Post by Lochlyn Cade on Aug 21, 2021 6:41:06 GMT
"Rhodes in Dreams and HorrorCore"
Meaning or speculation that’s the inquiry that perplexes those searching for the answers; concealed behind the closed eyelids of dreams. A postulated metaphorical condition or a psychological presumption of struggles, emotions, events, people, or simply irrelevant information. The Promethean prefers to call it a ghoulish pathological imagination; or simply a Morbid Dream.
Foundational Narrative.
It’s a story that resonates. It’s a vibration of definitive roles and within the confines of Revolution One; Morbid Dream plays the part of jester to the Prince of HorrorCore Dorian Rhodes.
The Bad Seed is found sitting on the edge of a bed connected with leads and wires running from his head. The connections made by the cute blonde nurse. It’s an uncomfortable tangled web weaved with wires and sticky substance so that they stick to skin.
“I’m not sure all of this is necessary… I only needed a few simple talking points for some guy who use to call himself, Champ.”
The nurse ignores his pleas of defiance at the process in which he’s found himself.
“Power and motivation. That’s what Alfred Adler believed about dreams. It’s control of those that he believed drives behavior. It’s the scientific discussion among those looking for answers.
I’m not sure that’s what I believe about control… It’s true that people searching for success are driven. I don’t question that motivation. I simply don’t believe that someone closes their eyes and the answers to life simply reveal themselves in dreams or nightmares.
It’s not that simple regardless of what my opponent believes.
He realized that dream by defeating a Madman which in some way is a curious position for The Promethean. I’m holding the title that the same Madman held within his possession. Those dreams… for a lack of better description. Were realized by both a Madman and a man of dreams. It’s the boyhood dream that’s so often referenced. The Bad Seed is living his now."
The nurse makes the final connection of wires to his chest and then gives him a few simple instructions. There’s a camera situated on the far wall where he’ll be monitored for the nights stay.
He fluffs the pillow and sprawls out across the uncomfortable mattress.
“This was checked for… like bedbugs and stuff… Right?
I’m not gonna end up with some type of gonorrhea laying on this thing?”
The thin curves around her mouth never flinches towards a laugh or even a smile. She nods as she flips off the light switch and pulls the door closed.
“I’m gonna need penicillin after this. I mean the match not the nights sleep. There’s no idea where this guy has laid his head.”
The darkness begins to fade with the light creeping in from under the door. It’s like a sharp knife against his closed eyelids.
“There’s no way I’m gonna fall asleep through all of this nonsense. I wonder if that’s how the Madman felt when he stepped between those ropes with Morbid? Wide awake unable to sleep with the silliness of such a man as Morbid Dream.
I’m calling a former World Champion… silly. It’s a failed boyhood self prophecy of such a sinister sounding name. It’s gimmick. We all know that before the ringing of the bell. It’s the same as calling myself ‘The Bad Seed’. It’s the ring of the words when it hits the ear drum. It’s catchy.
It doesn’t however define the man. If it was definition of character it wouldn’t be a self entitled moniker. It’d be the calling card given by your peers. Which is exactly where those three little words became attached to Dorian Rhodes.
Where did your catch name come from Morbid? It’s potentially a cold sweat awaking moment that influenced the moniker. Perhaps, you simply had a nightmare and it stuck in the back of your mind?”
Dorian attempts to roll over and in a moment of frustration sits back up and sits on the edge of the bed. He rubs his neck and sighs in a moment of silence. A voice is heard coming from a speaker in the corner of the room.
“Are you okay Mr. Rhodes?”
“I’m fine this whole thing is a mistake and a waste of time.”
“The doctor said that you were asking about dreams and nightmares. How they affected your body and your subconscious mind?”
“Yeah. That’s why I’m here… I didn’t realize that this was gonna turn into a toss and turn annoyance. I feel like I’m living a Morbid promo struggling to feel something only to realize I’ve wasted my time.”
“Would you like something to help you sleep?”
“Oh… I didn’t realize that was an option… Yeah, let’s do that.”
“Lay back down and I’ll see what I can do about that.”
Dorian turns and stretches out on the uncomfortable bed once again. His gaze towards the shadowy darkness of the ceiling. Thoughts swirling around his head as he waits.
“Morbid… You’re not the only one that hears voices when you sit alone within the confide walls silence. It’s solitary that sits with me when I need conversation the most. It’s the nagging twitch of my eye. It’s the ringing within my ears. It’s the friend from a childish memory when you needed imagination to comfort you in the darkest of days. Morbid… I know that silence. I know that darkness.
It’s the immersion of perspective. It’s the seeing behind the eyes of life lived as if it were a silent film. You watch. You listen. It’s a processing of information as that voice whispers words only you are capable of hearing.
It’s the madness of sanity. It’s hydrophobia. It’s zoonotic disease spreading between man and beast as a living and breathing metaphorical prison of self.
Morbid Dream… or whomever lurks behind that institution of self modulation.
The Promethean isn’t Amelia Harts or even Miles O’Way or whatever the name. It’s not a concern at the present… hence the name is of no concern. I’m not the opposition that you’ve faced recently or previous. I’m not a hot lipped female with big dreams… pun intended… or some space rocket astronaut who beat you for your Championship gold.
I’m not the validation that you seek in self approval. You’re looking for that official validity that you’re still relevant. You’re continued voice of declaration bemoans your legacy.
It was August third of twenty twenty. You remember the date… right? It’s the day you declared how to make a monster… Products of our environments… That’s the choice of words that you made.
Words of the weak minded easily manipulated by people and environment. You understand environmental manipulation, right? A product of youthful innocence.
It was a cloth mask of yellow that lightened the boys eyes. The shining example of the white van and candy scenario except somewhat more complex. Still. That manipulation of the simple minded sustained the child’s attention.
Dorian Rhodes has worn mask and spoke riddles. That chaos of identity was never in question. That conjecture of self was never an interrogation of personality or heritage.
The Promethean has always had a grasp upon who he was and who he would become. Legacy was never in question. HorrorCore was a birthright. It’s the nightmare of morbidity that’s plagued the dreams of a eutherian mammal that calls himself carnivore.
It’s that foundational narrative that was spoken of previously. This is the story of Dreams and HorrorCore. That morbidity that you seek comes to the forefront of Revolution this coming Tuesday.
Though it’s an unexpected decision of management to make this match on network television. It speaks volumes in regards to their former ‘champion’. How’s that feel Dream? Knowing that the company that put you forefront of the Main Event scene now disregards those nights you ruled the roost.
The aforementioned may sound a little stilted but it’s both accurate and inclusive. I recognize the history and legacy of Morbid Dream. He’s had some impressive moments that’s defined the history of Revolution. That’s not deniable in the least.
What’s also accurate is that The Promethean has shown week after week that he’s now the predominate and paramount sensation. The guy that’s taken over that assuming force between that realm of turnbuckles and ropes.
I’m the leader that understands reality and I act and react accordingly to every situation in which Revolution places me.
I’m the leader that’s both effective and efficient.
I’m the leader that is not mislead by the craftsman of this business. I deal in truth and rather than misdirection such as that of Morbid Dream.
You’re lustrous illustration of King Tut in Revolution One. The pharaoh of dynasty though your rule was notable you’ve accomplished little during your reign. Only to whimper into tag team tandem with victorious foe who took your Championship.”
A noticeable laugh reverberates echoing out into the silence of the room. Where’s that nurse? That’s the thought that strikes him in the moment.
“I’m the executioner that’s been sent to send the message to former champion. You’re time has come to an end Morbid. You’re days are numbered. With the swing of the HorrorCore Ax comes the resonating message that speaks of the slaying of the Dream.”
There’s a rustling at the door as the light burst into the darkness of the room. The nurse finally appearing with her medication of sleepiness.
“It’s about time.”
The nurse ignores his tone of words and smiles as she walks over towards the television in the corner of the room. She turns it on sending radiating brightness and sound.
“How am I supposed to sleep with that blaring into my ears?”
She again smiles and nods as she turns the channels finally coming to a stop of an unknown station. It fades into a June ninth twenty twenty promo with Morbid Dream entitled Origin Story. She turns back towards The Promethean who’s resting the in the bed. It’s a light noise that catches her attention.
“ZZZZZZZZ…”
She smiles as she turns back towards the television turning it back off before leaving the room. As the door closes the bright lights again fade into a shadowy darkness as the Prince of HorrorCore delights himself with the nightmarish horror that be will bring to the world of Dreams.
“All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.”
― Edgar Allan Poe
― Edgar Allan Poe
Revolution One’s Morbid Dream
Everything we’ve seen or seem
He’s a simple dream within a dream
He grasp and clasp
Those three seconds seem fast; so fast
It’s over before he wakes
It’s HorrorCore the Prince makes
The pitiless wave
Upon his memory I engrave
His demise of dream
Becomes the nights theme
Daniel… Morbid…
Distorted… Thwarted…
The Prince sleeps as those moments of time seem fleeting and fitting as Sin comes closer to reality. It’s the moment in which he’s waiting. That first one via one competition that he’s been seeking. That first match of singles competition comes against former World Champion. The truth of moment that The Promethean inscribes his legacy once again into the record books of Revolution.
He’s won battle royals and gauntlets and been stuck with lackluster partner. It’s lead to this defining of moments. Dorian Rhodes is the present and the future of definition of Championship.
The Ace of Combat.
The Executioner of Conflict.
The Summit of Hostilities.
The Prevention of Dreams.
The Pathological Prevailer.
The Achme of Achievement.
The End of Morbid.
It’s an unending list of antonyms that defines Dorian Rhodes ability of upending the former Champion. The Prince of HorrorCore is compulsive and psychoneurotic with this sport of beast and men. It’s a defining moment in his early career within Revolution.
The night that will be needlelike as the compass of legacy points to January nineteenth of twenty twenty one. It’s the moment that The Promethean wrote his declaration of legitimacy upon this industry.
He’s won battle royals and gauntlets and been stuck with lackluster partner. It’s lead to this defining of moments. Dorian Rhodes is the present and the future of definition of Championship.
The Ace of Combat.
The Executioner of Conflict.
The Summit of Hostilities.
The Prevention of Dreams.
The Pathological Prevailer.
The Achme of Achievement.
The End of Morbid.
It’s an unending list of antonyms that defines Dorian Rhodes ability of upending the former Champion. The Prince of HorrorCore is compulsive and psychoneurotic with this sport of beast and men. It’s a defining moment in his early career within Revolution.
The night that will be needlelike as the compass of legacy points to January nineteenth of twenty twenty one. It’s the moment that The Promethean wrote his declaration of legitimacy upon this industry.