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  1. #1

    Mil and Catrina: Hot and Cold

    Dear Faithful,

    I met the mask of expiry itself and looked into the Judas underneath. Don’t you know we escape our casket every time we whirl a car wheel and don’t crash? We’re trusting death? Yet, one day our disciple will bring us to our end.

    I looked in the mask of Mil Muertes and wondered which of his one-thousand he had for me. Knowing his power, I taunted him and asked him why he squeezed the rubble like it was his beloved’s neck. I asked him how badly Catrina wanted to escape it—how badly she wanted to escape it.

    He spoke death in Spanish and told me my time would soon come. He spoke of mil muertes and mentioned uno to be unusually unpleasant. Therefore, I asked him about childhood love to render him a hurt to tie the intensity of his threat. We spoke of Kevin Arnold and Winnie Cooper. I told him Catrina had no wonder or wander left in her years with him. I told him to squeeze her by the neck, because she just wanted to be free.

    He said I lived pretty well but never took care of myself. He asked me about my alcoholism and workaholism and asked if I wanted to pray. I told him I didn’t know who to pray to, and he asked if I wanted to die. I told him I didn’t want to die but never really asked to live, either.

    Then, I sought to take control back. I knew there’d be grave consequences to pay, but the way I lived... They could've come any day. Still, I said, “Mil, tighten your tyranny of her like the rubble. Because I know her touch is the last you have of your family. She’s the earthquake, and if you let her go; you have to let them go, too. But she’s wanted to rise from the rubble and you for a long, long time now. But squeeze her, Mil, because, when your grip grows tired she will slip away--she will slip away."

    Winnie told Kevin that she didn’t want it to end, but you can’t hold her to that forever. To be sure Catrina told Mil she’d love him forever. Maybe, she touched his hand with the softness of one-thousand families' affections. Childhood love that dies but remains rots more and more with every live human who passes it by. I continued, "Catrina wants to live; Catrina wants to love. You, Mil crave a casket built for two in which you can lie side by side with her. You desire a confidant to decay with."

    He dealt me a painting of a death scene at a park bench where a brother exhaled out all he was, for good. He cited the scent of candle by still pictures of a bearded brother caring for his kids. He belittled the bottles of last bourbons that could never be expended, the ones lying by motionless pictures; and he put out flames swaying for a soul we could not be sure any longer existed.

    For a time we both fell beaten to our knees. Then, we agreed. We went on about want in women and how much can be wasted when they’re with soulless males. They hold out optimism and only miss more and more life. And we of the soulless release one more act of strength to show a life that could be but never will be. We assure them with one resemblance of existence to the next, but, at night, we bring them back to caskets made for two. One sunrise they must wake and walk away--they must wake and walk away...

    I asked who’s under his mask, and he asked who’s under mine? I said Satan and the Anti-Christ and every evil he could ever fuck with. Pentagrams twirled under our feet, and we stood at a standstill. I called upon names of “Phoenix” and “Crane” and christened Catrina to be a skeleton of a slut. He called bullshit on my Satan claims and asked me why I wanted to be loved so liberally and indicated it will only be my demise. I laughed like Lucifer and whispered Catrina was a whore.

    I saw fire in his eyes, while I felt his icy grip on my neck. An icicle grew in my esophagus. Then, I coughed and prayed to the saints. But, still, Saint Jude flipped me off, while mother Mary, herself, bit my balls. I saw Judas eyes under the mask. He hung me in the gallows. Then, he froze me and burned me and buried me next to Phoenix and Crane. It’s then, I learned how hot and cold death and hell is. It’s hot and cold like the temper of a dead man; it’s hot and cold like the feelings of a woman for a dead man who she only hopes to rise above but never can find a way to do it without him…

    Yours Truly,
    Senor Button.
    Last edited by Benjamin Button; 07-08-2018 at 04:20 AM.

  2. #2
    The Brain
    Join Date
    May 2018
    God damn, man, your columns are the best to read and the hardest to feed back. Like trying to apply language to a Picasso or Dali. This was beautiful, I loved.

  3. #3
    Gracious, senor Mizfan!

    Let's not forget Judas Mesias, or maybe we should...

    Call me Mil fan, but never milf man

    Thanks for the feed. Good to hear.

  4. #4
    LOP's part time glass ceiling DynamiteBillington's Avatar
    Join Date
    May 2018
    Quote Originally Posted by mizfan View Post
    God damn, man, your columns are the best to read and the hardest to feed back.
    I often think this, which is why I rarely comment on your threads. Hope you don't take it personally that I comment on others and not yours!

  5. #5
    I take nothing in a wrestling forum personal...I do this for love of wrestling, for the love of reading, and for the love of writing. This is an escape. I appreciate any feedback I get and take it serious.Whether someone simply says they enjoyed it or they ask are 3 paragraphs going into detail about a vagina in a wrestling column really necessary?..But angry? Offended? Those are emotions saved for the real world. And that happens only over things I'm most passionate, for they effect the weight of my wallet. I definitely don't come here to get more of that.
    Last edited by Benjamin Button; 07-04-2018 at 04:47 AM.

  6. #6
    Member #25 SirSam's Avatar
    Join Date
    May 2018
    I want to side with what everyone has said here. The way you create scenes and really make me feel and experience them is pretty awesome. You seem to do it in an efortless way too which I find most impressive.

    I think at one point someone asked me if we are Ric Flairs or Randy Savages with writing, I am a Randy Savage, I have to plan it all out, grind that sucker out and that is especially true for creative pieces. You though seem to just come out with these. For all I know it could be completely intentional, which incidentally is the true Savage - he never looked like he was just going through the motions despite planning things out - but I really love reading your stuff man.


  7. #7
    I'm a Savage too, man...I take my columns to my house and practice with them and revise them...I just try to be indiscreet with the small details...still I put them together and hope to put together one mood, one theme, and one story. ..the details. Thing is I still have fun doing it...but even my best stuff aren't accurate in Google docs or Microsoft word because I edited it one more time before posting it and one time after for the most minute things....glad for your feedback.

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