Post by "Superstar" Deathrow on Feb 5, 2007 18:17:11 GMT -5
You're alive. Do something. The directive in life, the moral imperative was so uncomplicated. It could be expressed in single words, not complete sentences. It sounded like this: Look. Listen. Choose. Act. -Barbara Hall-
*A Deathrow voice over is heard playing over some soft soothing classical music. A screen flickers on projecting images threw out your mind as the words are softly spoken*
Words Of Deathrow
Quite often we are flawed, perfection being an unreachable dream existing only in the metaphysical planes we have conjured. We often fall short, losing sight of the end; distracted by an obstacle we have termed life. As we lose focus it becomes more and more imperative we realize what needs to be done to rectify this. But how and why seems to be decided solely by the individual, an interesting concept in itself. We try to propagate the idea of being distinct entities, however the more we strive to be different the more we seem to blend together into a single integral. However, by separating themselves, by pushing past limits, by striving towards perfection, individuals can separate themselves from the crowd, become in themselves a single word: unique.
Through this uniqueness ordinary men can become legends, heroes, and gods among men. Losing focus becomes almost a calculated result, leaving a broken man behind, surrounded by the disappointment of not being able to live up to himself. Free from the shackles binding him to expectations and hype, he is allowed to discover reality, he can become real once again. With much greater understanding it is now rested upon that individual’s shoulder to redeem himself, to make things right, to retake his rightful throne, as King.
Failure is almost a sure bet, disbelief, laughs, and doubts become commonplace. However within these remarkable individuals lay the ability to stun and do things thought to be ‘impossible.’ Things that themselves can be accomplished only through extreme determination, with extreme perseverance, and without a single belief in self-failure. However words are meaningless unless action is taken. In those stunned faces the lost will find redemption. In those stunned glares the lost will find admiration and salvation. The path once lost will once again become clear, clearer than ever before.
Within the confines of a ring, sitting amidst a rather run down gymnasium, stand two silhouettes, two fatigued fighters. The emptiness of the gym draws our focus to center camera, straight towards the ring. The sepia laden scene bursts with energy emanating from the center of that very ring. The figures bounce around, moving rhythmically to an unsung song of silence. Saturated in sweat, the figures engage each other. The motions seem sluggish as if they are moving a fraction of a second behind the speed you would expect them to be moving. The one on the left swings a hard right hook, but no the fighter on the right ducks and delivers a two-punch combo into his gut. The left shadow delays for a second in pain, bringing his arms in, bending his body, and lowering himself to cover up his body…however the fighter on the right is too fast and connects with a left hook right into his jaw. The left fighter falls to his right knee. His hands are on the floor, and he desperately gasps for air.
Determination. A simple dictionary will define this term as a noun meaning firmness of purpose or resolve. But it is this concept that drives us so far. The strength of our determination often carries us through the roughest spots in our lives. Determination is the means by which we can be elevated past ordinary. But…why? Why fight so hard? The fighter on the left raises himself, back onto both legs and raises his arms once again. This time the one on the right circles around and strikes, aiming straight for his head, but the fighter blocks and retaliates with a series of stinging jabs. The sounds echo through the gym, the groans from the fighters hitting every nervous chord in your body like a guitar string being plucked.
Perhaps it is because of self-preservation? Do we fight to survive? Are we so determined to fight the end of life that we are willing to do anything in our power to prevent it? Is that the source of our determination? Or perhaps we fight so hard, we maintain such strict determination because it is all we have. When your gods and heroes fail you, whose left to rely on but oneself? Perhaps in some way all of us have experienced that loss, subconscious or not, or at least those of us that fight so hard. The determination attached to believing in oneself seems almost symbiotic. Is that the reason?
The left fighter takes a huge swing but is swiftly avoided by the fighter from the right, who swerves right and himself delivers a devastating right hook. The left fighter stumbles backwards, trying to regain his composure but is interrupted by the right fighter who moves into his body, delivering body shot after body shot. The left fighter bends over in pain and exhaustion. The right fighter seizes his opportunity and delivers a powerful series of hook punches. The fighter from the left struggles to remain standing, and stumbles around. The right fighter takes a few steps back and measures the left fighter, proceeding to deliver a devastating uppercut.
Why such determination? We all seem to possess the, albeit often dormant, quality within us to gain such undying determination. Some chose to utilize it as others don’t mind letting it hibernate for the rest of their life until it is truly needed and called for. However the assumption of this idea still fails to answer the plaguing question of why? Perhaps the answer is different for every individual, not a single defined concept that can be understood in a few words. Perhaps it is something one has to find within them self, a personal journey, which will unlock something that connects us all. Or perhaps we have such great determination…just because we can.
The fighter from the left falls back, bouncing off the ropes and falling onto his knees. He tilts…and falls over to his right, collapsing from exhaustion. Was he not determined enough? Did he not have the will to win? Or did he give it his all on a day where his all just wasn’t good enough? The only one who can seemingly answer that question is that man himself. Blackness consumes his world as he leaves the land of the conscious. He fades away into a world of his own. A world where there is no need to fight, a world not governed by laws or rational thinking, but by emotion and his logic. A world where everyone can fly as free as the birds, escaping reality becomes his best friend. A girl, singing, such a beautiful song…but where does the angelic voice resonate from?
Is it real? A flash of light and a blur…reality comes back as the fighter becomes conscious, the world coming back into focus around him. He rolls over onto his hands and knees, slowly pushing himself up onto all fours. The immense pain that hits with every move, with every muscle contraction and expansion, it becomes almost unbearable. He fights for purpose. He remains silent, while internally shouting at the top of his lungs, as every moment brings such torture. He grimaces and spits a mouthful of blood out onto the ring floor. He continues to rise.
Memories flood his mind. The past lives within him, a return to greatness taunts him. It beckons him forward each step of the way, criticizing him, analyzing him, baiting him forward…such a powerful enemy, eating away at his very insides. The desire has become too much to bear. His fate has been set into motion, and now he realizes that it is up to him to realize that fate…to face it head on, for better or for worse, to learn and evolve from it. The contemplation of such thoughts tease him as he continues to progress upwards onto his feet.
Desire has brought him all he has obtained and will bring him all he will attain. With full knowledge of this, he continues to rise, showering in his sweat, drinking in his glory, his charisma, relearning the arts that he once mastered, for a new generation, more so a return to an old life than a new one, exploiting a second chance. Opportunity knocks, without hesitation he answers, the squandering of lost opportunities still fresh in his mind, burning a hole in his soul…he remembers.
He makes it to his feet and stands upright once again.
You have no pride
You severly lack manhood
Your boss is a punk biatch
Your sister is a whore
What are you going to do about it....
You do have reason to believe that you have a shot at defeating us, Well, I'm sorry... you don't... I know what fighter the Doomies are. An Untouchables be prepared to be taken to the max an snuffed out. Don’t worry I’ll bring the Pizza Slicer an you bring the blood...
*All slowly shuts off an were out*
*A Deathrow voice over is heard playing over some soft soothing classical music. A screen flickers on projecting images threw out your mind as the words are softly spoken*
Words Of Deathrow
Quite often we are flawed, perfection being an unreachable dream existing only in the metaphysical planes we have conjured. We often fall short, losing sight of the end; distracted by an obstacle we have termed life. As we lose focus it becomes more and more imperative we realize what needs to be done to rectify this. But how and why seems to be decided solely by the individual, an interesting concept in itself. We try to propagate the idea of being distinct entities, however the more we strive to be different the more we seem to blend together into a single integral. However, by separating themselves, by pushing past limits, by striving towards perfection, individuals can separate themselves from the crowd, become in themselves a single word: unique.
Through this uniqueness ordinary men can become legends, heroes, and gods among men. Losing focus becomes almost a calculated result, leaving a broken man behind, surrounded by the disappointment of not being able to live up to himself. Free from the shackles binding him to expectations and hype, he is allowed to discover reality, he can become real once again. With much greater understanding it is now rested upon that individual’s shoulder to redeem himself, to make things right, to retake his rightful throne, as King.
Failure is almost a sure bet, disbelief, laughs, and doubts become commonplace. However within these remarkable individuals lay the ability to stun and do things thought to be ‘impossible.’ Things that themselves can be accomplished only through extreme determination, with extreme perseverance, and without a single belief in self-failure. However words are meaningless unless action is taken. In those stunned faces the lost will find redemption. In those stunned glares the lost will find admiration and salvation. The path once lost will once again become clear, clearer than ever before.
Within the confines of a ring, sitting amidst a rather run down gymnasium, stand two silhouettes, two fatigued fighters. The emptiness of the gym draws our focus to center camera, straight towards the ring. The sepia laden scene bursts with energy emanating from the center of that very ring. The figures bounce around, moving rhythmically to an unsung song of silence. Saturated in sweat, the figures engage each other. The motions seem sluggish as if they are moving a fraction of a second behind the speed you would expect them to be moving. The one on the left swings a hard right hook, but no the fighter on the right ducks and delivers a two-punch combo into his gut. The left shadow delays for a second in pain, bringing his arms in, bending his body, and lowering himself to cover up his body…however the fighter on the right is too fast and connects with a left hook right into his jaw. The left fighter falls to his right knee. His hands are on the floor, and he desperately gasps for air.
Determination. A simple dictionary will define this term as a noun meaning firmness of purpose or resolve. But it is this concept that drives us so far. The strength of our determination often carries us through the roughest spots in our lives. Determination is the means by which we can be elevated past ordinary. But…why? Why fight so hard? The fighter on the left raises himself, back onto both legs and raises his arms once again. This time the one on the right circles around and strikes, aiming straight for his head, but the fighter blocks and retaliates with a series of stinging jabs. The sounds echo through the gym, the groans from the fighters hitting every nervous chord in your body like a guitar string being plucked.
Perhaps it is because of self-preservation? Do we fight to survive? Are we so determined to fight the end of life that we are willing to do anything in our power to prevent it? Is that the source of our determination? Or perhaps we fight so hard, we maintain such strict determination because it is all we have. When your gods and heroes fail you, whose left to rely on but oneself? Perhaps in some way all of us have experienced that loss, subconscious or not, or at least those of us that fight so hard. The determination attached to believing in oneself seems almost symbiotic. Is that the reason?
The left fighter takes a huge swing but is swiftly avoided by the fighter from the right, who swerves right and himself delivers a devastating right hook. The left fighter stumbles backwards, trying to regain his composure but is interrupted by the right fighter who moves into his body, delivering body shot after body shot. The left fighter bends over in pain and exhaustion. The right fighter seizes his opportunity and delivers a powerful series of hook punches. The fighter from the left struggles to remain standing, and stumbles around. The right fighter takes a few steps back and measures the left fighter, proceeding to deliver a devastating uppercut.
Why such determination? We all seem to possess the, albeit often dormant, quality within us to gain such undying determination. Some chose to utilize it as others don’t mind letting it hibernate for the rest of their life until it is truly needed and called for. However the assumption of this idea still fails to answer the plaguing question of why? Perhaps the answer is different for every individual, not a single defined concept that can be understood in a few words. Perhaps it is something one has to find within them self, a personal journey, which will unlock something that connects us all. Or perhaps we have such great determination…just because we can.
The fighter from the left falls back, bouncing off the ropes and falling onto his knees. He tilts…and falls over to his right, collapsing from exhaustion. Was he not determined enough? Did he not have the will to win? Or did he give it his all on a day where his all just wasn’t good enough? The only one who can seemingly answer that question is that man himself. Blackness consumes his world as he leaves the land of the conscious. He fades away into a world of his own. A world where there is no need to fight, a world not governed by laws or rational thinking, but by emotion and his logic. A world where everyone can fly as free as the birds, escaping reality becomes his best friend. A girl, singing, such a beautiful song…but where does the angelic voice resonate from?
Is it real? A flash of light and a blur…reality comes back as the fighter becomes conscious, the world coming back into focus around him. He rolls over onto his hands and knees, slowly pushing himself up onto all fours. The immense pain that hits with every move, with every muscle contraction and expansion, it becomes almost unbearable. He fights for purpose. He remains silent, while internally shouting at the top of his lungs, as every moment brings such torture. He grimaces and spits a mouthful of blood out onto the ring floor. He continues to rise.
Memories flood his mind. The past lives within him, a return to greatness taunts him. It beckons him forward each step of the way, criticizing him, analyzing him, baiting him forward…such a powerful enemy, eating away at his very insides. The desire has become too much to bear. His fate has been set into motion, and now he realizes that it is up to him to realize that fate…to face it head on, for better or for worse, to learn and evolve from it. The contemplation of such thoughts tease him as he continues to progress upwards onto his feet.
Desire has brought him all he has obtained and will bring him all he will attain. With full knowledge of this, he continues to rise, showering in his sweat, drinking in his glory, his charisma, relearning the arts that he once mastered, for a new generation, more so a return to an old life than a new one, exploiting a second chance. Opportunity knocks, without hesitation he answers, the squandering of lost opportunities still fresh in his mind, burning a hole in his soul…he remembers.
He makes it to his feet and stands upright once again.
You have no pride
You severly lack manhood
Your boss is a punk biatch
Your sister is a whore
What are you going to do about it....
You do have reason to believe that you have a shot at defeating us, Well, I'm sorry... you don't... I know what fighter the Doomies are. An Untouchables be prepared to be taken to the max an snuffed out. Don’t worry I’ll bring the Pizza Slicer an you bring the blood...
*All slowly shuts off an were out*