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- Joined
- Jan 12, 2009
- Location
- Where rivers flow upside
Pages of Propaganda(Off Camera)
This is a story all about how my life got flip-turned upside down. Not that it lacked a copious amount of fucked up anyway. And unlike a certain sitcom of the nineties I wasn't born or raised in west Philadelphia. Nor did I become the prince of some pile of shit socialite suburb in California. No, the story of how I found myself dragged into this world of professional wrestling starts in east Saint Louis. Thinking about that glorious arch peeking over the city? Don't. I lived in the part of St. Louis that doesn't appear on those nice photos. I lived in the area with the shitty housing projects, high rate of crime and all those lovely things that make your tourism numbers plummet.
It was a cold November night in the year of 2003, behind some community Recreation center where various public events were held. Why exactly was I there at the stroke of midnight clad in a black hooded sweatshirt and a pair of worn jeans? Well, I can't say that I am entirely proud. My family wasn't doing the best financially, and I was trying to do my part. But being a sixteen year old high school dropout who is constantly getting into scrapes with the local street urchins. It is rather difficult to find a job. So, I got into the business of illicit automobile trading. Sure, I only got a couple hundred bucks out of a brand new car, but when you're raiding a McDonald’s dumpster for food are you going to bitch? Sure my mother could find a waitressing job here or there, but when winter came around work was getting scarce. It didn't help my dad decided to take a good share of her money to buy a flat screen TV for his man-cave in the garage.
So opportunity spoke to me when I saw a mint condition porche 911 sitting in the parking lot of the rec center. Every Saturday night that car sat there until three o' clock in the morning, I had three hours. But that was more than enough time, I was gone in sixty seconds on even the most challenging cars. The cut I get out of this is small, but this car could get me a grand easy. So I slithered onto the parking lot, it was midnight, but I didn't want to take any bold risks out of cockyness. Once I was within arms length of my prize I pulled a bandanna from my pocket and began to tie it about my elbow. Like I have done a thousand times before, my elbow collides with the glass of the driver's side window and it shattered easily. Sure the car alarm went off, but that is a sound quite common in this neighborhood. I had about three minutes before the owner would wonder out of the building and wonder if their car was the victim. Cutting the power to the alarm, hot wiring the car, and pulling out of the drive way would only take me one minute. I was feeling good, this was going to be a good week. That was until I heard a gruff voice confronting me.
Now kids, I don't advise making grand theft auto a career. It's a fun video game, but it's really risky business. But if you have no other option, let me tell you one thing. If you hear a voice when you are jacking an expensive ass car, just carry on, don't turn around. That was my mistake that night. Turning around. I was greeted by the sight of a middle aged fellow with long bleach blonde hair. He had to be a gym rat or something because he was pretty ripped despite his obvious age. But it was very hard to take the dude seriously when I realized the motherfucker was oiled up and wearing bright blue tights. Who the fuck was this guy? Peter Pan? So I made my second mistake of the night, I motioned the guy to bring it on. Sure he was bigger than me, but I had a pair of wire cutters in my pocket if things got hairy. They don't sound like much of a weapon, sure. But you figure out how useful they can be when you jam them into an ear and rip off a huge chunk.
Yes, I have ripped off someone's ear with a pair of wire cutters before. The motherfucker came after me with a knife, so the gloves were kind of off. But as for the oiled up Peter Pan, as soon as I gestured the guy, he bum rushed me and wrapped up. I found myself slammed back-first onto the hood of the car. I learned later, that certain move is called a spine buster. This was the only incident of being hit by that move that I actually felt like my spine got busted. But I got my ass kicked before, so I still had the wind to fight back. I staved off his approach with a kick and managed to roll myself off the hood. Despite the wind being knocked out of me, I even managed to clock him with a nice left hook to the jaw.
He stumbled into some dude's camero that had a hood that didn't match the color of the rest of the car. I was tired of this guy's bullshit already. So I decided to go for my coupe de grace a little bit early. You see I always had this combo that ended people when I got to use it, a straight hay-maker to the small of the back followed by a running knee to the side of their head. But I didn't get to to that far when he swept both my legs, slamming my already sore back onto the asphalt of the parking lot. He didn't hesitate on the follow through this time, and clocked me twice in the temple with a right hand. I was too dazed to move by the time he had me locked up in what he called a cobra clutch.
Now this is embarrassing. You see, I always prided myself in being a pretty tough guy. Yeah, I got my ass kicked, a lot. Crack head hobos with knives, gangsters with lead pipes, and very large feral dogs. I survived every scrape so far no matter how dire or odd the circumstances. But losing to an oiled up old dude in stretchy pants? Well that was certainly nothing to brag about. I wasn't thinking about losing my meal ticket, or about going to jail at this point. I was simply thinking three words. Fuck my life.
I was quite busy trying to make my lungs find air at that point. What he was yelling right into my ear kind of took a back seat to that. But he felt obligated to keep yelling though his words were starting to sound like the teacher on Peanuts. Once stars began floating across my vision he finally decided to let me go. I wanted to keep fighting, but first I had to remember what breathing felt like. He kept his eyes on me as I laid on the ground gasping for all the sweet oxygen I lost those excruciating seconds in the hold. That's when he asked me the oddest question.
???: “So, kid you hungry?”
I gave him the oddest stare, because that's one fucked up question to ask when you just kicked someone's ass for trying to steal your car.
???: “Come on, I've seen you raiding the dumpster when the concession stand was dumping things out. You probably don't get a decent meal too often. There is a diner down the street that's open 24/7. We can talk about how you are going to pay for that window. Since I am guessing money is just as rare.”
Well, I was always told that I should never turn down a free meal. But pride sometimes causes
you to ignore wise words.
Nathan: “Comeing home empty handed is bad enough. Smelling like burgers and fries as well? That's just a slap to the face.”
The man shook his head, he wasn't taking no for an answer.
???: “So you have a family? Not a problem, that's why that place has carry out. I can get them something. Or I can call the cops. But you being in jail isn't going to pay for my window, nor is it going to help out that family of yours.”
He was right, even if I got away, I was boned. He saw my face, and he knows I had to live somewhere closeby for how often I was there. So, my pride deflated, and I got a free meal. I guess it wasn't a terrible trade off. Pride doesn't get the bills paid or food on the table at the end of the day.
Several minutes later I found myself inside a clusterfucked diner called the Wolfburger. It would have been alright, if all the patrons here weren't dressed like the guy buying the meal. Ten or so gym rats dressed in unitards and tassels. Did I seriously just miss the fact that the circus was in town? I would have seen a flier, I read a lot of those. At this point, the question left my mind when this aging red haired waitress that smelled like an ashtray placed a bacon cheese burger down. Well, I was a hungry motherfucker. While I tore into that burger I kept hearing the other oddly dressed dudes keep addressing the man across from me as Ted Vicious. Well, that goes along with my circus theory.
Ted: “Jenkins is going to retire at the end of the month. We need a ring rat to fill the gap when he is gone. Now it's not the best paying job but the work isn't too hard and it's less risky then trying to steal a Porsche. But, you'll get a weekly check, I'll be taking some out for that window. But it should help you and that family of yours out, while also keeping you out of trouble. Again, you don't have a choice.”
Once I managed to gulp down what I had with the help of a big sip of lemonade, I looked the man in the eye. Well, despite not having much of a choice, it did sound like a better option than what I was doing.
Nathan: “As long as I'm shown what the hell to do, sure. Tights are not part of the uniform, are they? What the fuck is your job anyway?”
Ted looked at Nathan, almost shocked the guy couldn't tell just by looking.
Ted: “You never watched professional wrestling, son?”
This was the night that introduced me to this world I just can't see myself out of. These were the events that sparked a change in my life. For the better or for the worst? Well, that's a case of give or take.
The Shoot
The corner of 14th street and Dr. Martin Luther King Drive. What is known as the worst part of St. Louis on either the Missouri or Illinois side. Nathan leans against the street sign, flicking a lit cigarette butt off screen while he pulls the hood of his sweatshirt back. On either side of him are brick highrise apartment complexes that look like they are in dire need of proper maintenance. One could say that father time had taken a bat to this place. But to Nathan, this is what is always looked like. He removes his dark tinted glassed and hangs them in the collar of his shirt. He points to the building on the right of him.
“That's where I grew up. On the third floor, that is where I learned to walk and talk, this is the place I had to walk half a mile away from to catch the bus because the schoolbus didn't even want to go through here. Up until my early teens, this was the place I called home, this was the place where I learned about a lot of things. Ezekiel Task, this place was where I first learned about religion. Now I wish it was a heartwarming story, I really do. But you'll quickly learn that nothing about my life is heartwarming, even my most tender memories are corrupted. It was around Christmas time, Task. I was two years old and my mother was working three shitty jobs at once to make the first Christmas I remember special. So I spent a lot of time with just my older sister and a sixteen year old babysitter named Jolene. She was a pretty girl, straight dark hair, a nice rack. If I was eight years older I would have pounded the bottom out of her. But that honor goes to Bethany, she was kind of a plain girl, but she knew how to show a thirteen year old a good time. But I am getting off track. I was two years old, at the winter that year was bitter. Jolene, my sister and myself were all huddled around the a console tv with a 10 inch screen watching tom and jerry in black and white. We here trying to fight the cold beneath a thick pile of blankets.”
“Just as we seemed to get settled down I hear a knock. Not the knocking of a polite visitor. No, the type of knock that is accompanied with the sound of cracking wood as the door flies off it's hinges. Three men barged into my apartment, two Latino, one Caucasian pistols in hand. They kept on asking about a red headed whore. I'm guessing they were talking about my mother, that was her natural hair color. You see, every once in a while, when times got really tough. My mother would give in to my dad's demands and sell a bit of cocaine for him just to keep the family a float. But like all dealers, my father was not an honest man. He usually cut the product so he could sell more. And that didn't sit too well with those three. They were out for blood, and it didn't matter whose. Heck, they even sought out the blood of a child. Ya see, I was two years old at the time and I had a pretty common reaction for being startled. I bawled like a baby. It was natural. But that was not a proper excuse for them.”
Nathan walks beneath a nearby streetlight and lowers his head, running his fingers through his scalp. He probed along the back side of his head until he reveals a wide, round scar. It was the type of scar you'd see from blunt force trauma, like if someone got clocked with a hammer.
“These men, they never heard of a pacifier it seemed. They yelled at me to shut up, being two years old I kind of cried louder. So they decided to pistol whip me. I gotta say, it was kind of effective, I shut up. I don't remember much afterword except for what I was told about when I was much older. I heard the men left quite quickly afterward. The babysitter thought I was dead, my sister thought I was dead. They were surprised at the amount of blood that could come out of a toddler's head. So my mother got a rather tear filled phone call from the rather shell shocked Jolene telling them about my supposed death. But even as a toddler I was a resilient little shit. I woke up in the hospital days later remembering one image. While all this was going on, I remember Tom and Jerry drinking sherry and not giving a single fuck what happened outside of that screen. The Sunday after being released from the hospital was when I went to church for the very first time.”
“It was weird at first, seeing everyone dress up once a week and be friends. For a couple services I thought the ground really was sacred. I thought that it was a magic place that only brought out the best in people. But as memory began piecing back together of that night, I realized something horrifying. I began to recognize the faces and I began to piece together a few things. The same man who brought that gun across the back of my head was the same man who sat in the pew in front of me. He was the same man who often times piped up to lead the congregation in prayer. He was the same guy who gave me cookies and orange juice to the sunday school kids. He was the same man who shook my hand every time at the end of service. He was a big pillar of the church. But he was also a monster. He never once apologized for what he did, yet tried to act like he was a role-model for me. Soon I saw that he was only the only wolf in wool on Sunday. As I grew older I see the same people who participated in armed robberies, drive-by shootings, men I've seen drag their women onto the streets and beat unconscious. They were all there sitting alongside their victims like there was no foul play. The illusion began to wane, church was not a holy place for sinners to change their ways. It was a cease fire. It was a public relations scam.”
“I found my faith at two years old, and quickly lost it at six. That is when I found out this god fellow that they put so much stock in was just like Tom and Jerry that night. He doesn't give a damn about what happens to his creations. So, I did what the church advised me not to do. I found something else to channel my faith into. I channeled all my faith and all my conviction into two things, myself and my family. Because, really, honestly that has been the only thing that has been by my side. That has been the only thing guiding my path, that has been the only thing protecting me. And that has been the only thing that has kept me going all these years. That was the thing that kept me away from the drugs that were ever so abundant around me.”
Nathan reaches into the pocket of his hoodie to reveal a pair of red handled wire cutters. He walks toward the camera, tapping them against the screen.
“That's why you are not going to win, Zeke. You are simply an instrument of someone's will. You have orders to fill out, you have rules to follow. I never made a good instrument, that's why they didn't like me in school cause I always told the history teacher he was full of shit and wouldn't believe everything he said. That's why I could never join a gang, when they tried to jump me for my initiation I beat one of them with a tire iron. I simply do not have to follow the same rules as you do. I can do whatever I want in that ring and I will only have myself to answer to. And just to let you know, whatever happens in the ring just be thankfull to know that you came off light. I could easily cut your ear off with these wire cutters like I did to the hobo who came after me with a broken bottle all those years ago. And these wire cutters have been quite useful to me, they earned me money, they helped me defend myself. So out of sure nostalgia I keep them on me”
“Let's talk about conviction. I'm sure you have a lot of it being the big bad preacher you are, but have you done anything with it? Oh you converted a few people to some church that's nothing worth bragging about. When I was out in that ring, getting my ARMS broken and my NECK broken it was my conviction that kept me fighting on. When I was in that hospital bed, paralyzed from the neck down. It was my conviction that willed be to live on. It was my conviction that stopped me from asking my older sister to just smother me with a pillow and get it over with. It was my conviction along a with few surgeries funded by a good friend of mine that got me walking again.”
“Finally, you and I have a different understanding of pain. Have you ever been completely numb for years? I don't mean emotionally like those pussy teenagers that listen to crybaby music. But physically numb, to the point where you could stab me in the chest and I wouldn't feel a damn thing. I used to be a normal guy that thought pain meant I should rethink that strategy, pain meant I should avoid that. But after years of not feeling a damn thing, I learned that pain is a blessing. Pain in my pinky was the first thing I felt, that was the first thing that told me all those surgeries were actually working. It was pain in my legs that told me I could walk again. And I started the instant I felt it. I grabbed a dinky little nightstand and pushed it across the floor to begin strenghtening my legs. Let me tell you, it felt like a thousand hot needles were driving their way into my legs at each step. But they only drove me to keep walking, to keep walking until my legs collapsed. That's why I was way ahead of the folks at the rehad facility, I didn't let pain hinder mee, because it is a damn blessing.”
“To put it simply, there is nothing you can do, Zeke. Not a damn thing you can do to beat me. I've seen the worst in people. I've seen it so many times that I can spot it a mile away. And you don't have what it takes. I look in your eyes and see that you have yet to see the true horrors of this world, you haven't seen it on tv, and you certainly haven't seen it up close. I seen it, I felt it, I smelt it. IT LINGERS IN MY NOSTRILS, ZEKE!”
Nathan gets real intimate with the camera at this point, where one can see straight up at his nostrils. Memories slamming into his mind as he spoke of them, all causing him to finally let loose, pushing the camera back as it hits the ground but still stays on to catch sight of his legs as he unleashes the fury on a nearby trashcan. He hurls it across the street.
“Zeke, come Underground, you will learn just how useless it all is. I'm a doomed soul, you hear that? A DOOMED Soul. I'm one of those feral dogs that are common in my neighborhood. Dogs that have been abandoned and gone wild within the city. And the wildness continues down for generations until you can no longer determine what the fuck kind of dog they were. And no one cares, you're a feral dog, a dog that has tasted blood and enjoyed it. A dog that runs off entire neighborhoods. You'll have to HIT ME WITH A TRUCK to stop me. And Zeke, I'll still be trying to bite your FUCKING ANKLE off.”
Nathan finally begins to calm down from whatever rampage he was going on and walks back to pick up the camera. A close up of Nathan's face, his eyes wild as he pants heavily.
“Zeke, you can't stop me. You are just too soft. Even the people who had the guts to shoot me, stab me, and poison me still couldn't get rid of me. So whatever lingering thoughts you have that say otherwise. Whatever the congregation tells you about the lord being on your side. Know this”
Nathan pulls a pack of marlboro's from his pocket and takes out a ciggarette. He lights and deeply exhales blowing smoke onto the camera.
“You are being LIED to”
Nathan tosses the camera back to the ground. And the last image we see is of stars and of smoke.
