TheLegendsLeague | Bryan Espiritu

DO NOT READ THIS POST IF YOU ARE SKEPTICAL OF THE MEANING OF MY POST ENTITLED: SHOOT THE SMILING KID. IT MAY BE VERY DISTURBING FOR MOST. AND I APOLOGIZE IF YOUR VIEWS ABOUT ME CHANGE AFTER READING THIS. I HIGHLY RECOMMEND THAT YOU READ THE ORIGINAL HERE BEFORE MOVING ON. IF YOU FEEL LIKE YOU WANT TO KNOW MORE THEN CONTINUE….

Love&Respect.
be.

I never do this. The fact that I’m actually doing this just motivates the sensation that I’m entirely misunderstood and/or not understood at all. But on some levels it feels like I owe it to you for paying attention to this blog. Thanks.

Shoot The Smiling Kid: explained

Shoot The Smiling Kid
A reoccuring episode written and illustrated by Bryan Espiritu.

I’ll shoot the smiling kid.
Leave him to me.

Welcome To The Legends League
if i told you the truth, would you believe in it?

(There has been a few times when I write about my reoccurring bouts with schizophrenia. I’ve titled a few of them “Reoccur” followed by whatever it is the piece speaks about. If you don’t know about my struggle with schizophrenic bouts you can go back in the blog and try to figure it out a little bit more.

I get visions of myself doing terrible and disturbing things still and now that I’ve gotten to a reasonable point of separating the ‘real’ from the ‘only real in my head’ it’s almost more difficult to be part of ‘regular’ society than it would be to admit myself into a hospital.

‘Shoot The Smiling Kid’ is about my deranged hatred and jealousy for the children and people who live their lives in loving families, who enjoy their childhood without abuse and taint, whose parents help them in financial binds, buy them cars, pay their rents, and help with the bills when they need it. It’s about how much I despise the types of kids that 75% of North American colleges and universities seem to be filled with. The types of kids who sell drugs because they feel like it, not because they have to. The types of kids who can fuck up in school and pay no consequence because they don’t pay their own tuitions. But they tell everyone they do. It’s about my frustration with never feeling like a child when I was at a child’s age, and about my reoccurring thought to strip anybody with that kind of opportunity of their dreams of living happily.

It is disturbing, Will. And you’re totally justified in agreeing with him, if you do. But it’s real to me. And it bothers me a lot that I see and hear this kind of psychotic shit still.

I know that nobody chooses the situations that they are born in, and that it is wrong for me to dislike or want to mistreat anyone who is fortunate enough to be raised in a good, loving family. I have a daughter for god’s sake. Do you think I’d ever want anything less than safety and happiness for her? This piece is me admitting to something that is damn near involuntary, and haunts me regularly. And it, like much of what I do, is an attempt to make good of what has damaged me so much. It’s an attempt to share something so dark with the people who seem to bring me light. Those of you who give a fuck about TheLegendsLeague at it’s core. Who, being completely honest with you, give a fuck about me – Bryan Espiritu. Not ‘be.’ and every other name and AKA we can think of.

I envy those who smile wholly and without pain. Because 9 times out of 10, my smile is fake. It’s premeditated, and I need to think about why I shouldn’t be falling apart and in tears in order to sustain it. It’s just there, masking what I’m drowning nose high in. I see real happiness in the smiles of some. I see real, genuine, innocence in others. And while it’s exciting and energizing, there are times when the want to ruin someone’s life comes seeping into my thoughts like crude oil. And I’m trapped in the barrage of visuals and sounds while trying to stay totally sane – while trying to be perfectly okay – for you.)

I’ll shoot the smiling kid.
Leave him to me.
(I see a group of young people, all in excitement, enjoying one another’s company. I approach and they know something is about to go terribly wrong. I reach for the one with the biggest smile, with the least pain on the surface.

I began suffering from these visions last night on my way home from work. There was a small child with his mother on the streetcar who was laughing and speaking happily. It was very, very cute and his mother was laughing along with him. Unfortunately, this is where my mind takes me. Not to places of joy, but here.)

I’ll gurgle his laughter,
Turn it off key.
(When there is blood in your throat, any breathing or speaking gets gurgled like drowning in water. Gurgling his laughter is a result of slicing his neck. “Off key” is a double entendre. The tone of his voice would change, hence making it “off key”, but after curdling his cries enough, his laughter would “turn off” as if I used a key.)

And lock and load my weight off his shoulders -
Blast his bashful ways to get older.
(“Lock” is used as a play on words from the earlier use of “key”, but is also used with “Lock and load” as I aim my weapon, or “my weight” at his head, which is just “off his shoulders”. “Off his shoulders” also refers to me being ready to blow his head clean off. This whole line acts in multiple double entendres. The second line refers to me shooting him in the mouth. Bashfulness brings smiles. Smiles over time will bring wrinkles. Wrinkles are a sign of aging. “Blast his bashful ways to get older”.)

Leave him to me,
I’ve got bullets to spare.
(Let me kill him, I’ve got enough pain in me to do it properly.)

Let me provoke the joke out his throat,
Stage his new stage nerves
And force him to choke,
Shackle the chuckle and sticky his coat.
(If he’s so happy, he must have jokes to tell. I see myself grabbing his throat, almost to squeeze the hilarity out of his mouth. Choking people is something that I have done a lot of. If you know my story, or have spent time on this blog, you’ll know my father knocked me out cold one afternoon in a bout of some good old fashioned pre-church violence. This is why I’ve always gone for the throat. It just seems natural to me. “Stage his new stage nerves and force him to choke” is a play on words. I would become the personification of my victims newest “stage nerves”, and force him to choke with my performance. “Shackle the chuckle” as in put a stronger hold on his throat – the source of his happiness, laughter, and jokes. “And sticky his coat” – he is wearing a wool peacoat. The blood and mucous running out of his mouth and onto the wool, makes the fibers of his coat sticky to the touch.)

Bullshitty you’ve seen what burgundy bleeding can do.
You’re kidding, not stinging.
You’re kiddy shampoo.
I’m actual facts.
“Life Of” National Lampoon.
You’re something to laugh at,
Hardy har har.
(I call bullshit on anyone who acts like they can relate to what I’m haunted with and still stay sane. “Burgundy bleeding” refers to the dark blood that comes out of your head and ears with blunt force trauma. Again, those of you who know my story, know about me bleeding uncontrollably out of my ears after a run in with the police. The dark blood stained my jacket sleeves and made my shoes stink like you wouldn’t believe. “You’re kidding, not stinging” literally means that anyone who says they can relate or has lived in violent ways and is able to make due with it in the fashion that I have is a joke, and is of no real threat. “You’re kiddy shampoo” – not stinging. “I’m actual facts. ‘Life Of’ National Lampoon. You’re something to laugh at, Hardy har har” refers to the fact that I speak true life stories. Monty Python had a film entitled, “The Life Of Brian”. National Lampoon is a comedic production company whose product ranges through various media. Because I’m a writer, artist, designer, etc, I am attacking anyone’s attempts in any discipline, as an absolute joke.)

I’ll sever his initials and plus from his heart,
Divvy his twinkling visual spark,
And scalp him.
I’ll ask him to share his grey smarts.
His father will need a new suit.
(As children, we innocently carve our initials with “+” signs in hearts to show love. “I’ll sever his initials and plus from his heart” means I’ll sever all love from his soul. “Divvy his twinkling visual spark” refers to me slicing his face right in between his eyes, hence divvying the happy twinkle in his “visual spark”. “And scalp him, I’ll ask him to share his grey smarts” refers to the grey matter in our brains. By scalping him, I am allowing him to share his “smarts”. It is also a play on being young and always asking your dad to borrow a suit when you needed one. My father worked in factory clothes. He wasn’t necessarily the brains of the family. So “grey smarts” refers to Sunday attire, or your “smart sets”. I am also a young man. This line acts as a call by me as the attacker, but also as a cry from the perspective of a son. “I’ll ask him to share his grey smarts. His father will need a new suit” – when I am finished the murder, his father will not have a suit to wear, and hence will need a brand new one.)

…
His mother will wet the lapel.
And he will never wear it again.
Like,
“Oh, where has it gone, your sweet grin?”

motherfucker.
…
(His mother will cry on the shoulder of his father’s new suit, and his father will only wear it once after I remove the smirk off the face of my victim – their son.)

And the hell will break
to the smell of grapes,
crushed in the mash of a months mistakes.
(After the funeral, the family’s emotions will break out into questions of “Why’s” and “Where did we go wrongs” once a few bottles of wine have been consumed – “the hell will break to the smell of grapes, crushed”. “A months mistakes” refers to the period in a parent/child relationship where the parent feels most guilty for something they have done to upset their child. It is usually not the same period where the child feels most hurt. This line shows a sense of remorselessness on my part, saying they didn’t know their child that well anyway, and are only getting riled up with alcohol in their systems.)

They’ll mourn like it was just before noon,
Until their empty is filled by a moon.
And their world no longer filled by a son,
Whose ignorance was excused as his fun.
(This is a play on words in time – “mourn” is a homonym with “morn” as in “morning” or “just before noon”. “Until their empty is filled by a moon” – means they will mourn from morning time until their emptiness is greeted by full moons. “And their world no longer filled by a son” – another play on words and homonyms – “son” as in “sun” – their world will no longer have either of these as darkness overcomes their lives. “Whose ignorance was excused as his fun” – a couple of years ago a close, close brother of mine got caught up in a murder case that wasn’t his fault. He was not the murderer – just to make things clear. A friend of his stabbed another man in the throat in a club after the man was throwing ice at people with all his friends gathered around, laughing and joking along at the expense of others. People were saddened by the death of the college football star, but something inside of me felt like his ignorance should not have been excused. I’m not saying that he deserved to die. I’m just saying he deserved to learn a lesson at some point in his life to not do that type of shit to people. We all come from different places. And lions and loud dogs don’t mix.)

I’ll make due making use of this gun.
Not a siren will tell me to run.

And no siren will tell me to run.
(A single gunshot will end it all. My now smiling face. My own new victim.)

Welcome To The Legends League
(if i told you the truth, would you believe in it?)