten that happiness. You want to watch...you need to watch. Follow! Obey!"
And the masses will do just that. They suck up the life of two prominent stars on the verge of collapse like mosquitoes at a blood bank. But we can not...will not allow humanity to be shackled to a future that will lead us all into nothing. A future that is wracked with mindless automatons walking through the world....breathing....talking...but no individuality. Your concerns will be spread across the net.....
Like for the black dress, comment for the blue dress......
What should my new theme song be, take the poll #Please....
How many shares can this armless, three eyed mule from a desolate country get?
Humanity...individuality....the very souls of man...must be saved. NGW is just one place to make that change....but it is a place that has the masses ears. Exploitation of those people.....the corruption of their lives.....that is what the God-Machine wants men like Devlin Scott to do. Men like Dirk Bentley and Jack Diamond. Men who think money is the answer to all things.....men who rate their self worth by the number of people that follow them on Twitter, that like them on Facebook, that Instagram and Snapchat them.
We are but one step in the process, but we are the most important step. We are the hammer sent to crack the eggs....the fist to squash the flea....the bulldozer sent to mow the grass. While something more appropriate might be just right....we are the guarantee that things get done. And we will use the tools of the God-Machine against it. Our message will not be just electrons on the airwaves...but fists in the ring and blood on the streets. We will carve our message in the hides of it's cogs and present them to the masses like a trophy.
We were suppose to die that day.....instead.....humanity screamed out for a hero....
....now it gets a nightmare to wake it up.
**The warm July Northwoods morning. The road is worn, having never truly seen any use since the building that sits at the end of it became condemned. The once immaculate lawn is now a small field of wild flowers and scrub brush. The trees that once sat trimmed and kept in check are now wild once again, spreading their limbs out like giants. The sign that tells you where you are is now falling to pieces, kids having marked it with graffiti and bullet holes. The boots of the large man in front of the camera can be heard crushing broken glass bottles and tin cans as he walks the teenager made trail that leads to the door. Bull stops and looks over the fading building. This is what remains of the Northwoods Mental Facility. This old brown building, this house of pain, chained and barred and waiting here for the wrecking ball that may never come.
If you believe you are beyond harm, would you enter this place that is so prominent in blood and gore? Bull pushes open the door that no longer has a knob or lock, and we enter a foyer that is pitch black, webs of the eight legged occupants crossing the threshold. Bull walks through as if they are not even there, and we can see little bodies running for breaks in the wood to hide. Inside is almost as frightening as the outside, not for how decayed it is, but how much of this place still exists on the inside. Graffiti is here too, a large six foot tall phallus and balls sits on the wall behind the nurses station, as someone named Eli claims Mary rode it like a stallion. There is no shortage of numbers to call for a good time, all of them claiming complete satisfaction.
But beyond the graffiti is the essence of the place, the pure debauchery that happened behind these walls. In its heyday, this institute ran in the time of experimentation. Drugs not tested anywhere else were fed to patients as if this was a feed mill filled with cows. Some deaths have still to be explained. Other forms of "remodification" were instituted: electroshock therapy, even blood letting. The horrors from centuries earlier, what one man called torture another called science.
Bull continues beyond all this graffiti, passing old instruments of medical use and climbs the stairs. The wood creaks from the weight, begging to break, but holds as the monster climbs. He does not stop on the second floor, spinning the corner and continuing up the stairs. It is the third floor where he slows, looking at everything as if it will leap out at him. Bull cracks his neck and moves forward, walking past a large section that has burned, the fire that originally shut the place down. No one really knows how it started. Rumors of course have run rampant, blaming Bull or someone close to him, but no one really knows. It is here that he stops, just beyond the burnt borders, at a room with the number eighteen on the front. Bull runs his large hand across the fading paint, and pushes the door open. Inside sits a room like many other rooms. But this one contains remnants of the occupant. Drawings on the wall, of a dragon, a demon, of something else. Words such as "We are stronger as one" and We will never fall." are scribbled in crayon. This room, number eighteen on the third floor, once housed the monster in front of us as a child.
Bull enters the room, looking over everything with an unreadable expression in his eyes, and an unknown face under the mask. Its silver glints in the traces of sunlight that sneak in through a hole. He sits on the decaying structure that was a bed, a glimmer in his eye. A chuckle escapes from the mask, and it seems he can not control it, for it spreads like a wild fire, becoming a deep belly laugh into something maniacal. He settles and looks to the camera, his eyes on fire**
"As a child, we first tried to contain it. And now, looking back at those moments...it was kind of like trying to hold on as long as possible during sex. Every part of you wants to be done with it...and we fought so hard against it because...we thought...if we gave in...it would win. And we didn't want it too...at first. We put that on our father you see. We were afraid that the family curse was attempting to condemn us. Attempting to make us in the image of the man that we had so much contempt for...so much utter hatred for. It consumed us....the trying to contain it. But, looking back, we now realize....holding out during sex was a lot easier then containing that which lies inside of us."
**Bull stands, shooting up like a bullet racing for its target and his eyes seem to go black. Even his voice takes on a more fierce quality and tone, something never before heard. It is as if another monster it speaking...something older and more primal**
"And just like that...it was free! A volcanic rush powered through my body! It burned my thoughts in a fever. The meat...the blood...the bone....it had all broken free. Free to take the form of hatred....free to kill! And I liked every dam second of it!"
**Bulls breath comes heavy, and he sits back down**
"But we had to learn to temper that hatred and murderous instinct. We had to harness it, use it only when it was truly needed....or we would be in a different place. Kind of like now. WE have tempered it too much. We have allowed ourselves to become....tame. And being tame will not get the job done. Especially when more then just this place....more then just gold around our waist....is at stake."
"That is why we returned here. Not some wonderfully gimmicky set up. This....this isn't a gimmick to us Jack and Dirk. This was home. This was where we learned of love....of life...of blood and sacrifice. This sick and twisted place taught us the realities of the world. Maybe it was where we first learned of the sinister game played across the world....the new religion. Or maybe that came later....or was something always known. Maybe we were meant to be the broken cog....the wolf amongst the sheep...and we have always known that there was something wrong with the world."
**Bull stands and walks to the wall, running his hand gently over the drawings that have faded over the years**
"We can almost guarantee that Dirk is going to say something about all this. Its just a gimmick to Dirk you see. That's all we are. Even as tag team partners, he was never able to believe in what we truly are. WE don't even know if he tried...and we can't say that we blame him. But after all these years Dirk....how has it not sunk in by now? We have traveled the roads together, partied together, even fought against each other and in all that Dirk....did you ever once see us act any differently then we always do? No....no you didn't. And that is your mistake Dirk. Your standing there, holding this one win you have over us in such high standing...that you believed you actually had the ability to defeat Gavin. Even we know it would have been a tall order for us....not an impossible one though."
"And you Jack. How wonderful of you to return to the beckon call of your favorite bitch. And we both know that is the way you have always viewed Dirk. This whole thing where you appear out of nowhere, after having....from what we can tell....a successful run at owning your own casino....it just doesn't sit well with us. What is this....Drifters 2.0? Didn't this happen last time....Dirk took a shot at the top and failed, so he called in ol Jacky boy to save the day. Oh, we are sure that there is more then just Dirks achy breaky vagina being the reason your here Jack. We know you well enough to know you always have a...for lack of a better term....an ace up your sleeve so to speak. We could speculate till the cows come home, but why bother. It really isn't that important to the match as to why you have returned Jack. Just that your here....and we need to go through you and Dirk to get where we want to be. So be it."
**Bulls arms slowly lower to his sides. He cracks his neck...a chuckle escaping from the mask. When he turns...his eyes...they are as black as the night sky**
"Cause when you get right to it, I fucking hate you both! And hate...hate makes the world go round faster then any other force. Hate is something that will never be in short supply...and it is a force I am proficient in wielding. And I am going to take you two and fucking bury you. And I don't care if it is Axle 2.0 with me....if its fucking Joey Reyes with me....or the ghost of Ace Fucking Static! I'm walking to that ring to ensure that you two have a very bad fucking day. It's people like you that try to put monsters like me down. It's people like you that look down on the little person, expecting them to just listen to what you say and follow obediently Well fuck you both."
"I am going to enjoy this. The others...they would just beat you and win. Me...I am going to bust you open and watch you die."
**Bull moves towards the door, stopping before walking out**
"We told you a nightmare is coming...at Conflict, it will be here. And you only think you know....."
"You have no idea!"
**Bull leaves the room, the camera turning slowly to take in the place that helped birth a monster as it slowly fades to black**