Post by deaconcrane on Dec 7, 2017 18:14:19 GMT -8
“It's a day of first impressions, first triumphs, first losses, and infinite possibilities.”
Abundant sunshine consumed Los Angeles, California. A proverbial melting pot of personalities walked the bustling streets, but each vessel carried the same manufactured, Hollywood aspiring, synthetic aesthetic as they rushed to their daily jobs they one day hoped to abandon for superstardom.
Deacon Crane walked amongst the people upon the crowded sidewalk, seemingly the only one aware enough to examine his own surroundings, foregoing the one track minded soldiering those around him were accustomed to. The scowl on his face indicated his disgust, shaking his head as these people bumped into each other without a second thought.
“It's pathetic how much these people are thoughtlessly conforming to another person's image to become something they will never obtain because their insecurities will devour them inside out until they reduce themselves to hollowed puppets. That'll never be me.”
“I'm of a different breed… an authentic, aware man that is fully capable of achieving what I set out to do because I follow my own rules. I don't become what you want me to be, I think about who I am and who I can become. I'll never be GTA, extorting my abs like a physical fitness whore who only derives pleasure from playing with myself. He's a walking cliche that serves no purpose in the success of GWD.”
“I'm not Nameless, nor am I an over the hill man who uses passion as a facade to hide the fact that I really can't afford to hang up my boots because my pinnacles have only been reached on a moderate level.”
Deacon takes a deep breath, closing his eyes to take in the LA air.
“Not at all… a Mark Storm. Understandably cocky as a nine year veteran, Mark Storm still stands as a man I do not see as a threat. For as cocky as he is, I am just as confident. I am confident that Mark is nowhere near the caliber athlete he wants us to believe, because years and success are not necessarily correlated. Mark should have been a force on a worldwide level, sticking to one company and shouldering it to the top of the business.”
“Instead, he's settled himself into multiple places, places where he sees himself above the rest of the fray, to make himself look better while padding his accomplishments. He sees success being a big fish in a small pond, but wouldn't dare go into deeper water where the real predators are.”
A passerby bumps into Deacon, who shoves them off with a confrontational demeanor. As he brushes his hair back, he points to himself.
“I am the leader of this movement. Storm is nothing but a name that will give further credence to my claim as the one man to shoulder GWD and turn it into a juggernaut. I'm not here to dick swing accomplishments and who has been where. I'm focused on now, and now, I know I have this tournament in my hands.”
“Day after day, people stroll to their jobs miserably, dreaming of the day they can become more. Meanwhile, I am becoming more. I'm becoming the present and future of this business with each calculated step. Why else do you think I was sought out? Because GWD sees the man who can carry the flag… one flag. Not Mark Storm, who carries many. It dulls the importance. Deacon Crane doesn't need to whore himself out.”
Deacon then clenches his fist and presses it to his jaw.
“I stand toe to toe with the frontrunner because I am the only one capable of pushing and succeeding. Then again, I am the only man that can create the perfect storm against Mark, having him drown in his own turbulent waters. I will get inside your head, Mark, and I will manipulate your limbs in ways even your near decade hasn't let you experience. Nothing would make me smile more than creating a perfect crater in the middle of your smug face. Because if anyone can humble you, it's me.”
A pause follows before Deacon waves his finger and begins to laugh.
“Oh, but you, Mark… in your eyes, you were declared the victor as soon as the match was signed, right? I guess the old wives tale of masturbation making one blind is true, because it's clear to me that your self-perception in this match is opaque. You can't see beyond your own eyelids, your locked away in your own head. And that's your downfall.”
“I treat heroes like Otis Driftwood in Devil's Rejects. Bludgeon or face carve, it's up to you. But, at the end of the night, you will be a changed man either way, by force. You've seen many come, and watched many go… but nobody you've encountered… has been infinite.”
Deacon scowled and walked opposite the crowd, bumping shoulders with each to little reaction on their part. The scene fades, leaving the only words “Fuck You, You Fucking Fuck” to be seen.
Abundant sunshine consumed Los Angeles, California. A proverbial melting pot of personalities walked the bustling streets, but each vessel carried the same manufactured, Hollywood aspiring, synthetic aesthetic as they rushed to their daily jobs they one day hoped to abandon for superstardom.
Deacon Crane walked amongst the people upon the crowded sidewalk, seemingly the only one aware enough to examine his own surroundings, foregoing the one track minded soldiering those around him were accustomed to. The scowl on his face indicated his disgust, shaking his head as these people bumped into each other without a second thought.
“It's pathetic how much these people are thoughtlessly conforming to another person's image to become something they will never obtain because their insecurities will devour them inside out until they reduce themselves to hollowed puppets. That'll never be me.”
“I'm of a different breed… an authentic, aware man that is fully capable of achieving what I set out to do because I follow my own rules. I don't become what you want me to be, I think about who I am and who I can become. I'll never be GTA, extorting my abs like a physical fitness whore who only derives pleasure from playing with myself. He's a walking cliche that serves no purpose in the success of GWD.”
“I'm not Nameless, nor am I an over the hill man who uses passion as a facade to hide the fact that I really can't afford to hang up my boots because my pinnacles have only been reached on a moderate level.”
Deacon takes a deep breath, closing his eyes to take in the LA air.
“Not at all… a Mark Storm. Understandably cocky as a nine year veteran, Mark Storm still stands as a man I do not see as a threat. For as cocky as he is, I am just as confident. I am confident that Mark is nowhere near the caliber athlete he wants us to believe, because years and success are not necessarily correlated. Mark should have been a force on a worldwide level, sticking to one company and shouldering it to the top of the business.”
“Instead, he's settled himself into multiple places, places where he sees himself above the rest of the fray, to make himself look better while padding his accomplishments. He sees success being a big fish in a small pond, but wouldn't dare go into deeper water where the real predators are.”
A passerby bumps into Deacon, who shoves them off with a confrontational demeanor. As he brushes his hair back, he points to himself.
“I am the leader of this movement. Storm is nothing but a name that will give further credence to my claim as the one man to shoulder GWD and turn it into a juggernaut. I'm not here to dick swing accomplishments and who has been where. I'm focused on now, and now, I know I have this tournament in my hands.”
“Day after day, people stroll to their jobs miserably, dreaming of the day they can become more. Meanwhile, I am becoming more. I'm becoming the present and future of this business with each calculated step. Why else do you think I was sought out? Because GWD sees the man who can carry the flag… one flag. Not Mark Storm, who carries many. It dulls the importance. Deacon Crane doesn't need to whore himself out.”
Deacon then clenches his fist and presses it to his jaw.
“I stand toe to toe with the frontrunner because I am the only one capable of pushing and succeeding. Then again, I am the only man that can create the perfect storm against Mark, having him drown in his own turbulent waters. I will get inside your head, Mark, and I will manipulate your limbs in ways even your near decade hasn't let you experience. Nothing would make me smile more than creating a perfect crater in the middle of your smug face. Because if anyone can humble you, it's me.”
A pause follows before Deacon waves his finger and begins to laugh.
“Oh, but you, Mark… in your eyes, you were declared the victor as soon as the match was signed, right? I guess the old wives tale of masturbation making one blind is true, because it's clear to me that your self-perception in this match is opaque. You can't see beyond your own eyelids, your locked away in your own head. And that's your downfall.”
“I treat heroes like Otis Driftwood in Devil's Rejects. Bludgeon or face carve, it's up to you. But, at the end of the night, you will be a changed man either way, by force. You've seen many come, and watched many go… but nobody you've encountered… has been infinite.”
Deacon scowled and walked opposite the crowd, bumping shoulders with each to little reaction on their part. The scene fades, leaving the only words “Fuck You, You Fucking Fuck” to be seen.
