Post by Non Compos Mentis on May 18, 2006 13:21:02 GMT -5
[The scene opens with a view of a sitting room in near complete darkness. In the dim moonlight shining through the double glazed- PVC window on the other side of the room, we can make out the outlines of several objects scattered around the room.
On the right of the window sits a large white cloth sofa, the focal point of the room. It sits as a domineering presence as the most stylish and imposing feature in the room. In front of the sofa is a highly decorative glass topped coffee table with a chrome-like base. Once more, in front of this coffee table there is yet another feature, a huge LCD television placed, hanging on the near sparkling white wall behind it.
Around the room there are several pieces of modern art placed on the walls. These merely show random geometric shapes rather than anything worth artistic merit.
Included in the door in front of the sofa is an open alcove leading into the kitchen of the residence. From this alcove we see a figure walk out and stride into the middle of the room, between the coffee table and sofa. The clunking of boots can be heard on the wooden flooring beneath his feet.
He stops, standing and looking in the direction of the television but he does not turn it on. Instead the figure sits down on the sofa and reaches out onto the table and appears to grad a remote.
Suddenly, bright lights shine down from the ceiling and illuminate the room. We now see that the figure is Non Compos Mentis. He is sitting in the seat, wearing black denim pants and jacket, underneath this is a black t-shirt.
He appears to be very thoughtful and philosophical as he sits, facing forward at the television, motionless.]
Non Compos Mentis: I live in this home as a retreat from society, even though sometimes people get let in and are given some insight into my life. This place is the only place I can relax.
Here, nobody can challenge me, nobody can try to steal my belongings and nobody can hurt me. This place is my home and the only place I feel like I belong.
My life has been a constant trial of persistence where I have fell into so many pitfalls in so little time that I have never met another place to call home, except one.
The people who I invite into my abode tell me it is a marvellous example of minimalist design. I tell them that this wasn’t my intention and all I wanted was the colour. Every time they say the same thing, “What colour, its white.” And I just look back at them and say “Exactly.”
The noise of the floors makes a homely appeal as well. The clunking of boots on a hard, unforgiving floors. Just like home.
It is from my humble beginnings as myself that these preset favourites come back and act to comfort me when I am alone. Old friends from the past. The white padding, the faint sound of the guard patrolling outside, the dim light through the grate in the door.
So long did I spend alone in that one room. Alone. Thoughtful. Painless.
How is this as a measure of madness, I attempt whole heartedly to recreate scenes from my incarcerated past.
For years, most of my waking life was spent here. Albeit by my making. It was meant to be a punishment but I actively seeked out this spot.
The Padded Room.
These white walls representing the white fabric that covered every inch of the walls and padding. The flooring mimicking the sounds of guards boots as they march past to check on the inmate. This is the one place where I was alone to contemplate my thoughts and live with myself.
The room that the inmates with violent tendencies were sent to when they go haywire. The room where they put the schizophrenics like me when the voices started to take over and take action. It didn’t help me. All it did was to give the stronger personality, me, time to take over.
This padded room is what I try to emulate. It is where I was born, it is where I grew, I is where I became a person. This is where I spent most of my life and it is home. It is where I was comfortable and it is what relaxes me now. It is a sense of security, that nobody can get to me.
But recently, a new place has emerged as a home to me, a similar square of canvas or cloth that has become, with a series of victories, a place of security, a place where I no longer felt threatened, a place where I was home.
Not the padded room, there is not any more security than in a locked room and there is certainly more risk of abuse. But in this place I have become invincible, I have become immortalised in history because of this place.
This is the wrestling ring.
My life has become immortalised in history as I am recorded as a two time North American Champion. My name will never be forgotten as it is written down in historical records.
This ring is a place where I have lived and I have been victorious, it is a place where I have become revered and feared. I have become so accustomed to winning in it that it is quickly becoming a home to me.
And yet I am threatened more now than I have ever been. I have more than one person baying for my blood.
Both are relatively new adversaries, one with more history than the other. ‘Dynamite’ has been sticking his nose in my business for weeks, he has attacked me and diverted my gaze from my own well-being. Dan Ellis has forced me to fight an adversary I know virtually nothing about. I have never fought him. Before I first met him I knew nothing about him.
I may as well be back in the padded room, with no clue of the outside events and no idea of who is conspiring to bring me down. I am unaware of the threats that face me but whilst I am in that ring I am relaxed and I am safe.
And then there is the new rival. The newcomer, Kyle Time and the new ally Al Laiman.
Now, you stuck your nose into my business last week. You interfered in my affair by attacking me live on air when you know damn well it was between me and Ellis. Sure our feud cost you a match but shit happens.
But not to you. If some injustice happens to you, you must get involved and interfere with me when I try to deal with my business. You cost me the chance of giving that little bastard some pay back just because I interfered in you match and that ignorant idiot Al Laiman thinks you can beat me for my title.
NEWSFLASH Time, Al Laiman’s last pet project, Geno, he faced me a couple of weeks ago and I beat him so unanimously that he LEFT PCW for good. Do you really think that you can beat me. You’re smaller, weaker and just worse than me in all areas, and yet you think you can beat me. You might as well create PCW’s Womens division because you sure wont succeed in the men’s.
So now I sit, relaxed and philosophical, biding my time, measuring my opponents and working on my tactics.
I will stay here in my home of homes, my macabre abode where I long to back in my origins or madness and insanity.
I will stay here and wait for this week, at Collision Course, I will unleash PCW’s first Dark Age and remain PCW North American Champion…
[The scene turns to black as Mentis sits silently once more and contemplates the future.]
On the right of the window sits a large white cloth sofa, the focal point of the room. It sits as a domineering presence as the most stylish and imposing feature in the room. In front of the sofa is a highly decorative glass topped coffee table with a chrome-like base. Once more, in front of this coffee table there is yet another feature, a huge LCD television placed, hanging on the near sparkling white wall behind it.
Around the room there are several pieces of modern art placed on the walls. These merely show random geometric shapes rather than anything worth artistic merit.
Included in the door in front of the sofa is an open alcove leading into the kitchen of the residence. From this alcove we see a figure walk out and stride into the middle of the room, between the coffee table and sofa. The clunking of boots can be heard on the wooden flooring beneath his feet.
He stops, standing and looking in the direction of the television but he does not turn it on. Instead the figure sits down on the sofa and reaches out onto the table and appears to grad a remote.
Suddenly, bright lights shine down from the ceiling and illuminate the room. We now see that the figure is Non Compos Mentis. He is sitting in the seat, wearing black denim pants and jacket, underneath this is a black t-shirt.
He appears to be very thoughtful and philosophical as he sits, facing forward at the television, motionless.]
Non Compos Mentis: I live in this home as a retreat from society, even though sometimes people get let in and are given some insight into my life. This place is the only place I can relax.
Here, nobody can challenge me, nobody can try to steal my belongings and nobody can hurt me. This place is my home and the only place I feel like I belong.
My life has been a constant trial of persistence where I have fell into so many pitfalls in so little time that I have never met another place to call home, except one.
The people who I invite into my abode tell me it is a marvellous example of minimalist design. I tell them that this wasn’t my intention and all I wanted was the colour. Every time they say the same thing, “What colour, its white.” And I just look back at them and say “Exactly.”
The noise of the floors makes a homely appeal as well. The clunking of boots on a hard, unforgiving floors. Just like home.
It is from my humble beginnings as myself that these preset favourites come back and act to comfort me when I am alone. Old friends from the past. The white padding, the faint sound of the guard patrolling outside, the dim light through the grate in the door.
So long did I spend alone in that one room. Alone. Thoughtful. Painless.
How is this as a measure of madness, I attempt whole heartedly to recreate scenes from my incarcerated past.
For years, most of my waking life was spent here. Albeit by my making. It was meant to be a punishment but I actively seeked out this spot.
The Padded Room.
These white walls representing the white fabric that covered every inch of the walls and padding. The flooring mimicking the sounds of guards boots as they march past to check on the inmate. This is the one place where I was alone to contemplate my thoughts and live with myself.
The room that the inmates with violent tendencies were sent to when they go haywire. The room where they put the schizophrenics like me when the voices started to take over and take action. It didn’t help me. All it did was to give the stronger personality, me, time to take over.
This padded room is what I try to emulate. It is where I was born, it is where I grew, I is where I became a person. This is where I spent most of my life and it is home. It is where I was comfortable and it is what relaxes me now. It is a sense of security, that nobody can get to me.
But recently, a new place has emerged as a home to me, a similar square of canvas or cloth that has become, with a series of victories, a place of security, a place where I no longer felt threatened, a place where I was home.
Not the padded room, there is not any more security than in a locked room and there is certainly more risk of abuse. But in this place I have become invincible, I have become immortalised in history because of this place.
This is the wrestling ring.
My life has become immortalised in history as I am recorded as a two time North American Champion. My name will never be forgotten as it is written down in historical records.
This ring is a place where I have lived and I have been victorious, it is a place where I have become revered and feared. I have become so accustomed to winning in it that it is quickly becoming a home to me.
And yet I am threatened more now than I have ever been. I have more than one person baying for my blood.
Both are relatively new adversaries, one with more history than the other. ‘Dynamite’ has been sticking his nose in my business for weeks, he has attacked me and diverted my gaze from my own well-being. Dan Ellis has forced me to fight an adversary I know virtually nothing about. I have never fought him. Before I first met him I knew nothing about him.
I may as well be back in the padded room, with no clue of the outside events and no idea of who is conspiring to bring me down. I am unaware of the threats that face me but whilst I am in that ring I am relaxed and I am safe.
And then there is the new rival. The newcomer, Kyle Time and the new ally Al Laiman.
Now, you stuck your nose into my business last week. You interfered in my affair by attacking me live on air when you know damn well it was between me and Ellis. Sure our feud cost you a match but shit happens.
But not to you. If some injustice happens to you, you must get involved and interfere with me when I try to deal with my business. You cost me the chance of giving that little bastard some pay back just because I interfered in you match and that ignorant idiot Al Laiman thinks you can beat me for my title.
NEWSFLASH Time, Al Laiman’s last pet project, Geno, he faced me a couple of weeks ago and I beat him so unanimously that he LEFT PCW for good. Do you really think that you can beat me. You’re smaller, weaker and just worse than me in all areas, and yet you think you can beat me. You might as well create PCW’s Womens division because you sure wont succeed in the men’s.
So now I sit, relaxed and philosophical, biding my time, measuring my opponents and working on my tactics.
I will stay here in my home of homes, my macabre abode where I long to back in my origins or madness and insanity.
I will stay here and wait for this week, at Collision Course, I will unleash PCW’s first Dark Age and remain PCW North American Champion…
[The scene turns to black as Mentis sits silently once more and contemplates the future.]