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VOLTAGE PROMO #1

There was a part of me that expected this to happen. There was a part of my being that subconsciously told me that I was too full of myself, that tonight wasn’t supposed to be my night. The part of me that said I wasn’t going to beat Jamie O’Hara, that I wasn’t going to be someone who sent a message to the World Champion. I protested, however. Why shouldn’t I be the one to defeat him? Why is my rise one that has still yet to fully grow? Why can’t I be the man to make a statement against him? After all, I’ve worked so fucking hard to get where I am, to stand in the limbo between championship and failure; why can’t I finally reach that gold? I should have listened to that voice. I should have heeded its warning, I should have been prepared and ready to face someone of his cabinet. But I didn’t. I wasn’t prepared, I could barely fight off against him, didn’t get any offended in whatsoever, and essentially I went out like a little bitch. I tried to fight back, I did my best to make do with what I was given, and I squandered on it. I cracked, I broke. Again. Again, I wasn’t good enough. Again, I wasn’t ready to break the glass ceiling above me. Despite my best efforts to tell myself that I would finally be able to show my worth, be able to show the world that Lars Grier isn’t a failure anymore, I still failed. Again. Fuck…..FUCK….I try to be calm, try to remain collected in moments like these, but sometimes it proves to be too much. I could act professional, I could brush this failure as nothing more than a setback, but I can’t. Jamie sees this as yet another name conquered, another rung on the ladder scaled, but not me. I can’t see it that way, not after the way I went out like a little bitch. After all I said, after everything I claimed, I just can’t act like nothing happened. I may be The Raven, I may talk in and on about evolution and getting back up from failure, but even as the Embodiment of Evolution, it doesn’t get rid of the pain. The somber feeling you get when you step through those curtains, realizing that no matter how hard you trained to prepare for that night, despite the statements and the ludicrous claims you made, you weren’t good enough to prove shit. You can’t stop that pain. I feel it every time my back lies across the mat, my eyes glazed over, staring up at the bright lights because I was so fucking stupid to think I could stand any chance. For all my words and my claims of caling O’Hara human, not once did I stop to take myself into consideration, to remind myself that I was ALSO human, that I wasn’t a god or a monster. Not once did I stop to think about how my words applied to me; that was the catalyst for my downfall. My downfall at the hands of someone who may well and truly be - unconquerable. But this...this is what happens. This is what happens to me every time I attempt to go out of my way to challenge someone who has more accolades than me, more success and glory than what I’ve achieved. I fail. I fall, I take a step back and I’m left reeling from their shot fired. Ryan Marx, Rex McAllister, Nico Borg, and now Jamie O’Hara - it’s men like these who always, ALWAYS stand in my fucking way every time I try to reach something I think I can reach. It’s men like these who stand as a dead end in my road that I can never seem to find away to break through, and that pisses me off. It angers me to know that every time I attempt to be something better than I already am, there’s always somebody who wants to stand in my fucking way and send me five steps backwards, again. Again, and again, and again, I am left behind everyone else for despite all my strength and how much I’ve worked to achieve what I have, it will never seem to be enough. Even when I think I have it all figured out, there always happens to be an outlier than comes in and fucks everything up, leaving me with nothing but shit in my hands. I said retarded shit, shit that shouldn’t have been able to come out of my mouth and yet it did, and I am left looking like an absolute fool. I am supposed to be The Raven, I am supposed to be better than this, and yet somehow my words feel as if I’m the Manifestation of Destruction again. My words reminisce of those days, back when I was an absolute failure, a fish out of water from the moment I came into this company. My words towards Jamie were as if I was still a destroyer….but no more. No more. I can’t let opportunities like that pass by me anymore. I can’t let chances to face champions slip through my fingertips, and I swear….by my cold, black and empty heart that I will change. I will adapt, I will evolve, I will become BETTER so that at Road to Redemption I can finally show you all the fruits of my labour. I will show you ALL that I am a motherfucker who can’t be taken down with a snap of your fingers. I will show everyone, in this company and in this world that The Raven has finally been UNLEASHED. I died with a whimper last Voltage; I didn’t do shit and ended after that match feeling like complete and utter garbage, for I know that in this world, there are only two things that matter in a business built upon competition: Victories, and failures. Nothing more, nothing less. No one will give a shit about you if you “tried your best” or “gave your opponent a hard time.” No one gives a shit about your struggle to win, no one will give a shit about how much you’ve suffered in a battle - only the outcome. The outcome is what will matter, the ending of whether or not you succeeded is what will matter once the dust settles. People will forget about your exploits and the road you went on to be able to have a fight for your life within a living hell. Everyone forgets the hardships the face the moment that bell rings, and everything you did beforehand won’t mean shit.

You know a lot about that.

Don’t you, TLA?

You know so much about coming so close, yet so far. I’d even say that you may as well be the epitome of that sentiment, for after all these years of chasing that brass ring, after all those attempts to reach for that piece of gold, you still manage to have a crack. A dent in your exterior, a knife stuck in your back; a weakness that prevents you from ever truly becoming...great. For months, you have been chasing and running after that piece of World leather and gold, like a carrot on a stick, you run. It flings back and forth from that string; and every time it swings so close to your face, to the point where you can almost taste it, it looks like you’ll finally do it, you’ll finally be able to be the TLA everyone wants to see. They always say it - no, they SCREAM from the top of their lungs: “THIS IS IT! THIS IS TLA’S NIGHT! HE’LL FINALLY BE ABLE TO WIN THAT TITLE, OH BOY, I CAN JUST FEEL IT! WHO CARES ABOUT HIS FAILURES FROM THE PAST?! WHO CARES ABOUT HOW MANY TIMES HE’S TRIED TO DO IT, I KNOW HE FINALLY WILL!” And every single time, they believe it. They truly do. In their hearts and in yours, you always feel that the night you get your five millionth fucking opportunity for that title, it will be the night where TLA can finally call himself: “World Champion.” For months, stretching to every man, woman, and child, they chanted, and they still do. To this day, they chant: “TLA! TLA! TLA! TLA! TLA! TLA! TLA!” as if they’re a fucking league of parrots. They chant, and chant, and chant, and chant; every single waking moment they chant for your name, calling to the mountaintops. But every time - and I do mean EVERY TIME - it dies down, turning into silence as if the breeze of death passed through the arena, every time you are left on your back, your shoulders down on the mat for a three count. Your fans, the TLArmy tell me to believe in the hype, to join the #TLAHypeTrain; they tell everyone that they can see to believe in your name, your brand, your legacy. I refuse, but they persist, as they attempt their best to tell the entire world of the adventures of TLA, and how this time, this time he’ll do it. It must be this time, how couldn’t it be? How couldn’t it be, after everything that’s happened to this poor soul? You tell yourself in your mind that tonight will be the night, where you will be able to not only go through that glass ceiling, but shatter it, and grab that piece of leather and gold that lies at the end of the room. Every single time, you tell yourself that same old story of never giving up, of never standing down. And every single fucking time, you take yet another blow to your ego, and another shattered dream in your hands. I can never be able to truly ride on the hype train, for it is a train that’s always doomed to collide with the harsh wall of reality. But who am I to speak - I’m arguably a failure too, aren’t I? I’ve been given opportunities just like yours, and I’ve failed to capitalize on so many of them, just like you. Not only that, but unlike me, you’ve actually won championships. The New Breed title, one I chased early on in my career but because I was stuck in the hollow shell of a destroyer, I was unable to capture, and the Interwire title, a title I’ve never chased and one I don’t intend to, but it doesn’t change the fact that you obtained it. I can’t take those accomplishments away from you, or the legacy you’ve built up to this point. By all means of logic and cognitive brain function, you should be the clear victor in this match because of everything you’ve achieved, but in this world? No, no, no - this world is rapid. It is ever-changing, ever-growing, and dangerous. You don’t know what will happen, when it will happen, why, or how. I believe that to this day, but last week that belief took hold too much of me. I thought that I could knock Jamie off his pedestal, but little did I realize how wrong and fucking stupid I was. But this...this isn’t a match against the World Champion. This is a battle between two men who desperately need to regain momentum heading into Road to Redemption, two men who will battle to see who will regain the fire and the passion they had. A battle between you and me, two men who stand on the same side of the river crossing, but only one of us will be able to cross that; and I know damn well in my heart it won’t be you who crosses that edge. Yeah, I’ll admit I’ve fallen. I’ve been a failure, I know what it feels like to be at the bottom of the barrel scraping for even an ounce of fucking decency to rise back up, but there’s a difference between you and me, TLA: Only one of us ACTUALLY takes the initiative to change. To evolve. To become a better version of yourself each and every single time you step out from those curtains and the lights beating down upon you; whether or not you fail doesn’t matter, what matters is how you take that and respond to it. Do you crumble and break under the pressure? Or do you change and become the diamond in the rough? I, and ONLY I, am the one who actually adapts. Not you. “I never give up! I never stop fighting!” Noble words from a noble man, a fine rhetoric spit by a true warrior, but be wary - take those words with a grain of salt, for all your talk of never breaking under pressure by your own hand, for every time you attain an opportunity like the one you had at Burning Desire and Ground Zero, those words become meaningless once you realise that TLA doesn’t change. He doesn’t change with time, even when the Winds of Change breeze past this company, he stays flatlined. He stays constant as La Pantera Sexual, the hero of the people, unchanging and unfazed even when reality bitch slaps him in the face. Unlike me, you don’t evolve or improve to be something better. You fall, then you come back and push. Pushing harder than you ever have before, and when it all seems fine and well, you’re shot backwards once again. But even then, you still push. Pushing, and pushing, and pushing, and every single fucking time, it gets you. You push, you get knocked back. Every time.

It’s not tenacity anymore, it’s stupidity.

You’re not an undying, indomitable fighter - you’re a worm who wiggles in the ground, and just doesn’t want to fucking die.

I am by no means discrediting your skills in that ring, or your will to keep on fighting even when times look bleak/ Truly, you have an admirable, a desirable will, but it gets to a point….where you start to wonder when will it end? When will the chip you harbor over your shoulder be finally relieved? It’s as if a knife has been stuck in your gut, and it has been left there, and you haven’t managed to get it out. It seeps into your skin, the blood flowing down. You can feel the pain, you know it’s slowly killing you, but you can’t take it out no matter how fucking hard you try. That’s when all your thoughts become “When? When will TLA pay his dues, and finally achieve that goal of becoming a true great? When will the failures stop?” A dagger of which its edge is fine and jagged, impaled into you with no hope of getting it out. You beast strong, you feast long, but you can only go so far before you drop down onto your knees and start to become desperate in the face of death, in the face of someone like me. Both of us want this win, nothing more than to be the one to go into the eleventh Road to Redemption with a head full of steam, charging like a bullet train, but only one can emerge from the ashes. Only one of us can be the one to stand over the unconscious body of the other, and in my heart, and in yours, you know very fucking well it’s me. I can’t let last week be the lasting impression of me. I can’t let that be the image people think when they think of The Raven, and I can’t let you run amok with your hands raised high up in the air. On Voltage, you will stand in the ring across a desperate, and hungry man who is absolutely ready to fucking rip you apart. A man who respects you enough to not torture you, but is also a man who will be ready cut through you when it is eventually needed. If not this week, if not the week after that, then next month. Next year. The next decade, who the fuck cares? For eventually, the killing blow will land. And you will end, the same old TLA, spitting the same old words, the same old tired phrase. You will end, blissful and ignorant of the entire world crumbling around you.

The beast is dead. The feast is gone.

And TLA will never learn.

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