I don’t get high/Life keep me at a decent height

A few days ago I found this video on Twitter:

Art is the most intense mode of individualism that the world has known. – Oscar Wilde

I had never heard of David Rakoff before but what he said in that interview stuck to me. As a writer, I relate intensely to what he said.

I really do like being listened to. I think part of me is egotistical to the point where I don’t mind when people start non-versations* with me. Speech is the art of organising your brain farts, somebody told me. So my cranium must be pretty gastric.

David wakes up every morning and he stares at a blank page, so it’s starting from scratch again. Any athlete usually has muscle memory stored into their systems ready to recall it when they need. A writer only has their extensive vocabulary and at best, a clear brain. Other than that, it’s an exercise in futility.

As much as I would like my writing on the top of my priority list, it’s wedged between work, university, training, and finding more work because I have this uncontrollable habit to spend more than I actually earn. Then there are friends to commit to, sleep to be had, and peasant food to be made.

When there finally is a moment where I don’t do any of the above, I’m here, trying to squeeze any writer’s mojo out from my tired, and mostly battered brain. It’s quite enjoyable really.

So today’s post is about absolutely nothing. Sometimes it’s just fun to put pen to paper. For those who read this – you’ve inflated my ego just that little bit.

*Feigning interest while the other person (me) rants usually about celebrities and Twitter and whatnot.

It’s the thrill of the fight/risin’ up to the challenge of our rival

“Are you not entertained? Are you not entertained? Is this not why you are here?” – Maximus, Gladiator,

It is a Sunday. I’m in Sydney’s Acer Arena packed to full capacity: all 18,000 seats are filled.

In the centre of the arena is an octagonal structure, akin to a boxing ring, but with two metre chain-linked walls enclosing the entire thing. Inside is where the two titans are unleashed.

From the cheers and  roars at the reception of his name, the tall, olive-tanned man was the arena favorite. He had after all, had his roots in this nation.

Armed with nothing but years of kickboxing and jiu jitsu experience held together by meager six-ounce gloves and an iron will, our champion does his best to overcome his competitor: a pale and stout musclebound German.

This is the Ultimate Fighting Championship, where trained martial artists all across the world for our entertainment. The spirit of the Roman Gladiators, resurrected and modernised to fit the contemporary man.

Four minutes into the first round, the German fighter delivers a left hook that sends our Aussie in the floor. Dazed and on his back, he plays the defensive until the bell rings.

Fists fly early into the second round from both fighters. The crowd chants“Let’s go Georgie, let’s go!” and jeer at the German. Three minutes in this round, our Aussie lands a clean right straight to the jaw of his adversary, rocking him.

The final round was a desperate five minutes of our Aussie trying to wrestle the German to the ground.

It is Rome, AD79 again. The perfect representation to describe the cacophony that follows:

We roar at each valiant takedown.

Much to the disappointment of the spectators, the German seemed impervious to any and all attempts.

We yell in disdain.

Previous fights, the crowd howled for blood. Now, the arena is electrified with a combination of hope and frustration.

The final bell goes.

The judges rule George Sortiropolous as the loser of the fight, but we cheer just as loudly. It’s the perk of having modernised the Roman bloodthirstiness: there’s a high possibility that you get to live to fight another day.

Gracious in defeat, but clearly devastated George Sortiropolous is an icon. In the Roman times, the primus fight would be the event where two of the very best fighters clash for the title of Champion. At this day and age, the coveted Lightweight Championship belt fashions exactly the same statement. George will no doubt be there in the foreseeable future.