dominicvineoftheowls (dominicvine) wrote,


i ... ahhhh.

i was a wrestler in high school

ya know...

junior high, even
i left Tae Kwon Do
which had imbued me with the knowledge i could kill someone with my bare hands
which stopped me getting beaten up
... i'd failed at all team sports
wrestling was the only one left by our school i could try out
(i was forced into the team sports by my father, mind you)
and though i don't recall the thought process right now
i'm sure it had something to do with puberty

my first wrestling coach was named Terry Fox
and i remember hunting down some guy with the same name who lived in or near LA
that i'd found on IRC and then web site after web site
i would always say "were you my wrestling coach in indiana?"
and i'd never hear back from him

Terry was a total fucking kween
i mean...
he was a bald short little furry fireplug
with a lisp
who's voice jumped up octives as he shouted at is
"now Mount 'im! Ride 'im! RIDE 'IM!"

my second year of wrestling was my frist year of highschool
... i'd decided to get over asthema
and had dispensed with any care for winning or losing
but was getting really interested in the skill and the experience of it
... when another kween came on he scene...
this one also a bald short furry fireplug
with a bit of a lisp
... but he wasn't our coach, he'd just work out and watch us
then wrestle the bigger guys
til i seduced him into wrestling with me

then i had a . . . relationship based on wrestling with him for well over a year

but the thing is
i never cared so much about the Sport of Wrestling

i thought sports were lame and boring
and only used it as a context for my drama

the drama of love
the drama of sex
the drama of replacement fathers
of forcing my way into the adult world

none of it worked
but it was good... wrestling.

-- how many times have i actually written this story?
this is a lame telling of it... but that's just context.

earlier this year i found some site on line
i think it's called

kinda like a hook-up site for gay fight club
i set up a profile back in june
and found the messaging system infuriating
and quickly forgot about it

a few days back
a guy i know form photography
who i know loves wrestling (at least the look of it)
emailed me through flickr and told me he'd found a fake profile using my picture on there
so i went back in
and tried to message the guy
but, of course, couldn't
but there was a button to alert the webmaster of "abuse"
so i used that

then started looking around

hours wasted
i had 43 messages
and the only way i could reply to anything was with pre-fab bullshit
but some guy told me to meet him in "chat"

java-applet opened (which my computer is still acting sluggish from)
and i found myself "Chatting" like i hadn't done for years

but maybe a meeting or two will result from it

oddest of all, and why i'm bothering to write this at all
is this fascination with the culture of wrestling

as i chatted with guys
they kept throwing jargon at me
and asking me about my gear
and what style i preferred

i had no idea what they were talking about
but person after person made me pay more attention

i gleaned some meanings, but mostly didn't pay attention

then i had to run off into the city to attend a client

it was the full moon (he was a Leo)
i had a fun time
then went to the bar to have a campari
after a burger and fries with a friend on the phone

the long
train ride back
a little bleary
reading Jack Black's autobiography "You Can't Win" (from 1924, not the current Jack Black)
i came across this paragraph:

"It has always been a question with me where this framing and jobbing started; whether the defense originally began it and forced the prosecutor and police to do it in self defense, or whether it was the other way around. I never could find the answer; long ago I gave it up and filed it away with that other old question about the hen and the egg."

and the chatter from earlier in the day came back into my head


guys kept referring to themselves as "Jobbers" or "Heels"

the whole house of cards flew into place in my mind as i walked home:
these must be names from the type of wrestling they see on TV

so when i got in i did some research and got the whole picture better in view
what i'm sure some of you know
"Professional Wrestling"
of course it's fake (thank you Goat)
but it has this whole culture...

The Face... the Heel... the Jobbers...

Faggots can't seem to enjoy the magesty of verisimilitude
oh, why am i pigeonholing: Humans can't.
we all need to throw ourselves into roles

as if Man and Woman weren't bad enough
we have Top and Bottom, Slave and Master, Acive/Passive, Sub.Dom.Switch.
in this corner of subcultures we find "Heel" and "Jobber"
no one was calling themselves a Face

faggots are so fucked up.

i was giving a massage to a friend yesterday
we're talking about something that leads to talking about fucking
and he says "Think about it: fucking is by it's nature a violent act"

and i thought about it
for about a fucking second
"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT!?!" my broken heart screamed in desperation
dying in a sigh
trying to convince him otherwise

faggots are so fucked up
as are most men in this fucking country

where men can only love by fighting drunkenly in a bar
can only touch over crooked white-collar deals with a handshake
sick fucking culture
homophilia so strongly out-lawed and surpressed it festerd and pussed up as generations of princesses obsessed with alcoholic drug addict self destructive divas


i was trying to explain to my brother the concept of "negative love" on the phone last week
... in relationship to our father...
(is it a term i came up with?)

the idea that the drive that gives love
is some how connected to give bile
the act of loving is somehow inured with poison
like a hand reaching to caress
instead tearing everything apart with the slightest touch

us queers
in response to hundreds of years of american anti-love for eachother
killing eachother with drugs of forgetfulness, AIDS, and S&M

i'm getting carried away and quite distracted

these entries need to be filed under the "he's too tired to be writing at this hour"

point i'm making is
"Heel" is the name of the bad guy
these faggots taking on the wrestling story
(and i found on line today that most of them are "str8")
identify with wrestling not in the greek form
not in the way i've come to romanticize it through the memories of my own history

the glorious act of the mentor working with his acolyte
the boy making his own body from struggling against his greater
the strength of the two men sculpting eachother

but through the hackney'd TV carny show

"Professional Wrestling"
and they never think to identify with the star, the hero, the winner
but everyone wants to be the "heel"
the bad guy who plays dirty and causes suffering and pain
and the "jobber" who willingly loses the match


but back to the bright and balance
i was very interested in this because of reading that paragraph in the book
published in 1924
written by a yegg...
his words are jargon of the criminal culture of that day
which, of course, was entwined with the carnies
where the WWF, no doubt, got it's start

and no where on wikipedia did i see any reference to the term "jobbing" referring to anything besides/before "wrestling"

but it came from the straight world
the world of American Law
when the Justice system learned it had to Frame up the truth
put it in a context to serve its own purposes
and Attorney's and business new they had to "do their job" and Lose a case for the greater good, from time to time...

'on the square'
he'd say back then, as a way of discribing reliability
and by the time Burroughs and Kerouac and Ginsberg were playing with his words
they would dismiss people as being Square
and what are we now, dude?
i mean, man, whatever. anyway...

Once: integrity.
some imaginary past of unity
before theism
before the fall of divinity

then all these angles
as the line was bent

("bent" like obama?)

bending further, harsher, to a 90º angle?

we're well past 45 now
past 23?

angles everywhere...

i chew Miswak
7) It makes angles happy.

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