Friday, 19 January 2007 – Philadelphia, PA

Everybody deals with crap in their own way. It’s a fact of life. If we all acted the same, we’d all be the same, and that would just be too damn boring for most of us to handle – with the exception of those individuals living extremely structured and already boring lives. It’s differences like this that are the reason we are the way we are today, where we are today and doing what we’re doing today.

Some people are experts at dealing with problems. These are the pillars that don’t crumble. You can easily recognise them amongst your social circles. They’re the ones you go to for help. They’re the ones who are still fun while drunk. They’re the ones who are still compassionate while angry. They’re rational. They’re logical. They use their head before they act. They’re self-dependant. They’re strong.

Some people can resemble this previous form, but will slip up every now and then. They’re normal, unlike the machines previously described. They’ll help out, but every now and then you’ll need to return the favour. Their strength is debatable. To be deemed as normal isn’t always a good thing you know. It’s often quite depressing. That’s probably what sets them off on those uncommon breakdowns. They get sick of being “average”. They don’t stand out. They don’t have any characteristics that can immediately be identified as unique to them. They’re not overly stern, nor overly light-hearted. They’re not overly depressed, nor overly happy. They’re just… average.

Then you have the people hiding behind something else. Be it making jokes in order to hide their pain, and avoid being the source of any future pain. Or they’re the egotistical, pompous prick who acts like a jackass simply because it’s the only way he knows how to make himself “special”. There are those who flash material wealth. There are those who flash their spiritual propaganda without truly understanding the meaning behind it all. Then there are those with a combination of both. The cocky humour. The rich zealot. You know the kind. They’re afraid to show the real them. They feel inadequate. They feel weak, and because of that, they become weak.

And then of course there’s the bottom of the barrel. The drug addicts and alcoholics, destroying their own lives regardless of the effect that their actions have on those around them. In this category you also have those lunatics who destroy the lives of others with full recognition of the effect of their actions, but who do it anyway. These individuals are under the misguided delusion that they’re the only thing in the world that matters. They will deconstruct themselves in the hopes that some chance act will have them reconstructed again, better than before. Or they’ll deconstruct everybody else in an effort to use the broken pieces to add to themselves. I don’t understand it really, and therefore can’t explain it all that well. But I have a sneaky suspicion that I don’t need to do a lot of explaining. You understand quite well already, don’t you?

The thing with people is, if we understood ourselves and our flaws fully, we’d do everything in our power to change that. I used to always say that I wasn’t going to lose, for the simple reason that I knew all my faults and knew that they weren’t enough for whichever scumbag I was facing to take advantage of. I’ve since proven that to be wrong though. Because after what we’ve just established, if I truly understood my faults, I wouldn’t be sitting here at this bar alone now would I?

I know it’s not the usual sort of place I’d be spending my night, but I told Justin that I needed some time to get my head straight, and he obliged. Of course, being the annoying guy he is, he literally forced me to go out after Anarchy last night, despite having a hand that was throbbing like a twelve year old who just stumbled across a Dynamic Dynamite promo while searching through daddy’s drawers looking for Christmas presents. In exchange for going out last night, I’ve been left to my own devices tonight. And that just works out fine for me.

I’ve always found it more comforting to be at a bar or pub than your typical nightclub. It’s the atmosphere that I like. Unless you want them to, chances are nobody is going to invade your space. If they see you with your head down as you lick the salt of your hand, shoot the tequila back and bite down into that slice of lemon, they’re likely to leave you alone. Just as if they see you looking around, scoping the room out, they’ll come over and talk to you. That is if they’re interested, which when you’re Lee Stone is practically a given. But take a guess at what exactly I’m doing, right now.

One tequila, two tequila, three tequila, door.

You thought I was going to say “floor” didn’t you? Please, don’t underestimate me. That cliché is more used than “Steve Jason, you’re washed up!” And I can say that too, because I’ve been one of the many to use it. But rather than passing out as others in my position may do, I instead head straight for the door. Not to wind up in a gutter somewhere, but rather to just go the fuck home.

I’m done.

I’ve been trying to rake my brains about the whole situation. How can Lee Stone, the man who is willing to stand in front of anybody, from George W. Bush to the Queen of England to Saddam Hussein resurrected as a demon, and tell them to go fuck their own mother, actually be feeling a little unsure of himself? Perhaps the ego that everybody so often associates with me is merely a fabrication of their own imaginations. Or perhaps I’m just very disheartened. Maybe it’s a bit of both. But regardless, as I stumble out this door for my liver’s sake, I’m still in the same position as I was while sitting thirty paces back.

I still have no fucking clue as to how I’ve lost two weeks in a row. And I still have no freaking idea how I’m supposed to show everyone that I’m the greatest wrestler in the world when my opponents are the fucking Olsen Twins. I could go wrestle them in this state, and still win decisively. It’s bullshit.

Avoiding a trip on one of the cracks in the pavement, I carefully place my next foot down… right next to another crack. It’s not like these cracks are friggin’ crevices that I’ma fall into, but as I drag my foot forward now to take another step, what I feared actually happens. My shoe catches in the crack and I fall in slow-mo towards the concrete below. Even in slow-mo, my hands are a little late getting in front of my face, and I eat the sidewalk. For the second time in as many days, I temporarily lose consciousness.

It’s my ears that are the first thing to snap back into reality. They hear a deep voice that seems to be speaking right to me.

“Hey, you alright man?” My eyes respond now as they flit open. It’s blurry at first, but soon the world comes back into focus. “Here, let me help you up.”

“Wait…” I take a look at the face of the large man, who hoists my 220lbs body up with ease. By wrestling standards I’m not a big man, but I’m still large in comparison to the rest of the male populace.

And this man is no wrestler. I know that for a fact.

I know him.

“H…how?” I stammer out, my jaw refusing to close as I stare wide-eyed at him. After he has stood me up on my feet, I see him to be about 6’6” or 6’7”. That’s at least four inches above me. Only God knows how much he weighs.

“You’re going to have to blink sooner or later,” he says to me laughing. In reaction to his words my eyes do blink. “Try shutting your mouth too, you reek of alcohol.”

“B…but…” I still can’t find the right words. Staring at the bald, black face of this man, I must look like I’ve just seen a ghost. Hell, I feel that way too! “You’re dead!” “Can’t slip anything buy you Lee,” he says grinning.

“Token…” I say his name. This is Token Fisher, my best friend. At least until he passed away on June 10 this past year. I now repeat myself to try and figure out what’s going on. “You’re dead!”

“That would explain the maggots in my eye sockets.” I look at his eyes, which show no sign of maggots at all. They’re the warm brown colour they always have been.

OH GOD!

Just for a second they flick to a disgusting pool of maggots, before reverting back to the form I associate with them. I don’t think I’ll ever forget what this face is supposed to look like.

“You… you’re dead!” I repeat once again

“Okay, let’s get this part out of the way right now to make it easier on both of us. Yes, I am dead. Build a bridge and get over it!” He looks frustrated. Leaving me where I stood, he turns and begins to walk down the sidewalk in the direction I’m supposed to be going. I scramble after him, feeling a little sobered up just by his presence.

“H…” I begin, only to be interrupted abruptly by “Token”. I’m still having a little trouble processing this. It must be a trick. That can’t really be Token. We’ve already established quite clearly that he’s dead!

“You want to know how it’s possible for me to be here,” he asks my question for me.

“Well… yeah.” I confirm.

“It’s simple Lee.” I raise an eyebrow in curiosity as to just how this could be simple in any way. “I’m not here.”

“Oh, now I understand!” I sarcastically remark. He chuckles a bit.

“Take this guy walking towards us as an example of what I mean.” I glance in front of me to see a homeless man, stumbling down the street worse than I am. “He’d probably attempt to rob you on any other day, but right now he’s not going to touch you.”

“And why is that?” I ask.

“He thinks your crazy,” Token bluntly puts it.

“Crazy!?!” I exclaim. Token just smiles once again and stops walking. I stop a few paces ahead of him and glance back to see him with his arms spread in a crucifix manner. “What are you doing?”

“Just watch,” he calmly says. The homeless man staggers past me, intentionally avoiding eye contact or any kind of contact for that matter. He moves right towards where Token is standing… and passes through him? What the hell?

“Well that’s certainly something you don’t see everyday.” I’m baffled. I guess there’s only one way to straighten all this out and that’s to actually say what’s on my mind. “Are you a ghost?”

“No,” he chuckles again. I’ve missed how cheerful he is.

“But you’re some supernatural force, right?” It’s the only explanation I can think of. I’ve never been one to believe in that kind of crap. I don’t believe in ghosts, vampires, werewolves, the Loch Ness Monster, Sasquatch, or anything like that. I’m on the fence about Aliens because I’m under the impression that if the universe really is endless, just how can we be the only planet with life on it? But right now, the supernatural seems to be the only explanation. “Are you here for my soul?”

“Lee, stop being stupid. I’m not here for your soul. I’m not a supernatural force. And I’m not a ghost.”

“Then what are you?” I ask, searching my mind for anything that could provide an answer.

“I’m an amalgamation of your self-doubt and loathing.” I stare at him dumbly.

“A what now?”

“For fuck’s sake Lee!” He screams. “Are you on crack?”

“You know, you’re a lot cruder than I remember you being.” I accuse him with my finger. “It’s not a good look for you.”

‘Jesus titty-fucking Christ, I’m talking to a moron.” He mutters to himself, but at a completely audible level.

“Look here mister!” I prepare to go on the defensive.

“No, you look here!” He fires back. “I’m not real! I’m a product of your fucked up head!” He taps on my head for a moment, causing me to stop and think.

“Why would I imagine my friend resurrected?” I ponder. “Wouldn’t that just cause me more pain?”

“Ding ding ding! Leroy Bruce Stone, congratulations! You’re our grand prize winner!” He starts clapping to further patronise me. I can’t even hate him for this. It’s exactly what I’d do.

“What have I won?” I fake excitement to play along with his little game.

“You’ve won an insight to life that is obvious to everybody except your own conceited ass!” Despite the insult buried in that statement, Token manages to keep up the same feigned enthusiasm that I used.

“I’d have preferred a jet-ski,” I wryly retort.

“Well too bloody bad kiddo.” His face becomes much sterner. “It’s about damn time you came to the same realization that everyone else already has about you.”

“And that is?”

“You’re only happy when you’re miserable!” He throws his arms in the air as if he’s just dropped a huge right hook on me while I’m backed into the corner, and the referee is now pushing him away.

“That’s like a paradox or something, right?” Is all I respond with, enraging Token. He breathes heavily to calm down.

“Lee, listen to me carefully. Can you do that for me? Or are you too consumed by your selfish desire to be the centre of attention that you’re not even going to let a figure that your own crazy self has dreamed up, say what they need to say?” He pauses waiting for some sort of comment from me.

“Go on then. Say what you think you need to say.” I urge him.

“Oh it’s not what I think I need to say. Remember, I’m from your head. This is what you think you need to say. As a result, it’s what I know I need to say.”

“Well then shoot.” I cross my arms and stand staring at him.

“Lee, it’s no secret that you haven’t been yourself lately. The source of the issue could be placed in many directions: luck; unresolved issues from the past; or that bottle that you consistently try to find your answers and salvation at the bottom of, only to be disappointed each and every time.” I don’t even want to respond to this. It’s not that I can’t, because I’ve got an answer to everything. Maybe he’s right… maybe this is what I should hear. “But honest to God, all of that would be accurate, and none of it would be. The source is the same as it’s always been when it comes to you Lee. The source is you.”

“So I’m sabotaging myself?” I’m sorry, that part was just too hard to believe and therefore I couldn’t have prevented myself from replying if I had tried.

“Sabotaging yourself?” He asks. “No. You’re not doing that. You’re just not investing yourself the way you should be. You’re Lee Stone, and I think you’re starting to forget what that means. The jokes, the fun and games, it’s all fine, but not if you’re going to lose sight of what you really want to do. You don’t have to be miserable in order to be happy. You’ve just forgotten what it is that makes you happy.”

“And that is?” I query.

“Let him out.”

“I’m sorry, that’s not exactly an answer I was looking for,” I state. “In fact, I don’t think that even remotely answers my question.”

“Let him out.”

“If you keep repeating that, I think I’m going to be tempted to remove your voice box directly from your throat,” I threaten.

“Let him out.”

I blink and I miss him. Token just disappeared right in front of me, in less than a split-second. I don’t know what the hell he was talking about at the end there. I just know one thing.

I need a fucking holiday.

Now that… that’s the best way to sort your shit out.