Post by hachiman0 on Sept 28, 2021 16:34:51 GMT -6
A lone horse galumphs up a mountainous path snaking over thin grass. As this height, air lightens the mind, soul and body. Where the impetuous Hachiman rides atop this painted Hidalgo of legend without the slightest hint of turning back. Even the strongest peyote of his prayer pouch could not demand his retreat from this emerging caldera. It’s there, upon a grandeur that inspired minds to construct Machu Picchu and the Nazca Lines, he sees a new light in the green waters of Lake Irazu. Signs warn of air quality, but he forgoes caution to sets up shop alongside its lichenous latency.
“How far will you go for the green? I ask that in royal sense, of course, as no one in the world is exempt from desire. Invention exists in the human guy from performance to songwriting to the backstage hands keeping the show running on beat. Everyone is contracted to the same desires; whether he fight back, however, is the ultimate question.”
He lights up a small brazier with a stuffed pheasant idol at its crest. Hachiman delights in the thin air with a childish glee, allowing his body to ease itself into lightheadedness on par with the natural high of running several miles. When adrenaline, endorphins and other lizard brain chemicals reduce the overthinking brain into a calmer and controlled state.
“Lazaro Vincente was the unfortunate recipient of my desires last week. Opportunity knocked. I answered in a flash. Had I attempted to pin him and not the unconscious Rip Tide Taylor, all things might have ended differently. He will tell everyone that he regrets this unfortunate turn to his favor… even though he would have taken the same opportunity.
We saw him go for the green in Vegas. No shaming a hardworking industrialist at their finest, yet his popularity with the common man makes me wonder if he’s the truest fit for the great black pyramid’s shadow. Even now, as I speak to this concerning void, I know it hears my dissent amidst plotting our collective downfall. And what rock bottoms await us at what promises to be an assured Ragnarök.
But why are you still looking hungry when the people flocking to the Pyramid’s influence already trust you, Lazaro? Are you not ‘man enough’ to admit you belong? That what you’ve planned to date is living up to the legacy that flows in your veins with the importance of the fathering Euphrates and Tigris. Is there so much left for you to unturn in this sport that surrendering all composure in hardcore bouts is still becoming a man that claims his namesake to a golden idol? I ask because I care; honestly, from my side of that coin, you continue to down spiral because it matters too much to you. Green, gold—it’s all the same to starving artists. They just want to belong among sequoia holding up that colonnade you claim is your family’s legacy. But are you really doing them right? Well—let’s find out!”
He reaches into his knapsack as his horse meanders this makeshift campsite. From it enters a deck of tarot cards with Hachiman adopting an ominous presence beside them in the cracking of his brazier. The bivouac serves as a makeshift table and these raw elements of Costa Rican mountains as his fortune table.
The first card: The Wheel, inverted.
Its art has inspirations from 70’s animator Monkey Punch for stark contrast to his intended macabre.
“Hmm… so you’re turning like the wheel. Going places aimless but not offtrack. Stable momentum but still not at the destination. I can’t expect any young, intrepid soul to be anything more than that on their earliest sojourn.
Por ejemplo: You’ve spoken ad nauseum with your Uncle Salvador to be sure that you are on that Golden Road—whatever that means. Whether you’re headed to Nirvana, Mecca or the KFC at Mecca, the adage of journeys throughout history proves that people learn best from their own road. It grounds us in reality. Me, I tend to cloud watch with delusions of grandeur. My road swerves, but without taking massive dumps in places unsuitable for civilized society. You, however, have this fictional ‘El Camino Real’ stuck in your historicized migraine posing family values. Your wheel churns up ground with no endgame. Perhaps the next card will answer this excess baggage weighing down your undercarriage!”
Next up: a big-booby shoujo version of The Hierophant, also inverted.
“Ah ha! Now we’re talking! You are conflicted, owning to your tradition is keeping you back. Invoke a name of old means wearing their mask. Not exactly your ‘El Dorado’ now, is it? You have the ability to change your path and become a stronger athlete. Oh yes! This marks improvement, Lazaro! You should rejoice. The cards know and sense that you’re trying to better yourself rather than simply survive above the ocean’s slapping waves. Breath my son! You are on the right path… but there’s always more!”
Next: Seven Wands, once again, inverted.
“Yesh, you really know how to flip the script, Lazzie boy. So ‘The Wands’ are kinda lame, in my humble opinion, but we need to acknowledge their power over the mortal soul. See, they have a telling ritual of the process too. My experience is an imbalance of your wands—okay, let’s rephrase—anyone negging vibes from any of the wands cards needs to reassess their priorities. Same as you have after hitting a brick wall the last couple shows at the Great Pyramid’s beckoning. But your dedication to the game means you take losses seriously because they fucking matter. Which is great… just don’t lose sight of your end game.
Okay, so I’m an optimist. I also believe in giving that ole college try, faking it until you make it in America approach. My bildungsroman paved through more obstacles than open doorways. Let’s draw one more… and it might just be the final note of your new, burgeoning career!”
He holds for dramatic effect with a shot so close up his nose pores look like sunspots. He draws this final card looking spellbound by his divine communication.
The final card: One of Cups.
“Could it be that we, Lobo, are destined to not only see our paths cross, but intertwine. See… cups are offerings. Probational knowledge tells me that we are meant to be in this match together. And that I was meant to be your guiding spirit. While it certainly could imply love and intimacy are on your nearest horizon—Deus mio, I hope it’s with me—I believe the cards sense our budding companionship. Whether we keep that common, Western or go full Athenian is up to us to decide. Lazaro, you first need to decide if this road to victory is worth the sacrifice of your family’s name and image… or you could also just try shutting up about what was and live in the moment. I don’t remember nor hold myself responsible for what I had for breakfast. Nor hold accountability for the flatulence it subjected my horse to as we traversed an already sulfuric odor of eggs wafting around us right now.
I suspect you’ll defend last week’s loss as Taylor’s fault with me as the ultimate opportunist. Because you’re right—I stole it from under your nose. But that’s because I take all the pit stops needed to win in the long haul. See you there, Lazlo, where only true champions dine: The Golden Corral!”
We fade out from Hachiman, his horse, and an impossibly stunning caldera as their backdrop.
“How far will you go for the green? I ask that in royal sense, of course, as no one in the world is exempt from desire. Invention exists in the human guy from performance to songwriting to the backstage hands keeping the show running on beat. Everyone is contracted to the same desires; whether he fight back, however, is the ultimate question.”
He lights up a small brazier with a stuffed pheasant idol at its crest. Hachiman delights in the thin air with a childish glee, allowing his body to ease itself into lightheadedness on par with the natural high of running several miles. When adrenaline, endorphins and other lizard brain chemicals reduce the overthinking brain into a calmer and controlled state.
“Lazaro Vincente was the unfortunate recipient of my desires last week. Opportunity knocked. I answered in a flash. Had I attempted to pin him and not the unconscious Rip Tide Taylor, all things might have ended differently. He will tell everyone that he regrets this unfortunate turn to his favor… even though he would have taken the same opportunity.
We saw him go for the green in Vegas. No shaming a hardworking industrialist at their finest, yet his popularity with the common man makes me wonder if he’s the truest fit for the great black pyramid’s shadow. Even now, as I speak to this concerning void, I know it hears my dissent amidst plotting our collective downfall. And what rock bottoms await us at what promises to be an assured Ragnarök.
But why are you still looking hungry when the people flocking to the Pyramid’s influence already trust you, Lazaro? Are you not ‘man enough’ to admit you belong? That what you’ve planned to date is living up to the legacy that flows in your veins with the importance of the fathering Euphrates and Tigris. Is there so much left for you to unturn in this sport that surrendering all composure in hardcore bouts is still becoming a man that claims his namesake to a golden idol? I ask because I care; honestly, from my side of that coin, you continue to down spiral because it matters too much to you. Green, gold—it’s all the same to starving artists. They just want to belong among sequoia holding up that colonnade you claim is your family’s legacy. But are you really doing them right? Well—let’s find out!”
He reaches into his knapsack as his horse meanders this makeshift campsite. From it enters a deck of tarot cards with Hachiman adopting an ominous presence beside them in the cracking of his brazier. The bivouac serves as a makeshift table and these raw elements of Costa Rican mountains as his fortune table.
The first card: The Wheel, inverted.
Its art has inspirations from 70’s animator Monkey Punch for stark contrast to his intended macabre.
“Hmm… so you’re turning like the wheel. Going places aimless but not offtrack. Stable momentum but still not at the destination. I can’t expect any young, intrepid soul to be anything more than that on their earliest sojourn.
Por ejemplo: You’ve spoken ad nauseum with your Uncle Salvador to be sure that you are on that Golden Road—whatever that means. Whether you’re headed to Nirvana, Mecca or the KFC at Mecca, the adage of journeys throughout history proves that people learn best from their own road. It grounds us in reality. Me, I tend to cloud watch with delusions of grandeur. My road swerves, but without taking massive dumps in places unsuitable for civilized society. You, however, have this fictional ‘El Camino Real’ stuck in your historicized migraine posing family values. Your wheel churns up ground with no endgame. Perhaps the next card will answer this excess baggage weighing down your undercarriage!”
Next up: a big-booby shoujo version of The Hierophant, also inverted.
“Ah ha! Now we’re talking! You are conflicted, owning to your tradition is keeping you back. Invoke a name of old means wearing their mask. Not exactly your ‘El Dorado’ now, is it? You have the ability to change your path and become a stronger athlete. Oh yes! This marks improvement, Lazaro! You should rejoice. The cards know and sense that you’re trying to better yourself rather than simply survive above the ocean’s slapping waves. Breath my son! You are on the right path… but there’s always more!”
Next: Seven Wands, once again, inverted.
“Yesh, you really know how to flip the script, Lazzie boy. So ‘The Wands’ are kinda lame, in my humble opinion, but we need to acknowledge their power over the mortal soul. See, they have a telling ritual of the process too. My experience is an imbalance of your wands—okay, let’s rephrase—anyone negging vibes from any of the wands cards needs to reassess their priorities. Same as you have after hitting a brick wall the last couple shows at the Great Pyramid’s beckoning. But your dedication to the game means you take losses seriously because they fucking matter. Which is great… just don’t lose sight of your end game.
Okay, so I’m an optimist. I also believe in giving that ole college try, faking it until you make it in America approach. My bildungsroman paved through more obstacles than open doorways. Let’s draw one more… and it might just be the final note of your new, burgeoning career!”
He holds for dramatic effect with a shot so close up his nose pores look like sunspots. He draws this final card looking spellbound by his divine communication.
The final card: One of Cups.
“Could it be that we, Lobo, are destined to not only see our paths cross, but intertwine. See… cups are offerings. Probational knowledge tells me that we are meant to be in this match together. And that I was meant to be your guiding spirit. While it certainly could imply love and intimacy are on your nearest horizon—Deus mio, I hope it’s with me—I believe the cards sense our budding companionship. Whether we keep that common, Western or go full Athenian is up to us to decide. Lazaro, you first need to decide if this road to victory is worth the sacrifice of your family’s name and image… or you could also just try shutting up about what was and live in the moment. I don’t remember nor hold myself responsible for what I had for breakfast. Nor hold accountability for the flatulence it subjected my horse to as we traversed an already sulfuric odor of eggs wafting around us right now.
I suspect you’ll defend last week’s loss as Taylor’s fault with me as the ultimate opportunist. Because you’re right—I stole it from under your nose. But that’s because I take all the pit stops needed to win in the long haul. See you there, Lazlo, where only true champions dine: The Golden Corral!”
We fade out from Hachiman, his horse, and an impossibly stunning caldera as their backdrop.
