Mr. Maverick

No one wakes up one morning and suddenly decides to go Maverick (°_°)*

The majority of humanoids have been programmed to reject the innate notion of becoming ΩNE—stupefied and dupefied, teeter-tottering along their precarious way—exposed as trite commonplace primates—material aplenty yet spirit empty—soulless and void, can this be more clear, the grinding of gears, is really all there is left to say.

Over decades of being created and animated inside the Land Of The Rising Son, the full spectrum of gaijin has been encountered from all points under the Sun.

Generally speaking, these mundane proletariat are somewhat akin to spam—randomly having dropped into the inbox, by virtue of living in Japan.

Searching the ether on a knowledge quest, seeking a specific expert of kind—when then and there—Maverick appeared—serendipitously—in the nick of time.

What a Maverick is—what it is not ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Laid bare to see is a banal representation of a trite commonplace performer, kitschy movies following well-worn, bloodthirsty plots—broadcasting guts and glory—gratuitous violence—desensitisation protocol (this is why there's lots)—this is definitively what a Maverick is not.

Once upon a time, an innocent child, his innocence ripped away—somewhere down under in Occxie-land—tragic circumstances the natural consequences of an errant decision tree—a preposterous precarious position for any child of any world to be—never forget—this is an unpardonable capital crime—fu gu tai ten no kyū teki—不倶戴天の仇敵

Starting from the depths of this abhorrent abyss, the seeds of Maverick were sown—resilience of this adolescent boy under the stress of duress, understood he must go it alone.

While his fair-weather friends were raving lunatics at parties, leeching off mommy & daddy's nickels & dimes, Maverick was working around the clock, the notion of life as sublime—resilience coming out of his ying-yang—as he was also matriculating full time.

Regardless of this cursed start, he is endowed with fortuitous features—not only is he remarkably handsome, gentle and brawny—he is also very phacken smart.

The Maverick part really kicked in graduating from Uni one lazy summer day, a faceless corporate recruiter emerging from the notion of commerce, calling on him specifically by name.

What's not to love about the practical application of laborious attained negotiating skills, along with lots of certificates of gratitude (currency)—two-hundred and fifty thousand for a full season—adjusted for inflation, today, around three-twenty—who is counting anyway—a nickel here and a dime there—really it's just funny money, now you can ßsee.

Something inside Maverick's rare air (infinity zone) was triggered by the rat race—this is when, his Muse got loose, his notions becoming sublime—the congenital realization of the meaning of successfulness, and to the Sun becoming aligned.

Why would anyone abandon such a hard fought battle out of the depth of despair, all the way up to the highest rare air, having achieved life above the Sky-Tree—"leave this behind" the loose Muse opined, as she consecrated his embryo at their first but not last heart-to-heart.

The vibration of his Muse stoked his juice, in the blink of an eye, he said goodbye to his life plan—destination, indeed destiny is to be, a Son rising in this land known as Japan.

Surely, life's lesson are doubly intense grinding it out in Planet Japan—still everyday Mr. Maverick shows up—testament to his fortitude, vision, and commitment to advancement of Clan.