What's Next?
Jul 18, 2017 17:33:11 GMT -5
Mongo the Destroyer, Rage (aka NoMercyMaster2001), and 1 more like this
Post by Robbie A on Jul 18, 2017 17:33:11 GMT -5
New Orleans, Louisiana, January 2016.
Do you ever have those moments of clarity? Those moments where you stand up straight, or sit up in your chair and just have a thought or a train of thoughts that just seem to make so much sense? Or something that may speak to you so loudly you cannot believe that you’ve not considered it before? Sure, we all do, some people have them regularly, some people think this clearly daily and they are the lucky ones, that I can say with undoubted confidence. Others though, others aren’t so lucky, others have to muddle through, make mistakes, poor choices, suffer. For me though, when these people have their moment of clarity it is just so much more important than those who get those daily moments.
I’d love to be so self righteous and say I made good decisions, but that’s clearly not the case. Immaturity, foolishness, pride, all of these things led me to poor decisions. I should have done more for my son, I should have been a better father to him. I should have never have gone to India, I certainly should never have gone to Leeds, and I should never have gone to Prague. Most importantly though, I should have never gone to Peru. All of these poor choices, all of these problems I encountered, all of these moments that have led me here.
This is not my moment of clarity though, no these are simply facts and regrets. Regrets of a man no longer worthy of the moniker “The True Innovator”, no that would imply I have created something of worth. All I have created is a trail of worthless plans and suffering to those I’ve encountered, in some cases good people who’s lives are now ruined, memories I’ve created for myself that I only to wish to repress, such has been the errors I have made. I could have done better, and I should have done better. That’s not my moment of clarity either, some boring, overworked cliché. I’m many things, many complicated things, clichés work for some people, even me sometimes, but not now, not after these past five years.
No, the reality is that in the past five years I have attempted, chose to hide away, be an empty shadow in the wind, be nothing more than a whispered name, or a name once thought about in ones nostalgia for the past. Some would want to become a legend, but that is too arrogant, even for me. I just wanted to wipe everything clean, and be another face in the crowd. Yet the more I tried, and the more I failed, I’ve now realised that each failure resulted in another piece of me disappearing. And now, as I sit here in some underground bar in the depths of New Orleans, I realise that now I truly am empty. I have nothing.
It’s almost funny, ironic, that some people seek this feeling, I sought out this feeling, and I have to wonder what these people do if they truly do achieve it as I have, because I’m not sure some of these alleged self destructive souls actually have the backbone to handle it. Me? After Peru there is simply nothing that could break my stride. Now that I’ve come this far, I can only follow the words my grandfather always said, a wise man, he said “once you have done something, it is history, no matter how good or bad, all that matters then is what you choose to do next”. I loved that concept, I lived a lot by that concept, ironically it’s been part of what got me here, yet now more than ever it holds great relevance.
You see, that’s the real revelation, the real moment of clarity I have right now, is that despite all the pain and all emptiness I have created, I finally feel a sense of peace, control, calm, and with that, whatever I do next will only be improved by my heightened, unwavering focus. The moment of clarity is simply two words: “what next?”
What next? I lean back and take a large sip from the glass that sits in front of me. The scotch slips down my throat with that cool burn that only a proper malt whiskey does. I’ve only been here a couple weeks, and I’ve been very fortunate to find this bar, being the deep south it’s mainly Jack Daniels and other bourbons that simply don’t do it for me. I’ve always been one to support the British Isles, and when it comes to whiskey, it’s always better from Britain. This bar however holds a bottle of Dalwhinnie, a personal favourite, and expensive as it may be, it is worth ever single overpriced cent.
What next? I think again as I observe the bar, it’s a small, dark bar that’s actually very simple. A couple of beers on tap, a small selection of craft bottled beers, and a delightful array of bottled spirits. Seating in small tables and booths, no more than four around a table, clearly this is bar designed for intimacy, and for people to keep to themselves should they so desire. This is my kind of bar, no doubt about it. I finish the scotch and begin to stand up, yet the bartender is already over and pouring me another, I’ve become a creature of habit over the past week, I always order a second, though tonight I haven’t needed to order. I nod to him and take another sip. He doesn’t leave my side however, and leans in to have a quiet word.
“Do me a favour, I’m going out back for five minutes, but keep an eye on that over there.” He nods over to a pair of guys who are leant against the far end of the bar, both are holding a bottle of cheap beer, and admittedly, neither of them look comfortable, they look like they’re up to something. I look back at the bartender with a wry smile, and toast my glass at him with a look as if to say “you got it”. He nods and goes away to my right and I lean back in my chair and watch these two guys. Both are dressed in ripped skinny jeans, v-necks that show way to much chest, and jackets that make them look like they are trying far too hard. They’re clearly on edge however, they’re not here for the beer, they’re here on a job. There’s no cameras in here, and they’re eyeing up the till. One taps the other on the shoulder, aware that the coast is clear as such, as he does and his friend begins to place his hands on the bar in order to jump it. What next? Time for me to stand up.
“Gentlemen, either you’re blind and didn’t see me sat here, or you’re just plain stupid.” I move to the bar, a good ten yards away from them at the other end of the bar. The two men freeze and look at me, they’re still edgy, yet they don’t look ready to back down. Calmly I place my hand on the bar and walk slowly towards them. “Do everybody a favour, just head on home.”
“How about you head home yourself, this is America...”
“Oh don’t even start with the British rhetoric, I’m frankly bored of it.” I smirk and get closer. “Do you know what I am? Dangerous. Do you know how I can say that? Because I have nothing, I am...nothing. You may hear people say that, but have you ever looked into a man’s eyes that meant it? I don’t think you have, and I can see that’s making you both rather edgy. Look at you both, there’s two of you, the bartender may come back and make this a fair fight but I clearly have no issues if he doesn’t. You can tell this, you can feel this. So, gentlemen, I have just two words for you? What next?”
There’s a pause, and by now I am but two yards from the nearest guy, the other, a few yards behind him is the one to break the silence. “Fuck this bum, we have a job to do.” His tone isn’t convincing, but that is enough for his partner in crime to launch at me. His right hook attempt is thrown far too early though, with a small step back I pull him towards me and slam his head on the bar. With a nasty thud his head hits the bar and he slumps down to the floor. His friend freezes, and begins to back off. I stand over the body of his fallen friend and place my foot on his arm.
“Now here’s the thing, I’ve got a reputation on breaking bones, usually ankles, though today I’m willing to just accept an arm.” I shrug. “I don’t know where you’ve come from, but let this be a message to you, whilst I’m in this town, you will not fuck with this bar. Now please watch, the message isn’t so powerful if you don’t see the bone break, even if you don’t though I imagine your buddy will suddenly wake up to scream his little lungs out.” I gently raise my foot, ready to strike.
“That’s alright fella, I think he’s got the message, he’s practically pissing his pants.” The cool tone of the returning bartender comes from behind me, and I take a few steps back. “How about we let the poor kid take his buddy away and we never see them again?”
I step away a couple more steps, and the man scrambles to grab his fallen friend, who is barely coming back to consciousness. He pulls, picks him up and hauls his awkwardly away, and out of the door. I walk back to my table and sit back, taking another sip of whiskey. The bartender meanwhile stalks the departing pair, and after watching them depart, he locks the front door. I watch him with intrigue, as it’s not even close to calling time. He checks around once more after locking and walks slowly over to me.
“Come with me, I’ve got something you may be interested in.” He says, still cool as ice.
“Oh I doubt that.” I laugh and finish the drink. “However since I’m yet to have paid for this drink, so okay, I’ll play along.” Standing back up and following the gentleman. We walk to the right of the bar, and towards two doors, I’ve noticed these two doors before but never really taken an interest, despite it being quite unusual, the first door says “Private, Staff Only”, yet the second simply says “Private”. Surely these should match, yet they don’t. Curiously the bartender heads to the door marked Private and unlocks it. To begin with he says nothing, playing his hand very carefully, knowing he has peaked my interest.
“I know who you really are, you’ve been quiet for a few years, and I’ll admit that to start with I didn’t recognise you, but I could tell you were a fighter, I just had to take the time to work out who.” He begins, as we walk through a small corridor, at the end, a large open room, with a round cage in the middle of it. “Every Wednesday and Saturday, I need a house fighter since the last one was, well...he’s got a punctured lung.” He sighs, but I’ve walked around and past him, looking around. The cage is solid, nothing I’ve not come across before, and I place a hand on the steel, letting my fingers slip through the links.
“What you’re asking, you’re putting a lot of people in danger, you’re aware of that right?” I look over my shoulder at the bartender, who’s not moved from the entrance of the room. I’m not sure if this is a good idea, those two kids were just that, kids, who I could have easily hurt, I could have easily done more than that, I was going to maim one of them just to prove a point. I wasn’t lying earlier when I said I was dangerous, I felt dangerous, I felt no fear. What could I possibly do in a cage, with no rules? My safety wasn’t a concern, but whoever got in there with me...what could I end up doing to these guys?
“My only concern is bringing a profit in, and looking after my fighter. You can help yourself to the scotch or whatever else takes your eye, can’t offer you much in terms of money though.” Good enough I thought, if he was prepared to clean up after my mess, then only my anonymity was left to worry about, and we could work that out in the details.
“I don’t want the money, I don’t need it either.” I walk back to the bartender, and offer my hand out to him. The bartender looks at my outstretched hand, and finally a smile creeps across his face, the first time I’ve ever seen a flicker of emotion from him, and enthusiastically shakes my hand.
“The name’s Kyle, welcome aboard.” He chirps. I simply smile, and turn back around to face the cage.
“Thanks Kyle, now...what’s next?”
Do you ever have those moments of clarity? Those moments where you stand up straight, or sit up in your chair and just have a thought or a train of thoughts that just seem to make so much sense? Or something that may speak to you so loudly you cannot believe that you’ve not considered it before? Sure, we all do, some people have them regularly, some people think this clearly daily and they are the lucky ones, that I can say with undoubted confidence. Others though, others aren’t so lucky, others have to muddle through, make mistakes, poor choices, suffer. For me though, when these people have their moment of clarity it is just so much more important than those who get those daily moments.
I’d love to be so self righteous and say I made good decisions, but that’s clearly not the case. Immaturity, foolishness, pride, all of these things led me to poor decisions. I should have done more for my son, I should have been a better father to him. I should have never have gone to India, I certainly should never have gone to Leeds, and I should never have gone to Prague. Most importantly though, I should have never gone to Peru. All of these poor choices, all of these problems I encountered, all of these moments that have led me here.
This is not my moment of clarity though, no these are simply facts and regrets. Regrets of a man no longer worthy of the moniker “The True Innovator”, no that would imply I have created something of worth. All I have created is a trail of worthless plans and suffering to those I’ve encountered, in some cases good people who’s lives are now ruined, memories I’ve created for myself that I only to wish to repress, such has been the errors I have made. I could have done better, and I should have done better. That’s not my moment of clarity either, some boring, overworked cliché. I’m many things, many complicated things, clichés work for some people, even me sometimes, but not now, not after these past five years.
No, the reality is that in the past five years I have attempted, chose to hide away, be an empty shadow in the wind, be nothing more than a whispered name, or a name once thought about in ones nostalgia for the past. Some would want to become a legend, but that is too arrogant, even for me. I just wanted to wipe everything clean, and be another face in the crowd. Yet the more I tried, and the more I failed, I’ve now realised that each failure resulted in another piece of me disappearing. And now, as I sit here in some underground bar in the depths of New Orleans, I realise that now I truly am empty. I have nothing.
It’s almost funny, ironic, that some people seek this feeling, I sought out this feeling, and I have to wonder what these people do if they truly do achieve it as I have, because I’m not sure some of these alleged self destructive souls actually have the backbone to handle it. Me? After Peru there is simply nothing that could break my stride. Now that I’ve come this far, I can only follow the words my grandfather always said, a wise man, he said “once you have done something, it is history, no matter how good or bad, all that matters then is what you choose to do next”. I loved that concept, I lived a lot by that concept, ironically it’s been part of what got me here, yet now more than ever it holds great relevance.
You see, that’s the real revelation, the real moment of clarity I have right now, is that despite all the pain and all emptiness I have created, I finally feel a sense of peace, control, calm, and with that, whatever I do next will only be improved by my heightened, unwavering focus. The moment of clarity is simply two words: “what next?”
What next? I lean back and take a large sip from the glass that sits in front of me. The scotch slips down my throat with that cool burn that only a proper malt whiskey does. I’ve only been here a couple weeks, and I’ve been very fortunate to find this bar, being the deep south it’s mainly Jack Daniels and other bourbons that simply don’t do it for me. I’ve always been one to support the British Isles, and when it comes to whiskey, it’s always better from Britain. This bar however holds a bottle of Dalwhinnie, a personal favourite, and expensive as it may be, it is worth ever single overpriced cent.
What next? I think again as I observe the bar, it’s a small, dark bar that’s actually very simple. A couple of beers on tap, a small selection of craft bottled beers, and a delightful array of bottled spirits. Seating in small tables and booths, no more than four around a table, clearly this is bar designed for intimacy, and for people to keep to themselves should they so desire. This is my kind of bar, no doubt about it. I finish the scotch and begin to stand up, yet the bartender is already over and pouring me another, I’ve become a creature of habit over the past week, I always order a second, though tonight I haven’t needed to order. I nod to him and take another sip. He doesn’t leave my side however, and leans in to have a quiet word.
“Do me a favour, I’m going out back for five minutes, but keep an eye on that over there.” He nods over to a pair of guys who are leant against the far end of the bar, both are holding a bottle of cheap beer, and admittedly, neither of them look comfortable, they look like they’re up to something. I look back at the bartender with a wry smile, and toast my glass at him with a look as if to say “you got it”. He nods and goes away to my right and I lean back in my chair and watch these two guys. Both are dressed in ripped skinny jeans, v-necks that show way to much chest, and jackets that make them look like they are trying far too hard. They’re clearly on edge however, they’re not here for the beer, they’re here on a job. There’s no cameras in here, and they’re eyeing up the till. One taps the other on the shoulder, aware that the coast is clear as such, as he does and his friend begins to place his hands on the bar in order to jump it. What next? Time for me to stand up.
“Gentlemen, either you’re blind and didn’t see me sat here, or you’re just plain stupid.” I move to the bar, a good ten yards away from them at the other end of the bar. The two men freeze and look at me, they’re still edgy, yet they don’t look ready to back down. Calmly I place my hand on the bar and walk slowly towards them. “Do everybody a favour, just head on home.”
“How about you head home yourself, this is America...”
“Oh don’t even start with the British rhetoric, I’m frankly bored of it.” I smirk and get closer. “Do you know what I am? Dangerous. Do you know how I can say that? Because I have nothing, I am...nothing. You may hear people say that, but have you ever looked into a man’s eyes that meant it? I don’t think you have, and I can see that’s making you both rather edgy. Look at you both, there’s two of you, the bartender may come back and make this a fair fight but I clearly have no issues if he doesn’t. You can tell this, you can feel this. So, gentlemen, I have just two words for you? What next?”
There’s a pause, and by now I am but two yards from the nearest guy, the other, a few yards behind him is the one to break the silence. “Fuck this bum, we have a job to do.” His tone isn’t convincing, but that is enough for his partner in crime to launch at me. His right hook attempt is thrown far too early though, with a small step back I pull him towards me and slam his head on the bar. With a nasty thud his head hits the bar and he slumps down to the floor. His friend freezes, and begins to back off. I stand over the body of his fallen friend and place my foot on his arm.
“Now here’s the thing, I’ve got a reputation on breaking bones, usually ankles, though today I’m willing to just accept an arm.” I shrug. “I don’t know where you’ve come from, but let this be a message to you, whilst I’m in this town, you will not fuck with this bar. Now please watch, the message isn’t so powerful if you don’t see the bone break, even if you don’t though I imagine your buddy will suddenly wake up to scream his little lungs out.” I gently raise my foot, ready to strike.
“That’s alright fella, I think he’s got the message, he’s practically pissing his pants.” The cool tone of the returning bartender comes from behind me, and I take a few steps back. “How about we let the poor kid take his buddy away and we never see them again?”
I step away a couple more steps, and the man scrambles to grab his fallen friend, who is barely coming back to consciousness. He pulls, picks him up and hauls his awkwardly away, and out of the door. I walk back to my table and sit back, taking another sip of whiskey. The bartender meanwhile stalks the departing pair, and after watching them depart, he locks the front door. I watch him with intrigue, as it’s not even close to calling time. He checks around once more after locking and walks slowly over to me.
“Come with me, I’ve got something you may be interested in.” He says, still cool as ice.
“Oh I doubt that.” I laugh and finish the drink. “However since I’m yet to have paid for this drink, so okay, I’ll play along.” Standing back up and following the gentleman. We walk to the right of the bar, and towards two doors, I’ve noticed these two doors before but never really taken an interest, despite it being quite unusual, the first door says “Private, Staff Only”, yet the second simply says “Private”. Surely these should match, yet they don’t. Curiously the bartender heads to the door marked Private and unlocks it. To begin with he says nothing, playing his hand very carefully, knowing he has peaked my interest.
“I know who you really are, you’ve been quiet for a few years, and I’ll admit that to start with I didn’t recognise you, but I could tell you were a fighter, I just had to take the time to work out who.” He begins, as we walk through a small corridor, at the end, a large open room, with a round cage in the middle of it. “Every Wednesday and Saturday, I need a house fighter since the last one was, well...he’s got a punctured lung.” He sighs, but I’ve walked around and past him, looking around. The cage is solid, nothing I’ve not come across before, and I place a hand on the steel, letting my fingers slip through the links.
“What you’re asking, you’re putting a lot of people in danger, you’re aware of that right?” I look over my shoulder at the bartender, who’s not moved from the entrance of the room. I’m not sure if this is a good idea, those two kids were just that, kids, who I could have easily hurt, I could have easily done more than that, I was going to maim one of them just to prove a point. I wasn’t lying earlier when I said I was dangerous, I felt dangerous, I felt no fear. What could I possibly do in a cage, with no rules? My safety wasn’t a concern, but whoever got in there with me...what could I end up doing to these guys?
“My only concern is bringing a profit in, and looking after my fighter. You can help yourself to the scotch or whatever else takes your eye, can’t offer you much in terms of money though.” Good enough I thought, if he was prepared to clean up after my mess, then only my anonymity was left to worry about, and we could work that out in the details.
“I don’t want the money, I don’t need it either.” I walk back to the bartender, and offer my hand out to him. The bartender looks at my outstretched hand, and finally a smile creeps across his face, the first time I’ve ever seen a flicker of emotion from him, and enthusiastically shakes my hand.
“The name’s Kyle, welcome aboard.” He chirps. I simply smile, and turn back around to face the cage.
“Thanks Kyle, now...what’s next?”
