Post by HEVVHOCORRVPTS on May 29, 2017 8:26:32 GMT
Hewhocorrupts stands in front of a modest, nondescript brick building on the South Side of Chicago. The facade is worn and weathered from the harsh elements of the Midwest and the slow decay of time. Its only distinguishing feature is a large oak door with a small stained glass inlay in the center picturing a lock and key that's protected by a pint-sized, wrought iron grate. The door sticks as he grabs the handle to open it until he remembers to kick the lower corner-- which sticks due to a cracking foundation.
Corrupts scurries inside, careful not to drop any of the equipment tucked under his arms: a durable tripod, a collapsible mic stand, a mixer, an amp, a compact PA speaker, and a tangled mess of cables and extension cords.
Eli: You must never--
Corrupts: [Finishing his sentence] --Slam the door or the building will collapse?
Eli: Is that you, kid?
Corrupts: Nope.
Eli: Well, it looks like you. I bet it smells like you..
With his hands completely full, HWC scrambles to the far corner of the room and sets the heap of gear on top of a tiny stage. It's not actually a stage, not really, it's more like a platform where the old jukebox used to be. Relieved, Corrupts walks back across the room, pulls out a stool and bellies up to the bar of his favorite, hometown haunt: The Locke & Key.
Slightly on the seedy side, it’s dark and bristling with smoke so thick you can barely breathe. A shelter for down-and-outs. A kind of safe haven and refuge. Many of the faces are contorted into a picture of reluctant defeat, or sit flat on the skull, dull and hazed. The most terrifying have a thousand mile stare that speaks volumes about the battleground of their daily lives. This is a humble place, with honest people who--despite their outward appearance--are extremely warm and welcoming. It's not just some cauldron of sadness. Sure there's plenty of eccentric regulars drowning their sorrows, but there's also a handful of patrons just looking to fuel a good time.
Corrupts: I have a smell?
Eli: Well, you used to. When you were a kid, Evy used to call you a little dirtball.
Corrupts: Okay, I admit I may have been veering dangerously close to Pig-Pen status.. but I wasn't a human petri dish.. was I?
Eli: Looking back, it had more to do with you being such a handful. That is until she came to know how helpful you can be too.
Corrupts: Cradle to grave. One-hundred percent dirtball.
Eli: That's the spirit!
Corrupts: I sure miss her.
Eli: [With a gentle smile...] Me too, kid.
Eli: It was a different neighborhood then, but look here [Eli points to a framed picture behind the bar that sits next to a newspaper clipping that reads, “For the first time in 146 years it has not snowed in Chicago during the months of January and February. All the snowflakes were shot before they reached the ground.”...]
Eli: When he was young, he was always out runnin' the streets. We used to say he lived on the corner of Satan and St. Paul. Fearless. Always mixing and mingling with everyone in the neighborhood; noble and nefarious, young and old, for better and for worse. Never far from trouble. One morning I heard this God awful racket--
Corrupts: Come on, I wasn't that bad..
Eli: It made we want to strip my skin off with a potato peeler, kid. Anyways, I head out back behind the bar to see what all the ruckus is about and, lo and behold, I find little man here..[Looking over at Corrupts, shaking his head...] playing Reveille on his trumpet, waking up every drunk who crashed in the alley after last call along with half the homeless community. Cheeky little bastard.
Corrupts: You had last call, I had First Call. I was just being neighborly.
[Incredulous, Eli rolls his eyes...]
Corrupts: What?! Don't look at me like that. By the way, you failed to mention the part when you snatched the horn from my innocent little hands and stomped the ever-lovin' bejesus out of it. Scarred me for life.. Hey, that reminds me, you still owe me a trumpet!
Eli: Well, that was back in my drinkin' days and I didn't take too kindly to your morning recitals.
Corrupts: Eli, you used to put Wild Turkey on your Corn Flakes.
[You're probably wondering about the walk. Eli was living in the back of his bar at the time and developed a rare medical condition from eating no solid food except pearl onions and shaved ice.]
Eli: Alright, alright..heavy drinking days. Hey, I'm lettin' ya film your little promo in here tonight aren't I?
Corrupts: [Nodding...] You've gotta admit, though.. shopping cart jousting with hobos.. the best!
Eli: [Snickering...] Get the fuck outta here, kid.
Corrupts: How's the neighborhood? How is everybody?
Eli: Same old, same old.. Clair-Louise.. I'm sure you've already heard about her close encounter of the fourth kind. At least least that's what she claims. I'm still not sold. I started calling her Clair de LOON until she tried to break a bottle over my head.
Corrupts: Holy Sh--
Clair-Louise: [Sliding up to the bar...] I told you! It was a nine-foot tall extraterrestial that smelled like a hard-boiled egg and I swear that little bastard's name was AUK. So, he points a hoof at me and I kinda got the point that I should come with him aboard the mothership. Long story short--wasn't my worst Saturday night.
Corrupts: [Under his breath...] So many unanswered questions...
Clair-Loise: Except for the part when it was time for me to go. My grand exit was being shot out of basically what looked like a big airplane toilet. Long story short, I dissolve into a closed JPMorgan Chase Bank fifteen miles from my house. I trip some sort of alarm so the cops show up and mind you--I'm rockin' zero pants here at this point--so now I'm spending Easter morning in the back of a squad car with my fun bun and mud gun hangin' out and I'm thinkin', 'Damnit, Clair.. you're finally turning a corner. Things are lookin' up.' Just keep your head up boys, the truth is out there.. you'll find it. Or maybe they'll find you. And let me level with ya, I have had some problems with paranoia in my life due to some funky wiring in my head mixed with some mild, recreational slash heavy drug use but...this was real. They chose me.. and I didn't even graduate from fuckin' high school.
Corrupts: There's a lot to unpack there...
[Clair-Louise slips back to her booth leaving both Eli and HWC none the wiser.]
Eli: The lord works in mysterious ways, kid. SO.. other than that.. we got a new regular been comin' around the past few weeks. Name's John. We call him John The Revelator.
[Eli motions to a guy sitting at the end of the bar who looks like a serial killer circa 1982 or a Nordic warlord.]
Corrupts: Oh yeah, what's his story?
Eli: More of the usual.. he nearly died after a carbon monoxide leak in his apartment and now he sees the future.
Corrupts: Ahh, The Revelator.. will wonders never cease.
Eli: Yep. And listen kid, if he ever offers you a shot, turn it down. Trust me. He has a dark sense of humor.
Corrupts: Sounds like my kinda guy, but you got it boss. All's well I suppose then.. how's business?
Eli: Business as usual; slow and steady. How's things goin' after the loss, kid? Haven't really said much... Look, kid.. when you've been a small business owner as long as I have, you see that everything comes and goes in cycles. You're up, you're down.
Corrupts: Yeah, I mean, It's not like I'm giving up or anything--
[Eli abruptly cuts him off...]
Eli: You sound like my friend Fletcher. Now, Fletcher was a musician. And he tried and tried and never got that big break. He worked nights at a copy store, lived in a terrible apartment filled with roaches, but he never gave up. Then, on his sixtieth birthday he said, 'That's it, I quit I can't do this anymore.' Guess what happened a week later?
Eli: He died. You see, dreams are a life force. Never give up. Success is fucking up on your own terms. Don't quit, you've come too far. And don't just roll with the punches, kid. Punch back.
Corrupts: Thanks, Eli.
Eli: Alright, there he is! So, I gotta ask. What's with the suit?
Corrupts: You'll see...
Eli: No offense but if you don't tell me now, I'll shut the whole thing down.
Corrupts: Okay, okay.. it's not only gonna blow your mind, it's gonna blow your soul.. tonight you'll be playing host to
Hewhocorrupts: Under Locke and KaraoKEY!
Eli: That's ridiculous!
Corrupts: People thought the same thing about TV dinners. And now look. You ever eat the apple pie thing, in the middle...COME ON! Everybody's eatin' it.
Eli: I do enjoy the apple streusel...
Corrupts: Isn't it good?!
Eli: I'm not sure I like the sound of that, but a promise is a promise. I hope you know what you're doing, kid.
Corrupts: Don't worry your pretty little face, Eli. Alright? Now gimme a hug before I set up.
[The two reach across the bar and briefly embrace...]
Eli: Go get her.
Corrupts: Oh! I almost forgot.. are we fire code compliant?
Eli: What was that?!
Corrupts: Nothing, nevermind...
[After positioning the camera, HWC stands alone on stage--attractively unstable and charming as ever--surrounded by a few strands of Christmas lights he threw up to set the mood...]
Corrupts: Mic check, mic check, one, two.. one, two.
[An intense, hard-edged synth effect bubbles with intensity and a heavily processed voice reverberates through the bar like an alien radio broadcast; a brooding dark synth monster as eerie as it is unsettling...]
Corrupts: Welcome back, glitchhikers. You're rockin' straight through the night with me, Dojo Daniel, on 96.7 The Pipe. Up next we gotta triple shot of Hewhocorrupts comin' at ya.. stuffin' it down the chute.. on 96.7 The Pipe. But first, a few words from the Interplanetary Lounge Singer of L.O.V.E, the Crooner of Carnage himself...
Corrupts: Sweet home Chicago, how we all doin' tonight?! Hope you're all in the mood to feel some grooves... I'm gonna break it down for you verse by verse and into the chorus until it has it's hook in you.. nice and deep.. But first, allow me to expand on a little conversation I just had with the owner and proprietor of this hallowed establishment. Eli, take a bow.
[The "audience" couldn't be more disinterested...]
Corrupts: At certain points in our lives, we arrive at the idea that dreams are always worth pursuing—but not necessarily for the sake of fulfilling them. In the pursuit of a dream, we hold on to a sense of direction, purpose.. vitality.
It's easy for us to fall into thinking of desires, goals and dreams as items on a checklist that need to be completed as soon as possible. However, in our best moments, we're not trying to be "done," and we can just enjoy the ride.
During my time in Japan, I learned that in many Eastern religions, there's an emphasis on enjoying the act of work, rather than on constantly longing for the outcome of work. The success or failure of an enterprise is irrelevant; the state of mind that we're in while we are trying to succeed is what matters.
I'm reminded of Buddhist sand mandalas. Some Buddhist monks practice a meditation that involves painstakingly creating an intricate mandala out of sand. Then, once the mandala is finished, they ritualistically destroy their work by wiping the whole thing away. It's a practice in mindfulness--of paying close attention to what's going on, perceiving life--as well as acceptance of impermanence; being happy is realizing you're never really in control.. The point of the meditation is not to have something beautiful, but to be absorbed in the process of making something beautiful. I think Eli was saying the same thing. Albeit, in his own distinctive, uniquely Eli sorta way.
Try to look at your experience in GOL as a mandala, Roxi. You've worked hard to make something as meaningful and beautiful as you could. But now I'm here. And now you're done.. pack it in and know it was all temporary. It was always temporary... Roxi, this one's for you.
[HWC plays a song of doom-laden country blues...]
Rival Sons "Good Things"
Good things will happen
Bad things will happen, too
Sometimes it's someone down the road
Sometimes it's somebody next to you
Enjoy it right now
Because you never know
When it's gonna end
Clair-Louise: Get a real job!
Corrupts: Don't worry I'll save you a dance, Clair.
[HWC manages to inject so much personality and playfulness into the music that even Clair's enjoying it...]
Corrupts: Speaking of work, a few of you might have heard I lost my most recent match against American Ultra and with it, the Guerreros of Lucha Trios Championships. Ultimately, I think it was a good thing because it forced me to really study up on my Books of War. After all, falling helps teach balance.
I think many of my fellow competitors may have the impression that I'm some sort of Red Shirt from Star Trek or something. Almost as if I've become synonymous with "expendable or soon-to-be-dead extra." Roxi, you said yourself before the Christmas Brawl that you were "unimpressed." I wonder how someone on your level could fall prey to such lazy preconceptions. How could you possibly be so certain? Haven't you ever seen Fight Club, The Matrix or Batman The Animated Series? "You never truly know someone until you fight them." Am I right?!
[The small crowd lifts their glasses in support, nodding in agreement...]
Corrupts: Know your enemy.. I mean, that's Art of War 101! "If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat." I think you've got some reading to do.
Corrupts: I learned the hard way, per ushe.. and so will you. If you are is secure at all points, I will be prepared. If you are somehow superior in strength, I will evade you. If you are temperamental, I will seek to irritate you. I will pretend to be weak, so that you may grow arrogant. If you determine I am no challenge, then I will give you no no rest. If your forces are united, I will separate them. Rest assured, I will only attack you when you are unprepared and where you are least expecting. I learned the hard way, per ushe.. and so will you. I have a feeling we'll be learning a lot from each other.
Corrupts: Although, there's a big fuckin' chance it'll be like starting over from ground zero. Cause me? I'm like a book elegantly bound but in a language you can't read. Not even I know know what I'm gonna do next. STRANGE STYLE. NO HOLDS BIZARRED. The butcher and the surgeon. The ring is both my cutting block and my operating table. I'm the anarchist's cookbook of wrestling. Peel back one layer, and it reveals another more surprising one. Then it does that again, and again, then it flips itself inside out and laughs at your expectations. It’s ugliness as beatitude, a poem from the junk heap. A lurid rhyme.. a cry from the swamp seething with violence and bleeding with lyricism. It'll be like catching smoke with your bare hands.
[Singing John Lennon's "Starting Over"]
Corrupts:
Cause when I see you darling,
It's like we both are falling,
In L.O.V.E,
Again,
It'll be,
Just like starting over...
[Corrupts paces the floor, swirling his Black Yukon Sucker Punch before downing the last sip...]
Corrupts: AHH! Black as midnight on a moonless night. Good Sucker Punch, Eli, keep 'em comin'.
[Corrupts lights up a cigarette...]
Corrupts: I've been training for this since my whole life. Bowflex, Soloflex, P90X, Nordic Track it's all about to pay off. Don't fail me now... And remember, Roxi.. regardless of how things shake out, it won't come without a cost. Know that there's only a pyrrhic victory in your future. There is only ruin. Zugzwang comes to mind. It's a German word meaning "compulsion to move". It describes a position in chess when a player is forced to make a move that, regardless of where they move, it will lead to loss or severe disadvantage. It's the move of reluctant suicide. So let me reintroduce myself.. I am Hewhocorrupts... I'm your Kobayashi Maru and the Greatest Motherfucker that you're ever gonna meet! YOU DON'T KNOW ME BUT YOU WILL...
Corrupts: Another song for the sweet listeners out there...
John Grant "GMF"
You could probably say I'm difficult
I probably talk too much
I overanalyse and overthink things;
Yes, it's a nasty crutch
I'm usually only waiting for you to stop talking so that I can
Concerning two-way streets, I have to say that I am not a fan
But I am the greatest motherfucker that you're ever gonna meet
From the top of my head, down to the tips of the toes on my feet
So go ahead and love me while it's still a crime
And don't forget, you could be laughing sixty-five percent more of the time
[HWC runs his fingers through his hair; his features plunged into deep shadow...]
[There's some sort of metamorphosis taking place. Shapeshifting. At first, subtle changes in body language and demeanor. Then, a sudden transition occurs. It's like where two things meet, and you don't know whether they're beginning or ending because they're doing both. It's like the transition between seconds--except it's where something wonderful comes crashing down and something awful begins. Carnage Asada--The Famished Incarnation, The CHEWpacabra of GOL--reveals himself wearing a brand new mask. The mask is made entirely out of hundreds of teeth layered across it's surface. It's something Jeepers Creepers would make for a costume party at Buffalo Bill's. Or perhaps it's the stillborn brainchild of David Lynch and H.R. Giger, a nightmare made flesh...or should I say, BONE. The mask is deeply unsettling, disturbing but deliciously strange and beautiful. There's even a sense of chaotic, confused vulnerability to it. Repulsive and magnetic, capable of evoking fear and wonder in equal measure. It makes you wince and smile at the same time; befitting of this unusual...pair? But what lies beyond those hollowed eyes? You see nothing but abyss, let me tell you, not even the cold comfort of a distant bottom. You can’t even tell whether the beast has a will of its own which only heightens the mystery and dread.]
Carnage Asada: As my Grandpa used to say, be true to your teeth.. or they'll be false to you! Welcome Zebs and Zuuls to the TWO-man show! I was planning on doing some spoken word.. something like... I'm the Armageddon man.. written on the wall, for a good time call..[Pointing down towards his "entertainment center"...] ME. Lucky for you, I decided against it. Last minute thing, inspiration strikes!
I just wanted to add one lesson that my dear Hewhocorrupts forgot to mention concerning the Soaring Eagle Champion: to fight and conquer in all your battles is not supreme excellence, no.. that consists of breaking the enemies resistance without fighting.. without lifting a finger. To slither in and start plucking at that one nerve no one else on the planet can reach. To use a bottle opener on your prefrontal cortex--a mind to pry apart and spit in. To create a rabbit hole for you to stumble into while the walls are closing in. Don't trip, Roxi. Maybe all it takes is a well-polished sliding glass door for the Soaring Eagle to crash into.There’s a shadow of death right behind you, lightly touching you, speeding up the second hand on that internal clock. Shrouding every step you take...
Trust me, it's not something you can easily detect. It starts with a tremor.. an itch.. a slow boil. It's the biological side effects feeding into paranoia and a paranoid brain feeding the side effects; it's psychosomatic. A downward spiral. There is no shutting off the heat. No matter what you do, it'll boil over. Did you ever eat an animal that was still alive, Soaring Eagle? There's a smell...a heat. My God, Roxi.. are you feeling alright? You're burning up.
Damaged people are dangerous, they know they can survive.. I know.. I haven't forgotten.. it's what I'm counting on.
[Through the speakers, the sound of buzzing flies intensifies accompanied by an angelic choir...]
Carnage: You can feel us already, can't you? Inside your skull.. we believe you are special. We need the soft ones.. and you are the softest we've found. When we pull you apart ventricle by vesicle and spread you out like a soft red tree, perhaps we will see why...why even when you had the chance...you did so little to stop us.
Ladies and gents! Are you ready to be possessed by the spirits of the night?! Can I get an AMEN?! We've gathered here today to witness the demise of Roxi Johnson--may the soil be as soft as her feathers. To rain down on her like the Holy Ghost! To show her our true L.O.V.E! Now don't it feel good?! WITNESS! ...MEDIOCRE. Don't it feel good to be free?!
[The rapport with the audience is infectious. It's like a tent revival...]
Carnage: Do you hear that, Roxi? The beasts are all around you...and they are HUNGRY! We can almost taste your delicious shivers of fear. We could drink a liter of your tears. Your blood like cream. Let's synchronize.. vulcanize.. and capsize. Here we GO!
[The space of stillness is immediately filled with turbulent life, things moving ceaselessly in the restless dark; picture everything swirling together as the echoes come together in a collective scream of hope and despair. Each syllable hits with the percussive force of a slug to the jaw...]
Faith No More "Cone of Shame"
The town is quiet now
Like it's holding its breath
Stone marks the spot
You know who you are
They outlined it in chalk
Word to the wise
And the barman calls time
I'd like to peel your skin off
So I can see what you really think
Or if there is anything
Under that cone of shame
I'd like to strip the bone off
So I can see how you're really made
And see how you really taste
You're a special pleasure
[HWC reemerges from his slumber...]
Corrupts: WOO. What the hell happened, how we doin' on time? Okay, one more song and that's the end of the songs. Last call. To all of you listeners out there soaking in the sound waves tonight, I can't see you, but I can feel you.. in my heart, I feel your presence and I can't wait to see you at the show this weekend. It's going to be such a good night. You still have to buy the whole seat but you'll only need the edge... On second thought, it's a LEGO Deathmatch and we're gonna end up tearing the house down brick by brick! I dedicate this set to you, Roxi Johnson.. with all my L.O.V.E!
Corrupts: Something is coming. You can all feel it, can't you? What about you, Roxi? You can feel that we are creeping towards the edge, right? I know that you're out there, and I'm here to tell you that suffering is a choice and you can choose a better path. No matter how skilled you are, no matter how clever.. you will become the hunted. Can you brave that challenge? Can you pass that test? If you want to survive you have to make the kill. I'm not sure this is really a road you wanna go down...but I know you will. Just don't say I didn't warn you!
Timber Timbre "Run"
Run from me, darlin'
Run, my good wife
Run from me, darlin'
You better run for your life
[The audience bursts at the seams with applause and Hewhocorrupts takes a bow...]
John The Revelator: Corrupts, do a shot with me. You're my best friend.
Corrupts: Aww, that's sweet, John, but...
John The Revelator: Oh come on! One for the road, for best friends. Do one shot with me right, c'mon one shot.
Corrupts: Alright, for you, I'll do one shot.
[Eli stands behind the bar waving his hands frantically...]
John The Revelator: Okay, you first. [Handing HWC a .45 single action revolver...] There's one empty chamber and five bullets!