Post by Erin Fausse on Aug 14, 2016 13:07:10 GMT -6
The Willow Creek Community Church had been ground zero for the true Fourth Great Awakening, all sparked by one simple, if bittersweet idea. Three words that went down Chicago's throat like a jagged pill: God is dead. It wasn't a groundbreaking revelation by any means - Hegel pondered the death of God in the early 19th century, Nietzschean philosophy laid the groundwork for the new religious power. Yet the denizens of Chicago, a city bruised and battered by widespread rioting in the wake of a city-wide ban on religion, failed to budge from their position that they needed God. That God was their salvation - not the egotistical snake with a thumbtack-induced lisp who was on stage, standing where Bill Hybels once stood.
"Friends, citizens, equals…" Erin began, immediately regretting the idea to start with a high density of syllables she couldn't quite pronounce as she heard a low chorus of laughter from the relatively minuscule congregation. This was not an audience to show weakness to - these were hardly people in the first place: the destruction of Chicago proved as much. These were animals - vultures - poorly hidden underneath human facades. They weren't here to accept truths; they came solely to pick it apart like carrion left in the sun. Her smile grew wider as she studied the crowd, pausing to let them finish their laughing fit.
"You have them all figured out, don't you?" the Thin Man asked, smiling at her from the front row. Her eyes passed right by him, trying her damnedest to avoid the grinning visage of the self-proclaimed God - a hallucination she just couldn't shake. A nightmare that plagued her since the creation of The First Church of Erin Fausse, one she couldn't wake up from no matter how hard she tried.
"Is that all I am to you? A bad dream?"
"Friends, citizens, equals…" she repeated, much more resolute. All she had to do was keep talking. Talk over the Thin Man. That's all she had to do - at this point it didn't matter if the words that came out of her mouth were little more than insane word-salad ramblings. Matter of fact, that might help the church grow - trainwreck effect.
"Oh, come on honey! You can talk to me. We can have a great chat, all about you. Hell, why does it have to be just between us? Let's get the whole congregation involved!"
"When I say God is dead, when I speak of God decomposing, why is initial reaction revulsion? Why is shock and terror? When I say that God is dead because of us - because we killed him - why do you fail to believe it so? Surely you're all not so vain as to think you're above sin. Why do you fail to see the death of God for what it truly is?"
"Scream into the abyss about the death of God. Scream it to the heavens! No one's listening to you. They think you're nuts and you know what? They're right - and that's the thing that scares you. Not them, not the fact that you frequently hold conversations with people who aren't even there, not the fact that you think there's some ghostly force watching your every move, but the fact that you're too fucking deluded to be in control. That you're projecting your instability onto everyone - that everyone knows your dirty little secrets. Come on, Erin; no one's listening. Tell them a little bit about yourself."
"The death of God is an opportunity for humanity. We've become so advanced, exerted our free-will to the point where we no longer need God for guidance. We ourselves have become our own Gods."
"Right, everyone's a God. That's your ethos. But, John Smith over there in the front row doesn't have a church named after him so I guess you're more of a God than anyone else in this room? Is that what you're saying? 'Course it is, because you're a…"
"Think about it. Your last ethical dilemma - did you think of God when you made your decision?"
"Self-serving, goddamned coward. That's why you jumped at this opportunity. Why you were so quick to throw your chips in with our esteemed Mayor. For someone who calls others pathetic at the drop of a hat, you're not much better. Projecting much?"
"Or did you think about the system of morality that has been imprinted on you by your parents? Or the one you created yourself, whichever. And sure, aspects of that ideology might have been influenced by the dearly departed, but don't kid yourself. Your morality and the morality of God are two different things. Can't you see?"
"Can you see how desperate you are? I can - it's written all over your face. You're actually trying to convince these people. Newsflash, genius: they don't buy it."
Erin paused for a second, turning away from the crowd long enough to jam her fingernails into her tear ducts - her tried and true method for extracting sympathy from even the most heartless.
"Oh, great. Cue the waterworks."
"I know how this looks. I'm an outsider, hand-picked by the same mayor who outlawed religion. You have every reason to not trust me."
"Are you gearing up for a touching, heartfelt anecdote about how deep down, you're just like these people? Be real, Erin. How about you tell them something a bit more honest. Like the story of how you adopted the name Erin in the first place. I'm sure Samir would love the full truth on that one.
"Better yet, how about you tell them all about your professional wrestling career? After all, that's directly tied to you joining the God squad, ain't it? Or did you give up on that in favor of whining aimlessly to whoever the fuck you think is in your head? Right, thought so. The only thing you like more than posturing like you're important is wallowing in self-pity like a fucking baby.
"Tell them all about Andre Holmes, while you're at it. Y'know, the guy you antagonized. Whose buttons you pushed until he hit his breaking point. All in the name of breaking him down, turning him into putty. Then what happened? The dog bit back. And bite he did. Ain't that wight, fwend? You thure got the latht laugh. The slack-jawed, short-tempered halfwit made you eat a whole more than just your words. Now that's a human story if I ever heard one.
"Or or or… you can tell them about the little shit who orgasms at the mere mention of your name getting one over on you too.
"Even better, let's look into the future and see how you'll manage to fuck this next match up too. Come on, it'll be fun. Here, let me start:
"Look at Dustin Beaver. Just, look at the shithead - this has 'Erin Fausse flop' written all over it. Here's a guy who preaches the power of positivity to the point where you just want to slap him upside the head, but wait. There's a twist here, you see. Despite that feel-good philosophy he's more than content to throw himself right under the #BeachKrew bus. To claim to be a member of a stable that has done nothing but preach nihilism and apathy throughout its entire existence. He's willing to throw everything away just for the chance to be a member of #BeachKrew again for the same reason you were so willing to join up with David Sanchez' crusade: he's pathetic.
"Despite his fanbase - his 'beavleavers' - he feels so desperate to be appreciated, to be wanted, that he's willing to go right back to #BK like a battered wife back to her spouse. #BK loves Beaver, you see. And he loves them right back so he signed his name on the dotted line and pissed away his autonomy. No longer is he his own man - now he's a nameless, faceless member of the horde. A pawn who doesn't even understand the ridiculous aesthetic of his army, let alone their guiding ideologies or else he'd tuck his tail and run as far from Wade as he possibly could.
"That's the #BeachKrew way, though. Only a couple of the group's billion members actually know the score - the rest are just along for the ride. Strung along to be thrown facedown in the mud so the important members can make it out safely. It's a uriah gambit, is what it is - gather up anyone who could possibly present a challenge later on (and are gullible enough to buy into the sales pitch), then send them into the deep end. Let them die. If they rise to the occasion, that works too. It's a win-win for them, and a lose-lose for someone like Dustin Beaver. But he doesn't see it like that. He thinks the #BK boys have his back through thick and thin.
"People will buy into anything if you slather it in enough layers of irony and aesthetic. Dustin traded a promising career as a singles wrestler to jump back on the #BK bandwagon and soak in all the empty, pointless nostalgia that it'll be good for. But the thing is, compared to you he isn't the most pathetic. After all, he's too stupid to realize all this. He hasn't put it together that this is the worst choice he could have made but you - you know everything. Or at least you claim to so you can prance around like you have any self-awareness at all.
"But this church and all these people who don't respect you in the slightest was definitely worth it, right Azra?
"And I haven't even gotten started on Wade Moor yet, have I? Wade Moor - now he's a scary man. An unwashed bear of a man, ready, willing and able to eat you alive. Get it, because he's fat? Obvious jokes aside, he's the one you should be worried about - the one you are worried about. He was a vital ingredient in #BeachKrew's success. The type of monster you wish you could be - not physically mind you. Mentally. A mind so twisted and warped he can actually believe everything he preaches. A voice, a presence, so magnetic that people listen to his words despite his hick accent.
"He's the better you, when we get down to it. Sure, he's a member of #BeachKrew, matter of fact he's the driver of the empty nostalgia tour bus that is this iteration of the #Krew. He preaches the same empty, consumerist bullshit that Jared Holmes forcefed everyone well past the point of inducing vomiting. But the difference between a man like Wade and a coward like you? Like I said, he believes it. There's a genuineness - some actual fucking ethos and pathos there unlike the little bits of sympathy you try to scrounge up by faking like you're crying.
"You're just spinning your wheels - doing the same shit you've been doing, saying the same shit you've been saying, and trying to package it as slightly different every time. Isn't that the definition of insanity?
"This is your life, Erin.
"This is what it's become.
"Your only hope now is that you don't drop the ball as hard as Julian."
Erin stood, frozen. Mouth agape. Like a deer in the headlights. The Thin Man's ever-present smile seemed to keep on stretching as he kept his eyes trained on Erin's. His work was done - there it was. Stripped down to her core under the bright lights, unsure of what to do or how to react or what was even happening. Her hands trembled as she tried to think - to do something, anything. Anything that would stop this moment from continuing.
She blinked and turned her eyes to the Thin Man's seat to find an empty chair.
"Come on, Erin. You don't need to deny it any more. You can't keep hiding it, everyone already knows the truth - you're broken. Sure, you play it off like this is all you - all part of you exercising your free-will but we both know there's more to it than that. This is your compulsion - to take everything you could ever want and then destroy it. Burn every bridge.
"It doesn't have to be like that.
"All you have to do is let me in."
"Friends, citizens, equals…" Erin began, immediately regretting the idea to start with a high density of syllables she couldn't quite pronounce as she heard a low chorus of laughter from the relatively minuscule congregation. This was not an audience to show weakness to - these were hardly people in the first place: the destruction of Chicago proved as much. These were animals - vultures - poorly hidden underneath human facades. They weren't here to accept truths; they came solely to pick it apart like carrion left in the sun. Her smile grew wider as she studied the crowd, pausing to let them finish their laughing fit.
"You have them all figured out, don't you?" the Thin Man asked, smiling at her from the front row. Her eyes passed right by him, trying her damnedest to avoid the grinning visage of the self-proclaimed God - a hallucination she just couldn't shake. A nightmare that plagued her since the creation of The First Church of Erin Fausse, one she couldn't wake up from no matter how hard she tried.
"Is that all I am to you? A bad dream?"
"Friends, citizens, equals…" she repeated, much more resolute. All she had to do was keep talking. Talk over the Thin Man. That's all she had to do - at this point it didn't matter if the words that came out of her mouth were little more than insane word-salad ramblings. Matter of fact, that might help the church grow - trainwreck effect.
"Oh, come on honey! You can talk to me. We can have a great chat, all about you. Hell, why does it have to be just between us? Let's get the whole congregation involved!"
"When I say God is dead, when I speak of God decomposing, why is initial reaction revulsion? Why is shock and terror? When I say that God is dead because of us - because we killed him - why do you fail to believe it so? Surely you're all not so vain as to think you're above sin. Why do you fail to see the death of God for what it truly is?"
"Scream into the abyss about the death of God. Scream it to the heavens! No one's listening to you. They think you're nuts and you know what? They're right - and that's the thing that scares you. Not them, not the fact that you frequently hold conversations with people who aren't even there, not the fact that you think there's some ghostly force watching your every move, but the fact that you're too fucking deluded to be in control. That you're projecting your instability onto everyone - that everyone knows your dirty little secrets. Come on, Erin; no one's listening. Tell them a little bit about yourself."
"The death of God is an opportunity for humanity. We've become so advanced, exerted our free-will to the point where we no longer need God for guidance. We ourselves have become our own Gods."
"Right, everyone's a God. That's your ethos. But, John Smith over there in the front row doesn't have a church named after him so I guess you're more of a God than anyone else in this room? Is that what you're saying? 'Course it is, because you're a…"
"Think about it. Your last ethical dilemma - did you think of God when you made your decision?"
"Self-serving, goddamned coward. That's why you jumped at this opportunity. Why you were so quick to throw your chips in with our esteemed Mayor. For someone who calls others pathetic at the drop of a hat, you're not much better. Projecting much?"
"Or did you think about the system of morality that has been imprinted on you by your parents? Or the one you created yourself, whichever. And sure, aspects of that ideology might have been influenced by the dearly departed, but don't kid yourself. Your morality and the morality of God are two different things. Can't you see?"
"Can you see how desperate you are? I can - it's written all over your face. You're actually trying to convince these people. Newsflash, genius: they don't buy it."
Erin paused for a second, turning away from the crowd long enough to jam her fingernails into her tear ducts - her tried and true method for extracting sympathy from even the most heartless.
"Oh, great. Cue the waterworks."
"I know how this looks. I'm an outsider, hand-picked by the same mayor who outlawed religion. You have every reason to not trust me."
"Are you gearing up for a touching, heartfelt anecdote about how deep down, you're just like these people? Be real, Erin. How about you tell them something a bit more honest. Like the story of how you adopted the name Erin in the first place. I'm sure Samir would love the full truth on that one.
"Better yet, how about you tell them all about your professional wrestling career? After all, that's directly tied to you joining the God squad, ain't it? Or did you give up on that in favor of whining aimlessly to whoever the fuck you think is in your head? Right, thought so. The only thing you like more than posturing like you're important is wallowing in self-pity like a fucking baby.
"Tell them all about Andre Holmes, while you're at it. Y'know, the guy you antagonized. Whose buttons you pushed until he hit his breaking point. All in the name of breaking him down, turning him into putty. Then what happened? The dog bit back. And bite he did. Ain't that wight, fwend? You thure got the latht laugh. The slack-jawed, short-tempered halfwit made you eat a whole more than just your words. Now that's a human story if I ever heard one.
"Or or or… you can tell them about the little shit who orgasms at the mere mention of your name getting one over on you too.
"Even better, let's look into the future and see how you'll manage to fuck this next match up too. Come on, it'll be fun. Here, let me start:
"Look at Dustin Beaver. Just, look at the shithead - this has 'Erin Fausse flop' written all over it. Here's a guy who preaches the power of positivity to the point where you just want to slap him upside the head, but wait. There's a twist here, you see. Despite that feel-good philosophy he's more than content to throw himself right under the #BeachKrew bus. To claim to be a member of a stable that has done nothing but preach nihilism and apathy throughout its entire existence. He's willing to throw everything away just for the chance to be a member of #BeachKrew again for the same reason you were so willing to join up with David Sanchez' crusade: he's pathetic.
"Despite his fanbase - his 'beavleavers' - he feels so desperate to be appreciated, to be wanted, that he's willing to go right back to #BK like a battered wife back to her spouse. #BK loves Beaver, you see. And he loves them right back so he signed his name on the dotted line and pissed away his autonomy. No longer is he his own man - now he's a nameless, faceless member of the horde. A pawn who doesn't even understand the ridiculous aesthetic of his army, let alone their guiding ideologies or else he'd tuck his tail and run as far from Wade as he possibly could.
"That's the #BeachKrew way, though. Only a couple of the group's billion members actually know the score - the rest are just along for the ride. Strung along to be thrown facedown in the mud so the important members can make it out safely. It's a uriah gambit, is what it is - gather up anyone who could possibly present a challenge later on (and are gullible enough to buy into the sales pitch), then send them into the deep end. Let them die. If they rise to the occasion, that works too. It's a win-win for them, and a lose-lose for someone like Dustin Beaver. But he doesn't see it like that. He thinks the #BK boys have his back through thick and thin.
"People will buy into anything if you slather it in enough layers of irony and aesthetic. Dustin traded a promising career as a singles wrestler to jump back on the #BK bandwagon and soak in all the empty, pointless nostalgia that it'll be good for. But the thing is, compared to you he isn't the most pathetic. After all, he's too stupid to realize all this. He hasn't put it together that this is the worst choice he could have made but you - you know everything. Or at least you claim to so you can prance around like you have any self-awareness at all.
"But this church and all these people who don't respect you in the slightest was definitely worth it, right Azra?
"And I haven't even gotten started on Wade Moor yet, have I? Wade Moor - now he's a scary man. An unwashed bear of a man, ready, willing and able to eat you alive. Get it, because he's fat? Obvious jokes aside, he's the one you should be worried about - the one you are worried about. He was a vital ingredient in #BeachKrew's success. The type of monster you wish you could be - not physically mind you. Mentally. A mind so twisted and warped he can actually believe everything he preaches. A voice, a presence, so magnetic that people listen to his words despite his hick accent.
"He's the better you, when we get down to it. Sure, he's a member of #BeachKrew, matter of fact he's the driver of the empty nostalgia tour bus that is this iteration of the #Krew. He preaches the same empty, consumerist bullshit that Jared Holmes forcefed everyone well past the point of inducing vomiting. But the difference between a man like Wade and a coward like you? Like I said, he believes it. There's a genuineness - some actual fucking ethos and pathos there unlike the little bits of sympathy you try to scrounge up by faking like you're crying.
"You're just spinning your wheels - doing the same shit you've been doing, saying the same shit you've been saying, and trying to package it as slightly different every time. Isn't that the definition of insanity?
"This is your life, Erin.
"This is what it's become.
"Your only hope now is that you don't drop the ball as hard as Julian."
Erin stood, frozen. Mouth agape. Like a deer in the headlights. The Thin Man's ever-present smile seemed to keep on stretching as he kept his eyes trained on Erin's. His work was done - there it was. Stripped down to her core under the bright lights, unsure of what to do or how to react or what was even happening. Her hands trembled as she tried to think - to do something, anything. Anything that would stop this moment from continuing.
She blinked and turned her eyes to the Thin Man's seat to find an empty chair.
"Come on, Erin. You don't need to deny it any more. You can't keep hiding it, everyone already knows the truth - you're broken. Sure, you play it off like this is all you - all part of you exercising your free-will but we both know there's more to it than that. This is your compulsion - to take everything you could ever want and then destroy it. Burn every bridge.
"It doesn't have to be like that.
"All you have to do is let me in."
