Post by Giovanni on Mar 16, 2022 14:23:03 GMT -5
Grandmasters, they exist in many forms, they have appeared in every age imagineable, and after they left they had left an indelible mark on their artform. Plato for philosophy, Shakespeare for playwrighting, Hemingway with the written word, and Michelangelo with doodling on chapel ceilings.
And forward would step the next one to usher in a renaissance in his own artform, in the unavoidable form of Giovanni.
We find our hero in the middle of contemplation, surrounded by those great works that had inspired him upon a path of seeking to find artistic perfection, mentally preparing himself for what could become his greater work to date, his magnum opus, the start of his golden age.
When I stood in the middle of that ring after defeating the plague upon my career by the name of Lexi Gold, I was hit by what some would call an epiphany. Or a word from a higher power, whichever one would wish to believe in. Giovanni spoke.
The lights would dim but a spotlight would focus upon him as well as the presence of young Calliope, who seemed in her own world, oblivious to Giovanni and the rest of the moving world.
There’s been one certainty in my career that has kept me on a straight path, and that is my dear muse Calliope, brave and bright and ever supportive of the suffering that is the life of an artiste. She soothes my mental woes with merely her grace and presence, and the knowledge that in a world of fools that cannot appreciate the work of a genius well ahead of his time, there is one that does see the legacy that I wish to leave behind. Giovanni continued to orate.
Carefully yet gracefully the man would move through legions of semi-coherent and barely conscious youngsters who on a yearly basis descended upon the city of Cancun for the tradition of getting blackout drunk and what they would call ‘Poonslaying’. A curious exhibit, at the very least.
I find myself in the nation of Mexico, a country filled with a beautiful history and culture that is beset by an unwashed mob of fools whose only appreciation extends to cheap ‘cerveza’, rather than see the beauty in ancient Aztec history or the surreal modernism of Frida Kahlo, they are blind and unappreciative to anything. Much like the people of the nation they flew in from. Giovanni would continue on a serious tone, but a small smile would appear on his face.
How perfect is it then, that away from that country and in this country I am about to make my greatest play in the history of my career. Better than my previous masterpiece ‘baby in a minefield’, which continues to be underappreciated, and somewhat begrudgingly without my good friend Johnny Levy at my side. My epiphany was that to truly reach my potential, for at least one night, I have to walk this path alone, for true masterpieces can only be made in mental and emotional isolation, away from the voices and distractions that could adulterate the end-result.
Stepping off a patio and onto the still warm sand that held back the gulf of Mexico, Giovanni’s shadow was reflected behind him by the pale light of the full moon above, and the strobe lighting of the oblivious party behind.
In a proverbial sense, I will lay my soul naked to bear in front of the world. When I step into the ring against that utter simpleton Casanova English, who is neither English nor a Casanova. Who himself fashions himself something of a philosopher and someone who does things ‘differently’ than the rest of this company, or even this business. Yet… Who merely lies to himself and everyone around him because it takes no effort to look with a critical eye and see that he’s merely just a pathological liar who invents a fanciful narrative for himself to make him seem interesting and different, whilst the truth is that everything you see is barely skin deep, and that all there is is a shallow simple human being who has zero appreciation of what it truly means to be a trailblazer of the avant-garde.
Stepping across the sandy beach, the noise would slowly lose its luster and leave merely just a silence with only the caresses of the ocean hitting the beach in one’s ear. But in the moonlight, the eyes of the artiste in front shimmered as brightly as they had ever had.
I came here over four months ago with a goal not to be a ‘wrestler’, not to redefine what ‘wrestling’ is, but rather to show the world what it truly means to be an artiste. To bring art to a people that are starved for class, who are starved for someone who can work a canvas like a grandmaster, who can open eyes and bring just a glimmer of beauty into the lives of the simple minded who have been addled to believe that pig’s slop is a king’s feast.
Smiling somewhat devilishly, he pressed his hand onto his chest in self-appreciation.
And in four months, I have delivered a glimmer, but I have been distracted by the likes of Lexi Gold, by a continuously unethical board of directors who seek to keep me from pursuing my artful goals. But now, it is time for me to reach my first crescendo, to deliver you all my first masterpiece, by stepping into the ring with the ‘mighty’ Warrior Rising Champion who has held it for almost twice as long as I have been in this company. he’d pause for a second as he closed his hand into a fist. And take the title, so that it can be held by someone who is truly the future of this business, who will bring a renaissance to this putrescent sport and quench a hunger these fans have never known they needed.
Holding his hands in front of him, it was almost as if the man imagined the gold being deposited in his hands. A shimmer of wonder in his eyes, a statement of his own desire to win it.
But I know the challenge I have been given, but I won’t become yet another martyr for people’s salvation. I will bring deliverance to the starved masses, by being the second man this year to defeat Casanova, but do it for the gold that he so desperately clings onto in his sad attempt to legitimize his empty words. Giovanni would trail off as his eyes stared at the moon over the ocean.
His smile would become greater, the artiste who ordinarily kept his cards close to his chest showed the telling signs of a man eager for competition. Nearly uncharacteristically so.
Yes, because unlike me, you have actually lost a singles match this year. Against Myojin, a man whose eccentricities are merely a weak imitation of my own, but who has shown the weakness in your armour, one that I can assure you can exploit to its fatal conclusion. Giovanni would raise his hand again, as his eyes stared at the emptiness inside.
Of course, the emptiness is meant to suggest a metaphor.
When faced against such imbeciles like TJ Thompson, Betsy Gallagher, or lord forbid that clown John Blade, you are a formidable competitor who can wrestle circles around them and retain your championship, even sometimes at the skin of your teeth you have managed to claw your way to this legendary title reign… But there’s something that they are what I am not, and you know what that is, and the world should already have figured it out too. But I assume you haven’t, because your arrogance and self-absorbed fancies have blinded you.
Because whilst they are wrestlers, I am an artiste who has redefined this artform and when presented a chance to show his skills mano-a-mano I have shown to be an unbeatable individual who is only let down by the ones that lack that special artistical spark that I have. I am unbeaten as a singles competitor, and have never been the cause of the losses of the few times I have been forced to dilute my talents in the presence of others… So where you have shown your weaknesses, I have none, I am a unique challenge that you cannot overcome, and you are the man that stands between me and further perfection. Giovanni trailed off again as he let in a deep breath.
In a sudden bout of self-confidence, Giovanni’s hands lowered towards his waist as he slowly moved his hands side to side in front of his stomach.
Championship gold would be the start of my magnum opus, the end of the prologue and the start of the first chapter in this epic story of a brilliant ray of light that has made it their life goal to revolutionise wrestling away from a ‘sport’ and towards the artform it can become. And you are the unfortunate victim and witness to the rise of the greatest artist to have ever stepped into that ring.
Reaching a more elegant type of beach establishment, Giovanni would wipe off the sand of his feet and make his way in, taking a fine cocktail in his hand and taking a cooling sip to whet his whistle for his final words.
So bring all your friends along with you, because I won’t. Whilst I know my dear Calliope cares for me dearly and wishes to be there when I usher in the golden age of Proving Ground, it is time that this artist finds perfection through the suffering of isolation. Work with your strategists and try to hope for a plan against me, knowing deep down inside that you have stepped against a challenge that is simply too great for your limited imagination… Even better, start planning on what you do next, because the loss against the man that will bring in an artistical golden age to Proving Ground, there is no shame in that, you will go into the history books because of it, and maybe you should start planning your future instead, maybe go find different pastures, or accept that you are going to be the canvas on which I will paint a veritable masterpiece. Giovanni paused.
He’d take a sip of his cocktail as his eyes noticed the red streak of his dear muse flutter past in the night, seeking to stay close to his greatness, but it would pass by like a ship in the night.
So get your rest, enjoy the revelling that is Cancun, maybe do yourself a favour and feed your mind by going to a museum, Gogh-forbid any of you dopes would ever willingly culture yourself…
But ultimately, prepare yourself for what will become the start of wrestling’s renaissance.
And be ready to look up and accept me as the master who will make it all a reality.
-FIN-
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