11-06-2020, 06:59 AM
11-06-2020, 11:56 AM
Wood panels and clown faces all stared back at me like Christians to Christ when he screamed to live, like the selfish jew he was until being bathed and baked in death for they amusement.
The graves in their eyes marked with my lies as spoken by their God, the Government, and the creed, their personal justices. Wonder if they ever met God, would you tell God as you’re told when he tells you otherwise?
Yeah, you. Each and every one of you.
Go and tell God as you’re told.
Hands bound in metal, clicked and clipped with chain and tricks to eclipse the soul as if it was a hole for our freedom to bury until no one knows what it is, what we are.
Adorned in earth tone and scorned, drone clothes, I felt myself escorted to the corner of the arena where the law, or the lol would decide the fate of me, or nothing. Depends.
Sat at the wooden slate of some uncomfortable tree’s fate, the judge had yet to arrive, but the plaintiff, like all others, had cast upon me their judgmental eyes.
This was no grandiose show, no televised program that a celebrity would sit at that desk and pretend to be the very thing she never desired to be except on TV. The room was small, and few could watch from the seats, but show they did, and those that did had all eyes on me.
Until the judge arrived, the dead cast of clowns were enamored with their Karen glances, corpse mouths and smug clouds of judgement that hung like a noose around my neck.
Jay Gold?
Who in your garbage fed is that?
Moving on to something of actual relevance.
Sat beside my representative, a man in black and white, a clown like them all, like each and every one of you. Manilla folders and papers of scribbles with no real content or context spread before him as the Judge sat and called he and our opponent to center stage.
Forced to stand and still myself before the eyes that now judged my physical being, neck stretched up to show the flesh, hands screwed forward for the metal to tighten and lips torn apart to bare the fangs of an awful criminal.
Who the hell are we supposed to know if I’m a monster the way you refuse to die?
“Worm!” A mouth twisted and scowled at me before it turned back to the judge, “your Honor! The crowd will plainly see the prisoner!”
Another chimed with equal disdain, from the lips of the main who came to defend my shame. “Caught red-handed showing feelings! Feelings of an almost human nature.”
“That will not do.” The other joined. Disgusted.
“Call the first witness!” The Judge decreed and the bell rang, each deep and echoed. Three.
A body, one of the shameless clowns wore a featureless mask reminiscent of Datura. An individual equally featureless. As plain as the Noh Mask that stared down before me.
“I always said he’d come to no good, you’re honor.”
“Your.” Corrections, “and never start a sentence with I.”
My hands were tied, but my tongue still sharp could cut my cheeks instead of hide.
“You should Noh better.” My warm spit spat.
“Know.”
“No.”
“Jay Gold will lay upon you the judgement we have decided for you.” She decreed, offended and taken back by my remarks, by my word play on this criminal stage. Written just for you.
“This remains to be scene.” The Judge intervened.
“If they’d let me have my way, I’d’ve flayed him further into shape! A bleeding mouth, a starving artist for attention not food! For so long,” The Noh-tura continued, “they let him get away with murder and I watched from afar with fervor, hoping I’d get to chip away at him like the others did!”
“Why did it take so long?” The opponent pondered, his eyes brown like feces and stained my own with his glare of judgement.
Bathed in such a crappy question, one could only take a moment to lean back in the three pronged chair with its ball and spear make stabbed into me as my spine refused to find any muse for comfort or lines.
“Well, you’re honor–“ He turned away.
As he did, I began to say, “you didn’t deserve it yet, not quite.” Now directed at Datura. “Why didn’t you come to GIW, or any of the nameless nones that I crossed paths before? You knew where I was and who I am, yet you tethered away from me like a ghost from scientific evidence. Why blame me for your inabilities?”
“How dare you!” Noh-tura shamed.
“Don’t you dare speak out of turn!” The Judge spat and slammed the gavel, he seemed to like that sound. Everyone did.
“You will speak only what we want to hear! Do you read me?” My defender demanded.
Do you read this?
Have you reached this point?
Do you even care anymore?
Have the words spoken and chosen all blended into a fabricated flag that you have woven so that it all goes down smoothly for you instead of actually understand the concept and context of what is truly being spoken?
Perhaps, as I noticed the crowd of clowns so dull and drowned in their own self-entitlement, that I must be and speak more plainly.
“I was not ready for such a grandiose opponent as you.” My voice quivered beneath the Noh’s desire for self acknowledgement, “oh, for those that I’ve faced before were nothing to me because only you could bring me out of retirement. Only you were worth it.”
The Noh nodded and the noose tightened.
No one cares what you say, only what they want to hear and what they’ve decided will always stay within them.
“Leave us.” The judge dismissed Noh-tura.
Crazy.
Truly gone fishing, the crowd would cast themselves at me and my eyes down at the plain wood table before me where my hands were forced to rest. To receive this even before my career started in 2011 in GIW, then onward in other useless and irrelevant places. That’s expected, though, isn’t it?
It is expected to be judged before you even speak your first word. It’s true that in those places I’ve been to, which are completely irrelevant to this specific location, I was deeply lucky to be one of so few people that actually had talent and would flaunt it effortlessly, this does not always happen. Sometimes whether you have talent or not, you are put in the position of judgement where that judge has already decided you lose.
Did the judge already decide that I would lose to Datura? Is it because Datura is a female, where her twitter followers with their dicks out could praise her vacantly? Did they really know the secret of Datura that I knew going into the match?
That contest wasn’t chosen at random, not like this one with Jay who-ever-the-f-ck-you-are Gold. It was years in the making, and years of choosing you, Datura. Not like those before you, not in the slightest, but merely to have fun with you, and to engage in someone I considered, at least outside of the ring, as equal to me.
You’re an artist, and that is why I chose to come out of retirement to give you a match.
The fact you won doesn’t bother me, because winning wasn’t the point. We were here to have fun and to show these clowns how to actually do what it is they think they’re doing.
Yeah, you.
Each and every one of you that have reached this far and still don’t quite understand that all of this has been nothing more than a game.
You are all toys in the attic.
So, you think any of you, least of all this nobody nothing no name no-I-don’t-care Jay have taken my marbles away?
Crazy.
“You little shit, you’re in it now!” My defender spat upon my right cheek and glared down the drip until it slapped against the fabric poorly draped over my shoulder in what they called a shirt. “I hope they throw away the key!”
Should I have spoken to you more often than I have? Perhaps a lot of you are understanding that I am not a very agreeable person with much of you.
There is no defense of Alioth Starre.
There is only the knowledge of and the understanding, not of who I am or what I’ve presented to you, but what I’ve done on the surface. The makeup, if you will that has been caked on the real being.
Only now has it been scraped from my bare flesh to reveal the man beneath, but then I have come into a world where everyone else have put on their clown makeup and dance around to the tune of their own flatulence.
You dare look at individuals like myself and ask why I had to go my own way? You parade little jokes like Jay Gold and claim at last minute that this will be my opponent and he will win because you don’t agree with the makeup we have put on ourselves. The image you have fawned over and forgotten is actually meant to be removed at the end of the day.
Should any of you bathe, you’d wake up and start shaking, cause you just wasted time.
Oh, no, but I as I will step into the ring with this no-name am the one that is over the rainbow crazy. Bars in the window laid horizontal across the squared circle, and you can’t even figure out how to use them, but scream as I step into them that there must have been a door there before and I should have known to use it instead of ducking under the third rope.
Let’s take a moment to unveil the flesh and reveal the muscles and the bones beneath a man.
These ropes around me have meant more than just what it has meant to much of you, because it clearly seems that none of you today understand what it truly means to be in a squared circle. It’s not about being in a wrestling ring, and it’s not about how you look when you take steroids and do stunts inside this in front of literally just one side of an audience as a camera films your mental filth from the other.
It’s not about the lights above me as I glance back up a them, eyes covered to protect them from the glare.
Being in this ring means being who you are striving to be who you need to become. It’s about the energy of finding a place to live that is not only yours, but connected to others of equal understanding.
It’s about finding yourself in others and showing that to those who are to scared to find themselves.
We enter the ring because this is our home, this is where we chose to put on something that transcends our body into a whole other place no human had ever thought it could reach. Sure, that could be yoga, that could be public speaking, or any trade or craft, or hobby, but if you have a passion for it, then you would understand what it feels like to do the very thing your body was born to do.
When you are so deep in your passion and that thing has been tied into your very soul is it not okay to feel angry or offended when someone doesn’t understand it and insults it, or defaces it, or believes that it is something that it never was?
This is for people like you, yeah, you, each and every one of you, but also for Jay Gold, of whom I have no clue who is and don’t really care to, but here:
When I step into that ring with you, I’m going home and I’m relaxing for the first time in an eternity of the cold expanse of this broken cosmos, and instead of finding comfort and solace, and pride in being what I was born to become, I find that someone who doesn’t understand what this space is all about has decided to stomp around in my home and turn it into a mockery.
Everything those that came before you, all of us that showed you what we do and the passion we had for it, how is it that you watched us and got the completely wrong idea from it?
How is it that all we’ve given you to take over and take our place has been so badly handled and misunderstood that now what you think it is that we were doing is nothing like it and in fact is just you pretending to be us pretending to give a damn about what we actually cared about as if it was meant to be fake and meant to be a gimmick, and not born to be anything at all.
When I came back and saw my pride had been stashed away by this big corporate entities that have then shit out something they can’t even recognize as the very thing I had such a passion for and dare to spit in my face when I tell you otherwise, how do you think I’d react?
Your disgusting little outlaw mud-show circus trash is not wrestling. It is not professional and it is not professional wrestling.
Unfortunately I understand I may have had a hand in making things this way, but not quite like shit stains by the name of Alexis Terry. If you even know that name anymore, I assure you it is for all the wrong reasons.
All the wrong reasons that create things like Bronx Valescence and Cosmo Cooper, and 4CW.
People like you, Jay Gold, and those that have gotten this far, how do you get a meme circus trash that you have presented to me out of the passion that was bleed into this ring?
In the end, I don’t expect to win this match, even as I stand in this ring and do the very thing my blood moves through my body for, I know that ultimately the outcome is decided by people who don’t even know why we’re supposed to be in this ring.
You are a puppet to sate a puppet with no puppet master. You are lost and you are incapable of understanding anything I’ve done nor anything I will say, because all you are is a copy of the imitation.
Alioth Starre is the original, not just that, but the origin.
We that stood in this ring are the origin of species that created something that has devolved into something so foreign to the passion and worlds we bleed to travel that I am honestly sickened to even share this ring with you.
Sickened even that I agreed to a second match in a place that clearly has no context of the concept it has conned people into believing it is.
One would hope, as we soon tumble back into my little world of judgement, that you did not find this errant path by way of the pedophiles that claim to be the Omega, or the outlaw young cucks, nor the fiends that would make you believe that all of this is nothing more than a sideshow for freaks.
One would hope, Jay Gold, that you’ll throw all of that away and just for one good match, one good moment dance with me the our bodies were meant to dance. Not a number or mambo, some nice little piano piece, but the muscle memory of what we’ve strived so desperately to carve into them. Do you have this in you? Does everything in this ring just squeeze your entire being and the moment you stand up after a damn good match feel the absolutely passion as it is relaxed and realized that you, yeah you, Jay Gold only, have done what you were born to do?
Is this who you are, because that’s who I am.
Alioth Starre was created to be the mirror to society, but in that cracked mirror, I always meant to show each and every one of you that it is cracked because of the passion I have beaten so desperately into it. You need to see what’s behind the glass to find the wood murdered from the earth and carved into something that’s meant to present the world to itself.
That is Alioth Starre.
What are you?
“The evidence before the court,” The judge screamed and banged on the desk with glee and anger, “incontrovertible that there’s no need for the jury to retire!” He added, “in all my years of judging I have never heard before of someone more deserving of the full penalty of the Law/Lol.”
He spat and banged and screamed.
“The way you make us suffer your exquisitely written nothings fills me with the urge to defecate!”
The trial played over in my head again and again and the words just stolen and plastered across all of these clown’s lips. They stole every single word and spoke all of them with no true conviction because none of them understood the passion behind them to begin with.
The judge spoke blandly and plainly out of ignorance as he sentenced me with sentences of defenses of line he’d never heard before so raw and yet twisted into the heart mentality’s whore.
“You are to be exposed before your peers!” He echoed and so the clowns in the room all stood and cheered as their knives became exposed. The stagnant and blurred reflection of myself in the stale metal as each would come before me to pierce my prepared flesh felt like nothing I ever wanted to feel, or see, or hear before.
In these final moments in court, as I felt the warmth of my blood run down this poorly received flesh, each clear curve of skin cut open by another knife and bone exposed, or muscle cut and snapped, ligaments torn, and my very being taken out of context, I watched as I realized that none of these men or women really actually had makeup or red noses, nor fancy clothing on.
None of them looked like the clowns I called them, they merely acted that way by my own verbal divisiveness. Each cut reminded me of each person I had pushed away with my words, my behavior, and my absolute need to delve too deep into this wretched passion I have let consume me and tear me apart.
One cut so violent it slashes apart my chains, but my hands and limbs so broken, all I could do was be ashamed.
Lights flickered in the room, like the circus I’d become, red and blue, left and right. The crowd stared at me, expectant. Had they cut me deep enough to show them the monster they wanted me to become, or will I remain defiant and individualistic?
What would Alioth do?
With a slow, haunted melody, my fingers crinkled and my arms curved as best they could, my legs moved in sweeping arcs that enchanted the pool of blood beneath me. My body twisted and my bones exposed, they cracked and cackled as my dance found the stage before their very eyes, their judgement all staged.
In a fleeting moment, I paused and looked around at the lights and crowd all blank and white. Each of them a canvas they dare not let anyone paint upon.
How dare you be yourselves.
Each crippled finger dipped beneath the earth tone shirt now a tattered web of lies they weaved and peered beneath the abused flesh to taste the warmth of blood. With every last breath and strength it took my fingers met the hooks of my mouth which arced and smiled as it spread the blood across like a happy little clown.
Smile for the camera.
Smile for the people.
As the world began to fade, my feet danced to their chants and felt equally as depraved.
The blood stained in polka dots, my hair red with glee, my nose bloodied and cut into rounds so that you could see how I breathe.
Now I could I could see it!
As my very being faded into obscurity, the masks and the makeup, the clothing and the lights. We were all wearing them, each and every one of us.
We danced.
We forgot who we were and why we were there in the first place.
Will you dance too?
Am I not one of you?
The graves in their eyes marked with my lies as spoken by their God, the Government, and the creed, their personal justices. Wonder if they ever met God, would you tell God as you’re told when he tells you otherwise?
Yeah, you. Each and every one of you.
Go and tell God as you’re told.
Hands bound in metal, clicked and clipped with chain and tricks to eclipse the soul as if it was a hole for our freedom to bury until no one knows what it is, what we are.
Adorned in earth tone and scorned, drone clothes, I felt myself escorted to the corner of the arena where the law, or the lol would decide the fate of me, or nothing. Depends.
Sat at the wooden slate of some uncomfortable tree’s fate, the judge had yet to arrive, but the plaintiff, like all others, had cast upon me their judgmental eyes.
This was no grandiose show, no televised program that a celebrity would sit at that desk and pretend to be the very thing she never desired to be except on TV. The room was small, and few could watch from the seats, but show they did, and those that did had all eyes on me.
Until the judge arrived, the dead cast of clowns were enamored with their Karen glances, corpse mouths and smug clouds of judgement that hung like a noose around my neck.
Jay Gold?
Who in your garbage fed is that?
Moving on to something of actual relevance.
Sat beside my representative, a man in black and white, a clown like them all, like each and every one of you. Manilla folders and papers of scribbles with no real content or context spread before him as the Judge sat and called he and our opponent to center stage.
Forced to stand and still myself before the eyes that now judged my physical being, neck stretched up to show the flesh, hands screwed forward for the metal to tighten and lips torn apart to bare the fangs of an awful criminal.
Who the hell are we supposed to know if I’m a monster the way you refuse to die?
“Worm!” A mouth twisted and scowled at me before it turned back to the judge, “your Honor! The crowd will plainly see the prisoner!”
Another chimed with equal disdain, from the lips of the main who came to defend my shame. “Caught red-handed showing feelings! Feelings of an almost human nature.”
“That will not do.” The other joined. Disgusted.
“Call the first witness!” The Judge decreed and the bell rang, each deep and echoed. Three.
A body, one of the shameless clowns wore a featureless mask reminiscent of Datura. An individual equally featureless. As plain as the Noh Mask that stared down before me.
“I always said he’d come to no good, you’re honor.”
“Your.” Corrections, “and never start a sentence with I.”
My hands were tied, but my tongue still sharp could cut my cheeks instead of hide.
“You should Noh better.” My warm spit spat.
“Know.”
“No.”
“Jay Gold will lay upon you the judgement we have decided for you.” She decreed, offended and taken back by my remarks, by my word play on this criminal stage. Written just for you.
“This remains to be scene.” The Judge intervened.
“If they’d let me have my way, I’d’ve flayed him further into shape! A bleeding mouth, a starving artist for attention not food! For so long,” The Noh-tura continued, “they let him get away with murder and I watched from afar with fervor, hoping I’d get to chip away at him like the others did!”
“Why did it take so long?” The opponent pondered, his eyes brown like feces and stained my own with his glare of judgement.
Bathed in such a crappy question, one could only take a moment to lean back in the three pronged chair with its ball and spear make stabbed into me as my spine refused to find any muse for comfort or lines.
“Well, you’re honor–“ He turned away.
As he did, I began to say, “you didn’t deserve it yet, not quite.” Now directed at Datura. “Why didn’t you come to GIW, or any of the nameless nones that I crossed paths before? You knew where I was and who I am, yet you tethered away from me like a ghost from scientific evidence. Why blame me for your inabilities?”
“How dare you!” Noh-tura shamed.
“Don’t you dare speak out of turn!” The Judge spat and slammed the gavel, he seemed to like that sound. Everyone did.
“You will speak only what we want to hear! Do you read me?” My defender demanded.
Do you read this?
Have you reached this point?
Do you even care anymore?
Have the words spoken and chosen all blended into a fabricated flag that you have woven so that it all goes down smoothly for you instead of actually understand the concept and context of what is truly being spoken?
Perhaps, as I noticed the crowd of clowns so dull and drowned in their own self-entitlement, that I must be and speak more plainly.
“I was not ready for such a grandiose opponent as you.” My voice quivered beneath the Noh’s desire for self acknowledgement, “oh, for those that I’ve faced before were nothing to me because only you could bring me out of retirement. Only you were worth it.”
The Noh nodded and the noose tightened.
No one cares what you say, only what they want to hear and what they’ve decided will always stay within them.
“Leave us.” The judge dismissed Noh-tura.
Crazy.
Truly gone fishing, the crowd would cast themselves at me and my eyes down at the plain wood table before me where my hands were forced to rest. To receive this even before my career started in 2011 in GIW, then onward in other useless and irrelevant places. That’s expected, though, isn’t it?
It is expected to be judged before you even speak your first word. It’s true that in those places I’ve been to, which are completely irrelevant to this specific location, I was deeply lucky to be one of so few people that actually had talent and would flaunt it effortlessly, this does not always happen. Sometimes whether you have talent or not, you are put in the position of judgement where that judge has already decided you lose.
Did the judge already decide that I would lose to Datura? Is it because Datura is a female, where her twitter followers with their dicks out could praise her vacantly? Did they really know the secret of Datura that I knew going into the match?
That contest wasn’t chosen at random, not like this one with Jay who-ever-the-f-ck-you-are Gold. It was years in the making, and years of choosing you, Datura. Not like those before you, not in the slightest, but merely to have fun with you, and to engage in someone I considered, at least outside of the ring, as equal to me.
You’re an artist, and that is why I chose to come out of retirement to give you a match.
The fact you won doesn’t bother me, because winning wasn’t the point. We were here to have fun and to show these clowns how to actually do what it is they think they’re doing.
Yeah, you.
Each and every one of you that have reached this far and still don’t quite understand that all of this has been nothing more than a game.
You are all toys in the attic.
So, you think any of you, least of all this nobody nothing no name no-I-don’t-care Jay have taken my marbles away?
Crazy.
“You little shit, you’re in it now!” My defender spat upon my right cheek and glared down the drip until it slapped against the fabric poorly draped over my shoulder in what they called a shirt. “I hope they throw away the key!”
Should I have spoken to you more often than I have? Perhaps a lot of you are understanding that I am not a very agreeable person with much of you.
There is no defense of Alioth Starre.
There is only the knowledge of and the understanding, not of who I am or what I’ve presented to you, but what I’ve done on the surface. The makeup, if you will that has been caked on the real being.
Only now has it been scraped from my bare flesh to reveal the man beneath, but then I have come into a world where everyone else have put on their clown makeup and dance around to the tune of their own flatulence.
You dare look at individuals like myself and ask why I had to go my own way? You parade little jokes like Jay Gold and claim at last minute that this will be my opponent and he will win because you don’t agree with the makeup we have put on ourselves. The image you have fawned over and forgotten is actually meant to be removed at the end of the day.
Should any of you bathe, you’d wake up and start shaking, cause you just wasted time.
Oh, no, but I as I will step into the ring with this no-name am the one that is over the rainbow crazy. Bars in the window laid horizontal across the squared circle, and you can’t even figure out how to use them, but scream as I step into them that there must have been a door there before and I should have known to use it instead of ducking under the third rope.
Let’s take a moment to unveil the flesh and reveal the muscles and the bones beneath a man.
These ropes around me have meant more than just what it has meant to much of you, because it clearly seems that none of you today understand what it truly means to be in a squared circle. It’s not about being in a wrestling ring, and it’s not about how you look when you take steroids and do stunts inside this in front of literally just one side of an audience as a camera films your mental filth from the other.
It’s not about the lights above me as I glance back up a them, eyes covered to protect them from the glare.
Being in this ring means being who you are striving to be who you need to become. It’s about the energy of finding a place to live that is not only yours, but connected to others of equal understanding.
It’s about finding yourself in others and showing that to those who are to scared to find themselves.
We enter the ring because this is our home, this is where we chose to put on something that transcends our body into a whole other place no human had ever thought it could reach. Sure, that could be yoga, that could be public speaking, or any trade or craft, or hobby, but if you have a passion for it, then you would understand what it feels like to do the very thing your body was born to do.
When you are so deep in your passion and that thing has been tied into your very soul is it not okay to feel angry or offended when someone doesn’t understand it and insults it, or defaces it, or believes that it is something that it never was?
This is for people like you, yeah, you, each and every one of you, but also for Jay Gold, of whom I have no clue who is and don’t really care to, but here:
When I step into that ring with you, I’m going home and I’m relaxing for the first time in an eternity of the cold expanse of this broken cosmos, and instead of finding comfort and solace, and pride in being what I was born to become, I find that someone who doesn’t understand what this space is all about has decided to stomp around in my home and turn it into a mockery.
Everything those that came before you, all of us that showed you what we do and the passion we had for it, how is it that you watched us and got the completely wrong idea from it?
How is it that all we’ve given you to take over and take our place has been so badly handled and misunderstood that now what you think it is that we were doing is nothing like it and in fact is just you pretending to be us pretending to give a damn about what we actually cared about as if it was meant to be fake and meant to be a gimmick, and not born to be anything at all.
When I came back and saw my pride had been stashed away by this big corporate entities that have then shit out something they can’t even recognize as the very thing I had such a passion for and dare to spit in my face when I tell you otherwise, how do you think I’d react?
Your disgusting little outlaw mud-show circus trash is not wrestling. It is not professional and it is not professional wrestling.
Unfortunately I understand I may have had a hand in making things this way, but not quite like shit stains by the name of Alexis Terry. If you even know that name anymore, I assure you it is for all the wrong reasons.
All the wrong reasons that create things like Bronx Valescence and Cosmo Cooper, and 4CW.
People like you, Jay Gold, and those that have gotten this far, how do you get a meme circus trash that you have presented to me out of the passion that was bleed into this ring?
In the end, I don’t expect to win this match, even as I stand in this ring and do the very thing my blood moves through my body for, I know that ultimately the outcome is decided by people who don’t even know why we’re supposed to be in this ring.
You are a puppet to sate a puppet with no puppet master. You are lost and you are incapable of understanding anything I’ve done nor anything I will say, because all you are is a copy of the imitation.
Alioth Starre is the original, not just that, but the origin.
We that stood in this ring are the origin of species that created something that has devolved into something so foreign to the passion and worlds we bleed to travel that I am honestly sickened to even share this ring with you.
Sickened even that I agreed to a second match in a place that clearly has no context of the concept it has conned people into believing it is.
One would hope, as we soon tumble back into my little world of judgement, that you did not find this errant path by way of the pedophiles that claim to be the Omega, or the outlaw young cucks, nor the fiends that would make you believe that all of this is nothing more than a sideshow for freaks.
One would hope, Jay Gold, that you’ll throw all of that away and just for one good match, one good moment dance with me the our bodies were meant to dance. Not a number or mambo, some nice little piano piece, but the muscle memory of what we’ve strived so desperately to carve into them. Do you have this in you? Does everything in this ring just squeeze your entire being and the moment you stand up after a damn good match feel the absolutely passion as it is relaxed and realized that you, yeah you, Jay Gold only, have done what you were born to do?
Is this who you are, because that’s who I am.
Alioth Starre was created to be the mirror to society, but in that cracked mirror, I always meant to show each and every one of you that it is cracked because of the passion I have beaten so desperately into it. You need to see what’s behind the glass to find the wood murdered from the earth and carved into something that’s meant to present the world to itself.
That is Alioth Starre.
What are you?
“The evidence before the court,” The judge screamed and banged on the desk with glee and anger, “incontrovertible that there’s no need for the jury to retire!” He added, “in all my years of judging I have never heard before of someone more deserving of the full penalty of the Law/Lol.”
He spat and banged and screamed.
“The way you make us suffer your exquisitely written nothings fills me with the urge to defecate!”
The trial played over in my head again and again and the words just stolen and plastered across all of these clown’s lips. They stole every single word and spoke all of them with no true conviction because none of them understood the passion behind them to begin with.
The judge spoke blandly and plainly out of ignorance as he sentenced me with sentences of defenses of line he’d never heard before so raw and yet twisted into the heart mentality’s whore.
“You are to be exposed before your peers!” He echoed and so the clowns in the room all stood and cheered as their knives became exposed. The stagnant and blurred reflection of myself in the stale metal as each would come before me to pierce my prepared flesh felt like nothing I ever wanted to feel, or see, or hear before.
In these final moments in court, as I felt the warmth of my blood run down this poorly received flesh, each clear curve of skin cut open by another knife and bone exposed, or muscle cut and snapped, ligaments torn, and my very being taken out of context, I watched as I realized that none of these men or women really actually had makeup or red noses, nor fancy clothing on.
None of them looked like the clowns I called them, they merely acted that way by my own verbal divisiveness. Each cut reminded me of each person I had pushed away with my words, my behavior, and my absolute need to delve too deep into this wretched passion I have let consume me and tear me apart.
One cut so violent it slashes apart my chains, but my hands and limbs so broken, all I could do was be ashamed.
Lights flickered in the room, like the circus I’d become, red and blue, left and right. The crowd stared at me, expectant. Had they cut me deep enough to show them the monster they wanted me to become, or will I remain defiant and individualistic?
What would Alioth do?
With a slow, haunted melody, my fingers crinkled and my arms curved as best they could, my legs moved in sweeping arcs that enchanted the pool of blood beneath me. My body twisted and my bones exposed, they cracked and cackled as my dance found the stage before their very eyes, their judgement all staged.
In a fleeting moment, I paused and looked around at the lights and crowd all blank and white. Each of them a canvas they dare not let anyone paint upon.
How dare you be yourselves.
Each crippled finger dipped beneath the earth tone shirt now a tattered web of lies they weaved and peered beneath the abused flesh to taste the warmth of blood. With every last breath and strength it took my fingers met the hooks of my mouth which arced and smiled as it spread the blood across like a happy little clown.
Smile for the camera.
Smile for the people.
As the world began to fade, my feet danced to their chants and felt equally as depraved.
The blood stained in polka dots, my hair red with glee, my nose bloodied and cut into rounds so that you could see how I breathe.
Now I could I could see it!
As my very being faded into obscurity, the masks and the makeup, the clothing and the lights. We were all wearing them, each and every one of us.
We danced.
We forgot who we were and why we were there in the first place.
Will you dance too?
Am I not one of you?
11-11-2020, 12:45 AM