Remember a few years ago, when every television show from Hard Copy to A Current Affair to your local news was showing footage of "backyard wrestlers" breaking lightbulbs over one another and knocking each other about in ramshackle rings? Well, I was one of them.
vCw: the backyard: Carrying a wooden cross into the ring for the world's first ever Crucifixion Death Match. Look just below the cross on the left to see a sixteen-year-old and beard-less ThePants (wearing camo pants and a sleeveless shirt).
vCw: the backyard: Strapped to the cross and being pummeled by Halo and Gabriel after losing the match when Gabriel reversed my powerbomb and flipped me onto a pile of thumbtacks.
vCw: the backyard: My manager, Slick Rudy Domino (better known as Phil of An Albatross) betrays me and becomes Halo's new manager.
vCw: cafe metropolis: Diving off of the apron, about to be surprised by Doshu Sappo. Note the referee and also the security guard to the left, checking his ear-piece (once indoors, there was less fucking about). A photo from this match was printed in the following days paper, it took up about a quarter of the page. My Dad had no idea I was doing this... holy crap was he pissed.
vCw: club homebase: About to chokeslam Gabriel's tag partner Insomnia (worst name ever). This show debuted a new costume (assuming a Danzig t-shirt can be called an old costume).
vCw: club homebase: Lanfear vs Gabriel, a rematch two years in the making. I quit wrestling because Keith, the kid who portrayed Gabriel was an idiot and very unfun to work with, hang out with, talk to, etc and every time I was supposed to wrestle at an event, they made me wrestle Keith. He originally wanted to call himself Draven and he asked if I thought that was an obvious Crow reference... I was able to talk him into choosing Gabriel as a name, by reminding him that the cat's name in The Crow is Gabriel. Ass.
vCw: club homebase: Strangling Gabriel with a chain, over my shoulder, you can see a recovered Insomnia is about to attack me.
Coming Out of Retirement
as remembered by boundcreature
He talked me into it in a coffee shop.
I say he talked me into it, but I suppose I wanted to do it... suppose I still had something to prove. Amongst the younger set of scene kids, I had something of a reputation. I was one of the original crew that wrestled in that hallowed backyard in Sweet Valley, Pennsylvania. I'd left it all behind, years ago, but these kids who looked up to me followed in my footsteps. They didn't have the ability, the flair or the imagination we did, they just beat the shit out of each other. So, maybe I did have a point to prove after all.
It took some effort to dig up the costume, the mask and the corsette were easy, the shirt, shoes and pants gave me trouble (I couldn't even remember the last time I saw the trenchcoat). Of course, the shirt was far too tight, almost cutting off circulation, I also had to restring the corset. When I first designed the costume, I had just returned from college, less thirty pounds worn off by eating ziti for every meal. Now, a few years of home-living and I was soft.
In my time, I wrestled in the first ring, in the backyard. I wrestled in the second ring at Cafe Metropolis and I wrestled in the third (and by far the nicest) ring at Club Homebase. Now, I was making a return to a backyard (if not the backyard). The ring in question, came from Club Homebase. Somehow, this group of high-school kids had disassembled and moved the damn thing into a backyard that was about three feet wider all around than the ring itself. It was comical.
The kids in the ring are boring. They wrestle for insane amounts of time, it's all spot wrestling, on the fly, they are hitting each other with one finisher after another and nobody makes a pin. The psychology of the sport alludes them, the mystery, the illusion... gone.
The boy who talked me out of retirement takes the ring. My brother, in a faux German accent accosts him over the microphone... he's claiming to have some super-secret unbeatable nemesis to challenge him. Under the "Call of the Zombie" I step out from behind a curtain. I am the secret.
The kids are visibly amused. I am standing at six feet, four inches tall, weighing in at about two-hundred and fifteen pounds. I am the only person in the entire backyard who looks like he could survive a wrestling match. I am covered, head-to-toe, in black, wearing a red-stringed corset, torn leggings on my arms and a blood red mask.
I go in like a ball of fire and we dance through the match. I make one or two early mistakes, a bit rusty, I cover them up by hitting him for real with one or two fancy jumping spin-kicks. He goes down, but he's fine (generally, the fancier a kick looks, the more useless it is). We exhange chops, run through the moves and in under ten minutes we are on our way to the climax.
I'm down, inexplicably... the mighty Lanfear has fallen. He pulls in a sheet of plywood, lays it on the canvas and opens a bag with six-hundred thumbtacks in it.
He spills them onto the plywood.
He never sees me get up, he never sees me knock him into the corner. From behind, I take a firm grip around his abdomen, I lower my center of gravity by squatting real low and leaning into him and in one mighty burst, I throw him straight back over my head, landing in a release german suplex. My back takes the brunt of the thumbtacks, instantly, I scream in surprised pain.
Breaking character, I scream "Holy crap this hurts!"
It never hurt before. At least, not like that... must be getting soft. Lying there, I doubt my logic in suplexing him hard enough that he would miss the brunt of the tacks. The kid's too soft I thought, maybe I should take it all I thought.
Seconds later, I have recovered and I deliver a textbook-perfect snap suplex, landing in a bridge and pin him. I roll out of the ring and walk through the curtain, a victor who could care less about the victory.
My shirt is stuck to my back by more than a hundred thumbtacks pushed into my flesh. ThePants is as calm as a nurse in war times. He opens up a large bottle of hydrogen peroxide and begins to pour it across my shoulder blades. He empties the bottle on me, it runs down my back, disinfecting, stinging, cleaning and making little pus-bubbles. And then, a true friend, he picks each thumb tack out of my back, one by one until I can get my shirt off... then, with a clean towel doused in peroxide, he scrubs any dirt out of my back.
Somebody somewhere captured it all on video. I wouldn't mind taking a look at that tape. Sometimes, I am completely amazed by the things I have done. Three times I took falls onto thumbtacks. Three times it did indeed hurt. I'm not crazy, I knew full-well what I was doing. It was always a judgement call for me, would be the pain be more intense than my desire to overcome it? Would the damage done outweight the glory won? You're not gonna catch me landing on thumbtacks these days and it's not because I'm not tough anymore... I'm reminded of a comment made by Animal of the Anti-Nowhere League, when I asked him if the Animal of 20 years ago would want to kick his ass. Animal smiled and said, "He could try."
Take This Longing
a Leonard Cohen / Boundcreature joint.
Day after day, I am up until dawn. I can't slow down enough to get to sleep.
And everything depends upon
how near you sleep to me
I would lie down with her every night if I could, I never remember falling asleep with her, I just do. It just happens, I don't have to fight for it.
Just take this longing from my tongue
all the lonely things my hands have done.
Day after day in the bedroom/studio, sometimes not even leaving the house. No end in sight, losing faith, holding it together, just wanting a break between days, not a break between weeks... I just want to lose myself in her every night, gain the strength to wake up and be me everyday.
Let me see your beauty broken down
like you would do for one your love.
vCw: the backyard: Carrying a wooden cross into the ring for the world's first ever Crucifixion Death Match. Look just below the cross on the left to see a sixteen-year-old and beard-less ThePants (wearing camo pants and a sleeveless shirt).
vCw: the backyard: Strapped to the cross and being pummeled by Halo and Gabriel after losing the match when Gabriel reversed my powerbomb and flipped me onto a pile of thumbtacks.
vCw: the backyard: My manager, Slick Rudy Domino (better known as Phil of An Albatross) betrays me and becomes Halo's new manager.
vCw: cafe metropolis: Diving off of the apron, about to be surprised by Doshu Sappo. Note the referee and also the security guard to the left, checking his ear-piece (once indoors, there was less fucking about). A photo from this match was printed in the following days paper, it took up about a quarter of the page. My Dad had no idea I was doing this... holy crap was he pissed.
vCw: club homebase: About to chokeslam Gabriel's tag partner Insomnia (worst name ever). This show debuted a new costume (assuming a Danzig t-shirt can be called an old costume).
vCw: club homebase: Lanfear vs Gabriel, a rematch two years in the making. I quit wrestling because Keith, the kid who portrayed Gabriel was an idiot and very unfun to work with, hang out with, talk to, etc and every time I was supposed to wrestle at an event, they made me wrestle Keith. He originally wanted to call himself Draven and he asked if I thought that was an obvious Crow reference... I was able to talk him into choosing Gabriel as a name, by reminding him that the cat's name in The Crow is Gabriel. Ass.
vCw: club homebase: Strangling Gabriel with a chain, over my shoulder, you can see a recovered Insomnia is about to attack me.
Coming Out of Retirement
as remembered by boundcreature
He talked me into it in a coffee shop.
I say he talked me into it, but I suppose I wanted to do it... suppose I still had something to prove. Amongst the younger set of scene kids, I had something of a reputation. I was one of the original crew that wrestled in that hallowed backyard in Sweet Valley, Pennsylvania. I'd left it all behind, years ago, but these kids who looked up to me followed in my footsteps. They didn't have the ability, the flair or the imagination we did, they just beat the shit out of each other. So, maybe I did have a point to prove after all.
It took some effort to dig up the costume, the mask and the corsette were easy, the shirt, shoes and pants gave me trouble (I couldn't even remember the last time I saw the trenchcoat). Of course, the shirt was far too tight, almost cutting off circulation, I also had to restring the corset. When I first designed the costume, I had just returned from college, less thirty pounds worn off by eating ziti for every meal. Now, a few years of home-living and I was soft.
In my time, I wrestled in the first ring, in the backyard. I wrestled in the second ring at Cafe Metropolis and I wrestled in the third (and by far the nicest) ring at Club Homebase. Now, I was making a return to a backyard (if not the backyard). The ring in question, came from Club Homebase. Somehow, this group of high-school kids had disassembled and moved the damn thing into a backyard that was about three feet wider all around than the ring itself. It was comical.
The kids in the ring are boring. They wrestle for insane amounts of time, it's all spot wrestling, on the fly, they are hitting each other with one finisher after another and nobody makes a pin. The psychology of the sport alludes them, the mystery, the illusion... gone.
The boy who talked me out of retirement takes the ring. My brother, in a faux German accent accosts him over the microphone... he's claiming to have some super-secret unbeatable nemesis to challenge him. Under the "Call of the Zombie" I step out from behind a curtain. I am the secret.
The kids are visibly amused. I am standing at six feet, four inches tall, weighing in at about two-hundred and fifteen pounds. I am the only person in the entire backyard who looks like he could survive a wrestling match. I am covered, head-to-toe, in black, wearing a red-stringed corset, torn leggings on my arms and a blood red mask.
I go in like a ball of fire and we dance through the match. I make one or two early mistakes, a bit rusty, I cover them up by hitting him for real with one or two fancy jumping spin-kicks. He goes down, but he's fine (generally, the fancier a kick looks, the more useless it is). We exhange chops, run through the moves and in under ten minutes we are on our way to the climax.
I'm down, inexplicably... the mighty Lanfear has fallen. He pulls in a sheet of plywood, lays it on the canvas and opens a bag with six-hundred thumbtacks in it.
He spills them onto the plywood.
He never sees me get up, he never sees me knock him into the corner. From behind, I take a firm grip around his abdomen, I lower my center of gravity by squatting real low and leaning into him and in one mighty burst, I throw him straight back over my head, landing in a release german suplex. My back takes the brunt of the thumbtacks, instantly, I scream in surprised pain.
Breaking character, I scream "Holy crap this hurts!"
It never hurt before. At least, not like that... must be getting soft. Lying there, I doubt my logic in suplexing him hard enough that he would miss the brunt of the tacks. The kid's too soft I thought, maybe I should take it all I thought.
Seconds later, I have recovered and I deliver a textbook-perfect snap suplex, landing in a bridge and pin him. I roll out of the ring and walk through the curtain, a victor who could care less about the victory.
My shirt is stuck to my back by more than a hundred thumbtacks pushed into my flesh. ThePants is as calm as a nurse in war times. He opens up a large bottle of hydrogen peroxide and begins to pour it across my shoulder blades. He empties the bottle on me, it runs down my back, disinfecting, stinging, cleaning and making little pus-bubbles. And then, a true friend, he picks each thumb tack out of my back, one by one until I can get my shirt off... then, with a clean towel doused in peroxide, he scrubs any dirt out of my back.
Somebody somewhere captured it all on video. I wouldn't mind taking a look at that tape. Sometimes, I am completely amazed by the things I have done. Three times I took falls onto thumbtacks. Three times it did indeed hurt. I'm not crazy, I knew full-well what I was doing. It was always a judgement call for me, would be the pain be more intense than my desire to overcome it? Would the damage done outweight the glory won? You're not gonna catch me landing on thumbtacks these days and it's not because I'm not tough anymore... I'm reminded of a comment made by Animal of the Anti-Nowhere League, when I asked him if the Animal of 20 years ago would want to kick his ass. Animal smiled and said, "He could try."
Take This Longing
a Leonard Cohen / Boundcreature joint.
Day after day, I am up until dawn. I can't slow down enough to get to sleep.
And everything depends upon
how near you sleep to me
I would lie down with her every night if I could, I never remember falling asleep with her, I just do. It just happens, I don't have to fight for it.
Just take this longing from my tongue
all the lonely things my hands have done.
Day after day in the bedroom/studio, sometimes not even leaving the house. No end in sight, losing faith, holding it together, just wanting a break between days, not a break between weeks... I just want to lose myself in her every night, gain the strength to wake up and be me everyday.
Let me see your beauty broken down
like you would do for one your love.
VIEW 17 of 17 COMMENTS
ManRay was hella crowded. I hardly danced at all cause there was really no room. I didn't get to bed until 7:30am that night. I don't know how I survived.
Thanky Palo for the brownies too. They were delicious