Post by nbk on Aug 4, 2011 6:59:46 GMT -5
On location with the World Heavyweight Champion was, on paper, a great advancement in your usual assignments, you were indeed gathering footage on the companies number one competitor, the man on top, arguably the most important man in the company. The responsibility to bring his thoughts and feelings to the world in an engaging and well lit manner were of the utmost importance to the company, of course you knew this. You were also well aware that this was a task only undertaken by the most trusted members of the crew, and just the initial work order marked a new level in your progress with UGWC. This was one of those days you had been waiting for since you joined, one of the stops on your road to cinematographic legend, on paper this was a great day.
On paper.
Paper comes from trees you think to yourself, which might have seemed like a strange and very obvious point to observe at this instance had it not been for the fact you were surrounded by a forest of them. A forest you had been submerged in for hour upon hour, the cover of the leafy canopy doing nothing to shield you from the insane heat of the day, your sweat was clinging to your clothes and you found yourself missing those brief trips to abandoned factories. This tropical survival trek was made even more demanding by the companionship of your camera and tripod, not that you'd had a chance to use the former, you hadn't stopped moving since you entered the green and plentiful hell hole you stand inside.
The tripod may remain strapped across your back with your empty water bottle, you hadn't planned to map the entire valley, but your camera had been rolling for quite some time. As you slap yet another flying bitey thing on your neck you focus your attention on the reason you feel like you're an extra in a Vietnam war film, making his way through the undergrowth muttering incoherently to some dishevelled woman who has looked more uneasy in these surroundings than even yourself.
What was it about the mentally intangible that drew them towards UGWC? You felt like you spent half your time filming individuals who spoke as if they resided on a completely separate plane of reality from the rest of us. The finest case in point was currently mumbling about 'wellsprings', 'planeswalkers' and a 'Great Sphinx', whilst dragging a large bag containing what you can only describe as garbage he has collected on this apparent 'quest'. You spent the majority of most days asking yourself the same question, 'Is this relevant?' How on earth were you expected to decipher this drivel? How did you explain that to the pen pushers asking why you use so many camera batteries? You basically had to film everything.
It wasn't your job to decide what was important to the product, it was your job to make what you shot look good, no-one ever said anything about it making any sense. You didn't envy the guys in editing who would have to sift through all this footage for something they could call 'entertainment'...wait? Of course you envied those guys, they just had to watch this shit, you had to live it! And they got A/C, fuckers. Hopefully they appreciated the work you had put into shots like; Tyvola picking up a doll's head, Tyvola observing a particularly interesting stick, Tyvola sniffing a gopher carcass, Tyvola serenading said carcass with a tribal sounding son, Tyvola helps bemused woman from floor, and on and on and on. There is only so much you can do with foliage, just ask the gusy that shot 'Lost'.
You wondered how much longer this unfeasable hike would continue for, and whether there would be something worthwhile at the end of it, something that would make the hours of walking, the many blisters that had formed in your sweat ridden boots, and the dehydration that you were beginning to suffer, worth undertaking, like, 'The Fountain of Youth', a downed Extra-Terrestrial Interplanetary Transport, or a temple made of Ice Cream. Anything...
Tyvola's eyes sparkle as he seemingly recognises a rock and the patterns of the moss and his pace quickens, finally, it looks like you've come to the destination you have been searching for, the quickened step and expression in The World Heavyweight Champions face suggest you are on the verge of something special. You follow him into a clearing, and you are surprised to find you heart beating faster and louder within your chest, a strange excitement overcomes you, the anticipation forcing adrenalin into your veins...and then you behold the treasure at the end of the path.
More garbage, or more precisely a shopping trolley filled with Garbage, a stained and partially burnt Care bear sits on top of the pile, giving the impression of a thoroughly depressing Christmas. And that was it, there was nothing else to observe. Apparently The Bearded Bastard had come deep into the forest to hide this haul, to keep it from his many enemies who would love to plunder this natural vault. This truly was a living alter to many different kinds of psychosis. And you had willingly, and knowingly followed this individual deep into the confusing, remote and dense forest. You had to admit, if anything goes awry you really only have yourself to blame. Damn you needed water...
Then as you considered your need to start packing a more adequate survival kit in the future a ound hits your eardrums like an Angelic Choir, the sound of running water. You could barely believe your senses, such luck was rare, it felt like the first good thing that had happened to you in a very long time. You took a moment and decided that what was coming from Tyvola's mouth was no different to what you had caught over the past few hours, and you wouldn't miss anything important if you attempted to stop yourself from dying from dehydration.
So you turn and head towards the sound of water, you cease shooting but carry the camera with you, who knows what 'the Champ' would do with it and indeed, not far from the clearing is the most beautiful natural spring you had ever seen, but that wasn't all that was in front of you. You couldn't believe it was true, you'd been a little worried these rumours were true.
You finally set up the Tripod, and start to roll again.
He really was stalking you.
The Natural Born Killer is not used to the position they find themselves in...it is an alien experience to the Screams and I. We have not dealt with a scenario such as this in our vast and numerous recollections, we tread a new path shrouded by uncertainty. They do not fear this new state of being, but neither do they embrace it, they truly have no idea how to react to recent events. From their worst nightmare, the thing they united to deny The Killer focus of, to their most wanted and needed desire, swiftly becoming that which they have attained, all in the space of a matter of weeks. This quickened evolution of...alignment...has them caught off guard.
We had never considered this, as The Killer roamed as they tore his state of mind from north to south, we had never once imagined we'd find ourselves here. The Dance consumes...the need for it as hefty as any drug when you are inflicted with the tortures I have endured since the beginning...yet any partners are merely temporary distractions, rarely do they enter our thoughts for longer than the life of the average housefly....these partners were never designed to do anything but dissipate into the wind...
Some do have the irritating habit of returning...like recurring dreams...despite their past failures on the dance floor. What will the motivation be this time around? Will it be the need for redemption after yet another pilgrimage to irrelevance? Will it be an attempt to rebuild the forgotten efforts to establish themselves for the sixth time? Or will envy drive them, a fury that they dance with the one that holds what they was called their own? Only Medos can answer these questions on the night of our tired tango, we exhausted our consideration of him long ago. The Killer may not be the only one who has become disinterested in the trials and tribulations of The English Enigma...maybe that possibility will drive him on. We will deal with Medos when we are forced to run the depressing possibilities of his existence through our minds again, but until then we are still in a state of confusion...
Solitude and...Isolation have long been the only path forward...our condition is not optimal for forming allegiances...we cannot see others for anything other than prey. Yet...we find ourselves...invited and accepted...into His Circle...we had been so eager to satisfy out curiosity, to come close towards a promised enlightenment...that we had not paused to consider, how we would react when we reached our goal. The urge to dance...is often overwhelming, it can override our desires...
We want...we need what He offers...what He promises...the prospect of salvation and redemption...He does not suffer from the weaknesses and debilitations that inflict the rest of humanity, those emotions and desires that the Screams prey upon so readily, He is free of the horrors and suffering of the human condition. That is what we want, that is what we humbly ask of our Prince to bestow upon us...
But we fear, for the rest of His Circle, are unknown to us...despite our time together, we do not know if they are as strong and pure as our Prince...the experiences we have, of coexisting with others have, without exception, ended badly. We would be abhorred if our...cravings, our humanity caused us to cause The Lord of the Realm any form of displeasure...for we wish only to please and learn from him...
You fear you may find something in Sir Roland that could cause the Screams to lose all sense of perspective...or that Ymir will bely his strong exterior and they will not consider our redemption in the pursuit of a bloodthirsty dance...and what if Pierrot was to prove himself to be a jester in his mind, nothing but a joke, ready to be considered Prey by the slavering and illogical Passengers that I cannot control?
These are risks we must take, The Killer must not succumb to fear as that will not serve Him, we must use our...weakness, our inner torture...to serve our Prince. We must channel this towards any that oppose him, towards any he wishes to examine...we must refrain from dancing in the Circle...we must be strong, we will harness our agony and anguish and unleash it any direction and for whatever purpose he deems necessary. The actions we take, will be undertaken in His name, we will dance only for the advancement of His cause.
Maybe the inherent failure of Medos will prove of some interest for our Prince's studies, The Killer may endear himself to the Lord of the Realm if he exposes all that Medos has to offer, no matter how little that may be, for His pleasure. This is a strange feeling...one which some might compare to liberation of a kind, to serve for another, to work in their name, for their glory, rather than striving for a personal silence...but He is worth this. It is rare that The Killer and his passengers agree, it is rare that we are ever sure of anything...but we know this much...His Circle will prevail, and He will usher in a new age, His day will come.
And for some, that is The Most Dangerous Rumour They've Never Heard.
And with that The Killer turns and leaps over the babbling brook he stood in front of, and disappears into the undergrowth.
And the camera stops rolling.
You realise you've been gone for a while, and it is considerably likely that your insane guide may have wandered off without realising you were in tow, in fact you weren't sure he was ever aware of your presence.
You stumble back into the clearing, and from the expression on the bearded mug of the World Heavyweight Champion, and his incoherent ramblings that were being directed at your emerging body, that he was indeed aware of your presence, and was not happy you'd left to get some water...
Dammit! You forgot the water...and if you didn't drink like a gallon of it soon you may pass out, and god knows where this hobo would take your unconscious body to recover, you quickly hurl the tripod from your back, attach the camera to it and set it to record. You'd take your chances with the Grouchy Grapist and the camera, you were going back to that brook and submerging your head underneath the spring...and hope the Champion doesn't have plans for you this evening. Especially if they involve the stained and torn cocktail dress he is flailing around in his hands.
On paper.
Paper comes from trees you think to yourself, which might have seemed like a strange and very obvious point to observe at this instance had it not been for the fact you were surrounded by a forest of them. A forest you had been submerged in for hour upon hour, the cover of the leafy canopy doing nothing to shield you from the insane heat of the day, your sweat was clinging to your clothes and you found yourself missing those brief trips to abandoned factories. This tropical survival trek was made even more demanding by the companionship of your camera and tripod, not that you'd had a chance to use the former, you hadn't stopped moving since you entered the green and plentiful hell hole you stand inside.
The tripod may remain strapped across your back with your empty water bottle, you hadn't planned to map the entire valley, but your camera had been rolling for quite some time. As you slap yet another flying bitey thing on your neck you focus your attention on the reason you feel like you're an extra in a Vietnam war film, making his way through the undergrowth muttering incoherently to some dishevelled woman who has looked more uneasy in these surroundings than even yourself.
What was it about the mentally intangible that drew them towards UGWC? You felt like you spent half your time filming individuals who spoke as if they resided on a completely separate plane of reality from the rest of us. The finest case in point was currently mumbling about 'wellsprings', 'planeswalkers' and a 'Great Sphinx', whilst dragging a large bag containing what you can only describe as garbage he has collected on this apparent 'quest'. You spent the majority of most days asking yourself the same question, 'Is this relevant?' How on earth were you expected to decipher this drivel? How did you explain that to the pen pushers asking why you use so many camera batteries? You basically had to film everything.
It wasn't your job to decide what was important to the product, it was your job to make what you shot look good, no-one ever said anything about it making any sense. You didn't envy the guys in editing who would have to sift through all this footage for something they could call 'entertainment'...wait? Of course you envied those guys, they just had to watch this shit, you had to live it! And they got A/C, fuckers. Hopefully they appreciated the work you had put into shots like; Tyvola picking up a doll's head, Tyvola observing a particularly interesting stick, Tyvola sniffing a gopher carcass, Tyvola serenading said carcass with a tribal sounding son, Tyvola helps bemused woman from floor, and on and on and on. There is only so much you can do with foliage, just ask the gusy that shot 'Lost'.
You wondered how much longer this unfeasable hike would continue for, and whether there would be something worthwhile at the end of it, something that would make the hours of walking, the many blisters that had formed in your sweat ridden boots, and the dehydration that you were beginning to suffer, worth undertaking, like, 'The Fountain of Youth', a downed Extra-Terrestrial Interplanetary Transport, or a temple made of Ice Cream. Anything...
Tyvola's eyes sparkle as he seemingly recognises a rock and the patterns of the moss and his pace quickens, finally, it looks like you've come to the destination you have been searching for, the quickened step and expression in The World Heavyweight Champions face suggest you are on the verge of something special. You follow him into a clearing, and you are surprised to find you heart beating faster and louder within your chest, a strange excitement overcomes you, the anticipation forcing adrenalin into your veins...and then you behold the treasure at the end of the path.
More garbage, or more precisely a shopping trolley filled with Garbage, a stained and partially burnt Care bear sits on top of the pile, giving the impression of a thoroughly depressing Christmas. And that was it, there was nothing else to observe. Apparently The Bearded Bastard had come deep into the forest to hide this haul, to keep it from his many enemies who would love to plunder this natural vault. This truly was a living alter to many different kinds of psychosis. And you had willingly, and knowingly followed this individual deep into the confusing, remote and dense forest. You had to admit, if anything goes awry you really only have yourself to blame. Damn you needed water...
Then as you considered your need to start packing a more adequate survival kit in the future a ound hits your eardrums like an Angelic Choir, the sound of running water. You could barely believe your senses, such luck was rare, it felt like the first good thing that had happened to you in a very long time. You took a moment and decided that what was coming from Tyvola's mouth was no different to what you had caught over the past few hours, and you wouldn't miss anything important if you attempted to stop yourself from dying from dehydration.
So you turn and head towards the sound of water, you cease shooting but carry the camera with you, who knows what 'the Champ' would do with it and indeed, not far from the clearing is the most beautiful natural spring you had ever seen, but that wasn't all that was in front of you. You couldn't believe it was true, you'd been a little worried these rumours were true.
You finally set up the Tripod, and start to roll again.
He really was stalking you.
The Natural Born Killer is not used to the position they find themselves in...it is an alien experience to the Screams and I. We have not dealt with a scenario such as this in our vast and numerous recollections, we tread a new path shrouded by uncertainty. They do not fear this new state of being, but neither do they embrace it, they truly have no idea how to react to recent events. From their worst nightmare, the thing they united to deny The Killer focus of, to their most wanted and needed desire, swiftly becoming that which they have attained, all in the space of a matter of weeks. This quickened evolution of...alignment...has them caught off guard.
We had never considered this, as The Killer roamed as they tore his state of mind from north to south, we had never once imagined we'd find ourselves here. The Dance consumes...the need for it as hefty as any drug when you are inflicted with the tortures I have endured since the beginning...yet any partners are merely temporary distractions, rarely do they enter our thoughts for longer than the life of the average housefly....these partners were never designed to do anything but dissipate into the wind...
Some do have the irritating habit of returning...like recurring dreams...despite their past failures on the dance floor. What will the motivation be this time around? Will it be the need for redemption after yet another pilgrimage to irrelevance? Will it be an attempt to rebuild the forgotten efforts to establish themselves for the sixth time? Or will envy drive them, a fury that they dance with the one that holds what they was called their own? Only Medos can answer these questions on the night of our tired tango, we exhausted our consideration of him long ago. The Killer may not be the only one who has become disinterested in the trials and tribulations of The English Enigma...maybe that possibility will drive him on. We will deal with Medos when we are forced to run the depressing possibilities of his existence through our minds again, but until then we are still in a state of confusion...
Solitude and...Isolation have long been the only path forward...our condition is not optimal for forming allegiances...we cannot see others for anything other than prey. Yet...we find ourselves...invited and accepted...into His Circle...we had been so eager to satisfy out curiosity, to come close towards a promised enlightenment...that we had not paused to consider, how we would react when we reached our goal. The urge to dance...is often overwhelming, it can override our desires...
We want...we need what He offers...what He promises...the prospect of salvation and redemption...He does not suffer from the weaknesses and debilitations that inflict the rest of humanity, those emotions and desires that the Screams prey upon so readily, He is free of the horrors and suffering of the human condition. That is what we want, that is what we humbly ask of our Prince to bestow upon us...
But we fear, for the rest of His Circle, are unknown to us...despite our time together, we do not know if they are as strong and pure as our Prince...the experiences we have, of coexisting with others have, without exception, ended badly. We would be abhorred if our...cravings, our humanity caused us to cause The Lord of the Realm any form of displeasure...for we wish only to please and learn from him...
You fear you may find something in Sir Roland that could cause the Screams to lose all sense of perspective...or that Ymir will bely his strong exterior and they will not consider our redemption in the pursuit of a bloodthirsty dance...and what if Pierrot was to prove himself to be a jester in his mind, nothing but a joke, ready to be considered Prey by the slavering and illogical Passengers that I cannot control?
These are risks we must take, The Killer must not succumb to fear as that will not serve Him, we must use our...weakness, our inner torture...to serve our Prince. We must channel this towards any that oppose him, towards any he wishes to examine...we must refrain from dancing in the Circle...we must be strong, we will harness our agony and anguish and unleash it any direction and for whatever purpose he deems necessary. The actions we take, will be undertaken in His name, we will dance only for the advancement of His cause.
Maybe the inherent failure of Medos will prove of some interest for our Prince's studies, The Killer may endear himself to the Lord of the Realm if he exposes all that Medos has to offer, no matter how little that may be, for His pleasure. This is a strange feeling...one which some might compare to liberation of a kind, to serve for another, to work in their name, for their glory, rather than striving for a personal silence...but He is worth this. It is rare that The Killer and his passengers agree, it is rare that we are ever sure of anything...but we know this much...His Circle will prevail, and He will usher in a new age, His day will come.
And for some, that is The Most Dangerous Rumour They've Never Heard.
And with that The Killer turns and leaps over the babbling brook he stood in front of, and disappears into the undergrowth.
And the camera stops rolling.
You realise you've been gone for a while, and it is considerably likely that your insane guide may have wandered off without realising you were in tow, in fact you weren't sure he was ever aware of your presence.
You stumble back into the clearing, and from the expression on the bearded mug of the World Heavyweight Champion, and his incoherent ramblings that were being directed at your emerging body, that he was indeed aware of your presence, and was not happy you'd left to get some water...
Dammit! You forgot the water...and if you didn't drink like a gallon of it soon you may pass out, and god knows where this hobo would take your unconscious body to recover, you quickly hurl the tripod from your back, attach the camera to it and set it to record. You'd take your chances with the Grouchy Grapist and the camera, you were going back to that brook and submerging your head underneath the spring...and hope the Champion doesn't have plans for you this evening. Especially if they involve the stained and torn cocktail dress he is flailing around in his hands.
