Post by nbk on Sept 10, 2011 20:00:32 GMT -5
'What would happen this week?' That was at the forefront of your mind. You'd seen some peculiar and quite frankly shocking things pass for entertainment in this company, and you couldn't help but despair in the fact that their was, indeed, a market for this kind of behaviour. Some of the stuff would clearly appeal to toddlers, the pratfalls, the stupid masks, the simplistic nature of some of the stars and their colourful attire, it was plane to see how that could hold the attention of a two year old.
And you were aware that a certain demographic enjoyed graphic violence, you hadn't been living in a cave for the latter decade of your life, you knew what was popular. For some reason, a great deal of people enjoy the sight of another's pain and misfortune, and some even become overly excited at the sight of blood. The art of fighting had been around for over two millennium you'd be a fool to not recognise it's ability to capture peoples attention.
But what you really found it hard to get your head round, was the fact that clearly, and unfathomably a demographic existed, somewhere, that was large enough for those in the industry to take notice of, that consisted of the kind of people who enjoyed watching women get beaten to a pulp by men. Seriously, who when asked in some kind of survey for TV Market Researchers ticks the box marked 'Wife Beating Fetishist'?
This was part of the job you found most difficult to do, last week you had to stand idly by as you watched a helpless female get attacked by not one, but two overly worked out young men. Now, you weren't suggesting that it was your profession that got in the way of you jumping to her aid, no the cowardice had that area covered. But you did stand by and film it, and made sure that the framing was just right, and that the lights hit your view to ensure your shots looked like a painting on a canvas. In other words, just like the two men driving their knee's into various parts of this young lady's anatomy, you were taking advantage of her to further you're own aspirations.
At least you weren't as celebratory as those involved, they look as though they had just taken down Goliath, so proud of the fact they were standing victorious over a woman. People will point out that she chose this profession of her own free will, and that she's been through far more harrowing experiences. But that didn't help answer the question, why in the name of all that is good in the world do people want to see this happen?
There was no doubt in your mind they did[ want to see it because the crew had been in high spirits all week. Alongside great figures for the show, the internet had lit up discussing, and picking apart every detail of this case of live streamed domestic abuse. Some people even suggesting this poor girl 'had it coming', it made you despair at the kinds of people in the world, and wonder whether access to public forums should be restricted.
You couldn't stand the fact that none of your peers seemed in the slightest bit affected nor concerned by this horrific testament to the darker side of human nature, that you decided to spend you're lunch breaks in the loading area of the arena. Nothing down here reminded you of the fact you had pretty much sold yourself to the devil, each day in this company you betrayed everything you had once promised to yourself, all so you could get ahead.
So fat this week nothing had disturbed this quiet and peaceful sanctuary you had found, until now. This was the reason you always had your camera on you.
You set it up.
And start to roll.
Squatting in the open back of a large trailer, is The Natural Born Killer, his Chaos Title draped across his Knee's, and he seems to be...chuckling?.
'No idea' that's what he said....I know, you do not need to remind me...You're all right, we haven't done this in a long time...something about him amuses us...yet...it is far from funny. What makes the monster under the bed laugh? What is the thing in the cupboards favourite brand of comedy? A question few ask...as they tremble under the covers.
Paul...Cockatoo probably still fears his own shadow. When we danced, The Killer had been fully willing to embrace defeat for the sweet release from the chains of bondage this strap of metal...has confined us within. Despite this...despite The Killers plea's...for the Abhorrent Aboriginal to rise from his slumber of self pity and grasp what he was being offered...he refused to even take the floor for the Dance. We did not Tango, nor did we Rumba...The Screams are displeased by this...and it is not you Cockatooo...not you that suffer...they do not remind you of...of that which you wish to forget...[/color]
The Killer slams the belt into his head, not randomly but driving it into the same spot on his skull repeatedly. Before speaking once more.
Our faith in our Lord however...does not falter, our frustrations...must be channelled for his will, his greater good. And our lord...is one of kindness to the loyal...for he saw into The Killer, and saw that The Screams that separate me from his higher plane of existence...were in turmoil...he saw they were tearing The Killer apart from within...because they need to dance. And He kneew this...because Our Lord knows all. My prince...graciously stepped aside, to renew a dance, that was so brief before.
My Prince...gave unto me the gift of 'The Jester'...when we met...what feels like an age ago, in the company of many others...The Screams, oh how they reacted...it has been a long time since they reacted to another like that. It is rare that the Killer and his passengers...meet a dance partner...that is afflicted like us. One so torn by his own passengers, by his own plethora of screams...that her too is driven, inevitably, unwillingly...and perhaps, unknowingly...to the dance.
In those brief moments, it was if they did not have to fight one another for the chance to find themselves prey to devour. In every other case, whilst the previous partners have had their own passengers...none have held quite the capacity that plagues the Killer's head...until now. During our short time...as our screams embraced....it became clear that The Crimson Ghost...is overflowing with the cries of despair...of his own collective past.
However...he seems to be unaware of how these affect his behaviour, unaware of how....to work alongside them. He continues to play the smooth talking period gentleman, making the occasionaly witty remark...but deep down...he is fighting his own urge to Dance, for that is the only time...'The Jester' is at peace...
He amused us, as a good clown should...as he suggested...we knew nothing of 'the terrors our own minds are capable of inflicting on ourselves'...suggested this is a choice...that The Scrams and The Killer wish to stay locked in this perpetual cycle of redundant dance partners...and an eternity of screaming...forever screaming. No it is...The Crimson Ghost that has no idea about the terrors...for his consume him, and they control him...but he is too fearful to recognise this...
The irony is, The Fool, fools only...himself...his terrors drive him, yet he tries to banish them with cheap victories, accolades....and the respect of those he should see...as just another moments peace.
The Ghost...is just the kind of specimen...My Prince would love to examine further...maybe he would be inclined to invite him to join The Circle...The Screams do not like the idea...of so many others like them vying for the attention of Our Lord...The killer must be the only one of his kind...to receive Our prince's salvation...for only The Killer is worthy....
But Our Lord will do...as he sees fit, and it will of course be the correct decision...but The Killer must show him...regardless of result...that the killer is the one he should place his interest in...and prove to the Crimson Ghost...just why...The Natural Born Killer is...The Most Dangerous Joke...The Jester Never Told.[/color]
And with that...NBK drops from the trailer and leaves the shot.
And the camera stops rolling.
And that reminds, what kind of fucked up demographic enjoy the exploitation of the mentally unstable?
And you were aware that a certain demographic enjoyed graphic violence, you hadn't been living in a cave for the latter decade of your life, you knew what was popular. For some reason, a great deal of people enjoy the sight of another's pain and misfortune, and some even become overly excited at the sight of blood. The art of fighting had been around for over two millennium you'd be a fool to not recognise it's ability to capture peoples attention.
But what you really found it hard to get your head round, was the fact that clearly, and unfathomably a demographic existed, somewhere, that was large enough for those in the industry to take notice of, that consisted of the kind of people who enjoyed watching women get beaten to a pulp by men. Seriously, who when asked in some kind of survey for TV Market Researchers ticks the box marked 'Wife Beating Fetishist'?
This was part of the job you found most difficult to do, last week you had to stand idly by as you watched a helpless female get attacked by not one, but two overly worked out young men. Now, you weren't suggesting that it was your profession that got in the way of you jumping to her aid, no the cowardice had that area covered. But you did stand by and film it, and made sure that the framing was just right, and that the lights hit your view to ensure your shots looked like a painting on a canvas. In other words, just like the two men driving their knee's into various parts of this young lady's anatomy, you were taking advantage of her to further you're own aspirations.
At least you weren't as celebratory as those involved, they look as though they had just taken down Goliath, so proud of the fact they were standing victorious over a woman. People will point out that she chose this profession of her own free will, and that she's been through far more harrowing experiences. But that didn't help answer the question, why in the name of all that is good in the world do people want to see this happen?
There was no doubt in your mind they did[ want to see it because the crew had been in high spirits all week. Alongside great figures for the show, the internet had lit up discussing, and picking apart every detail of this case of live streamed domestic abuse. Some people even suggesting this poor girl 'had it coming', it made you despair at the kinds of people in the world, and wonder whether access to public forums should be restricted.
You couldn't stand the fact that none of your peers seemed in the slightest bit affected nor concerned by this horrific testament to the darker side of human nature, that you decided to spend you're lunch breaks in the loading area of the arena. Nothing down here reminded you of the fact you had pretty much sold yourself to the devil, each day in this company you betrayed everything you had once promised to yourself, all so you could get ahead.
So fat this week nothing had disturbed this quiet and peaceful sanctuary you had found, until now. This was the reason you always had your camera on you.
You set it up.
And start to roll.
Squatting in the open back of a large trailer, is The Natural Born Killer, his Chaos Title draped across his Knee's, and he seems to be...chuckling?.
'No idea' that's what he said....I know, you do not need to remind me...You're all right, we haven't done this in a long time...something about him amuses us...yet...it is far from funny. What makes the monster under the bed laugh? What is the thing in the cupboards favourite brand of comedy? A question few ask...as they tremble under the covers.
Paul...Cockatoo probably still fears his own shadow. When we danced, The Killer had been fully willing to embrace defeat for the sweet release from the chains of bondage this strap of metal...has confined us within. Despite this...despite The Killers plea's...for the Abhorrent Aboriginal to rise from his slumber of self pity and grasp what he was being offered...he refused to even take the floor for the Dance. We did not Tango, nor did we Rumba...The Screams are displeased by this...and it is not you Cockatooo...not you that suffer...they do not remind you of...of that which you wish to forget...[/color]
The Killer slams the belt into his head, not randomly but driving it into the same spot on his skull repeatedly. Before speaking once more.
Our faith in our Lord however...does not falter, our frustrations...must be channelled for his will, his greater good. And our lord...is one of kindness to the loyal...for he saw into The Killer, and saw that The Screams that separate me from his higher plane of existence...were in turmoil...he saw they were tearing The Killer apart from within...because they need to dance. And He kneew this...because Our Lord knows all. My prince...graciously stepped aside, to renew a dance, that was so brief before.
My Prince...gave unto me the gift of 'The Jester'...when we met...what feels like an age ago, in the company of many others...The Screams, oh how they reacted...it has been a long time since they reacted to another like that. It is rare that the Killer and his passengers...meet a dance partner...that is afflicted like us. One so torn by his own passengers, by his own plethora of screams...that her too is driven, inevitably, unwillingly...and perhaps, unknowingly...to the dance.
In those brief moments, it was if they did not have to fight one another for the chance to find themselves prey to devour. In every other case, whilst the previous partners have had their own passengers...none have held quite the capacity that plagues the Killer's head...until now. During our short time...as our screams embraced....it became clear that The Crimson Ghost...is overflowing with the cries of despair...of his own collective past.
However...he seems to be unaware of how these affect his behaviour, unaware of how....to work alongside them. He continues to play the smooth talking period gentleman, making the occasionaly witty remark...but deep down...he is fighting his own urge to Dance, for that is the only time...'The Jester' is at peace...
He amused us, as a good clown should...as he suggested...we knew nothing of 'the terrors our own minds are capable of inflicting on ourselves'...suggested this is a choice...that The Scrams and The Killer wish to stay locked in this perpetual cycle of redundant dance partners...and an eternity of screaming...forever screaming. No it is...The Crimson Ghost that has no idea about the terrors...for his consume him, and they control him...but he is too fearful to recognise this...
The irony is, The Fool, fools only...himself...his terrors drive him, yet he tries to banish them with cheap victories, accolades....and the respect of those he should see...as just another moments peace.
The Ghost...is just the kind of specimen...My Prince would love to examine further...maybe he would be inclined to invite him to join The Circle...The Screams do not like the idea...of so many others like them vying for the attention of Our Lord...The killer must be the only one of his kind...to receive Our prince's salvation...for only The Killer is worthy....
But Our Lord will do...as he sees fit, and it will of course be the correct decision...but The Killer must show him...regardless of result...that the killer is the one he should place his interest in...and prove to the Crimson Ghost...just why...The Natural Born Killer is...The Most Dangerous Joke...The Jester Never Told.[/color]
And with that...NBK drops from the trailer and leaves the shot.
And the camera stops rolling.
And that reminds, what kind of fucked up demographic enjoy the exploitation of the mentally unstable?
