Something I wrote about clowns. It's dedicated to Caleb and Nevada's brilliance as performers.Why so serious?
I am Clown.
I am Fool.
I am Psychopompos.
My land is limbo; I’m the go-between in the in-between. My reality is insanity. I sit between the alpha and the omega. I am the line, the point of intersection. I am chaos.
Nothing so trivial as good and evil. I am the bridge, the passage, and I am the gatekeeper, the boatman, Janus, Jester, Joker.
Fool.
Don’t mistake what I do for what I am.
I am home in limbo, but travelers must be content[1]. To walk with me is to invite transformation, metamorphosis, growth. Growth can be a terror, for it is a death of sorts. It’s the death of a past self.
Youth’s a stuff will not endure[2]. I stand at the threshold, seeing backward and forward.
I can take you in, I can walk you through. But I sow chaos, I embrace the inane, I walk in the haze of dreams as sure-footed as if on the straightest stone path.
And I can lose you in limbo’s recesses. I can cast you deep into the maelstrom, in thought, lose you in your own emergence, lose you to yourself, and all. Oh, the fear of falling into the unknown, I can tell why a snail has a house[3].
So, come, hold tight my hand, follow me . . . Or, What You Will. Stay. I cannot promise you solace, but an awakening. I am neither malice nor mirth, but a merging at your emergence. For Feste knows festivities can be frolics and fatal.
To awaken with me is to fall into a deepest sleep, to see my reality, the unreal.
I’ll tell you what I can . . . Or, What I Will. My own fancies are fickle. Perhaps I’ll speak, but the more pity that fools may not speak wisely what wise men do foolishly[4].
I see that you can’t help but follow me. So let’s begin.
Let’s put a smile on that face. Herein we’ll split our thinking, tickle our fears, laugh at our follies.
No comments:
Post a Comment