October 18, 2019, 03:45:45 AM

Author Topic: Acetous  (Read 400 times)

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Offline Gresham

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« on: April 08, 2019, 04:58:20 AM »

Once again from the very bottom.

I looked over the cliff and leaped. I fell.

And fell.

And fell.

And fell.

Is this the bottom? The jump from the cliff. No SPLAT? Where is it?

Look around 4CW. Don’t we all fall? From the Kings to the considered Royal, haven't they all?

Check that same Hall of Fame list that we all wish to be or become a part of. If you are worth more than a penny that is.

Haven’t they all seen the bottom or what they perceive it to be.

Yes, I gave Bryan Laughlin the fight of his life. To the point where he beat me. Yet, I kicked out. How does one handle still fighting under obvious defeat?

Yes, Alexis Kennedy now has this newfound light in her eyes because she beat me. No thanks. No appreciation. They never appreciate the ones that brought them to enlightenment. Thinking she will no longer be a joke. Yet, I still laugh. Is that just pride or foolishness?

The ‘ebony God’ as some seem to deem has giveth and now seems to have it all taken away. Such a name was given by another yet they stone you to death for finding humor in it. Still, I chuckle.

This taste. It refuses to leave my mouth.

It’s bitter. It smells. It’s acetous.

It is I once again, DeMarcus Gresham, attempting to find a way. Searching through the glass of my car window. I’m looking at what was once a unit still doing just fine without me. No need for a man of the house. It’s good to see but at the same time pains me to witness. My ex-wife. My children. Smiles all around the dinner table. My youngest still in her highchair but she’s holding her head up finally. Before I left that wasn’t the case and I called it laziness because everyone catered to her. Change is inevitable but it’s hard to admit things will be fine without you. Then I think about it isn’t that life in general? The bottle next to me is nearly empty. A shame.

“Yo Egghead, why are we even here man? Are you a glutton for punishment?”

Think about yourself and your place in the large view. Who you are and what you do. You believe you have made the mark. All the work and influence you’ve put in. If you left tomorrow would your lacking presence be felt? Would this profession move along without you? Would the companies move along without you?

Think of that answer. Sure, many will yearn for your return and wish you were back in the fold working as hard as ever. Many will miss your dynamic as much as ever. For others, maybe even less. Yet, you will have to face the fact that like many others before you the company will move on. The world will continue spinning. The industry will press on. You come to realize you aren’t as dynamic as you think you are. This fact remains universal no matter if you are among the top or the bottom barrel of the pack. It will move on. Giving your all in the first opportunity, to dive into that abyss of the unknown, and you only come out with a concussion and affirmation of failure that everyone around you knew would happen. They won’t give you credit for the fight. They won’t account for your work up to this point. They all doubt. They all discredit. This is what happens when you fail. Then the pressure mounts and you fail further. Deeper. The darkness overwhelms.

“Yo, sitting out here like a stalker just gets a black man shot.”

Then you end up like me. A man watching the world pass you by. The company moving on. The jokes feel validated. The ones who feel they are truly the best getting the false handclaps from others with deep-rooted hatred just waiting their chance to bite them. It’s all but a stage with a horrible script. An abhorrent play.

This is the wrestling business. A sea of undeserving feeling holier than thou. A litany of birdbrains daring to form sentences. Numerous who don’t care but have nothing else so they remain. A few just here because of the family name or expectation. Many just looking to rub shoulders with a few to feel accepted. Bandwagons plenty with more deals than a swap meet. Companies rising and falling more than the oceans waters. The others desperately clinging for a glimpse of hope to become just another one of the false gods. No longer are the ones who take their lumps and move on. No longer is the rough path taken. No longer is anyone even daring enough to attempt to rise up from the proverbial grave. They simply take their ball and go home.

But isn’t that what the Hall of Famers and real best come from? So many that speak about fighting tooth and nail but when the time comes? No no.

Now it is expected to come into this industry and be the best ever…

In 3 months or less.

“So that means I can be a champion tomorrow right?”

I never said I was a god. I am gifted but I am still a man. From the beginning days of my journey here in 4CW I made it clear. I knew the hardship. I was well aware of the competition. That is why I came here. Knowing I am able and willing to scratch and claw among them. The same man that ran roughshod over a company for an entire calendar year never seeing one loss in active competition now cannot even garner a hit to first base. The past matters not, I say that to look to my present. I am a realist as much as the masses do not believe. That’s the enlightenment you all refuse to see. The enlightenment you all believe to be false. The truth no one else cares to speak. I think highly of myself because people may not believe it but I don’t fall into any of those categories. It’s always why I’ve never believed in people, to begin with, only me.

“AND ME!!”

I’m a man who could’ve taken the easy path to easy money and a cushioned life. I could be inside that house right now among my family with a fake smile and congratulations on a well-earned promotion.

Being in that atmosphere I would be unfulfilled. Living life with ease and not the discomfort I feel. The acidic taste I have is all of the failures in that ring with a mix of the sweat and pain I need to drink from daily. That will keep me on my path. That is a part of what will keep me enlightened.

I never turn my gaze from the window. Peering through the glass of my Impala I continue to let the bile want to flow from my innards up to my neck.

There are some people you do need to learn from. Others, you just have no business falling to and even with this change. This aggression. I am still a Gifted man on a downward spiral. I’m aware I assure you this. Yet, as I look through my window I smile. I’m happy for them. They take my money. Take my best effort and move on as if nothing has happened. No dent to their harmony. No dent to the industry. No care from the masses unless my name is made to be out for a good time on social media. Heh, good. Great even. Exactly what I want.

The bile builds.

I look at each battle as it’s the highest pressure. Condition the mind to condition the body. Every match is a defining moment. Yet I am still one of the first out of the South Beach Brawl Tournament and even worse I fall once again post such a main event. I’m the joke now perhaps? That is what you all wish to tell me right?

Suddenly, I feel that need to throw up. I can’t hold it in much longer. One too many bottles of Hennessey or perhaps I’m just fed up. What’s the use in getting angry it will only pull from my focus? I’ve been mad before still ended up looking at the lights above. Where does this place me? How does it change?

“De...yo De...don’t throw up in this car man we just got it detailed.”

Then again it’s always a fun time choking the life out of someone. Seeing the realization that you have no care for their well being or your own. Alexis saw it. Even Laughlin after numerous headbutts. He gave credit where due. Perhaps it’s just a change of action instead of the mind.

That’s what tends to happen when you live among the darkness for too long. The armor fades and your true self emerges. I might fear what I become in light of that. Then again can you fear anything when you continuously find yourself at the very bottom? Over and over and over again?

I grow very tired of this profession. I am tired. I’m tired of the effort not equating to what it should. I’m tired of being placed among the side when I’ve been one of the few beacons of regular competition. One of the few that give a damn about this profession and not just my name within it. I’m tired of each of you doubting the enlightenment for what it is. It is above all of you but you laugh. You push it aside. It’s that enlightenment that I no longer want to show you. I don’t care about that. I could be the passenger but what is the point when none of you believe? Alexis Kenedy was given the greatest gift of her career, her response…’am I a joke now?’

Yes, yes you still are because you still refused the lesson given and proceed to think you came to it of your own volition. I turn my hand. I continue to reach out and assist. And now…

Now, now I just want to punish all of you.

I want to punish this industry for thinking I am not one who can earn the crown when I am one of the last few if many left willing to work for it and not pander for it instead. Notice I said earn, not deserve.

I want to punish this industry for continuing to think they are the moon, sun, sky, and stars when they are only a cog in the wheel. Me included. Believe me, I am receiving my punishment while another walks scot free. I tried my best to be that piece. That vessel to each and every one of you but you are ungrateful. You are undeserving.

I want to punish this industry for believing I am not who I say I am. To find me as this non-factor or just another one here for kicks. You watch a whole main event where a man barely wins yet he’s not a valid competitor?

I want to make them all question themselves in each and every pass of me.

I want their confidence to shatter when they see my name across theirs.

And most of all. These smiles…

Everyone smiling.

So so so happy.

Ruby smiles a lot.

I grow tired.

I open the door at that moment walking in the dark toward what was my home. Seeing one of the large rocks right near the mailbox. Picking it up I wobble a bit before setting my feet. I’ll regret this later…

“Egg, hey Egg? Wha-what are you doing?”

No, no I won’t. They deserve this. Everyone deserves this.

I’m tired of this taste. Vinegar is used to clean and bring purity to the scum of the body. A cleanse of this industry might just be due. Irrational. Crazed. Bitter. Smart men do go down wild paths at times. Am I trying to currently rationalize mine? It won’t change a thing.

Screw it.

If I must taste this perhaps we all should take a sip.


Alarms blare and children scream. The fear in my ex-wife's eyes satisfies me for just a moment. I run back toward my car not caring if she got a glimpse of me or not. It would be hard considering the darkness surrounds me. I’ve been telling her for a while to get the front porch lights fixed. The street lamps being so far in between it would be necessary. Perhaps she’ll listen after this. I no longer care. The darkness is a fun place when you embrace it.

“Nigga burn out what the fuck it wrong with you!!?”

I don’t need to make you fear me. The shtick in itself is actually old. It’s really an empty emotion. Plus who in the industry really ‘fears’ these days? Everyone is a bad mammajamma in their own mind. Right?

All I need to do is get my hands on you.

Watch your face turn as I give you a taste of my palette.

Bitter. Unsavory. Offensive. Callous. And as the currents would say, Triggered.

Give you the entire bottle of it. The sweet sweet acetous flavor. If you are like me you’ll get so tired of it you’ll want to destroy everything in your path.

And that’s exactly what I aim to do.


The lights flicker for only a moment to show what looks to be an abandoned warehouse or if not abandoned one that has not been well taken care of for years. Moments after the flickering lights come on in full power the circus music that follows is completely out of the norm. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1D5Sa2Yq-2g)

Suddenly the voice that comes over what seems to be playing the part. It’s obvious who it is though.


The music continues playing throughout the warehouse as an obvious walk in red carpet path is shown in front of the camera. The camera follows the red carpet toward a substantial although somewhat rundown maze with the walls surrounding as the camera view entering a subpar first class tour.

“Ooovveerr to your left we have our welcoming committee. The ones that will embrace you with open arms! Give you the feeling of substantial success that is only fleeting…”

Extremely run down cardboard cutouts of Danny Gordy, Dick, Freedumb, and unfortunately for her Bianca Reed. The camera view passes by the standstills of each before moving toward the right of the overall maze.

“Aaannndd to your right...the humorous and overall hilarious...our resident clowns!!”

These run down cardboard cutouts are at least placed on movable pieces. Moving back and forth and a couple of strings being pulled so they can be shown waving is Cartier...from behind, Gabe Hartman staring with wide eyes, even a cutout of Vinny Vassa sitting at the commentating table with a whole hot dog in his mouth, and lastly what looks to be Perry Wallace in the similar position he was in post falling down the stairs...still somehow waving.

The camera turns from that oddball view right into the chest of a man holding a megaphone at his side. It’s similar to the one held by a man back in Indianapolis when he held up traffic to address them. Which obviously means…

“Ok ok ok that’s enough.”

He drops the megaphone which gives particularly loud feedback that pierces the ears. He quickly grabs the camera taking it with him walking toward the last pitiful display he kicks the Cartier and Hartman display aside behind them both being two chairs that were sitting on a moving board. Taking the two chairs he sits one down in front puts the camera down on it sets the other one across and sits that one down before sitting it in. The camera doesn’t even catch the whole of him. Doesn’t matter just need to hear him.

“Yeeeah, it was funny until it wasn’t. Ruby Richards, the welcoming might be two matches too late but, welcome...nonetheless. I’m DeMarcus Gresham. You’ve probably heard of me. Probably not as most like to say. Either way, rot. I could give you so many ways to describe how I plan on defeating you. In most cases, I’d take note of your previous excursions and place reason as to why that will make defeating me a tall task or humanly impossible. I could go the same route of I beat this person you didn’t etcetera. There will be none of that. No, this time around I will do what many seem to fear, state the facts of the matter in every way. Boring right? Maybe, maybe not. Because when you are a little tired of the...the...the…”

“Just say it DeMarcus.”

“...the bullshit...things tend to change. For the better or for the worse. Mine might become the very latter but I refuse to become those abominations you saw at the beginning of this cluster-of-damned.”

He adjusts the camera for a moment...forget it he just holds it to his face. The irritation is loud and clear by the expression.

“There’s a point where you say, you’ve had enough. I know what will be said by you, Ruby. A beautiful name by the way. It’s the same as everyone else. Enlightenment is false. There’s no such thing. I am a false god or prophet. I speak a lot of words with no meaning. I have no reason to be here. I don’t tweet enough, therefore, I don’t care about my career. I am boring or uncharismatic. I don’t have what it takes. I am a hypocrite. Perhaps you will go the measure of others in the furthest reaching of elements. Things like I am a twitter thot or just a slow smarty. I’ve become a measure of good looks yet no substance. Perhaps you’ll go one better and align me with aging Hollywood stars or even go right to the brink of aligning my past failures as a reason for your upcoming success. You could very well be different Ruby but I’m quite doubtful.”

Pause. A slight shrug of his shoulders is seen.

“The chances of you truly surprising me with your words and looking at things beyond the surface is just impossible when it comes to this industry. No one speaks of either own mind anymore. They mimic. They repackage. They regurgitate and then swear they are a beacon of creativity. Maybe. Just maybe you’ll give credit where due and still proceed to downcast it or contradict it less than five minutes later. Again repacked but it would at least be in the minority. Now, for the fact of the matter.”

The camera is lifted and of course with DeMarcus behind the view, all that is seen is what’s in front of it. At the moment that is the cardboard cutouts previously pushed aside on the floor of Hartman and Cartier. The Perry Wallace cutout leans to the side against the wall but still standing up somewhat.

“I’m tired. I will not get that credit. I won’t get that respect so I’m no longer searching for it. The path of enlightenment has shown through so many no matter if I’ve won or lost and still it’s cast aside for their own...epiphanies so to speak. They probably cannot even spell the word but all of sudden they have this ‘new understanding?’ All of a sudden after a match with Gifted they have all these new ideas and visions for themselves yet swear that the path is a sham. Ruby, I ask you in all seriousness how do make the blind see? Ray Charles died still unable to shed his glasses and here I am night after night on Adrenaline fighting against the league of ignorance. Winning some, losing some. Unable to achieve the greatness I know I’m able to reach. I will say it again I’m tired.”

The camera is turned and once again on DeMarcus’ serious always thinking face. The dead darkness in his eyes is what stands out the most.

“While things like this; droughts, failures, and disappointments would break many for me it’s just another path of the gift. This match doesn’t seem like much and of course, being out of the highlighted South Beach Brawl it won’t mean many to those around us but Ruby understand when I tell you I’m not looking to help you reach enlightenment. That path is mine and mine alone. I embrace it. I don’t run away from it and I damn sure don’t mask it. This match is just as important to me as all the others. The moment to define me through you. Another opportunity to showcase my ability but also accepting the task in embracing my change. When I see you I remember well starting here in 4CW. For me, it was a year ago. It’s funny when you talked about being stalled in your 4CW career before facing Bianca. I don’t know it just captured me in an odd way when you stated that. Stalled…”

A slight pause only to show the expression of a mind splitting in two. Well that’s the way to describe his current expression. Finally, he just shakes his head.

“Stalled. Stalled? NEITHER OF YOU HAS BARELY STARTED!!! For the love of fucking fake Christ are you serious?!  I could go straight to the blond jokes but---”

Heavy breathing with one hand you can see him woosah’ing on his right ear like Martin Lawrence in Bad Boys II.

“No….no...I’m...I’m better than that. No DeMarcus. No….”

“Do it.”

“No. That’s regurgitating. I would never follow up on a bad Cartier joke. If you get it that line is a joke in itself. Requires looking further than the surface, good luck.”

He’s still woosah’ing by the way.

“Ruby, there’s only one Phoenix in this trash heap. She signs your checks. As much as you see yourself rising from those firey ashes truly understand the nature of the bird you proclaim yourself to be. You arise from those ashes anew each and every time with a new spirit and a new fire. The resurgence as you called it before. Stronger than ever. Let me tell you what I will do with your firey resurgence.”

Finally, he lets go of the ear and with two hands centers the camera on his face so it no longer sits at a slight lean. There’s a really strong pulsating nerve on the right side of his forehead.

“I’m going to kick your pretty little bright ass into the sun. I’m going to make sure the yeet, as the currents say, is strong enough for you to remain within the suns orbit. So for every little ‘resurgence’, you feel like having you’ll only combust into flames once again returning to those same ashes I can only hope to piss on from the distance. Screech, scream, ashes, repeat. Fuck your career. Fuck your goals. Fuck your need to belong. Fuck you looking for validation from anyone else on this roster. First of all, you won’t get it. Second of all, it’s fucking fruitless. Lastly, none of it matters here. To be quite goddamn frank you could very well backhand any champion currently on this roster to 2020. You could give them the fight of their lives and it will be forgotten before the sun rises. It doesn’t matter cause at the end of the day the loss is all they will see. Take it from me, a year in...a respectable title reign. All people have on their lips, lost to Bryan. Pointing at me with the look at you...all losing and shit. Again, I’m tired. I’m fucking tired.”

“Enlightenment? No. This is elimination. Enjoy your journey to the sun.”

“That...that was a lot of curse words DeMarcus.”

“Shut the fuck up.”