Post by lloydmatthews on May 12, 2011 15:54:04 GMT
The big city was a symbol of human ingenuity and success, several stars sitting upon the Earth's surface. Years of photography and film have captured the mesmerizing sites of the sky-scrapers and have associated the modern marvels with; Romance, power, and adventure. Between the big screen or the Television screen, it always looked the same to the millions who witnessed its majesty. It was a maze of roads and towers of concrete where everything was illuminated. The city could be seen from miles away at any given time and to those familiar with these new towers of babel, they were gifts in which to live every day. In the morning it glimmered, at night is shined, but it always amazed. These buildings were the modern day pyramids, a feat that only humans could have accomplished. They represented millions of dreams that have become reality and from there, successes.
I, however, saw it different. As I drove past the grotesque glow of neon signs and street lights, I couldn't help thinking of the constant banality these buildings contained. Men, who spent years learning how to die faster, worked their lives away at the grueling machines. Typing away and sucking in the stagnant air with every wasted breath, just hoping to be met with reward. They sat high up in the world, looking down at so many, but they suspect little in return besides a wasted “job well done”. They worked to maintain and it maintained so they could work, a very tragic romance indeed.
Whatever wasn't met with ties and white collar shirts was usually self-destructive by nature. The drunks hanging down the street, unaware at the hours they throw to alcohol and regret. When they weren't drinking they were probably self-loathing, brainstorming a number of way to garner sympathy from people who barely remember their names. Without a productive thought in the world, just sitting quietly, they bitch and moan about the people who can happily live their lives.
The disease spreading prostitutes lined the road as socially inept men paid for an hour of company. These women had left their dignity at the door step and knew no shame that couldn't be covered in dollar bills. Men, some divorced and some who wished they were, gave a days work to the decaying whore and as money slipped from one hand to another, both could pretend that someone loved them for a little bit. I don't blame them; temptation is hard to resist in a city that offers such little joy. If you didn't work, you died. If you didn't reach the top, you worked until you died.
The city, to me, represented infidelity; this city was not only lifeless, but incapable of creating life. It was a world filled with men too busy to care for children and women too scared of femininity. Legacies would slowly face as they tapped on their little keyboards into extinction. This was the proverbial matrix where a cross section of computer and human interaction led to only a system so that the matrix can grow.
I think Travis Bickle said it best, “Thank God for the rain to wash the trash of the streets.” These cities were dirty places with dirty people and it would take only one good wave to knock them flat on their asses, if I was lucky. All the amusement was gone and the only thing that was left was a tall diving board for failures to plummet from.
Tonight, I put aside my ideas of this lackluster place for the sake of a friend. He is being honored by the company he works at, an advertisement agency. He just launched a campaign that is to guarantee the company millions in return. So, in a futile attempt to seem human, they decided to throw him a sort of ceremony and I was, personally, invited to join him in this milestone. I understand the importance, but I can only imagine the night ending in nothing but mind numbing boredom and watching as a group of businessmen find an excuse to ignore worldly duties to celebrate another uninspiring achievement.
I approached the building and there stood out the name, in big bold text, “Day-Lewis Advertising: Where Passion Meets Talent.” A smirk spread across my face with a sarcastic intention, but I drove on and found a spot in the nearly empty parking lot. I took a deep breath and stepped out of my glimmering Dodge Stratus. I could see light pouring through the front glass doors, but from there up only a little light emanated from the various rooms of the building. I could almost feel the dead atmosphere taking control of the air, but in fear of being deterred, I made my way across the parking lot and past the front doors.
Female Secretary: Can I help you?
I, quickly, looked over and saw an aged secretary sitting in a desk to the side of the room. On the fron of her desk was printed the initials “DL” lined with a gold-ish rim. A glare in her glasses blocked her eyes and gave off a sort of lifeless look,, as if nothing sat behind those thick rimmed glasses, but two black whole. The look of death was only enhanced by her thin pale skin and even thinner gray hair. A moment passed by before I imagined the Grim Reaper hanging over her as she babbled on to her friends about years ago when she was still working this awful job. I stifled a chuckle and straightened my posture as I walked over to secretary.
Lloyd Matthews: Um, I'm a guest for Mr. Miller's party, Lloyd Matthews.
She gave me a look like I was wasting her time and I couldn't help but have a sudden image of me slapping the shit out of her as I stood on top of her wooden desk. She started tapping on the keyboard and looked down through her glasses as she waited for something to confirm that I was suppose to be there. After a couple of seconds passed, she looked back up at me with the same bitter look and pointed down the hall behind her.
Female Secretary: Down the hall, third door on the right, it should say “Presentation Room” and that's where you'll find them.
“Them” as if I was walking into a room filled with anonymous evil-beings whose purpose was to crush the souls of any unfortunate passer-by. Again I stifled my laughter and I didn't waste anytime making my way pass the aged drone. I counted the doors as I walked on, taking notice of the several pictures and awards that they had strung up around the hallway. “Conference Room”, “Employee Lobby”, and then, “Presentation Room”; I stopped in front of the door and just stared at it for a moment, bracing myself for the awkward small talk and tiring speeches. Hesitantly, I turned the knob and pushed forward. I gazed at a group of men scattered across the room and sighed in relief as I saw the projector shut down. Apparently, I was dressed a bit casual in my t-shirt and blue jeans, being surrounded by men in the typical tie and khakis. A few eyes darted over to me as I made my way over to Josh, reaching out for a handshake, but he was intercepted by a pudgy man who wobbled as he walked.
It was the kind of man that made me sick. His lips curled and distorted as he talked, making every word with a ridiculous look on his face. If that wasn't enough, he slurred as he talked, as if the fat sagging from his skin was pulling his lips down. He spoke in the typical business jargon; points, sales, semesters, and percents. I didn't pay much attention to it, I was too busy trying to keep from knocking him to the side. Every moment he talked to Josh I felt a tad more uncomfortable.
I was not one of these people, I was better than them. I was one of the people they envied on a daily basis. I was a living prodigy that used his mind to get up in the world; these people were the soulless scum suckers who made it look cool to drink Coke. They all, at some point in their lives, wish they could have been me. I felt like I was surrounded by inferior beasts. I wasn't suppose to be hanging with these people, I was suppose to be the picture they put up on their billboards.
It was like the climax to “The Last Man On Earth”. Vincent Price stood as the mob slowly approached him with the intention of killing him like he had their brethren. They would not listen to reason nor logic and he was forced back into the corner. His breath quickened as it dawned on him that this was the end. Only one of them had the sense to listen, but no power to ward the others off. They had killed his family, his friends, and sent the world tumbling into a giant mess of chaos and disease. One tosses a harpoon and it pierces Vincent Price through the gut. He stumbles backward, lowering onto one knee. It was hatred he saw in their eyes, they were still monsters. With his last breath he cried out in infinite glory.
Lloyd Matthews: You're all freaks! I am a man! The last...man!
It had just occurred to me, at that moment, that I was reenacting the very scene I was recalling, to the point of faking a harpoon wound to the gut and setting down onto one knee. The room had gone dead silent, even the stubby man speaking to Josh had closed his trap to gape at what looked like a future memory to haunt me for the rest of my days. To spare myself of any further agony, I stand back onto both of my feet and retreated to a dark corner of the room as I waited for Josh to join me.
There was a good chance that Josh could have avoided me for the rest of the night to separate any possible connections between me and him, but as luck would have it, he finally stopped chumming along with his work buddies and decided to greet me. I knew that he had not noticed me when I entered, so it probably wasn't the best idea to get his attention by reenacting B-movie cinema in the middle of his little party.
Josh Miller: What was with the little freak out over there?
I hesitated, the excuse that I “wake up in the morning feeling like Vincent Price” would not only be inappropriate, but I feel the joke would be lost on him as a whole.
Lloyd Matthews: See, I was just...Know what? Let's get out of here, the party looks pretty dead anyways.
Whether or not the diversion worked, a deep sigh escaped his lips as he rolled his eyes and turned away. I knew that he agreed upon the idea, but his reasons were probably a tad different from mine. He grabbed his black coat and, with a few goodbyes, we departed. The building looked far less intimidating as we left, but the stigma would probably always be there.
I didn't take any second thoughts on exiting the parking lot, but it drew some disappointment as we rode straight back into the iron clutch of this bland metropolis. Josh's head rested against the car window, staring out in to the bright lights. He loved the city far more than I did and was tolerant of its follies and flaws in a way I couldn't understand.
It was silent in the car for quite sometime, the silence was starting to dig into my brain. I wasn't sure if Josh was angry or just contemplating, but in either case I rather not interrupt. I kept my eyes on the road, watching as we drove in and out of the lights in a practical rhythm. I started to count the seconds between lights. I felt the rhythm and it took my mind off my contempt for the city.
Josh Miller: How about a bar?
Lloyd Matthews: Only hipsters and drunks will be at the bars tonight. Know any good places to eat?
The conversation dove back into silence. Josh was pandering the idea, but I could tell he was coming up dry on ideas.
Lloyd Matthews: Um...any shitty places to eat?
Josh Miller: There is a place down by Robinson and Parkway.
Lloyd Matthew: Um...You could be spitting out names from Star Trek, I'm not gonna know them.
Josh Miller: Just keep going straight, I'll say something when you need to turn.
It was back to counting the seconds between lights. I followed along with is instructions, while constantly complaining about the maze that was the road. Three 7th Streets for every Lexington Drive and not to mention the countless times I had to turn back because of construction. This city was a mess from the ground up, but I kept going. Eventually, we reached our destination, but I was practically dragging myself out of the car. Less than three hours in the city and I was already tired of it.
We made our way into the restaurant and I didn't even bother to scan over the layout, I made no attempt at being completely unimpressed by an establishment that sold burgers with probably questionable meat at best. I just darted for the closest booth I could find without running into any of the other customers, most of whom were probably too busy chowing down on whatever fattening death burger that was offered.
Josh Miller: Aren't you going to get something to eat?
Lloyd Matthews: I am going to be completely honest, Josh. I have no interest eating the rat poison that the rest of America is interested in. I just wanted to be as far away as possible from that soul-crushing environment you call a job.
I dropped into my seat with an audible thud and was quickly followed by Josh.
Josh Miller: I don't understand you, Lloyd. Why do you hate this place so much?
Lloyd Matthews: The floor is damp, the florescent lights flicker, and it smells like death.
Josh Miller: I mean the whole city. You've always hated businessmen, desk jockeys, tall buildings, and all that other shit.
I slouched down a bit, enough to make myself comfortable, and just looked up at the ceiling. The were moisture stains on the tiles and bugs flying into the lights. With a deep breath I looked back at Josh and let out a sigh.
Lloyd Matthews: This place thrives on large amounts of people trying to work together for the idea of the common good that is somehow predetermined by a “higher-authority”.
Josh Miller: So?
Lloyd Matthews: Here is the thing, there is no greater good, its all a load of crap. Thats why I hate this city. Where, in wrestling, you are rewarded for decimating others, this city offers me nothing. I can't get anything from it and I can't live a life of working towards an end.
Josh Miller: You like living like that?
Lloyd Matthews: I live for it everyday. It makes me anxious to be standing before the entrance ramp. This city stands for structure and all that noise means nothing to me. Wrestling is nihilism and I am wrestling, simple as that.
The night went on and we talked about many things, but that was the only thing going through my head. I was what wrestling was meant to be, I am that next evolutionary step in the chain and soon everyone will know it. They will love me, they will praise me, but most of all, they will listen. Waiting on hand and foot for whatever I had to say because I was wrestling.
I, however, saw it different. As I drove past the grotesque glow of neon signs and street lights, I couldn't help thinking of the constant banality these buildings contained. Men, who spent years learning how to die faster, worked their lives away at the grueling machines. Typing away and sucking in the stagnant air with every wasted breath, just hoping to be met with reward. They sat high up in the world, looking down at so many, but they suspect little in return besides a wasted “job well done”. They worked to maintain and it maintained so they could work, a very tragic romance indeed.
Whatever wasn't met with ties and white collar shirts was usually self-destructive by nature. The drunks hanging down the street, unaware at the hours they throw to alcohol and regret. When they weren't drinking they were probably self-loathing, brainstorming a number of way to garner sympathy from people who barely remember their names. Without a productive thought in the world, just sitting quietly, they bitch and moan about the people who can happily live their lives.
The disease spreading prostitutes lined the road as socially inept men paid for an hour of company. These women had left their dignity at the door step and knew no shame that couldn't be covered in dollar bills. Men, some divorced and some who wished they were, gave a days work to the decaying whore and as money slipped from one hand to another, both could pretend that someone loved them for a little bit. I don't blame them; temptation is hard to resist in a city that offers such little joy. If you didn't work, you died. If you didn't reach the top, you worked until you died.
The city, to me, represented infidelity; this city was not only lifeless, but incapable of creating life. It was a world filled with men too busy to care for children and women too scared of femininity. Legacies would slowly face as they tapped on their little keyboards into extinction. This was the proverbial matrix where a cross section of computer and human interaction led to only a system so that the matrix can grow.
I think Travis Bickle said it best, “Thank God for the rain to wash the trash of the streets.” These cities were dirty places with dirty people and it would take only one good wave to knock them flat on their asses, if I was lucky. All the amusement was gone and the only thing that was left was a tall diving board for failures to plummet from.
Tonight, I put aside my ideas of this lackluster place for the sake of a friend. He is being honored by the company he works at, an advertisement agency. He just launched a campaign that is to guarantee the company millions in return. So, in a futile attempt to seem human, they decided to throw him a sort of ceremony and I was, personally, invited to join him in this milestone. I understand the importance, but I can only imagine the night ending in nothing but mind numbing boredom and watching as a group of businessmen find an excuse to ignore worldly duties to celebrate another uninspiring achievement.
I approached the building and there stood out the name, in big bold text, “Day-Lewis Advertising: Where Passion Meets Talent.” A smirk spread across my face with a sarcastic intention, but I drove on and found a spot in the nearly empty parking lot. I took a deep breath and stepped out of my glimmering Dodge Stratus. I could see light pouring through the front glass doors, but from there up only a little light emanated from the various rooms of the building. I could almost feel the dead atmosphere taking control of the air, but in fear of being deterred, I made my way across the parking lot and past the front doors.
Female Secretary: Can I help you?
I, quickly, looked over and saw an aged secretary sitting in a desk to the side of the room. On the fron of her desk was printed the initials “DL” lined with a gold-ish rim. A glare in her glasses blocked her eyes and gave off a sort of lifeless look,, as if nothing sat behind those thick rimmed glasses, but two black whole. The look of death was only enhanced by her thin pale skin and even thinner gray hair. A moment passed by before I imagined the Grim Reaper hanging over her as she babbled on to her friends about years ago when she was still working this awful job. I stifled a chuckle and straightened my posture as I walked over to secretary.
Lloyd Matthews: Um, I'm a guest for Mr. Miller's party, Lloyd Matthews.
She gave me a look like I was wasting her time and I couldn't help but have a sudden image of me slapping the shit out of her as I stood on top of her wooden desk. She started tapping on the keyboard and looked down through her glasses as she waited for something to confirm that I was suppose to be there. After a couple of seconds passed, she looked back up at me with the same bitter look and pointed down the hall behind her.
Female Secretary: Down the hall, third door on the right, it should say “Presentation Room” and that's where you'll find them.
“Them” as if I was walking into a room filled with anonymous evil-beings whose purpose was to crush the souls of any unfortunate passer-by. Again I stifled my laughter and I didn't waste anytime making my way pass the aged drone. I counted the doors as I walked on, taking notice of the several pictures and awards that they had strung up around the hallway. “Conference Room”, “Employee Lobby”, and then, “Presentation Room”; I stopped in front of the door and just stared at it for a moment, bracing myself for the awkward small talk and tiring speeches. Hesitantly, I turned the knob and pushed forward. I gazed at a group of men scattered across the room and sighed in relief as I saw the projector shut down. Apparently, I was dressed a bit casual in my t-shirt and blue jeans, being surrounded by men in the typical tie and khakis. A few eyes darted over to me as I made my way over to Josh, reaching out for a handshake, but he was intercepted by a pudgy man who wobbled as he walked.
It was the kind of man that made me sick. His lips curled and distorted as he talked, making every word with a ridiculous look on his face. If that wasn't enough, he slurred as he talked, as if the fat sagging from his skin was pulling his lips down. He spoke in the typical business jargon; points, sales, semesters, and percents. I didn't pay much attention to it, I was too busy trying to keep from knocking him to the side. Every moment he talked to Josh I felt a tad more uncomfortable.
I was not one of these people, I was better than them. I was one of the people they envied on a daily basis. I was a living prodigy that used his mind to get up in the world; these people were the soulless scum suckers who made it look cool to drink Coke. They all, at some point in their lives, wish they could have been me. I felt like I was surrounded by inferior beasts. I wasn't suppose to be hanging with these people, I was suppose to be the picture they put up on their billboards.
It was like the climax to “The Last Man On Earth”. Vincent Price stood as the mob slowly approached him with the intention of killing him like he had their brethren. They would not listen to reason nor logic and he was forced back into the corner. His breath quickened as it dawned on him that this was the end. Only one of them had the sense to listen, but no power to ward the others off. They had killed his family, his friends, and sent the world tumbling into a giant mess of chaos and disease. One tosses a harpoon and it pierces Vincent Price through the gut. He stumbles backward, lowering onto one knee. It was hatred he saw in their eyes, they were still monsters. With his last breath he cried out in infinite glory.
Lloyd Matthews: You're all freaks! I am a man! The last...man!
It had just occurred to me, at that moment, that I was reenacting the very scene I was recalling, to the point of faking a harpoon wound to the gut and setting down onto one knee. The room had gone dead silent, even the stubby man speaking to Josh had closed his trap to gape at what looked like a future memory to haunt me for the rest of my days. To spare myself of any further agony, I stand back onto both of my feet and retreated to a dark corner of the room as I waited for Josh to join me.
There was a good chance that Josh could have avoided me for the rest of the night to separate any possible connections between me and him, but as luck would have it, he finally stopped chumming along with his work buddies and decided to greet me. I knew that he had not noticed me when I entered, so it probably wasn't the best idea to get his attention by reenacting B-movie cinema in the middle of his little party.
Josh Miller: What was with the little freak out over there?
I hesitated, the excuse that I “wake up in the morning feeling like Vincent Price” would not only be inappropriate, but I feel the joke would be lost on him as a whole.
Lloyd Matthews: See, I was just...Know what? Let's get out of here, the party looks pretty dead anyways.
Whether or not the diversion worked, a deep sigh escaped his lips as he rolled his eyes and turned away. I knew that he agreed upon the idea, but his reasons were probably a tad different from mine. He grabbed his black coat and, with a few goodbyes, we departed. The building looked far less intimidating as we left, but the stigma would probably always be there.
I didn't take any second thoughts on exiting the parking lot, but it drew some disappointment as we rode straight back into the iron clutch of this bland metropolis. Josh's head rested against the car window, staring out in to the bright lights. He loved the city far more than I did and was tolerant of its follies and flaws in a way I couldn't understand.
It was silent in the car for quite sometime, the silence was starting to dig into my brain. I wasn't sure if Josh was angry or just contemplating, but in either case I rather not interrupt. I kept my eyes on the road, watching as we drove in and out of the lights in a practical rhythm. I started to count the seconds between lights. I felt the rhythm and it took my mind off my contempt for the city.
Josh Miller: How about a bar?
Lloyd Matthews: Only hipsters and drunks will be at the bars tonight. Know any good places to eat?
The conversation dove back into silence. Josh was pandering the idea, but I could tell he was coming up dry on ideas.
Lloyd Matthews: Um...any shitty places to eat?
Josh Miller: There is a place down by Robinson and Parkway.
Lloyd Matthew: Um...You could be spitting out names from Star Trek, I'm not gonna know them.
Josh Miller: Just keep going straight, I'll say something when you need to turn.
It was back to counting the seconds between lights. I followed along with is instructions, while constantly complaining about the maze that was the road. Three 7th Streets for every Lexington Drive and not to mention the countless times I had to turn back because of construction. This city was a mess from the ground up, but I kept going. Eventually, we reached our destination, but I was practically dragging myself out of the car. Less than three hours in the city and I was already tired of it.
We made our way into the restaurant and I didn't even bother to scan over the layout, I made no attempt at being completely unimpressed by an establishment that sold burgers with probably questionable meat at best. I just darted for the closest booth I could find without running into any of the other customers, most of whom were probably too busy chowing down on whatever fattening death burger that was offered.
Josh Miller: Aren't you going to get something to eat?
Lloyd Matthews: I am going to be completely honest, Josh. I have no interest eating the rat poison that the rest of America is interested in. I just wanted to be as far away as possible from that soul-crushing environment you call a job.
I dropped into my seat with an audible thud and was quickly followed by Josh.
Josh Miller: I don't understand you, Lloyd. Why do you hate this place so much?
Lloyd Matthews: The floor is damp, the florescent lights flicker, and it smells like death.
Josh Miller: I mean the whole city. You've always hated businessmen, desk jockeys, tall buildings, and all that other shit.
I slouched down a bit, enough to make myself comfortable, and just looked up at the ceiling. The were moisture stains on the tiles and bugs flying into the lights. With a deep breath I looked back at Josh and let out a sigh.
Lloyd Matthews: This place thrives on large amounts of people trying to work together for the idea of the common good that is somehow predetermined by a “higher-authority”.
Josh Miller: So?
Lloyd Matthews: Here is the thing, there is no greater good, its all a load of crap. Thats why I hate this city. Where, in wrestling, you are rewarded for decimating others, this city offers me nothing. I can't get anything from it and I can't live a life of working towards an end.
Josh Miller: You like living like that?
Lloyd Matthews: I live for it everyday. It makes me anxious to be standing before the entrance ramp. This city stands for structure and all that noise means nothing to me. Wrestling is nihilism and I am wrestling, simple as that.
The night went on and we talked about many things, but that was the only thing going through my head. I was what wrestling was meant to be, I am that next evolutionary step in the chain and soon everyone will know it. They will love me, they will praise me, but most of all, they will listen. Waiting on hand and foot for whatever I had to say because I was wrestling.
