there's women there, in lines.
there's a little left to say and they are angry.
they carve the door up with their knives.
in a tent with conjoined twins
they fan the air down low with angry bustles.
a wanted poster on the floor.
Friday, May 23, 2008
Saturday, May 10, 2008
the night of the long knives
there are clowns, see? long clowns that all of us have laughed at for so long that we have forgot we are laughing.
this is dangerous. this is dangerous especially when a clown goes bad.
the clown's brain begins to go soft from drugs or mental illness. the clown's behavior becomes worse and worse. the clown infects others. and no one notices.
this clown gets banned from bars. this clown beats his wife. that clown's un-employed.
this is a special kind of clown. the psychiatrists have named them and dissected all their clownish ways. here is what the psychiatrists think has happened to the clown:
their mother had no sense of self. their mother put all of her worth into her clownish son. this works like this. this rots the mind. this turns the clownish self into a cipher; a mirror that reflects itself. an emptyness that gazes at itself in that dark pool and languishes forever.
do you hear me clown? we are tired of laughing. all of us. the drunks, the sluts, the hanger's on. we admit to ourselves and to each other that the joke just isn't funny any more. the expiration date has come and gone. grow up or go away. we are not floating in space. we are zooming in a beautiful orbit through space at a million miles an hour. that's quite a difference, my amateur metaphysician. don't speak for the illuminated, we know better than you.
does it penetrate your blankness? is that why your behavior is degenerating? is that why you can't do anything real? why the pictures that you paint seem like faded copies of the pictures you made 10 years ago? those pictures were cherished for the potential they showed. too bad. precociousness never became genius for you.
poor poor pinnochio, I'm pulling on your donkey ears. the carnival has come and gone and you are alone.
you can never be a real boy.
this is dangerous. this is dangerous especially when a clown goes bad.
the clown's brain begins to go soft from drugs or mental illness. the clown's behavior becomes worse and worse. the clown infects others. and no one notices.
this clown gets banned from bars. this clown beats his wife. that clown's un-employed.
this is a special kind of clown. the psychiatrists have named them and dissected all their clownish ways. here is what the psychiatrists think has happened to the clown:
their mother had no sense of self. their mother put all of her worth into her clownish son. this works like this. this rots the mind. this turns the clownish self into a cipher; a mirror that reflects itself. an emptyness that gazes at itself in that dark pool and languishes forever.
do you hear me clown? we are tired of laughing. all of us. the drunks, the sluts, the hanger's on. we admit to ourselves and to each other that the joke just isn't funny any more. the expiration date has come and gone. grow up or go away. we are not floating in space. we are zooming in a beautiful orbit through space at a million miles an hour. that's quite a difference, my amateur metaphysician. don't speak for the illuminated, we know better than you.
does it penetrate your blankness? is that why your behavior is degenerating? is that why you can't do anything real? why the pictures that you paint seem like faded copies of the pictures you made 10 years ago? those pictures were cherished for the potential they showed. too bad. precociousness never became genius for you.
poor poor pinnochio, I'm pulling on your donkey ears. the carnival has come and gone and you are alone.
you can never be a real boy.
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