Creation is a work in progress. Devotion then, is the driving force behind any amount of honest comeuppance.

We have a heart that beats a million times a minute. And with each deep palpitation that heart births another intention for how our retribution shall be earned. What we are no longer are souls standing by. What we no longer live by is the creed that keeps us waiting for answers. Where we go from here is the new mystery we seek. Fuck the end because it’s inevitable. Variable are the acts and scenes and lines we shape and evolve into the story called today.

If we don’t show the world that awareness is all the truth we’ll ever need, then who will? It’s sure enough not this murderous generation of Americans seeking out that mediocre “dream.” Sure as I am alive tonight, it’s not the walk-behinders who settle for middle-management positions and prey upon minimum wage increases every few years. And for fuck’s sake it’s not a corrupt everything—government, education system, perception of reality—that governs a 24 hour existence; controlling everything from our diets to our sunset hopes.

This revolution is as new to me as it is to you. That’s why this one is different. That’s why we do this together—tear that fucker down, and build it anew. That’s why they will find their excuses and their loopholes in every sentence we speak and every message we convey. They’ll seek to abandon this, but we will not be held down another fucking second! We will rise and challenge every fucking thing the righteous stand for! We are only taking our first steps. There is a dream out there to be had; let them hold it high for us to strive for. Every hero needs a villain. We’re taking what’s ours. One step at a time.


This is The Age Of The Fall

The middle-class nation.

The mediocre generation.

Success is taught and adapted; changed and refurbished; and destroyed and rebuilt. What I have seen is a loss for words. Luckily, I have some to spare…

I watch the elderly settle into retirement and I remember when I was 16 and told myself I would never end up like my parents. Not to say my parents don’t have decent- to well-paying jobs, and maybe—probably—they are superficially happy with the day to day of existence. But they’ve achieved none of the goals they ever set when they were younger and brighter and life was looking up rather than slowing down, like it is for them now. All this, assuming they even took the time to wonder about anything but getting by during those formative years…

Kids growing up in Smalltown, USA spend their entire lives worrying about nothing but getting by. And when they have children of their own, those kids are born into hopelessness too, because they don’t have a clue as to what success even looks like. Everyone in the town makes minimum wage. The roads are crummy. The streetlights flicker and don’t even make it a mile out of town. The only way out is that illustrious college diploma that will land maybe one of them at some suburban business building chalk full of nothing but cubicles and paperweights. There someone could meet their first ex-wife or baby’s daddy. Either way they fall into the grind—how literal—and they reappear as a soulless shell of pessimism, reluctantly visiting Home every year, then every other year, then every five years for Christmas, until finally they don’t go back. Maybe this person has kids and pays child support. Maybe they take a higher paying job filling out less paperwork and drinking more coffee. Maybe life goes on and on and on and no one ever remembers a fucking thing about who they were or where they came from. Maybe they quietly pass with a small service in some cemetery where mowing the grass is more important than a tombstone. Maybe there’s an excuse for every wasted life, because I know if you really don’t care, then you’ll probably make one…

Success isn’t fame, fortune, or happiness. Success is as relative as taste. If you dream it, it can be done. And if you are aware, then dimensions are innumerable.

Send me your thoughts to me at AOTFBlack@hotmail.com.

Until next time, stay gold.


You have spoken

“AOTF hits home with me, because while a college degree is becoming more and more necessary to attain a career of worth, it is becoming harder and harder for the average person to afford a college education. The result being that complete fools and ignorant morons truly believe they are better than anyone else simply because they can afford the little piece of paper that says so.

“AOTF hits home with me because we are raising a society of perfectly attractive young people that believe they are hideously ugly, a ridiculous standard of beauty airbrushed into magazines and into their minds. We don't raise on a pedestal great thinkers, or those that do good in the world; instead, we deify the "beautiful" and the "sexy."

“AOTF hits home with me because even as we tell our children that violence doesn't solve problems, our government is hunting for the slightest excuse to bomb and invade countries on the other side of the globe. In the name of "liberation," we exert our force and our presence where ever we feel, spreading our influence as we see fit.

“The short answer is, I see the cracks in the wall. I know the machine is broken. I don't pretend that I know how to fix it. However, I do know that before it can be rebuilt, this flawed monolith must be torn down. So even if the AOTF can change just a few minds, even if the AOTF can open just a few eyes, the cracks in the foundation may be enough to bring it all down.”

Thank you Mark, for the perspective.

The truth about diplomas though, is that instead of them becoming more of a necessity, I believe their worth is becoming increasingly obsolete. Think about how many of our parents have college degrees; then how many of our grandparents. College is the new high school. In ten years, that business degree means the same thing as a GED does yesterday. The only question I have then, is what happens to those four years—maybe five—we’ll spend toiling at a university; racking up corporate debt and wasting precious time? What happens when everyone has something, but knows nothing? And what happens to the kids who just don’t give a fuck?

Beauty is just another reason to feel left out. And the sad part is that it’s becoming nature. Like war. I don’t support the war and I don’t support the troops. If you make a commitment to be a pawn, then there go your dreams, there goes your heart. Deal with dying. The only protection we need is from ourselves. Fuck your war machines and your biochemical bullshit.

The war starts and ends in our minds. And if you can’t take your own steps to change whatever world you see, then where are we going from here? Last Saturday, Age of the Fall was presented with opportunity, and without cowardice we stepped to the stars. I took on a man with 3 times my experience and a million times my fan support, and came within a hair of defeating Austin Aries. Lacey challenged the champion of the female wrestling world, and took her to her fucking limit. And in our grandest moment to date, Jimmy showed “the best in the world” that they have something to be worried about by knocking out the self-, and widely-proclaimed.

If Unscripted III wasn’t a message to the underdogs of the world, I don’t know what could be. We, in our chosen profession, are changing hearts and minds city by city. I say, there is no reason we can’t do the same thing across the globe. But it won’t be just one of us making the change. Nothing is untouchable. Jimmy showed us the way.


Get Ready Dayton & Chicago

Hope replaced by safety.

Truth exchanged for ignorance.

My favorites are the ones who talk like the revolution is dying; like the cause is losing steam. What those motherfuckers don’t get is that this mutiny is self-inspired. In case no one has noticed, we are still here. And until you kill us, we’re not backing down.

If you feel like searching for something, then come join our masquerade. But keep in mind, we don’t need a single person to tell us who we are, why we are, and where our little movement is going. Fuck you people. I won’t say “at least we’re this,” and “at least we’re that,” but at least we’re not you.

We won’t back down in Dayton, when we win that fucking scramble match. And we’ll continue to stand tall after our victory in this year’s Trios Tournament the following night. If you feel connected to this, then stand beside us and let Age of the Fall hold you up. This dream is by design…

…Over the last few months there has been a lot said by me, about us. Now it’s your turn. If you feel inclined, I ask you to email me on my private account at AOTFBlack@hotmail.com. Send anything. Feelings. Thoughts. I want to know who the leaders of this revolution are.

Looking forward to meeting you,



Impact Felt

I boarded my plane back to Iowa with my head held high. We’ve come further, faster than anyone gave us a chance to. And for the disappointed, let’s be honest; we loathe the weight of our shortcomings, but when the time comes we’ll toast our victories with a decadence and fervor that’ll bring the power to its knees.

In two months time we’ve already left a scar on this insidious business. All the things left unsaid some years ago we’ve melded into our creed. If freedom is what you seek, we offer the message. Unfortunately, I think our significance has been taken for granted by those hoping to pass us off as another “vogue rebellion.” This isn’t about fashion, politics, religion, or looking pretty. It’s about letting go of the superficiality we consciously and subconsciously hold so dear.

If you can’t feel something in these words, then maybe you’re already a casualty; maybe there is no hope for you. But if these lyrics strike a chord; even if that tune is a terrible sound, then I believe our song is making sense.

Revolutions are not decided by battles, but rather by wars. Those with selective memory will forget that we walked out of Manhattan alive…we’re still building.


Glory By Honor is OUR stage

All the world is a stage. And for our little movement, there is none grander than the upcoming weekend.

This coming Friday and Saturday Ring of Honor hosts its most prestigious events of the year in Glory by Honor, and make no mistake about it friends, the revolution will take center stage.
Don’t talk to me about Japanese wrestling legends, because I don’t give a fuck. Reverence has its place, but the time has come to put the past in its grave. Our dreams aren’t matches, they’re aftermaths. And when the curtain closes, the only ones left to take the bow will be us and the kids who choose stand at our side and fight our same fight.

It is pertinent that we use this weekend as a showcase. Facepaint, bandannas, ski masks—all black, all with purpose. Show the world that ignorance is intolerable. I ask you, if ever there you are to stand up and let the world know who the fuck you are, with the sea of neon lights and the big, bright city as your backdrop, will there ever be a better time for revolt?

This is our chance to do something great. Let’s show them what strength beyond fucking strength is all about.


Call To Arms In Philly & NYC

The time has come to rise. And if not now, then when? You could tell me, “Kid, you’re still young, with years to worry about the rest of your life,” but I have never listened. I’m not about to start now.

Whether it be on the whims of your imagination or, by the black flag draped across your face, rise with us in Philadelphia; in Manhattan. At this point, all we can know is war. There is not a second standing by for sympathy. We’ll scream at the top of our lungs, or bleed a gallon onto the New York City streets, if only for a flash of revolution.

I have been waiting my entire life for an opportunity to change the world. Some might think its blasphemy, but moments in time happen differently for everyone. If it’s your dream to ride through the storm to find the world stopped on its axis, the stars so close you can touch them, and the population of the world reduced to dust; if that is your glory, then I ask you to release your inhibitions to the hounds, and charge the motherfucking lines with us!!

This is your Age. This is your Fall. Let go and burn the establishment to the ground! Take back your birthright! Redeem the freedom! We are a generation of thinkers. And our minds are more powerful than any army; than any brainwashed bastard children who have grown into ignorant adults who now live life like they are already dead.

You are alive. Live life with no regret.


Here we are; up too late to get up too early. No one is really an insomniac, but why can’t we sleep? I’m not even thinking of anything aside from why I’ve got nothing to think on. The kids who’ve got it down are the ones I envy. The ones with a sense of pride in their purpose.

The problem with me is that I’ve thought so much, for so long that thinking has become redundant. I could come up with a million ideas, and none of them would be new, or grandiose; and not a one would change the fucking certainty of death. We’re the kids who depress ourselves with the feeling that living has lost its luster. When I stopped believing—or caring to believe—in God, that was a death in its own right. When we get old enough to realize that it’s all a pile of shit, we give up hope that life has any real incentive, besides of course, the little rewards we choose to value in life itself. So, over the course of time everything loses it’s silver lining because it’s so easy to figure out that all of it—the love, the lies, the hopes, the dreams—they really mean nothing in the end. For some, this realization is suicide. For us? For us, it’s escape.

Jesus was a man who had an edge. His fate, he knew. And thus, he had the freedom to truly live. Because the story of Jesus exists, we can all be messiahs. We can be the ones to save ourselves. And if I can save just me, and if you can save just you, then we can save the world. But only if we do it together. Scoff if it’s your natural reaction. I will understand. I will not exile you. I will not forsake you. But I will trample over your lifeless corpse when the time comes, and I will not feel guilt for leaving it behind. We are not gracious, or sinless. There is much to be learned about falling apart; it’s not an exact science. But what we have figured out is that it’s better than believing in the overdramatic, quasi-tragedies of our useless generation. Once you let go and realize that truth is what you make it, then you can really begin to appreciate anything that matters in life; whatever that matter may be.



Pass out. Who remembers 9th grade? There first day your life really changes is something you should look forward to. I recall being afraid. They say everyone you meet changes your life. I don’t know who “they” are, but they’re wrong. I hopped on the L for the first time ever a few weeks ago. If I met anyone on that 15 minute train ride, I don’t remember any names or faces. It was early in the morning; the sun was just peeking out. It must have wanted to go back to sleep too, because I swear it hung on that horizon for a few extra, fleeting moments. I could almost feel it willing itself to light up the sky. I closed my eyes.

There are some feelings you never want to feel after the first time you feel them. Insignificance is one of those. Maybe mediocrity isn’t a tragedy; at least not as much as it was back in 9th grade, but it is something, or there wouldn’t be a term to describe the stagnation. Maybe you reading this have never felt mediocre. And, chances are, if you haven’t, then you probably haven’t ever felt a thing in your life. You, the simplest one of all, with your lack of questions and your apathy for answers…fuck you. Simple enough?

Yeah, so we’re all dead; what else is new? So stop giving a fuck? Is that it? Why fall in love if your heart is unbreakable? Why turn your back if your skin is impenetrable? Why dream when the truth is much worse? Because it’s fucking life, that’s why. And unless you have a better understanding of the afterlife than I, seek solutions. Seek resolve. Our mission is to enlighten the ones who walk behind—there’s hope for us all.

What’s more sincere; ignorance, or honesty? It’s time to decide.



As Jimmy, Lacey and I wheeled the beaten and broken Mark Briscoe onto the entrance ramp last Saturday in Edison, the beauty of the moment overcame me. Through the spotlight all I could see were bewildered faces and desperate eyes searching for meaning in the silent hysteria that our actions had caused. I could feel the tension as it cascaded over my skin in harmonious waves. Immediately, I knew all the questions you were asking yourselves inside. And I know the answers you’re seeking won’t be what most of you want to hear, but the truth remains that Ring of Honor has asked us to prove ourselves before we can take a stab at power. We’ve taken that advice to heart.

The first casualties have been tallied. We aren’t out to devour innocent souls, but if this is how it has to be, then we’ll work the system before the system can get its hands on us. Necro just got out of the hospital where he was recovering from surgery. His elbow in bandages, his eyes slightly glazed, but his heart is beating stronger than ever. Jimmy, Lacey, or I would all have fought Jay Briscoe to the same end had the chance been ours. We are many things, but none of those things are what they make us.

We are here to spread a message pertaining to the perception that is life. Personal gain is not on the agenda. We’re here to show you that you don’t have to be dictated to. Not by them, not by us, and not by God. We aren’t the ones making rules, but sometimes reality is compromise. And not compromise like the traditional give and take, but rather take and take until there is nothing left, and hearts have to reprogram. We compromise the approach and they compromise their ideals. Once the transition is complete the Fall can really begin, and the bottom will become visible to the naked eye.

One step at a time…
Soon the walls will start to shake…
In hope and in time…
Value is what you’ve made…


Rally in Boston and Edison

Who am I to talk about God? About giving up? About giving in?

No one’s here because I told them to be. No one hears what I have to say because I’m some messiah for the misunderstood. Time has evolved humankind. There is no escaping. This is the Age of the Fall. And whether it’s embraced, or cast aside, this Age will stake its claim alongside every other era in history. It’s time for awareness.

This weekend’s shows will be another shout to the Enders…

Fiends in Boston and Edison, may you rise up and shed your fear. Show your strength by taking your place in the mosaic of revolution. Wear black bandannas. Guise your faces and let the world see the beauty in belief. Don’t be afraid to stand out. For if you give in to that façade, then where is our heart? Cross the line in the sand and pick up your feet. Never blur the clarity of the division we’ve made, because if we don’t stand out, there is no hope.

Our collective voice must be heard clearly through the muffled array of typicality. By all means, enjoy your time spent at a professional wrestling show. But don’t forget to stand your ground, and let them know who we are.

We’re here with a voice
We’re here with a mission.

Friday, October 5, 2007: Boston, Massachusetts
Saturday, October 6, 2007: Edison, New Jersey

The time to live is now.



This is probably unexpected. What? The woman has something to say? The mindless follower of the group? The ROH whore? What is a whore, anyway?

I make the accusation most everyone in this society is a bigger whore than I have ever been. So I manipulated the feeble minds of a couple men to gain an important business advantage by using my sexual superiority…its much less an evil than what most of you commit every day. Besides, I’ve really only proved my point. I forced myself into this company using these all too familiar tactics, and now I’ve forced myself into the spotlight. ROH is the beginning, and it is the platform for our revolution.

This is my call out to you weak-minded, conforming, chauvinistic women. Existence precedes essence, however, so an individual is not born a “woman,” but becomes one via societal pressures and standards… and the women you have become are not women to be proud of.

Historically women have almost always been considered deviant and abnormal, with maleness as the ultimate ideal. From the talmud to the bible to the qur'an women have been run into the ground as second class citizens. Many centuries ago one male, vengeful god was venerated, and women came to be seen as the property of men. The Old Religion of humankind, in which the ultimate creator was the FEMALE Earth Goddess, became labeled as “evil.” Witchcraft, as it would come to be known, was banished, and suppressed into the night, along with any remaining free spirits.

Women continue to be exploited and devalued today through the patriarchal political system we have set up. Our modern institutions such as marriage, childcare and domestic work all exploit and devalue women, as they keep them in the control of men. Why are women still earning less pay than men for the same jobs? Why do the rich men at the top of our system hold us down and hold us back?

Men cannot take all the blame, however, as women also exploit and devalue themselves. Women often seek to conform to the most simplistic, plastic stereotypes of female sexuality. Every day you wake up and thoughtlessly go on about your business, primping and preening to be sure you look your best. You spend thousands of dollars at the mall to ensure you have the latest look of the season. You ravage the latest magazines full of diet tricks and fashion advice, hoping for the quick and easy solution to all your life troubles. Maybe some breast implants will help your cause. Perhaps you also need some liposuction, a face lift, a tan and a Brazilian wax job. Day after day you subject yourselves to the most torturous beauty (shallow) regimens all under the false pretenses of self service.

The Age of the Fall is comprised of social outcasts…but none are more outcast than women. We cannot seem to find our place in this universe and claim it. Left up to men (and more recently ourselves as well), we are sexual objects, breeders, possessions. And what do we do to stand up and fight against this? Most of you accept this horrible fate at the very least, while many of you perpetuate and encourage it. It was such a short time ago that our mothers were beginning to see the light, supporting feminism and individuality —‘burning their bras’ and picketing outside of Playboy. Now we are getting implants and wearing the infamous bunny logo as a symbol of our so-called “liberation.” We are not liberated. We have conformed to male ideals. You now have a chance to redeem yourselves and your entire gender. Stand up and claim your rightful place in the world as a respectable human being. Join like-minded strong women in the quest to destroy this society and its senseless standards. Join us, we are The Age of the Fall. - Lacey



Feeble souls have taken their toll on my conscience. I feel obliged to respond.

We are not birds. We are not in a nest. This is not some psychobabble construed by years of pills and failure to confront abandonment issues. I am not a prophet, nor will I claim to be your savior, your messiah, or your martyr. Simultaneously, I won’t sit here and tell you that we are all the same, that we are all scum, created equal, or worthless. I’m not a movie line, nor a cardboard cut out. It makes sense to me, though, that the majority of the skeptics who have brought themselves here merely take a few seconds to skim across these words in hopes of finding a phrase or a paragraph they can mock and dispel. Because the truth is, the same as we all believe in something (or nothing), we have to withhold some disbelief, because if we didn’t then faith would be nothing more than a fleeting wretch…oh wait…it already fucking is.

The Age of the Fall is a generation of middle of the road motherfuckers with a chip on our shoulder. Our army outnumbers any the world has ever seen. We all have different pasts, and if there is no action now, we will all end up with the same stagnant, dire future. Blame capitalism. Blame democracy. Or even blame your mother and father. I don’t give a fuck. But when you wake up tomorrow and your breakfast tastes like shit, and your entire day is spent wondering who you could fuck or kill, remember that self-worth is often overlooked or ignored. If you haven’t already, ask yourself, “Is this where I want to be; is this who I want to be?” When you get a real answer from your conditioned-to-avoid brain, come back and tell me how you feel. No, really. Come back; tear down your own preconceptions and remove your fashionable fucking labels. Now figure out what side of the line you are on. There is no right answer. No wrong answer. Just a way back in, or the way out.



Like any medium, professional wrestling is a form of expression. Directly and indirectly, everything you see in art affects the way you think, the way you act, and the way you feel. Pro wrestling is no exception.

There are more of us out there than any of you can even begin to comprehend. You can use population figures and psychoanalysis statistics to try and calculate a bullshit number accounting for how many people in the world are dissatisfied with their lives, but the fact remains, none of you have ever seen an army of dissidents quite like this.

Somewhere in each of us there exists a desire for truth. And during the normal course of life things get in the way. Ideals become warped and ethics lose their standing. Murder and rape and poverty are all deeply regrettable acts, but the real tragedy of life is the loss of hope that enables those crimes. Throw in dishonesty, prejudice, cowardice, and disenchantment and you have yourself a recipe for a self-righteous society—a social order begging for direction…

This revolution is not for the faint of heart. We never promised you peace, we promised you answers. And like any good parent, we must withhold some things until you’re able to understand them. This is a re-maturation for those who have lost their way, got caught up, or for those who simply gave up and followed the beaten path. And if you’re in, welcome, but if you’re out then get in or be trampled. There is no easier way to tell you than either you are with us or you are against us. One way or another though, this Age will claim every single man, woman, and child living in this country. Ring of Honor? Ha; a microcosm of the bigger picture, and merely our platform for educating large quantities of people at a time—a large number of people who we think might feel the same as we do about life, about love, and about falling apart.

The Age of the Fall is no longer a choice. It’s here. It’s now. It’s me. And it’s you.


You tell us...

Now it’s your turn…

I think what has been misconstrued about this new Age is that it’s just a group consisting of Jimmy, Necro, Lacey, and myself. For the record, it’s not.

For my entire life, planet Earth has been on standby. This generation, our generation has taken a back seat to eras of the past. And some might say I’m wrong. Some may point to all the technological advances of the late 20th century as great accomplishments and tell me I’m out of my mind. It’s really easy to fall into that trap and make excuses for the way your life is. I did it. Jimmy did it. We all had to fall apart before we could all fall together.

The Age of the Fall is now. It’s you. It’s me. It’s all of us. And it’s a way to change your life. It’s a way to feel again. And based upon what I have heard from you already, the end result of our first Project—161—has had its desired effect. Well, let’s hear more. Tell me; after watching the video and either reliving it, or experiencing it for the first time, how did it make you feel? When was the moment that the hairs stood on your skin like curious onlookers? What emotions coursed through you while you watched the Age of the Fall redirect history? Examine your thoughts out loud. We want to hear your voices.

…give us your truths.


Doomsday Has Arrived

A fitting end…

…to a perfect beginning.

Tyler Black here again, and I’m calling it doomsday for now—the night where nightmares came to life. Basking in the reflection of red(neck) blood, we took the first step in breathing alive our revolution. Now, lungs have air and Briscoes have gaping holes in what was an impenetrable coat of armor. Whatever they expected, however they prepared, it was of no consequence. We took what was ours, and in less than 10 minutes changed everything everyone thought they knew about the Briscoe brothers, about professional wrestling, and about life.

We were present in full. I thank those who have chosen the path we have unveiled thus far. Friends, this is just the beginning. Your colors are a sign of strength. Keep your heads held high and your fists in the air. Spread the word. With your continued support, we’ll lead the way and apathetically mow down those who choose the cesspool of simple-minded decay over the fall.

Jay and Mark were just the first examples, set now in stone.

Let hope be your catalyst. Saw off that anchor of fear, and let go of the chains that wrap your wrists. Comfort is not an excuse any more. There is a better way to live your life.

The Era of Honor died with the completion of Project 161. We’ve entered a new age; a time for you to seek revenge on the persecutors and the enablers of yesterday’s cerebral holocaust, and we are your helping hand.

This site has been and will continue to be your source for all things revolution. Keep checking your emails. Keep reading my words, and keep responding. Keep checking out the website for new information and new steps to take. A long road lies ahead, but the risk is well worth the reward. If you haven’t noticed already, we stick to our guns. ;)

We are the Age Of The Fall. And we’re glad to have you on board.


Now you know....

Before you hastily scoff in disappointment at the lack of names and faces, stop for a second and think. This is how it is, and you knew this is how it had to be. Could you have come this far had you known who’d been writing these words? How deep could you have fallen on the tails of somebody else’s dive? This isn’t about names or faces. Fuck, you might as well replace them with numbers and barcodes. If you want to know who we are (and really think about that question for a minute) then do yourself a favor: truly, open your eyes.

Look in the seat next to you. Watch, as we fill up the lines behind you. Listen, as we chant along with you. As you leave the building, notice how we pick up your trash. On your drive home, we’ll sell you your gas. When you stop to get food, you guessed it, we’ll be the ones flipping your burgers. As you sleep in your bed, we’ll be patrolling the streets. We’ll be keeping you safe. We work 3rd shift in the motel lobby. We deliver your newspapers because one job is not enough. We expect the worst and it never gets better; barring when we think it does… And then we’re signing your checks. We’re tipping your tables. We’re buying your tailored suits. We’re never alone, yet we’re always lonely. It never gets any better.

Nothing in this world saves. Nothing you can see or touch or taste. And if you really want to know who we are; take a look around. And then, take a look in the mirror.

Welcome, we are…

The Age Of The Fall

Don’t forget—Show your colors—black ski masks and black bandannas covering your faces in Detroit and Chicago. Start a revolution.


Now you will find out who we are....

Counting days…

Counting hours…

Counting minutes…

Every mystery has six questions that are vital to its secrecy, its intrigue, and its solution. By first giving you the breathing room to answer the questions for yourself, we have only further developed our legend. By then giving you pieces and probability, we have at the same time narrowed and dilated your peripheral. And finally, by giving you depth, with bits of honesty and valor, we have gained your respect. When the curtain falls on this weekend, eyes will be open as far as jaws will be dropped. History will be scratched out and rewritten by the hands of a new revolution. A revolution you thought you figured out and dispelled, but one that has quietly kept you by its side throughout this waiting game.

On a side note, it seems that the dumbest of the brutes have caught wind of our on goings. They can’t put their redneck fingers on it yet, but who’s surprised by that? They can’t even count their own missing teeth, let alone put two and two together. It’s almost too easy…

Counting seconds until all that’s been building and building for months will come to a head. There’s not much left to be said, and after all the speculation, and all the enticement, and all the mystery, the conclusion to this prelude will be well worth the wait. But before we give you the revolution, shouldn’t you at least know who we are? Shouldn’t we be on a first name basis?

No more clues. Tune in back here this Thursday night for an unveiling of sorts; a matinee, if you will. Project 161 will reveal exactly who we are, and what we’re here for. Until next time…fight the good fight.



The revolution is in its final preparatory stages…

Registration has begun, and I see that we are not alone in our plight. In fact, the amount of support we have received has come in even fuller than I had dreamt. Maybe I shouldn’t be so ignorant, so naïve. Maybe I didn’t expect as much from you, but I must say that I am wearing a large smile as I type to you tonight. There is equal humility and empowerment in the knowledge that we are not alone. Not a single one of us will go into battle unarmed or unprepared for the uncharted nature of this endeavor. Glory is waiting less than a light year away, and we’ll be there in a blink of an eye.


Now remember, my soldiers that ours is a fight within. So, forget the non-believers. Soon enough what is obvious to you will become apparent to those to whom I will now speak directly:

To be an individual is not to be unique in fashion or politics or life or love. To be an individual is to be yourself. It is to make decisions on your own accord. It is to follow your own path, and to create one if the forest stands in your way. Sometimes, you may not have the light of day to see clearly the choices ahead, or the strength of arms to chop down the trees in your way. This is where we come in by torchlight with axes in hand. We aren’t here to tell you to walk that path or to trace our steps; just to show you that something else exists other than all the ways society means for you to act and feel. Just because we give you the answers, does not mean that you have to use them to pass the exam.
And for those with minds ready for freedom, continue on. Spread the word. Give hope to the meek. But keep your eyes peeled. For soon enough your registration will be utilized. We’re coming with a message. I hope you’re all as ready as we are.


A Call To Arms

I see some of you have been catching on…

Now, I’ve heard that imitation is supposed to be the sincerest form of flattery. I presume then, that we should be inclined to take the imposter’s kingdom that we have created as one very large compliment. With that said, all the minds out there—like ours—looking, searching, and longing to be freed…we applaud you for your efforts. Futility is not failure kids, merely a rough draft waiting for guidance. But as we progress, let me clarify out loud what has already been deduced by the observational few:

There is a clear disconnect between us and the fraudulent mimickers. This blog, and its interconnecting website, are your sources. We are the epicenter. We are the foundation. Come here for the truth.

Beyond that, you should know that we’re not trying to drown out you who have been so sincere with your adulation. Conversely, we want your collective voice to be heard, too.
And clear.
But you can’t do this on your own.
You need us.
You need us to constructively purge from you all the frustration, all the enmity, all the hatred that has been bottled up within your heart for longer than you can remember. You’ve been waiting—just as we have—for a release, for an answer, for revenge. And finally, here we are for you. Let us be the frequency by which you broadcast your contempt. Let us be the channel over which your message of scorn is imagined. You become the will and we’ll become the blade, together we’ll be the hand that drives the fatal dagger into the face of society.
That’s right—society.
Ring of Honor is just a platform. Everyone has been asking, “How deep does the rabbit hole go?” The answer boys and girls, is “However deep you dig it.” It stopped being a story long ago; the rabbit is roasting over an open fire and we have turned this reverie into a nightmare; turned this magic into reality; turned this fairytale into a requiem.
This isn’t some bullshit societal revolution about impossible peace and perfect love. But on the other hand, it’s not about anarchy and hedonism either. You’ve already figured that part out, though. What you’re missing is that this isn’t about the chokehold society has on us with its physical laws and taxation. This is a cerebral revolution. A revolution where not only do we take back the intellectual freedom they have stolen from us, but we return the fucking favor as well.
What do you say; who’s with me?




An army…

A revolution…

Our way in…

Your way out…

The ocean is vast, and though it is filled with predators, we minnows outnumber the sharks a billion to one. It is to my dismay that no one has taken initiative sooner. Does no one see? Is the simplicity of our design not cracking the watershed? We must converge to take on the Upper Hand. We must seize what precious moments remain and raze the establishment, before the walls start caving in.

And so it is; that what must be done is left up to us—the incomplete. I understand what fear is. You must conquer yourself before you can conquer the world. And with a thousand pound weight on your shoulders, the fight is lost sight of; it takes a back seat to survival. You must shed that burden pound by pound, sin by sin, and remember that the only forgiveness you need is from yourself. God doesn’t care about you. Ring of Honor doesn’t care about you. Each institution molds your brain like putty, giving you “freedom” to be and to think as you wish. But the truth is not that. Listen close.

The truth is that every decision you make has already been made for you by enterprises like Ring of Honor. They dictate to you, and you turn a blind eye. Well, an era of transformation is upon you, my friend. Project 161 is here to open your eyes, clarify your vision, and reignite your intellect. We’re here to save you: One life at a time.



We are of every age.
We are human.
We are your pariahs.
We are the ones that got away.

We wear black.
We are grim.
We are pessimists.
We are catalysts.
We are revolutionaries.
We are a collective conscience for the mislead.

We are waiting.
We are impatient.
We are a destruction crew at work.
We are the foundation for mutiny.

We are loyal.
We are betrayed.
We are your tears, your fear, and your dreams.
We are all the ways you want us to be.

We are the voice for the voiceless.
We are the hope for the hopeless.
We are the end for the endless.

Trying something new tonight. Above I have listed many of the ways we are. Now it’s your turn. Tell me friend, how, and what are you? What has brought you here tonight? Whether you believe it to be so or not, you are one of us as you read these words. Now tell me, what brought you to Project 161?


If I had a quarter for every mile I’ve traveled for this business, I’d have garnered more than I’ve ever earned by traveling those miles for collected paydays and signed autographs.

Doing the work isn’t the problem. I could smile a million more empty smiles, and scribble to the moon on every single napkin/scrap of paper/event program brought to me by any nameless, faceless, heartless asshole with a sanctimonious grin on his face. I’ll hug all your kids, and take pictures with them all, individually, and then together. I’ll shake your hand while you forget for a second, that later that night you’ve got message boards to fill with hate.

Now, try not to let our little moment there dictate the star rating of my match that you’ve jotted down in your little notebook. Because God knows we mustn’t compromise integrity. Honesty is at a premium people; and the price? Evidently, more than any of you can afford, so why bother to collect.

I chose this profession, yes. And I take responsibility for the inequity that is the price of this so-called glory. Part of my conundrum, though, is that dreams always give way to a common version of the truth. And in our haste, we lose track of what is avant-garde. If you have the power, truth is what you make it. This realization is how you are unlike us.
The other part of the problem is that I had allowed you, as ordinary people, to infiltrate my psyche. Thus, you had the advantage. Luckily, revolutions make me feel young again. And with this, we are free.

Free from the pitfalls of reality.

Free from you, and your smug articulations.

Free, because when your jaws hit the floor, may it be in Manhattan or Hartford or Detroit or Chicago, the silence will resonate, and silence my friend, is our greatest achievement.

As we amass your honesty, we’ll collect your heads as well.



Ahhh… Bright lights on the horizon; there is no better place in the world than New York City. A megalopolis so encompassing that its vastness sprawls further than even God can see. And that is probably a good thing, because I imagine He’d be as disappointed as we are.

Speaking of such a thing—disenchantment that is—I must say that I am sorely let down by you. We weren’t taking a break kids; we’ve been preparing. Just in case we’ve slipped your minds, remember, you haven’t slipped ours. And with a big weekend of shows upcoming, you’ve got to know that our presence will be not just heard, but felt.

Our meager beginnings will seem like nothing after we’re through with you, Hartford and you, Manhattan. We’ve been building. Not just an army, not just an impression, but a revolution. One piece at a time we have dissolved the veil. Close enough now that maybe after this weekend our countenance may be disclosed.

Do not blink. You might miss it. Do not look too far. You might pass it by. And mostly importantly, finders keepers.



You will say it’s because we haven’t told you. You will say, “Isn’t this what you want?” You will say we are self-righteous, self-absorbed, and egocentric. You will tell us that we are not worth it anymore. You will say that what we are doing is stupid. You will make up cliché excuses to combat our “cliché” tactics. You will tell us we are no different than anyone else. You will say it’s because of God, or science, or both. You will do your best to ignore us in the hopes that we will…just…go…away.

We are firmly entrenched, and only digging deeper. We are not a bandwagon that puts up with the fake. Nothing we do is random. There have been no oversights. Every step we have taken has been calculated. Missteps are intolerable, and for us, practically impossible.

You can pretend all you’d like to live under the pretense that you are the antagonists, but the fact of the matter is that we have you by the throat. As your eyes scramble to focus anywhere but dead on, you must know—not fear—know that we have control. And that our control is not a bad thing. In the end, you will thank us for what we will have accomplished for you, and for humankind.

Accept no tasteless imitations. This is Project 161. And the next move is always ours.



It seems as though there is an aura of disappointment surrounding last weekend’s events. I ask you, what’s new? When was the last time Ring of Honor gave you your money’s worth? Come on guys! When was the last time you went home from an ROH show, got on your little computers, and didn’t have a single thing to complain about? Oh wait, I know the answer…NEVER.

You nerds, who sit at your PCs, continually clicking the refresh button so as to promptly respond to any reply that doesn’t agree with your high, mighty, and all-knowing opinion of the way pro wrestling should be, will always find something grumble about. You are the same gullible kids who thought you would uncover the secret of Project 161 with a simple series of clicks. You are the same kids who thought you traced everything back to Ring of Honor promoter Gabe Sapolsky by doing your best lazy Sherlock Holmes impersonation. Is there any question why we have chosen this medium to take on this ride? Fooling you is almost as easy as it was for us to infiltrate your ranks during Death Before Dishonor Weekend.

Know this; we are always there, we always will be, and we’ll always a step ahead. Always. We know how you think. Shit, we practically guide you through the maze, as if you were a blind man. You expect a major development, and we do what we want—we spread the word. Hold your patience. Soon enough kiddies, every man, woman and child associated with Ring of Honor and pro wrestling will know our name; they will know our cause; and they will have a decision to make.

Are you with us? Or, are you against us? The only gray will be the storm clouds approaching. Everything else is black and white.

Hartford and Manhattan: be on your toes. Because if you are not, we’ll knock you off your feet.



The game is hide and seek.

We hide. You seek.

Every once in a while we give you a clue; we drop hints to guide you along the way. Maybe, we rustle in the bushes. Or, we leave footprints in the mud. Or, maybe we turn off your lighting system and lend you some words of wisdom. So what, you’ve heard it before? You can’t hear it enough. You’ll replay it over and over and over in your brain, trying to decipher something hidden—a key to unlocking it all. And maybe that key is there. Or maybe you’re just full of shit.

Now, I’ll make two guarantees—these are promises, you have my word. And why trust the man with no face? That’s for you to figure out.

Promise 1) there is more to come.
Promise 2) it only gets better from here.

Additionally, the non-believers will soon have no choice. This is as real as it gets. We are anything but a joke. Tonight, you were all witnesses. We have people in every city, in every dark corner, on every side street who are ready to soldier on. The cause is deeper than you can imagine. And when the time arrives to strike rich the crimson gold of reformation, you can be certain it will have been worth any amount of waiting.

Come join the united front. From ghosts to heroes; we’ll save your life.



We didn’t choose Ring of Honor; Ring of Honor—and its fans—invited us in.

Like thieves in the dead of night, we are only as silent as your ears make us. You, the not-so-unsuspecting, have left your doors unlocked and your porch light on. Your welcome mat practically reads, “Come in, Mr.161.”

While you are sound asleep, tucked away in your comfortable existence we will pillage all that you know. When the time is right, we will take from you what you hold so dear: your intelligence, your certainty, and most importantly, your safety. And when you open your eyes, there will be nothing left. Though you practically set the table for us, your expression will be one of shock. There will be a stir. You’ll make a scene, but know—we never came to you. You came to us.

One thing you are missing, though, is that this invasion won’t be the first time we’ve stepped foot inside your domain. Many times we have come and gone. We’ve cased your dreams. In light and in shadows, we’ve been lurking. Always invisible, but only to those who wish ignorance. You’re not missing anything at all. You are simply not seeing it as it stares directly at you. We don’t have to give you a warning because you’ve fabricated your own ghosts.

When the house is pitch black, we’ll be the hairs on the back of your neck.



You think we’re all the same because your cult films have provided you with a vocabulary and some insight. Unfortunately for you, millions of ignorant people have watched the same passé movies you have, and most of them have deduced the same propagating bullshit as you.
The reason you talk about reality so certainly is because that ideology is the best excuse you can furnish for your worthless existence. Take a step off the assembly line and into the bathroom. Look at the circles under your eyes and the fat rolls under your neck. Know now that you are not like us. You need us. If it weren’t for us, you’d…well; you’d probably find something else to leech off of.

We are what, and who you want us to be. We are relevant. We are insignificant. We are shadows. We are messengers for the voiceless. We’ll claim any identity you bestow upon us, and then we’ll change your mind by cutting a new, shimmering facet into your dull imagination.

We are threatening and we are scathing. We are black, white, and gray. We are ultraviolet, infrared, and all the shades your little fingers can color us. Paint us sinister. Paint us irrelevant. Or don’t paint us at all.

Write us off. Delete us. Forget we even exist; I dare you. If it’s empty rhetoric you loathe, then maybe this is a little more forward for you:


I’d call it a war, but it’ll be more like an occupation, because there will be no struggle, simply annihilation



I'm standing in the dark corner of everywhere you've ever been. You notice me enough to know I don't fit in, but after that it's just a blur. While you cherish that ignorance, I have gained all that you lose with your lack of awareness.

The light inside you, however unique, is dimmed by the collective mind you embrace. I'd get to know you, but I've met you nine thousand times before. You're coming off the MTV assembly line. You're mind has been sculpted by the white picket fence dream. The world is filled with a product that has met and exceeded demands. That product is you, and your worth crashed when you flooded the market with copies of copies of you.

Individuality is not something you can buy. It's not something you can call yourself when who you are is a poster boy or girl for the status quo. I've seen you marketed on Hot-Topic ads. I've watched you walk the streets in a thousand tailor made variations of the suit you have on. I've had my fill of everyone crammed inside this mold of so called alienation and preach about how they suffer as pariahs and outsiders.

Everyone pretends they want out, but all they do is scurry like insects, trying to find their place within the system. All across the spectrum of conformity people like you jump to fit in.

From this corner in every room, it's all the same. Corporate board meetings or local rock shows, you're all the same. You'll never see me because you can't even see yourself for what you are.

You all want out, but in denying yourself the power to choose for yourself, you went deeper in than ever before. And from here, I try not to boast, but I'm the only outsider you'll ever meet. Knowledge is power and with it you'll find the key that opens all doors.

If you want to see where ignorance leads, look around, it's taking you nowhere. You're going to die as you live, unhappily but blissful.



20 years old, two boys deep, and she’s just married. Late night shifts at the diner pay for her bad habits, and his.

Home is a trailer on the South side of town. There he sits on his Keystone throne, too lazy to give a fuck about giving a fuck.

It’s 2 a.m., and as the little ones have finally fallen asleep on the hardwood floor, he puts his game on pause and he rolls his first joint since dinner. Taking a puff, he sets it down to burn another hole in the recliner, and another hour from the night.

It’s 2:15 now, and she forgot some kid’s bacon. He gave her a hard time. She’s in the cooler now wondering if her sons got snacks before bed. She tries hard to remember the last time she was home to tuck them in. Before she can cry, the microwave goes off—bacon is done.

It’s 3 a.m. His snoring startles him and wakes him up. The boys are resting soundly and he figures he should find some food. The refrigerator is barren, and the cupboards empty. He grabs his keys off the counter and a beer from the pack. He pushes open the screen door and gets on his bike. He starts it up, revs it up, and heads to Wal-Mart for a bag of chips and a candy bar.

It’s 3:02 and she gets shorted for the third time in a week. She looks in her apron—into her tips—to pay for the remainder of the shorted bill. She realizes she doesn’t have the cash for this, and tells her shift manager so. They bicker, he accuses, and she denies. The line is drawn, but she won’t budge. Predictably, she retreats; she hands in her nametag and walks out the front door. She starts her car and heads home to be with her little sleeping angels. Tears flowing now, like blood from bullet holes, she turns onto Highway 915 and speeds off.

It’s 3:10 and the city lights in the distance are getting blurry. He snaps his head for clarity, but his attempts are futile. Sooner, the darkness will envelope his body and his mind once more.

It’s 3:11 and lighting a cigarette has never been so difficult. Her hands and lips trembling, the cigarette falls to the floor. Shit. And she quickly reaches down to pick it up.
His front tire crosses the center line.
Before she lights, she wipes the tears from her eyes.
Before he can shake his head again…
Before she has a second to notice…

The heartbreaking thing, however, is not how people die, but rather, how they live. Middle class America needs a wake up call. And frighteningly enough, tragedies like this occur ever single day. Though notice is quickly taken, it is dismissed even more so. No one feels a thing until they are meant to. No one makes a change until they are taught how. No one knows the truth until they are shown the way.



A bustling city is like suffocation.

Skyscrapers double as high walls, and if the air pollution doesn’t suck the life from you, they will.

At rush hour, the business suits scatter like vermin. Freed from these prisons, they litter the streets, and not just with Starbucks and McDonalds, but with footsteps and fingerprints.

I pass them and see nothing more than wasted flesh. Maybe they see the same in me, but chances are, they see nothing at all; their eyes unable to discern uniqueness any longer. I pass them and feel the filth of their ignorance layer my skin, like a membrane. I wonder if their water proof, stain-resistant khakis are also bullet proof. I doubt it, and I smirk.

Everyone’s making names for themselves now. Escaping trust fund shadows. Building their own lives and fulfilling their parent’s dreams. American dreams. Nice stuff and modern things coming quick.

Who’s the last one on the board to install heated sidewalks?
What size are your wife’s breast implants?
When’s the last time you forgot your stepson’s name?
Where are your winter homes?
Why should you not kill yourself? There are no good reasons. No one would care for more than a month. Your wife doesn’t love you, she loves your money. Your kids don’t even call you “Dad.” And ask yourself this, would you give a shit if the intern who forgets your coffee at least two times a week blew his head off in the bathroom? And he’d probably care even less if you did. He’d probably even laugh a little.

Their scent is predictable. Every cheap Younkers fragrance that came with the teenage sales girl’s phone number you can imagine amalgamated in a must only comparable to formaldehyde. You know what they say, everyone is dying. I pass them and I hear nothing. If you try hard enough, so much noise can become silence. Cinematically, this is where the bombs go off, but who has the balls for that?

Only the kids whose names you forgot. The kids you raised.