Post by ericdraven on Jun 4, 2006 1:17:40 GMT -5
The Wind Blows Hot Beneath The Witching Moon, As Something
Steps Out From A World Far Beyond Our Own,Tearing
At The Night As It Moves.
The Sleepy,Suburban Silence Is Broken By The Beating Of Leathery Wings And The
Death-Rattle Of Iron Chains.
Scaled Boots Which Have Trod Ancient Kingdoms Beneath Their Heels Scrape And Spark
Against The Cracking Asphalt.
This Man Has Been Call Called By Many Names And Many Of Places But Now Everyone
Calls Him ERIC "The Crow" DRAVEN
But He Is Moved By A Passion Far Older then Anything That You Can Think Of..
:: The arena grows black as Draven's theme picks up across the speakers and you see the video of Eric Draven on the HWF-Tron. Red lights flash around the entrance as Draven stands facing the crowd, his legs bent straight and far apart and his arms held straight out, bent in at the elbows so that his fists rest in front of his shoulders. Two shots of red pyro shoot out into the air, forming a red X over the entrance. Draven steps forward out of the pose, dressed in black tights that run down to the thigh and break off in jagged lines with red the rest of the way down. He strolls down the entrance way, taking all the time he needs. He finally reaches the bottom and rolls his neck, stretching his back while he's at it. Finally, he slides under the bottom rope and heads over towards a corner, relaxing and after a few moments a man gets a mic and walks into the ring and hands Eric a mic and leaves the ring. ::
Eric Draven - Where did he go when I needed him most,Lost in the abyss of a darkened hole, Accepting my losses and welcoming fate. This is the end for he was to late
Lost the faith bestrode upon me, Total misfortune as fallen upon me, My soul blackened with sin by the evil which lurks within consuming my heart and flooding my mind, Where are you lord in this need time, Believe in me is his plea yet in return nothing but deceit, Give him my soul for what i do not know the thought of him has left me cold
Where did he go when I needed him most lost in the abyss of a darkened hole, Accepting my losses and welcoming fate. This is the end for he was to late.
:: Eric starts to pace the ring and he speaks in a calm way. ::
Eric Draven - Sean Prime and Tommy Zeller, I am two people. There is a me the world sees and a me only I will ever know. Personality number one hates the thought of hurting others or himself, has perhaps too much empathy at times, is highly emotional and knows what he wants. Personality number two just wants to hurt. He wants to torture and kill, he wants to break all the rules and doesn't care about others and what they think. One me has a place in this life, the other does not.
One is strong, the other is powerful and exciting. One has a future, the other lives for the moment and to hell with consequences. One wants to live, the other doesn't care about risking death, he embraces it. Are they both real? And it makes me wonder, if I hadn't been raised in such a loving family knowing where I stand, would I be personality number two, and would I be happier? Would I even still be alive? Sometimes I feel restrained, I really have to keep the second me chained. I wonder how much it would take to break those chains. But really it’s not chained, because I allow it to roam in my imagination and my writing. It doesn't scare me, because I have control over who I am. I have control… and I make my own destiny. Now Sean Prime and you to Tommy Zeller your Destiny is going to be a one way trip to HELL and I will give the both of you a guided tour. You know, They say they give you seven years,For every time you break a mirror. But every time I make mine break, I wasn't hurting the mirror, I was killing the fake. And using the shards of glass to make another statistical death. But my reflection won't go away.And I'm left with another seven years, Time goes by, and my reflection fears, The time when my seven years are up, And I get the chance to kill you both With one fatal shot (Match).
:: Eric drops the mic and leaves the ring and he walks up the ramp way and out to the parking lot and he gets into his car and drives away to the mountains, The mountains where he likes to think more clearly but something went wrong, Eric sits down on a boulder and shuts his eyes and thinks of something. ::
The skies turned dark to match my heart, this is the first day of the war. For so long the outcasts have been murdered in waves upon waves, being buried amidst where facile matter is deposited. I knew it in my heart, something had to change, and it sure as hell wasn't me. I would look deep inside myself and find answers to the questions that not even the ancient Greek minds could comprehend. And right there, I have become thrown, castled, abandoned into the hedge maze of reality; of the mind. I look towards the heavens in the sky and knew that they weren't there anymore. All I saw was deep and dark rain clouds, thunderheads hovering in the air with an ominous undertone of black and gray hues. Thunderclap! Lightning in this place travels across the skies, and not down to earth. Or whatever earth this is. The soil is tainted with red dust and the remains of once beautiful, full, and Eric rose bushes, are now just a grouping of rancid petals caught in the wake of something called death. I tried to jump over, or at least get a peek over past the bordering hedges of this hedge maze. I grasped some of the leaves in hope of leverage for myself to leap over the top, and they all were as sharp as razors! I fell straight to the ground wrestling with myself in agony as this amazing red liquid that can give live, was leaving me in design to end life. All of a sudden, I'm back into the battle. Like 1st and 18th century combat, swords and shields. This is the part I loved the most of these battles, the point just before war begins. When you and a thousands of your guys stare into the eyes of a thousand enemies and their eyes. This is the point when you realize that your are not just killing some guy with a sword; but, you're killing a father, a son, a husband, or a brother. I like to know that I have control over my own destiny, but by taking control of theirs and killing them, I can save my own. I was once told that a man without a weapon is a farmer, and a man with a weapon is a soldier. Farmer or soldier ? Farmer or soldier? Soldier. I am and always will be a soldier. I take lives to protect my own and those of my comrades in the heat of battle. The charge was signaled, and my thousand guys ran into the thousand of their guys, thus battle is committed. Nothing but the sounds of metal hitting metal, leather hitting itself, and the festered screams of the wounded are all I hear as battle begins, when the first few rows of men collapse the perimeter of the enemy. Hand to hand combat breaks out like an over-abundance of plague, everybody is infected with it. I for myself take my first four kills and look to the ground. Severed arms, legs heads, torsos cut in half. Such is war. So much blood is spilled, the soil turns to red. Combat perceived and went on like any other hobby the could be taken up. Like, it was nothing to kill. Killing and killing and murdering and murdering until they were all dead, and only half of my forces were lost. I hear running footsteps behind me, coming towards me. An enemy soldier takes a swing of his sword right at my neck. But, I woke up. I was back in my room. Floor covered in clothes, walls covered in posters of heavy metal bands, and the air slightly thickened by the cigarette smoke. I shook my head gently and just thought of the death I'd done in my dream. I swung my feet out from under the covers, and took a step on the cold carpeted floor. But, it wasn't right, my feet were muddy, there was still blood on my hands. I threw the sheets off my bed, but it surprised me. There was the sword I used in my dream. I grabbed it by the hilt, slid the scabbard off, and amazed myself in the warm light reflected by the edge of the sword's blade. But, in the horribly clear realization of what was to come, I just whispered to myself, "The war has jut begun." to come, I just whispered to myself, "The war has jut begun."
:: Draven goes outside and gets into his car and takes off into the city, He puts on the car radio and it was some talk show that was on and he was about to change the channel but stopped when he heard the caller was a Sean Prime Fan and spoke about Prime. ::
DJ - Hello and your on the air.
Prime Fan - Hello, I want to talk about how it feels to be a Sean Prime fan.. Because I don't think I can take it anymore.
DJ - OK then, Let's hear it.
Prime Fan - Ok here it goes. Sometimes I walk around like a zombie. The meds aren't working. I still hear the evil voices pounding in my head. I see things, it is horrible but he rejects me. I can no longer swim in this black river, floating like Ophelia. I don't know how much longer I can hang on. I am swinging from a rope, trees pointing angry fingers at the sky. What should I do?
>DJ - I think that you should get somebody else to be a fan of, It sounds that Sean Prime is waste of time and a person, So get somebody new to be a fan of and that's all I can say about that. What about you?
Prime Fan - This may sound presumptuous of me, but I'm beginning to think of myself as a redeeming figure for the gothic culture. I'm here to defy stereotypes and introduce tolerance to our oppressors.
My motivation might surprise you. I havn't experienced the kind of oppression most goths have; I have managed to surround myself with intelligent people who accept and respect me. The only predjudice I've faced has been from my parents, and that hasn't been fun, but it's not like I'm labled "the wierd girl" and locked away in a cage (metaphorically, that is). It is through the stories of other goths, who have faced difficult obstacles, that I draw my inspiration. Any kind of discrimination bothers me, be it against gays, racial or social minorities, or the disabled. However I feel more comfortable standing up for a group that I belong to than one I don't. And so my crusade has begun.
I try to personify the type of goth that I feel should be the standard. I am openminded and treat others as I wish to be treated. I try to be friendly and empathetic so that I will not be seen as anti-social and cold. I mix with a variety of groups so that I can get perspectives from people with different lifestyles than mine. I am not afraid to stray from what has been determined the norm for goths-some days I'll wear a rainbow shirt and skater pants because I'm in that kind of mood. I won't wear fishnets to dinner parties; I know the difference between black tie events and clubs. It's sad that we must fear being judged by appearance, but I feel that accepting this and adapting to it is better than ignoring it and sending out a bad impression. I try not to worry about how altering my style occasionally will affect my image, because I know the clothes I wear do not define who I am. My worldview isn't altered through fashion, so I don't think dressing colorfully and whimsically, or conservativly once in a while makes me any less goth. I also try to be polite and appropriate. I've seen goths hiss or give dirty looks to people who stare at them; I prefer to ignore them, stare back, or sometimes smile and say hi. Though the situations we may face may be frusterating, I think it's important to keep our composure and act respectfully and calmly instead of lashing out.
I also promote the idea of educating those who have a flawed view of the gothic culture. I don't dismiss people who are ignorant about why I look as I do; I try to educate them about the culture to show them that we're not the types of people the media presents us as. You can't always get through to everyone, but sometimes five minutes spent with someone can change their mind about goths. I've had interesting discussions with narcotics officers that I'm sure impacted their view of goths. As the cliche goes, it's up to you to make a difference.
I also try to help guide the kinds of "goths" we refer to as poseurs. They're usually teenagers looking for attention or rebelling mindlessly, and they often perpetuate many of the common stereotypes about us. Instead of dismissing them as silly and pathetic, I try to take them under my wing and guide them. Sometimes they really do have gothic potential, and sometimes they're immature kids who don't realize what a travisty they are to the scene. Helping them out accomplishes more than making fun of or resenting them.
The oppression we face can be eliminated but only if we're willing to work for it. If we examine the struggles of blacks and women in our society, we can see that they overcame their obstacles. They are still fighting, and that is sure to continue into the future, but look at the difference a hundred years has made. Sure, a century seems like forever, but change won't come unless the action starts now. Not to patronize myself, but I feel that my example is one worth following. Pass on the message and one day, we will live dignified lives as the amazing individuals that we are.
Thank you for your time but I have to go.
DJ - Good luck man, Before you go be a Eric Draven fan because he is the MOST XTREME SOB ALIVE!!!!!.And Eric is going to show Prime and Zeller what the TRUE meaning of XTREME Wrestling is about.
Prime Fan - Thanks Man, I just might do that. Have a good one.
DJ - You do the same. Now we will return in a few minutes.
:: Eric has a smirk on his face and he reaches over and turns off the radio and laughs a little and he puts in a cd and plays Disturbed newest cd 10,000 Fits and rock on down the road. ::
:: Fades To Black. ::
Steps Out From A World Far Beyond Our Own,Tearing
At The Night As It Moves.
The Sleepy,Suburban Silence Is Broken By The Beating Of Leathery Wings And The
Death-Rattle Of Iron Chains.
Scaled Boots Which Have Trod Ancient Kingdoms Beneath Their Heels Scrape And Spark
Against The Cracking Asphalt.
This Man Has Been Call Called By Many Names And Many Of Places But Now Everyone
Calls Him ERIC "The Crow" DRAVEN
But He Is Moved By A Passion Far Older then Anything That You Can Think Of..
:: The arena grows black as Draven's theme picks up across the speakers and you see the video of Eric Draven on the HWF-Tron. Red lights flash around the entrance as Draven stands facing the crowd, his legs bent straight and far apart and his arms held straight out, bent in at the elbows so that his fists rest in front of his shoulders. Two shots of red pyro shoot out into the air, forming a red X over the entrance. Draven steps forward out of the pose, dressed in black tights that run down to the thigh and break off in jagged lines with red the rest of the way down. He strolls down the entrance way, taking all the time he needs. He finally reaches the bottom and rolls his neck, stretching his back while he's at it. Finally, he slides under the bottom rope and heads over towards a corner, relaxing and after a few moments a man gets a mic and walks into the ring and hands Eric a mic and leaves the ring. ::
Eric Draven - Where did he go when I needed him most,Lost in the abyss of a darkened hole, Accepting my losses and welcoming fate. This is the end for he was to late
Lost the faith bestrode upon me, Total misfortune as fallen upon me, My soul blackened with sin by the evil which lurks within consuming my heart and flooding my mind, Where are you lord in this need time, Believe in me is his plea yet in return nothing but deceit, Give him my soul for what i do not know the thought of him has left me cold
Where did he go when I needed him most lost in the abyss of a darkened hole, Accepting my losses and welcoming fate. This is the end for he was to late.
:: Eric starts to pace the ring and he speaks in a calm way. ::
Eric Draven - Sean Prime and Tommy Zeller, I am two people. There is a me the world sees and a me only I will ever know. Personality number one hates the thought of hurting others or himself, has perhaps too much empathy at times, is highly emotional and knows what he wants. Personality number two just wants to hurt. He wants to torture and kill, he wants to break all the rules and doesn't care about others and what they think. One me has a place in this life, the other does not.
One is strong, the other is powerful and exciting. One has a future, the other lives for the moment and to hell with consequences. One wants to live, the other doesn't care about risking death, he embraces it. Are they both real? And it makes me wonder, if I hadn't been raised in such a loving family knowing where I stand, would I be personality number two, and would I be happier? Would I even still be alive? Sometimes I feel restrained, I really have to keep the second me chained. I wonder how much it would take to break those chains. But really it’s not chained, because I allow it to roam in my imagination and my writing. It doesn't scare me, because I have control over who I am. I have control… and I make my own destiny. Now Sean Prime and you to Tommy Zeller your Destiny is going to be a one way trip to HELL and I will give the both of you a guided tour. You know, They say they give you seven years,For every time you break a mirror. But every time I make mine break, I wasn't hurting the mirror, I was killing the fake. And using the shards of glass to make another statistical death. But my reflection won't go away.And I'm left with another seven years, Time goes by, and my reflection fears, The time when my seven years are up, And I get the chance to kill you both With one fatal shot (Match).
:: Eric drops the mic and leaves the ring and he walks up the ramp way and out to the parking lot and he gets into his car and drives away to the mountains, The mountains where he likes to think more clearly but something went wrong, Eric sits down on a boulder and shuts his eyes and thinks of something. ::
The skies turned dark to match my heart, this is the first day of the war. For so long the outcasts have been murdered in waves upon waves, being buried amidst where facile matter is deposited. I knew it in my heart, something had to change, and it sure as hell wasn't me. I would look deep inside myself and find answers to the questions that not even the ancient Greek minds could comprehend. And right there, I have become thrown, castled, abandoned into the hedge maze of reality; of the mind. I look towards the heavens in the sky and knew that they weren't there anymore. All I saw was deep and dark rain clouds, thunderheads hovering in the air with an ominous undertone of black and gray hues. Thunderclap! Lightning in this place travels across the skies, and not down to earth. Or whatever earth this is. The soil is tainted with red dust and the remains of once beautiful, full, and Eric rose bushes, are now just a grouping of rancid petals caught in the wake of something called death. I tried to jump over, or at least get a peek over past the bordering hedges of this hedge maze. I grasped some of the leaves in hope of leverage for myself to leap over the top, and they all were as sharp as razors! I fell straight to the ground wrestling with myself in agony as this amazing red liquid that can give live, was leaving me in design to end life. All of a sudden, I'm back into the battle. Like 1st and 18th century combat, swords and shields. This is the part I loved the most of these battles, the point just before war begins. When you and a thousands of your guys stare into the eyes of a thousand enemies and their eyes. This is the point when you realize that your are not just killing some guy with a sword; but, you're killing a father, a son, a husband, or a brother. I like to know that I have control over my own destiny, but by taking control of theirs and killing them, I can save my own. I was once told that a man without a weapon is a farmer, and a man with a weapon is a soldier. Farmer or soldier ? Farmer or soldier? Soldier. I am and always will be a soldier. I take lives to protect my own and those of my comrades in the heat of battle. The charge was signaled, and my thousand guys ran into the thousand of their guys, thus battle is committed. Nothing but the sounds of metal hitting metal, leather hitting itself, and the festered screams of the wounded are all I hear as battle begins, when the first few rows of men collapse the perimeter of the enemy. Hand to hand combat breaks out like an over-abundance of plague, everybody is infected with it. I for myself take my first four kills and look to the ground. Severed arms, legs heads, torsos cut in half. Such is war. So much blood is spilled, the soil turns to red. Combat perceived and went on like any other hobby the could be taken up. Like, it was nothing to kill. Killing and killing and murdering and murdering until they were all dead, and only half of my forces were lost. I hear running footsteps behind me, coming towards me. An enemy soldier takes a swing of his sword right at my neck. But, I woke up. I was back in my room. Floor covered in clothes, walls covered in posters of heavy metal bands, and the air slightly thickened by the cigarette smoke. I shook my head gently and just thought of the death I'd done in my dream. I swung my feet out from under the covers, and took a step on the cold carpeted floor. But, it wasn't right, my feet were muddy, there was still blood on my hands. I threw the sheets off my bed, but it surprised me. There was the sword I used in my dream. I grabbed it by the hilt, slid the scabbard off, and amazed myself in the warm light reflected by the edge of the sword's blade. But, in the horribly clear realization of what was to come, I just whispered to myself, "The war has jut begun." to come, I just whispered to myself, "The war has jut begun."
:: Draven goes outside and gets into his car and takes off into the city, He puts on the car radio and it was some talk show that was on and he was about to change the channel but stopped when he heard the caller was a Sean Prime Fan and spoke about Prime. ::
DJ - Hello and your on the air.
Prime Fan - Hello, I want to talk about how it feels to be a Sean Prime fan.. Because I don't think I can take it anymore.
DJ - OK then, Let's hear it.
Prime Fan - Ok here it goes. Sometimes I walk around like a zombie. The meds aren't working. I still hear the evil voices pounding in my head. I see things, it is horrible but he rejects me. I can no longer swim in this black river, floating like Ophelia. I don't know how much longer I can hang on. I am swinging from a rope, trees pointing angry fingers at the sky. What should I do?
>DJ - I think that you should get somebody else to be a fan of, It sounds that Sean Prime is waste of time and a person, So get somebody new to be a fan of and that's all I can say about that. What about you?
Prime Fan - This may sound presumptuous of me, but I'm beginning to think of myself as a redeeming figure for the gothic culture. I'm here to defy stereotypes and introduce tolerance to our oppressors.
My motivation might surprise you. I havn't experienced the kind of oppression most goths have; I have managed to surround myself with intelligent people who accept and respect me. The only predjudice I've faced has been from my parents, and that hasn't been fun, but it's not like I'm labled "the wierd girl" and locked away in a cage (metaphorically, that is). It is through the stories of other goths, who have faced difficult obstacles, that I draw my inspiration. Any kind of discrimination bothers me, be it against gays, racial or social minorities, or the disabled. However I feel more comfortable standing up for a group that I belong to than one I don't. And so my crusade has begun.
I try to personify the type of goth that I feel should be the standard. I am openminded and treat others as I wish to be treated. I try to be friendly and empathetic so that I will not be seen as anti-social and cold. I mix with a variety of groups so that I can get perspectives from people with different lifestyles than mine. I am not afraid to stray from what has been determined the norm for goths-some days I'll wear a rainbow shirt and skater pants because I'm in that kind of mood. I won't wear fishnets to dinner parties; I know the difference between black tie events and clubs. It's sad that we must fear being judged by appearance, but I feel that accepting this and adapting to it is better than ignoring it and sending out a bad impression. I try not to worry about how altering my style occasionally will affect my image, because I know the clothes I wear do not define who I am. My worldview isn't altered through fashion, so I don't think dressing colorfully and whimsically, or conservativly once in a while makes me any less goth. I also try to be polite and appropriate. I've seen goths hiss or give dirty looks to people who stare at them; I prefer to ignore them, stare back, or sometimes smile and say hi. Though the situations we may face may be frusterating, I think it's important to keep our composure and act respectfully and calmly instead of lashing out.
I also promote the idea of educating those who have a flawed view of the gothic culture. I don't dismiss people who are ignorant about why I look as I do; I try to educate them about the culture to show them that we're not the types of people the media presents us as. You can't always get through to everyone, but sometimes five minutes spent with someone can change their mind about goths. I've had interesting discussions with narcotics officers that I'm sure impacted their view of goths. As the cliche goes, it's up to you to make a difference.
I also try to help guide the kinds of "goths" we refer to as poseurs. They're usually teenagers looking for attention or rebelling mindlessly, and they often perpetuate many of the common stereotypes about us. Instead of dismissing them as silly and pathetic, I try to take them under my wing and guide them. Sometimes they really do have gothic potential, and sometimes they're immature kids who don't realize what a travisty they are to the scene. Helping them out accomplishes more than making fun of or resenting them.
The oppression we face can be eliminated but only if we're willing to work for it. If we examine the struggles of blacks and women in our society, we can see that they overcame their obstacles. They are still fighting, and that is sure to continue into the future, but look at the difference a hundred years has made. Sure, a century seems like forever, but change won't come unless the action starts now. Not to patronize myself, but I feel that my example is one worth following. Pass on the message and one day, we will live dignified lives as the amazing individuals that we are.
Thank you for your time but I have to go.
DJ - Good luck man, Before you go be a Eric Draven fan because he is the MOST XTREME SOB ALIVE!!!!!.And Eric is going to show Prime and Zeller what the TRUE meaning of XTREME Wrestling is about.
Prime Fan - Thanks Man, I just might do that. Have a good one.
DJ - You do the same. Now we will return in a few minutes.
:: Eric has a smirk on his face and he reaches over and turns off the radio and laughs a little and he puts in a cd and plays Disturbed newest cd 10,000 Fits and rock on down the road. ::
:: Fades To Black. ::
