Swap The Sheets Over
"It's procedure. Deal with it."
I am going to beat you like a whole drum, Jason Christopher, and I don't even have money or a thought to ever sharing the ring with you ever again after it happens. You're going to Naruto sprint to your other opportunities like you didn't like your boss in the first five months at a new job. I am not a trending fad or some popular thing that will just go away for a while because you want it to. I do this like a teenager knowing he's going to be by himself all evening. Fleshlight. Flash lights. I don't even want to go there like Paris. Fuck the Eifel Tower. I'm my own tower with my ego sprinkled on top like how I like my eggs over easy. I'm built too tough for what you can post for likes, memes, approval, doodles... you're a hen in a LIONS DEN, my friend. Buckle up. I make the rules. And don't be mad at me. Be mad at them because they set you up for this, dumbass, like pawns before a game of chess. You're their frontline, bound for a Boston Massacre. I don't even know that they understand you as tough. Just let the ficticious media run their mouths dictate their decisions. It holds no weight. AND I'm still going to make it look Good like Meagan. Cringe. I am never defeated mentally. I don't do that like drugs in high school because of the frying pan commercial. THIS IS YOUR WOLRD ON DRUGS. YOUR FAMILY. YOUR KIDS!
Man, I am about to embar --
Bro, if the rain was in inverse do the the aliens and other entities complain about the climate? ... upset because the frost is going to make them late for work? Do they end up annoyed by the powers that be's choice of weather? Or do they just weather the storm that is in front of them like tornado chasers? You're in the burmuda triangle right now and I was exceptional at geometry, Chris. What I mean to this game is bigger than free throws late in the fourth quarter. I have active hands and always let the bodies hit the floor before I leave the scene. I'm the DREAMCATCHER. And I pick and choose, selectively, like an ego maniac with a nice taper and favored facial features. There is nothing you can do to me right now, so go, like I said before and worry about what you have going on over there and bark about how much damage you can take while using all the dimwitted venacular you can muster.
See me yet? I am not one to be pestered with and I'm glad I get to show you and all of the other existence you bank on that I AM LIGHT YEARS BETTER THAN YOU. I don't even want for anything because energy is nothing without control. Get it? I know you don't. Impossible.
And then we ALL look silly, but I'm not about to compromise my demise for you. That's not what I'm here for. I've always been in your watchlist and will always insist on the matter of factness that I will consistently be better than anything you can produce that's imaginative. I'm nasty with my ball point pen and you're a stan that has more time than anyone for anyone to give a fuck. The pen is a vape too. You're a fake too. You cannot control me and if I don't beat you which I know isn't an option.. it will likely cause me to reconsider my whole existence. Your resistance is futile, weaker than seven days. Everybody can catch Strays over here. Fuck that movie.
I am a ruler longer than twelve inches. The RULER OF RECONASSIANCE, Marget. Leave me alone like your incredible following full of retired plumbers and lifetime custodians will feel towards you when I crack your head like an egg before breakfast. And I absolutely love breakfast. I'm not any of those guys, or ambitious competitors I should say. I'm a vigilante, an assassin and the best thing that will ever come out of Ultra Combat Sports if I do say so myself. Make your choice quickly... or actually take your time because no matter what you concoct it will sound like rats rapidly shitting. Belittling, I know. Half beings don't have a space in the market . Two year olds teething. Your complaining will soon be the narrative. Trust me. You incessantly dreaming of things you know you could never come into contact to. Or be. Or strive for. Or become.
I AM SAITO GOH.
THE GUEST OF FUCKING HONOR.
And there is a level of respect that comes with that name. My NAME. You're the annoying thirty year olds stunt doubling for underage teens at the concert trying to convince me you're an adult because you pay rent to your parents to occupy the basement. I'm the electrical comet that you disrespected at the time, but know you're going to feel bad about it later like a fucking hangover. Tell your talent base to come see me because I'll leave them in the Sunken Place too. No life raft, just that plastic spoon you think wouldn't help like you were trying to eat homemade sausage lasagna. And I like that food of choice, too. I don't eat that much, I promise.
Truly. No seltser water. Hmmpf, get it?
That doesn't mean I enjoy you at all though. You're a stepping stone and the Mount Rushmore that you may have thought you would be on will never look like the pyramids I personally manifested for the love of bashful architects. Creations. Space stations built with my mind alone.
I am the ONE. THE subtle WIZARD OF WORDS.. WORLDS?
Such a profound pitcher at the mound. Every club needs a closer.
Ya'll are are washed like heated clothes placed on the couch to fold when the cyle is done. I don't care. Give me your best like every honestly caring man would hope to give their preference. If you don't do it, trust me, they will let you know. There is no space in where you could ever think you're on my mind unless its this Matchbox 20. Funny, right? Or write. Right? Or the Wright Brothers. Or an expression from babies that didn't have their biological mothers because they were explicitly worried about their success in this Chinese checkers we call a life.
Who is the enemy? If you let them tell it, it's me, but I try to evolve the surgery in the old guard and disreguard the reatards that act as if they know what the future holds. I'm infinitely bold and will bust your ass wide open *PAUSE*, but let us be candid...
YOU ARE WRONG. THEY ARE WRONG. ALL OF YOU ARE WRONG.
Now sing my song like you're getting a bag at the Super Bowl when you have no interest in the teams playing. I'm so prolific. I'm so specific. I do more than all of you as if I'm the lowest carving on the totem pole. I've never sold my soul, but again, I'm bold as a memorandum that came from scratch the night before because HR found out it was something that needed to be handled immediately. My honor is pure and I will sit here in front of you and promise that I will not stop OR HATE on the new generation.. unless you disrespect mine and act like we were not there. Or didn't pave the roads you travel on in the first place.
I was really there.
We had to pull out maps. You look at apps.. Maps, to get where you need to go. We had to show up to the bank to cash checks and you scan them in your phone's camera on the fly. Most fly dudes are not fly, Christopher. My guy, you're not even someone I consider on my roster. My posture is infinitely straiter than the level you trust when when effectively renovating. It dawned on me, you repetive flea. Your new world has been gone since anime met Netflix.
"You can pray for this and broke your elbow."
I'll break your heart like a significant other left your message on READ during an argument. Your watered down world isn't mine.I'm DiCaprio. You're trying your best to be Matt Damon in Rounders, Fighter, and the Bourne Identity.
"You can pray for this and broke your elbow."
I'll break your heart like a significant other left your message on READ during an argument. Your watered down world isn't mine.
There is plenty of me to go around the table of all tables in this sport. I am the of the royal and will bleed like a terrible phlebotomists that attempt to take my blood and use the excuse of me not having big enough veins. I don't even know what the fuck I just said.
I am the KING that will get the crown soon. EARN THE CROWN to be real. I am the Swamp Thing that will make sure all of you know that I'm better and infinitely a bigger stepper than you. All of you. I am the Menace who's name wasn't Dennis that will willingly step on flowers and kick baby seals to get the attention. I don't need that to flex. Drastic? Maybe? Attainable? Yes.
****
His father was a very prestigious man, worthy of a lot of random things that he had no clue about or what they meant. Military. Saito missed him with tremendous emotion, so when he came home from time to time, he tried his best to latch on to him the best he could. His father wasn't about that though, not at all. He had been running his world differently than the world that he brought home. He tried this best to be there, but his wants always had to do with the United States Navy. He sent expensive presents. He made sure the mother of his child and Saito didn't want for much. He was clutch though and made everyone close to him always got what they wanted on the holidays.
Christmas was Saito's favorite. He wanted a Sega Genesis and got a pair of roller blades. Saito was upset about this, but understood that he would get one later. As a little one, he literally prayed for the delivery to be on his birthday or atleast around the time. His father loved sushi. Nigiri. Calimari rolls. He also loved women and that's what made things difficult for Saito as he aged. He has a father, but doesn't really know who he is or what his intentions actually are. Sucks.
The time passes like the time passes like good point guards in the NBA and Saito develops a level of resentment because what else is he supposed to do? He didn't know what to do. Should he look for said parent or understand that most time life doesn't deal a good hand. Almost never like a good dice roll. Snake eyes.
Fourteen years old. Good sunny evening of the spring. Mom knitting on the front porch with a smile on her face and some homemade sugar iced tea on the small table beside her. I don't even know what you call them things for real. Life is good.
Late nights, early mornings.
Saito walks outside to the porch and sits down in silence. "So what do you want to do with your life, son?", his mother says while continuing to knit whatever she's got going on. She was his rock.
"I don't know." he responds with. "Yes, you do. I already know what you'll be. A talker, a writer. A muse."
"What does a muse mean, mom?", Saito says while scratching his nose and sitting forward to make eye contact and give full attention.
"Son, a muse is a dream surfer. A catcher of dreams that holds them tighter than you used to hold that Teddy Ruxpin bear we got you. A muse is having the tenacity to never stop doing what you love because you feel as if you're not contributing or doing yourself... and appreciateing every light bulb in this cruel, cruel world of "justice." A muse is understanding that phantoms exist and you have to make a promise to yourself that you will be a phantom too. That you will succeed. Survive." She looks into the sunset for a second. "And having the resolve that you know you will beat all of them espeditiously."
Saito nervously smirks and tries his best to hold back a smile that only he has. Bashful. She continues knowing she's actually getting through.
"A muse is someone that smiles at their illustrations and doesn't let their failures, however many, cause a decline in their want to penetrate the norm. A relentless fighter. A gladiator that would never die for a cause that isn't their own." She smiles once again while continuing her craft. The one she's was trying and has bestowed to him.
Saito doesn't know what to do as he thinks about these words. He sits back in his chair and thinks of how those words mean nothing to him at the moment. He looks at his mother for a few seconds and then just stares outward into the distance. His mother stands up after a few minutes of telling him this and heads into the house. Saito hears a good bit of rumbling around, but ignores it and continues to think.
I don't think I'm anything like that. I didn't know anyone actually thought of me in that light. What's lights at this point? Flash lights? Real recognize real. I just want to survive. He scratches his brow and licks his lips as they were suddenly became chapped. Nothing crazy though, but it had to be done.
His mother walks back out the screen door to the porch with something in her hand. She sits down and stares at Saito. He looks back but doesn't know what to think about in the moment. He's conflicted and she seems like she has a purpose in this exchange. Saito that is.
She leans forward and smiles once again. His mother stands up and walks the small steps to be closer. She kisses him on his forehead like every day he was made to make his way to the bus stop growing up. She stands up and hands Saito a photograph. It's old and very, very blurry.
It was a picture of his father, Saito's father that is.. in all his banners and flags and credentials.. ribbons on his chest like every military man is forced to do. He turns the photo over to see something skibbled in a permanent marker. Saito has a small tear drop like you're hitting Visine before work.
"I love you both."
"The Guest of Honor."
And the rest is history. Feel me? Now look at what I've run into and become.
Simply flawless. Now look at the room.
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