Infinity Wrestling
Roderick Blackmore. Blackbird
IMMORTALIS
Sunday 2nd
September 2013
Infinity #3;
Infinity City
A city of infinite possibilities. That is what I once thought was
possible. Only two months have elapsed since Infinity’s grand reveal, yet I
stand in the Panoptic Palace of my
own design, watching intently as four Harmony matches ends in turmoil and
frustration. On this special occasion, a night celebrating the union between
Infinity City and its crown jewel, the Infinity Wrestling Federation, I am left
wondering only one thing. A single thought that has dominated my mind since the
first show in August.
Is this City whole without
its crown jewel?
Having just finishing spectating the final harmony which saw Infinity’s
iconic Jamo triumph once more, Mr. Osman the steely brown eyed President of the
Battle Zone Network stood by, overly critical of the show thus far. His
concerns faded fast from my own memories but during a commercial he approached
me moments before we would return from a commercial. There is little doubt
about his thoughts. Infuriated, disappointed, loathing. Osman didn’t have to
say anything for me to understand his concerns.
His dark black skin permeated with
sweat and beneath his black suit and yellow tie his boxer arms twitched
nervously. I believe Osman was both nervous about approaching a man such as
myself, and slightly hesitant about taking action without my approval.
“Murray, Neal, they lead the forefronts of my thoughts Roderick. I expect
that their actions will be dealt with swiftly.” Osman’s tone is stern yet
gentle, appeasing to both sides of the spectrum. Little did my colleague know,
but my tunnel vision lies elsewhere.
“I was never meant to be here, like this. All I asked for was one moment
at the first broadcast, so I could fade into the shadows and give those worthy
my time.”
“Roderick, are you even listening to me.”
“That was supposed to be an end to my beginning.”
“Roderick,” Osman says with authority, I could feel tiny droplets of spit
wash against my face as his tone became more severe. Not only was it
uncomfortable, I didn’t understand why Osman held such objections against two
of my finest wrestlers.
“If you will not act upon this savagery, then I will.”
“Is that why you are here, so you may take an initiative? By seeking my
approval you have only wasted your own time.”
Osman took this moment to stare me out to see if I was bluffing with him
or not. Working up from my dark grey suit before making eye contact with my
baby blue eyes he took time to stare at my immaculate blonde hair and the few
apparent wrinkles on my otherwise soft face. Aesthetically we were polar
opposites. Vanilla and chocolate. North and south. Osman was black and white in
the sense that he laid his chips, his every emotion, on the table, but I
shadowed my thoughts whether they be dark, fantastical or illuminating.
“You have a bigger responsibility than A.C. Mack. You are the ruling hand
of this company, a benchmark for this City’s success, Roderick. Don’t play the
short hand with me,”
“With all due respect, I’ve pushed him
back, he is vulnerable.”
“He’s not the only one.”
“If you want to seek acclaim, then do so, with or without my blessing,” I
say spaced, my thoughts still elsewhere. This was a good opportunity to
alleviate some pressure of running Infinity by having Osman step up to the
plate and deal with the small misdemeanours. The likes of Murray Muir and Neal
Powers, they are best opposed by a strict personality, a man like Osman who
would happy restrict the rule of infinite possibilities to favour his own
cause, BZN.
“A city of infinite possibilities. That is what I once thought was
possible.”
“Infinity possibilities,” Osman says under his breath as he backs away, a
clear sign that his beliefs and my own are polar, just like our drastically
different appearances.
Infinity Mondays returned to television and I stood beside Osman once
more, our differences aside for the benefit of the product. We discussed the
matter of the giant pit, an abyss that stretched as far as the eye could see.
Only I know that lies deep within the confines but it had been my expectations
that soon after my foe, the man that robbed my single moment at Infinity #1, a man who has not deserved the right
to be called by name.
“This is a fate most befitting a thief, a vein movie star persona, and
this will be his prison. This will be his home, and I the guardian, the
keeper.”
Little did I know I would meet the eyes of my great adversary moments
later, thick and brown, full of deceit and snobbery, self-entitlement and invidebit. Full of envious rage the Latro, the thief of the city’s crown
jewel, the bane of my existence, was still ravenous for seconds and without
mercy I stared into his own wickedness before he would send me spiralling into
my own provocative creation.
I do not remember falling with grace, what I do remember is looking up at
the dimming light of my panoptic palace before fading into the great below. For
hours I lay without humility or poise, breathing in dust particles with my face
planted unceremoniously against a cold and dejecting surface. With time
elapsing I was left alone to contemplate my thoughts until a single, lone Blackbird perched itself on my left arm,
digging in its nimble and thin claws into my numb arm.
Osman was right, I was vulnerable.
The Blackbird rested silently on my arm, but my mind was oblivious as to
why, surrounded by darkness how did it know how to fine me?
It is no simple mind that summons these onyx beauties. Thankfully, these
sky-clad lovelies will never come to a person who is not equipped to read the
deeper meanings behind its presence. Better said: If you did not already know
the answers, you would have never had the encounter.
I am all but consumed lost within a maze, an endless labyrinth of my own
creation. A Void of my own making. I
was left with a new thought, one that would last with me until I would peer
into the delicate brown eyes of my great adversary.
Am I whole? Am I without
identity?
Tuesday 24th
September 2013
Roderick’s home;
Infinity City
The night following Infinity #4 was the first time I could hold my
children in three days. I occasionally their warm, fresh smell after a bath and
miss reading to them at night. Living life in Infinity Tower I find myself
distanced from my children, my wife, my life outside of professional wrestling.
My life outside of ruling this city. Sometimes being the most responsible
person in the world means that one can lose perspective, and though my family
life has been neglected since early July each and every time I lay eyes on my
beautiful, intelligent daughter and my aspiring, wide-eyed son my perspective
is restored. My wife, Hannah, a dainty and bubbly blonde balances work of her
own as a novelist and writer, and right now she is locked away writing her
latest novel, a conspiracy story about torture in Infinity City. She is gentle
and kind and would never lay a hand on our children, but she can write what
pain feels like, and I only ever see that in the works of Stephen King.
Hannah’s brilliance is partly due to my bread-winning, as a stay-at-home mother
she dedicated herself to writing at home, meaning she could lead a dual life
that she loves.
I often wonder if the pain she describes has any relevance in our own
marriage, but I have never dared asked, fearing an answer I wouldn’t like to
hear.
This early Tuesday evening was brisk and bitterly cold, rain poured hours
before sundown and continues to do so as I tuck my eloquently spoken six year
old daughter, Hadley, and my always-jumpy and lively three year old son, Scott,
into their beds. As a family of blondes, Scott takes the resemblance of his
mother, as does Hadley. We named Scott after his uncle and my brother, Scott
Blackmore, a former wrestler who vanished in 2008. Nobody has seen him since.
Scott was my best friend,
the crown jewel of the Blackmore family, but now we never talk about him
because whenever it is brought up both of the children cry, they do not fully
understand or comprehend what happened to Scott.
Due to a lack of finality in Scott’s life, it always leaves me wondering
if he will knock on the door of our four bedroom house on the far reaches of
the city, away from the limelight in a small suburban area with a real
community and real people. Scott last wrestled for a promotion called UBW, but
just over two years ago their owner, Robert Stevens, died in the ring on the
final night of its company history. Robert and I spoke on several occasions, he
said that Scott just vanished off the face off the planet and he stopped
showing up to television tapings and live events. TCK, my business partner and
close friend said exactly the same thing. The Copycat departed UBW shortly
after Scott went missing, but it still leaves me wondering if my brother is out
there living a life of labour or luxury, or no life at all.
Either way I would do anything to have Scott return to us, he is the only
thing I miss more than my children in this often cruel and unforgiving planet.
When I stood in the ring at the first ever Infinity with the black velvet bag
wrapped around my hand the moment I felt the plush velvet rip away from my
grasp, I am reminded of the same pain of when Scott went missing. Thoughts of
the missing championship brings back memories best left buried, best left
forgotten.
And the perpetrator of these crimes? How can I ever forgive a man so vein
and callous, as lost as the other celebrities I see, hiding their true colours
behind a layer of falseness? I think that the main reason why I feel an urge to
take out my frustrations on another human being who at a distance is so diverse
from my own upbringing and my own values, all I know is that I fear the idea of
the unknown. I don’t know what runs through the head of a man so self-indulgent
and reckless, perhaps his life story is filled with as much grievance as my
own. All I know is that on the night that the crown jewel was snatched Scott
cried for days, he says he had never seen me so upset before.
The night the Latro
dispossessed my hands of the crown jewel I had to explain to Hadley and Scott
that in this city of infinite possibilities there are bad people who will do
everything in their power to trample on your successes and failures. I couldn’t
even explain to my three year old son why he who will not be named did what he
did, but I could not lie, not to my children. Not to Scott. Now my son believes
that every black African-American is a thief and a lair, and given a chance
will super-kick you into a dark abyss of no return. Scott quivers at the sight
and cries when he sees any black person, because he just doesn’t understand. No,
my son is not racist, he’s just confused and blinded by the actions of one desperate and lost soul, who in this
dark light of day seeks a new meaning within professional wrestling.
I kiss Hadley on the head first as she gets snug and warm under her single
purple duvet cover, thankfully my thoughts are left alone, and then walk over
to Scott, wearing an Infinity Wrestling duvet that I brought him home. Scott
was too young to understand anything that happens on the show but he loves the
drama; that much is evident. He would giggle and laugh every time Jamo, Matt
Rydell, and Adrian Flynn appeared on the TV screen, those are his favourites
and they featured on his duvet. Hadley had little interest in wrestling but she
loves the idea that there is real story on the shows. Wearing just a formal
white shirt that has the top two buttons undone I knelt down in between both of
their beds and rubbed the top of their foreheads gently.
I was about to leave them to rest until Scott grabs my arm with his
delicate and extremely soft hands, looking up to me with a smile as wide as my
own.
“Daddy don’t go,” Scott says, unable to get to sleep.
“Read us a story,” the keen learner Hadley says, leaning closer to the
edge of the bed, expecting me to read one of the many books plastered around in
this very clean children’s room.
“Of course I’ll read to you,” I say, with Scott jumping out of bed and
getting into Hadley’s bed, both snuggled up together. In fatherly fashion I sit
at the edge of the bed as they both peep their heads from underneath the dark
purple covers.
Just as I was about to speak, Hadley was more than confused.
“Daddy, you don’t have a book.”
“I don’t need a book for this story,” I say, with both now even more
eager of hearing an unknown story.
“What it is about?”
“This story is called Blackbird,
now you’ll want to listen carefully because if you don’t, the Blackbird will
haunt you in your dreams tonight.”
“It will?” Scott asks in the softest of voices, possibly scared by the
thought of a dark and mysterious bird flying around in his head.
“Not if you listen carefully.”
“I will.”
“I know you will, son.”
Enter the Void
Blackbird
One day long ago, a being lost and without cause found himself living in
the shadows, and he did not know why. Trapped and searching for an identity
befitting a man with only a black silhouette with matching surroundings, Void was born, and all he has wanted to
ever do with his life is escape.
But escape from what?
Consumed by everlasting darkness Void never had a shadow, he could not
see his face or any part of his body, but he knew it existed. He felt real, he
could touch the real. Living alone and without friends the only entity that
ever communicated with Void was a shadowy and lingering entity known as Mora. An evil and haunting voice that plagues
Void’s existence, to keep him in a state of nothingness, a state of despair and
grievance.
“Chance is a word void of sense; nothing can exist without a cause. What
is your cause, why do you persist in the darkness, alone, and without hope?”
Mora’s words scratched away at Void over time, he could feel his darkened body
fill with scars and freshly cut wounds.
Void could not fight back against Mora. The presence was too strong, and
Void had no way of knowing what Mora was. He could be a real person, hidden in
darkness also, bullying Void without just reason or cause. Mora could have also
been a creation of imagination, his deepest and darkest thoughts that surface
because he is alone, and without purpose.
“We define only out of despair, we must have a formula... to give a
facade to the void. Is there anything besides the borders of your own nest, the
black and murky dome you inhabit?”
Void was lost in a sea, unable to map a way to greater shores, unable to
respond to the cruel and unusual messages from Mora. Over the course of many,
many years Void had considered giving up, but he does not know how. He cannot
end his own life because there is nothing around him to fall on, no instrument
he can use against his own body, and no way of knowing if he is successful.
“The burial of past, present, and future deny you, they exile you and
constrain you of sight and mind. Your illusion of self prohibits you from
returning from which you came.”
As long as Mora was around, plaguing and twisting his own thoughts of freedom,
Void would never find out why he came to be so accustomed to a place he so very
much despised.
One day, without notice and reason Void’s black eyes finally something
real, flying freely in the distance. It soared from high above, so Void
ventured towards the soaring, silent bird, hoping to finally understanding the
reason for his existence.
Laying out a left arm the bird, the Blackbird,
rested on his left arm. To Void’s surprise he finally witnessed another colour
but could not feel his heart race or his arm tingle. A silver chromed gauntlet
appeared from his left arm, though he could not see the arm at all, with the
Blackbird resting peacefully on it.
Metaphorical assertions made about the Blackbird suggest that they are
lunar beings with a great grasp of nocturnal awareness. Illumined lunar
understanding which requires a different use of the senses. Sense which can
only be utilized when transformative devotion is made. A commitment to higher
knowing, flight, and an acceptance of the void, an infinite vastness that
eludes the ego and rational mind. This also positions them as heavenly or
divine oracles and messengers in cultural myths across the globe.
Void did not know any of this until the Blackbird had rested on the
gauntlet and began teaching him about the world that the Blackbird knew. For
the first time Void had a friend, a companion and for days they travelled
together heading into the unknown.
“You entrust your life to a bird of the higher realms, how do you know
that this is not a mirage, not another creation?”
“I have no control over Merula,”
Void says, shocked that he is able to speak to Mora for the first time.
“Its name will not spare you from this eternity. Like you, it is blind
and without hope.”
“It doesn’t matter where I’m going anymore,” Voids says, smiling for the
first time ever, “as long as I have Merula.”
Occasionally Merula would flex its wings and squawk loudly. It made no
noise on the outside in the abyss but Void could hear its vibrations and
words. Merula would clean itself regularly
with its slender beak but most of the time it stood on its two legs, stoically,
as if looking out to something that wasn’t there. Void began wondering if Merula
could see something he could not, +but Mora was there to crush any hope and
optimism.
“The greatest enemy to human souls is the self-righteous spirit which
makes men look to themselves for salvation. Yet, you unwisely look for
salvation within the spirit of another and ignore that what matters. Your
darkness will prevail.”
The contented duo faced a perilous battle with Mora, both the vigilant Merula
and Void could hear Mora, they shared a special connection but Marula never
spoke. Its purpose was to marvel over Void as he embarks on a path of
understanding his role in the darkness.
Walking amongst the mist one day, this day the same as every other since
Merula was perched on the silver gauntlet, another bird is seen in the sky,
much different from the beautiful Blackbird.
From a distance this new and exotically intimidating bird swooped down the
sky, flying in spectacular style with a white body and white wing tips and the
long tail spreads out into a huge fan. This new, troublesome bird is a black
and white crow with a long tail. The tail accounts for over half the total
length of the bird and is an indication of the bird's status in its society. The
head, breast and back are black, the shoulders patches, belly and flanks are
white. The black wings and tail, however, are a beautiful glossy, iridescent
blue, green and purple. The bill and legs are black.
“A Magpie,” Void says without knowing what one is, unwittingly told via
the connection with Merula.
The Magpie does not have a musical voice, the song of the blackbird is
arguably the most beautiful and best-loved of any bird, as well as being the
most familiar to Europeans. But the Magpie cry is an irritating 'Ack-ack-ack-ack' which has been likened
to a football rattle.
‘The Thieving Magpie’ plies the silver gauntlet from Roderick’s arm and
Merula vanishes instantly, fading into obscurity as the colourful Magpie
clutches the gauntlet and flies away. Infatuated by the silver it “ack’s” as if
it has won the lottery before gliding away.
Without feeling in his arms or legs Void began running, sprinting as fast
as he can, at the very least giving the illusion that he is running.
“Aim at perfection in everything, though in most things it is
unattainable. However, they who aim at it, and persevere, will come much nearer
to it than those whose laziness and despondency make them give it up as
unattainable. The difference between perseverance and obstinacy is that one
comes from a strong will, and the other from a strong won't… Why do you
persevere to obtain the unobtainable?”
Without Merula Void was forced to resort to the old habit of listening to
Mora without response. The timing couldn’t have been worse.
“We are dying from overthinking. We are slowly killing ourselves by
thinking about everything. Are you sure you are even moving, even breathing,
even seeing? Death occurs with those who chase blindly and act without rationality.”
Void ran into oblivion, chasing down the Magpie, never getting any
closer, never getting any further away. Eventually Void persevered until Merula
reappeared, swooping in closer to the Magpie.
Void would be vulnerable no more.
Tuesday 24th
September 2013
Roderick’s home;
Infinity City
“Daddy, what happens to the Magpie?” little Scott asks. Hadley has
already fallen asleep but three year old Scott is immersed by the story of
Void.
Hadley was fast asleep, her soft head on Scott’s shoulder. Roderick
finally stood up hoping not having to answer his naïve son.
“The Magpie gives back the gauntlet.”
“But the Magpie loves shiny stuff.”
“The Magpie never had a choice in the matter.”
“Why?”
“When it comes to right and wrong, those in the wrong always lose out.”
“But the Magpie could have won.”
“But the Magpie could have won.”
“It won’t,” I says, quickly on my words, “I mean, it didn’t. It can’t.”
“Why can’t the Magpie have shiny stuff?”
“It wasn’t his Scott. Void needs the Blackbird for meaning and purpose,
it was wrong of the Magpie to take something that belonged to another. Do you
understand, son?”
“Yes daddy,” Scott says, scared over the fate of the Magpie, wondering
whether or not it was killed by Void and the Blackbird.
“Good night, Scott,” Roderick says, leaving his son to finally drift off
into sleep next to his sister.
Monday 14th
October 2013
Infinity
Wrestling: Immortalis
Consumed by everlasting darkness my shadow is lost within the void of my
existence, I couldn’t see his face or any part of my body, but I knew it
existed. I felt real, I could touch the real. Walking several steps forward I
see cracks of light bounce off the surface of a black tiled ground. I look up
to the single light of the panoptic palace. Back where I started, but now I was
no longer vulnerable, as Osman had previously suggested, I was at last strong.
“Birds robed in black do not give up their secrets easily. They love
to watch us marvel over their messages. Black birds demand our commitment to
learning their wisdom, and do not reveal their meanings unless they are
convinced we've devoted ourselves completely to the path of understanding.”
On cue the Blackbird flies down and rests on my arm, on the silver
gauntlet of my own creation, an exact replica of Void.
A fundamental concept of experimentation is transition and
transformation. The Blackbird is symbolic of life in the heavens and the colour
black is symbolic of pure potential. Between the two, there is no limit to
human transformation; all we have to do is close the shutters of the rational
mind, and start sojourning with our darkly feathered friends.
“Hello, Merula,” I say softly, my light blue eyes and blonde hair are noticeable
in an otherwise darkened atmosphere. Much of my ring attire is sheltered by the
darkness, though much of my pale skin sticks out. Unlike Void, I had learned to
prosper on my own, or so I had thought until my children and this single
Blackbird had realigned my perspective.
“Purity, Singularity, Harmony, they are but three pieces to an infinite puzzle,
they each harbour unique meaning and identity within the shelter of this
eternal city, I question what would become with the three icons. But there is
no doubt that above all else the crown jewel of Infinity Wrestling does not harbour
such an identity, the Infinity World Championship that I personally designed is
thee symbol of Infinity City, it is
the championship of infinite possibilities, and having it ripped from my
possession by a Latro, a lowly thief
among great men, is the precursor for my arrival, the precursor for the ruling
hand to conquer.”
The Blackbird extends its wings, as if stretching, remaining in a stoic
pose as I continue to wonder the vast reaches of my most sinister creation,
buried deep beneath the confines of Infinity Arena. I smile as the Blackbird
begins whistling. I wait for it to finish its hymn, soaking in the beauty of
each note as it rebounds of the walls of my self-motivating void.
“Roderick Blackmore,” I say with a glint of hope in my eyes, the perseverance
for my upcoming battle showing in spades. “Princeps, rex infinitum urbe...Ego
Immortalis... Ego ultimum...”
Stroking the back of the Blackbirds head the male, the smaller of the
sexes does less nest building but more food scavenging. For the first time since
Infinity began, I finally found focus and identity, a place to rule the city
without fear of another Latro.
“An origin story,” I say, slightly laughing at the premise of the idea,
the only thoughts I hear are my own as the laugh echoes back towards me. “An
end to my beginning.”
I rest against a dark blue tile where a crack of light is shining
brightly. I see the reflection of my own face, and little more than a few hours
away from my first bout I didn’t recognise the man that fathers Hadley and
Scott, the loving husband to Hannah. I only saw Void, the black ghastly silhouette
without a face, without a voice. Left only with my Merula, perched on the
silver gauntlet.
“Scott deserved the truth, my son deserves honesty. He deserves to
believe that the Magpie can fight and win, but over time we will forgive his
father, you all will. Void doesn’t kill the Magpie, he does the only thing he
knows. As Void touches the colourful wings and long tail of the Magpie and
takes back the gauntlet the Magpie loses its colour, it loses its identity and
its worth. Like everything else Void touches the Magpie becomes one with the
encompassing dome that Mora watching from and it is never seen again, forever merged
with nothingness. That is why Merula never touches Void, and lives on the
silver gauntlet. It is fearful of Void, like all else. Only those brave and
daring enough step into Void’s dome, no one thing has lived to tell the tale, not
even the Magpie, all has perished and as Void connects with more the dome gets
bigger, and with it the chances of Void ever escaping are forever impossible.
Stuck with his Immortalis, Void is the
end to all things. Forever immortal, ignoring and eternally fighting the only
presence that can set him free from his grievance and despair… Morality…”
_______________
Infinity Wrestling
Follow Infinity management
on Twitter:
@infinityIWF
@BlackmoreIWF
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