8.31.14 Affliction.

I live in a world between reality and death. Some people believe there is an afterlife, but those people are mistaken. I don’t believe in meditation, but there is a haunting serenity that captures you when you can’t sleep. I can’t sleep. No, I cannot, but I find myself like an ethereal puzzle solver with snapshots and flashes of the world around me like pieces blurred and blended. They don’t mix well, but they all flow together and hold the answer that I would know if I just stopped and thought about it. I can’t do this, however. Not now.

Since I’ve come into this organization it has been an uphill drag. There is a force bringing me upward so that my bared flesh scrapes every pebble, jagged little pill and course grain of sand. My coma are my feet, they move but yet not all at the same time. The progression is mapped by someone else in a hospital room, but my body isn’t truly going anywhere. How can it when everyone and everything in this place is against me simply because I’ve spoken my mind against the corruption that afflicts this sorry little establishment like the ebola virus.

I have ingested the fluids that pump through the jagged veins of Extreme Mayhem Wrestling and now my eyes bleed. Since I’ve taken that step into the sickly waters, my guts now churn like butter. How could I sleep when my fingers pulse like a hang nail has caught the corner of my fingertips? They shake like I stand vertical over the countryside with nothing but oxygen between me and the Earth’s surface. What is a man to do when he is left with nothing and is given nothing? I came here as a representative of my past, not victim.

Treat me as you will, because I know my vitriolic tongue has sparked debate amongst you all. I’ve targeted individuals like Cee-Five Ion, who cannot cut a promo to save his life, yet the manager of this organization saw him fit to beat me, an actual legend in our industry. I’ve done things Cee-Five Ion will never even think about ten years from now. I’ve beaten people that the owner couldn’t even give head to. I understand none of you really care about my past with places like Galveston Island Wrestling, but to annihilate an individual and their memories is cruel. To ask us to assimilate and be treated like garbage is disgusting. I won’t do it. I’ve defeated eighty people, or more in a single night in a single match. That is not a feat easily done, and it is not a feat anyone from Extreme Mayhem Wrestling will ever do. The day my opponents, Ultimate Destroyer and Thomas Minns ever does anything resembling holding the Undisputed Championship Title for one-hundred and fifty-five days straight, then we’ll talk. I highly doubt either of these two people know what it’s like to even work to earn something like that. I bet Cee-Five Ion and the owner of this company can’t even imagine the lengths it takes to do that in their wildest wet dreams.

My past is who I am, and it has to be when I’m not even allowed to be anything in Extreme Mayhem Wrestling. My promotional work in this company isn’t even the best material I’m capable of providing, and I will never produce anything as good as I have done in the past here, because you all simply don’t deserve to see true art and talent at work. None of you. None of you have shown any respect to me, and none of you have even acknowledged that I am even existent. I’m just a shadow in your minds, an effigy of some troll come to claim he’s better than everyone without actually showing why. You don’t see Alioth Starre at his best because you don’t let me. You welcomed me with closed fists and I’m only here until the door is finally slammed in my face. That is the only reason I’m going to be in the same corner as Tornado against Destroyer and Minns. Show me why I should.

I can’t sleep at night. There’s a knife in my back for every day that I’ve come here. I sleep with my head up, the knives pushing themselves deeper inside of me, and the only reason I don’t take them out is because ‘screw you!’ That’s why. I would rather suffer the intense adversity and show you I am still capable of standing and giving all of you the middle finger and telling you how much better I am than any of you combined than to just walk out of this wretched organization defeated. I’ve done that once in North Carolina and I’ve never forgiven myself for it. I let the owner of that wrestling organization treat me like shit, even after I went up to him and explained exactly what was wrong with how he handled the matches and then I left. I quit. I walked defeated because I didn’t stick my middle finger up his scrawny, frozen ass and show him not to screw with the greatest wrestler this universe has ever seen. You are lucky I’m here to give you even a glimpse into art personified. I was here to show you, but not anymore. Not now.

Come Affliction, I’ll do what I do, but it’ll all be moot. Whatever the writers pin me in on the show won’t be me at all. It’ll just be some jaded, faded excuse to throw me under the bus. Don’t worry, I don’t actually pay attention to the results anyway. My only concern is that my voice is heard, whether it inspires, or enrages you. As long as what I have to say reaches you and makes you feel something, anything, inside.

My opponents will feel something when I’m done with them, and I hope all of you do too.