Post by Mason Moore on Aug 16, 2011 11:08:22 GMT -5
The commercial fades into black as words fade in to the screen…
“…I paint self-portraits because I am so often alone,
because I am the person I know best. “
~Frida Kahlo~
… The words stand for a few moments as a new set of words fill the screen…
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“All the earth is a grave and nothing escapes it,
nothing is so perfect that it does not descend to its tomb.
Rivers, rivulets, fountains and waters flow,
but never return to their joyful beginnings;
anxiously they hasten on the vast realms of the rain god.
As they widen their banks,
they also fashion the sad urn of their burial.
Filled are the bowels of the earth with pestilential dust once flesh and bone,
once animate bodies of man who sat upon thrones,
decided cases, presided in council,
commanded armies,
conquered provinces,
possessed treasure,
destroyed temples,
exulted in their pride,
majesty,
fortune,
praise and power.
Vanished are these glories,
just as the fearful smoke vanishes that belches forth from the infernal fires of Popocatepetl.
Nothing recalls them but the written page.”
~Hungry-Coyote (NEZAHUALCOYOTL)~
~King of Texcoco (1431-72)~
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… The words once again sit for a few moments as the fade into a black screen.
As the scene opens up we see that were sitting inside of a crowded bar, decorated in a Spanish fashion. The camera pans from the bars perspective as if we were the bartender. An old man sits there, staring down at his empty shot glass.
Drunken Man:
“Another”
The old man slurs as he is served another shot of a brown drink. A single tear falls off of his hanging cheek and into his glass. The salted tear fizzles as his head bobbles and he picks up the drink with an uneasy hand.
Drunken Man:
“I may have lost you today, but I’ll find you when my bones settle in this Earth. We will be one again.”
He slurs again, this time hoisting his drink in the air. He swigs it down as the camera continues to pan across the bar. The background scene shows multiple four-person table set up in the center of the room. The back walls are lit up with dartboards, a pinball machine, and a jukebox. The camera continues to pan across the bar as it reaches a woman and a man, sitting together being friendly. The man continues having words with the woman as she tries to shyly back off, pointing out his wedding band.
Casanova:
“She died last year, it helps me cope.”
He says to her as she turns her head towards him.
Woman:
“If you’re still wearing it then you’re not over her. Look, you’re sweet, but you still need to heal my darling.”
She picks up her drink and walks away from the bar. The man doesn’t follow her, but only sits by himself with an empty expression on his face. The woman who was once sitting with him walks over to the bar and puts a five dollar bill in the jukebox. She taps a few buttons as the first song on her playlist fills the air with sound. It’s the vocals of a familiar 90’s band.
“… She sits alone by a lamp post,
Tryin’ to find a thought that escaped her mind,
She said Dad’s the one I loved the most,
But Stipes not far behind…”
The camera continues to pan to the end of the bar as we a see a lonely old man sitting down, his head is hoisted by his hands and elbows that rest on the bar. His hands, wrinkled and liver spotted; his hair, long and white; his skin, shriveled and sagging. This was indeed a man who’s been through the tests of time. A tear dribbles from the small cracks between his fingers.
Sad Old Man:
”Oh Lucia, why did you have to go?”
The camera pans to the right as a hinged door lay in front of us. The door opens upwards as the camera walks out from behind the bar.
”…She never lets me in,
Only tells me where she’s been,
When she’s had too much to drink…”
The camera makes its way through the crowd, passing many people of different races and origins. Through the hustle we can make out a few conversations along the way, none of them meaning anything to anyone but the people telling them. We make our way to the corner of the bar as our attention is brought to the dimly lit neon sign above a corner seating area reading…
“Desesperado”
“(Hopeless)”
”…I say that I don’t care,
I just run my hands,
Through her dark hair,
Then I pray to GOD,
You gotta,
Help me fly away…”
A waitress breaks our gaze on the neon light as we pans down to the corner booth.
Waitress:
“aquí es su bebida, señor”
“(Here is your drink, sir)”
She smiles and walks off as we are left with a dark silhouette of a man sitting in the corner seat. The camera closes in on the man and sits across from him. The man sits there, motionless, staring at the drink he was given while hanging his head is almost shame.
”…Let her cry,
If the tears fall down like rain.
Let her sing,
If it eases all her pain,
Let her go,
Let her walk right out on me.
And if the sun comes up tomorrow,
Let her be…”
As the man brings his head up to meet the camera, the slight light given by the neon signs show a shadowed face of Mason Moore.
Mason Moore:
I had her.
I had her in my grasps.
The chance at certainty.
The chance at destiny.
Mason puts his head back down and once again looks at his drink.
Mason Moore:
I’m at a loss.
Where do I go from here?
Where do I set my goals?
How do I regroup?
Mason picks up the glass and brings it to his lips.
Mason Moore:
The taste of this bourbon.
It would feel a lot better with the taste of victory as a chaser.
Instead I’m going to be left with the harsh reality of loss as I take my swig.
Mason takes a gulp as his eyes clench shut. He breaths in hard as the shot burns all the way down. He opens his eyes as a tear releases from the right.
”… This morning I woke up alone
found a note standin' by the phone
saying baby, maybe I'll be back some day
I wanted to look for you
You walked in I didn't know just what I should do
so I sat back down and had a beer
and felt sorry for myself…”
The waitress once again makes her way to his table. She takes the empty glass from Mason and gives him a couple more shots.
Waitress:
” Este es el viejo hombre en el bar. Él dice que te ves tan triste como él.”
“(This is from the old man at the bar. He says you look as sad as him.)”
Mason looks at the bar and the old man with the long white hair salutes him by raising his drink in the air. Mason returns the salute by tipping the first of his two shots to him.
Mason Moore:
Anthony, I once again fall victim to a loss at your hands. The cold grip that you have on me, I seem to not be able to shake.
I will, however, congratulate you on your victory. Sometimes this business we run with is a game, and on that evening, you came out the victor.
But with all that said, this whole feeling is starting to taste bitter.
It leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
Both of my losses here have been at your feet.
It seems you almost have a spell on me, a bad juju.
But, with loss comes a scar.
Scars are there to remind us of why and how we lost.
This is indeed a scar I will learn from, Anthony.
Mason takes the first shot the old man bought for him. He squeezes his eyes together again, but not as tight this time. He opens his eyes and looks up at the ceiling.
Mason Moore:
But, I just can’t shake this feeling.
The sadness I feel still lingers.
Knowing how close I was at my chance hurts like hell.
That scar feels like it will forever bleed.
Anthony, it was like everything in my career lead up to that point.
Everything in my career was for that..
One..
Moment.
That’s a hurt that will stick with you for a long time.
At least, until you get to regain your chance, which I hope to do sometime soon.
A small tear rolls down the side of Masons cheek as he brings his head back down, facing the camera.
”…Let her cry,
If the tears fall down like rain.
Let her sing,
If it eases all her pain,
Let her go,
Let her walk right out on me.
And if the sun comes up tomorrow,
Let her be…”
Visibly emotional, Mason continues…
Mason Moore:
I’m not going to hold back, or say what everyone thinks I should say.
I’m going to tell everyone, I want Anthony to win that title.
I want everyone to know that the next time I want to step into the ring with Anthony, I want him to be the Champion of our business.
Until our next meeting, Anthony, I wish you the best in your future endeavors.
For right now, I have other things on my plate that I need to take care of.
Mason stands up and picks up a jacket he had lying beside him that was out of site from the camera. He takes the final shot the old man bought for him and lays a twenty dollar bill on the table for the waitress. He makes his way out of the bar and passes the jukebox. The camera sticks to the jukebox and fades out as Mason exits off screen.
”… Last night I tried to leave
cried so much I could not believe
she was the same girl I fell in love
with long ago
She went in the back to get high
I sat down on my couch and cried
yellin' "Oh mama, please help me!
Won't you hold my hand?"
And
Let her cry...if the tears fall down like rain
Let her sing...if it eases all her pain
Let her go...let her walk right out on me
And if the sun comes up tomorrow
Let her be...let her be…”
The camera fades back in to a shot of the outside of the bar. The looks of the bar is that of an old fashioned one. The siding, white with paint shipping off; the door was a wooden screen door; directly outside of the door laid a porch you would see outside of a modern home as three steps lead your way to the entrance. Mason walks out of the screen door as it slams behind him and puts on his jacket. He stands on the top step and rubs his hands together.
Mason Moore:
A bit chilly tonight.
Seeing my breath always lets me know that I’m still alive.
Mason blows slowly into the night air. His breath is visible to the world. For the first time all night a smile makes its home on his face.
Mason Moore:
A wise man once told me to lick my wounds, but always make sure I keep fighting.
That wise man was my father, rest his soul.
He knew what he was talking about.
I remember many nights sitting in front of my Dad, listening to him tell stories.
He would carry on about what wars that he fought in, how many lives he saved, and when I got older, how many women he flaunted.
But I always remember him telling me that even though sometimes I may lose a big fight, there will always be more opportunities that present themselves to the persistent.
Mason closes his eyes and crosses his arms for warmth. He breathes in the cool night air and smiles once more.
Mason Moore:
The thing is, I was never close to my father.
The great man I speak of is every television Dad ever broadcasted.
All of my motivations to succeed came from make believe.
It’s sad, really, but it helped shape me.
I blocked out all of the bad, and transferred it all to good.
All the beating he would give me, all the words he would tell me, every backhand he’d hand to me was motivation.
The motivation to get out of my environment and make something of myself.
Mason steps off of the first steps and slowly bounces off the next to until his feet hit solid ground.
Mason Moore:
But I’m not going to stand here and lecture everyone about how wrong my father was.
Instead, I’m just going to enlighten.
Not everyone abused in life ends up on the losing end.
Sometimes, they come right out and surprise you.
Mason smiles at the camera and winks.
Mason Moore:
Familiar, Alberto?
A stolen gesture from a man with the golden smile.
How is that newly won Championship around your waist?
Are you taking care of it?
I hope so; such a prestigious man needs to keep his gold shining.
Such a prestigious man needs to watch his riches.
For with riches, comes jealousy and envy.
Mason sits down on the step and continues.
Mason Moore:
But, Alberto, I am neither jealous, nor envious.
But I will tell you, I do want what you hold so dear.
I will have that Intercontinental Championship.
A man walks out of the bar and down the steps, passing Mason. Mason watches him as he fumbles to his car and makes his way inside. The man goes to start the car but passes out on his steering wheel. Mason laughs as he continues.
Mason Moore:
It was for the best for that man I suppose.
He avoided imminent danger with but a single sidestep in his life.
It was as if his better judgment took control of his body and kept him out of harm’s way.
You know, you can take a lesson from this man, Alberto.
Mason chuckles to himself.
Mason Moore:
We will meet for that title one day Mr. Del Rio.
But that day will not happen yet.
This Saturday you and I have a singles match.
This match means more to me than any title match.
This match will show that I am not just a fluke.
It will show the world that I am indeed ready to be in the spotlight.
And who better to be in the ring with than a Mr. Alberto Del Rio, the current Intercontinental Champion?
Mason looks up at the stars in the clear night sky. The camera pans across the sky with Masons eyes as a shooting star appears and quickly disperses.
Mason Moore:
Mr. Del Rio, I’ll leave you with but a thought.
My hopes and dreams stain this match.
My eternal livelihood rides on whether I win or lose on Saturday.
My blood, sweat and tears have laced their presence within those ropes.
After this Saturday, both of our lives will change forever.
You are no more than my stepping stone.
The camera slowly zooms in to Masons face as he concludes.
Mason Moore:
Con el poder viene el remordimiento,
(With power comes remorse,)
con la victoria llega la carga,
(With victory comes burdens,)
con campeonatos viene la gloria,
(With Championships comes glory,)
la gloria viene con el dominio,
(With glory comes dominance,)
con el dominio viene reinado.
(With dominance comes reign.)
~Mason Moore~
The screen fades to black as the SNME logo washes across the screen.