THE CLOWN ON THE ARMOIRE
I know you don't like me being here, and I don't care. I'm not leaving until you put up a picture of me. One way or another, I'll always be here.
You say a picture of a clown wouldn't match the rest of your bric-a-brac, but that's not true at all. I am the apex of bric-a-brac, and the Lowest Common Determinator all at once. A clown, or I should say THE clown, for there's never been a clown to equal me, the sum total and epitome of clownhood...
What was I talking about? I know, I know, you don't have to tell me, I'm certainly smarterer than you.
A clown is welcome everywhere. Loved by everyone. That's the truth. You don't need to tell me your lies; I am the truth. The clown of truth who jokes, and blusters, and smacks himself with the bladder over and over, is all that tells you the truth about yourself, and this armoire you prize so highly.
Cheap thing, really. I've seen much better armoires than this. It's really just a cabinetto; calling it an armoire is pretentious. What do you mean, it's a buffet? I know an armoire when I see one. I have real armoires. I'm a connoisseur of armoires. Of everything, really. I know so much better than you, what's best for your armoire.
How does a clown know so much about armoires, you ask? (I don't care whether you really asked; I'm going to answer anyway. Anyway you did ask, you've just forgotten. I'm the only one of us two who remembers the truth about what happened; that's what comes of being a clown of truth.) I've made a study of armoires. When you've bought and sold as much as I have, you've made a study of everything. I've bought, and sold, and haggled over, and negotiated for the whole world, several times over. And made them throw in the moon and stars, to sweeten the pot. I know so much about stars.
Yes, I know, that was valuable. I didn't knock it off the armoire, it was the wind. It wasn't that valuable anyway. You got robbed. I know all about those things, things like what that was, what was it anyway? A punch bowl? I don't care what you call it, it was obviously a punch bowl. And a cheap one at that. I've owned much better punch bowls. Your whole house wouldn't pay for my punch bowls. Cheap thing, that was. You can tell because it broke in chunks, not shards. I'm a clown. I'm a connoisseur of breaking things. You're going to give yourself a fit, the way you're gripping that chair. You'll probably break it, too. Looks cheap.
I don't care, you called the cops. I'm fine with you calling the cops. I'll do the talking when they get here. They'll love me. I know all about cops. I can talk to cops better than any clown you ever saw. Who's going to argue with a big clown? Cops love clowns anyway. Everybody loves clowns. You love clowns. You love me, don't you? Liar. Everybody loves me.
Oh, put that down. You don't want to break it, throwing it at me. It looks unusually expensive, for something in this house. You'd have trouble replacing it, with what you probably make, and what they probably charge you for the mortgage on this lemon house. Because it smells like a lemon, that's why. I know all about houses. And lemons. Sold a lot of them in my time.
Did you tell the cops to bring an artist? That's all that will get me off this armoire, you know.
Oh, and you have to let me kiss you.
Come on, come closer. Have you ever been kissed by a clown? Once you get a whiff of greasepaint, you're gone. Once you've felt that round nose against your own, you're ruined for regular guys. Once you've felt a clown's bladder inside you... Come on, let go of the cheap-ass chair and get your little tail over here. I know all about you. I know all about kissing. And I know all about stars. Because I am a star. The star clown of truth, the bright morning star, that's me. Never mind the sirens; sirens are things that happen to other people. My picture will be on your armoire forever, and the memory of me soaked into the frame of this cheap-ass house, and I will be inside you always, moving back and forth, capering and making faces, and making you want me all over again.
I won't allow you to forget me, I won't allow you to think ill of me, and I will never ever leave.
You say a picture of a clown wouldn't match the rest of your bric-a-brac, but that's not true at all. I am the apex of bric-a-brac, and the Lowest Common Determinator all at once. A clown, or I should say THE clown, for there's never been a clown to equal me, the sum total and epitome of clownhood...
What was I talking about? I know, I know, you don't have to tell me, I'm certainly smarterer than you.
A clown is welcome everywhere. Loved by everyone. That's the truth. You don't need to tell me your lies; I am the truth. The clown of truth who jokes, and blusters, and smacks himself with the bladder over and over, is all that tells you the truth about yourself, and this armoire you prize so highly.
Cheap thing, really. I've seen much better armoires than this. It's really just a cabinetto; calling it an armoire is pretentious. What do you mean, it's a buffet? I know an armoire when I see one. I have real armoires. I'm a connoisseur of armoires. Of everything, really. I know so much better than you, what's best for your armoire.
How does a clown know so much about armoires, you ask? (I don't care whether you really asked; I'm going to answer anyway. Anyway you did ask, you've just forgotten. I'm the only one of us two who remembers the truth about what happened; that's what comes of being a clown of truth.) I've made a study of armoires. When you've bought and sold as much as I have, you've made a study of everything. I've bought, and sold, and haggled over, and negotiated for the whole world, several times over. And made them throw in the moon and stars, to sweeten the pot. I know so much about stars.
Yes, I know, that was valuable. I didn't knock it off the armoire, it was the wind. It wasn't that valuable anyway. You got robbed. I know all about those things, things like what that was, what was it anyway? A punch bowl? I don't care what you call it, it was obviously a punch bowl. And a cheap one at that. I've owned much better punch bowls. Your whole house wouldn't pay for my punch bowls. Cheap thing, that was. You can tell because it broke in chunks, not shards. I'm a clown. I'm a connoisseur of breaking things. You're going to give yourself a fit, the way you're gripping that chair. You'll probably break it, too. Looks cheap.
I don't care, you called the cops. I'm fine with you calling the cops. I'll do the talking when they get here. They'll love me. I know all about cops. I can talk to cops better than any clown you ever saw. Who's going to argue with a big clown? Cops love clowns anyway. Everybody loves clowns. You love clowns. You love me, don't you? Liar. Everybody loves me.
Oh, put that down. You don't want to break it, throwing it at me. It looks unusually expensive, for something in this house. You'd have trouble replacing it, with what you probably make, and what they probably charge you for the mortgage on this lemon house. Because it smells like a lemon, that's why. I know all about houses. And lemons. Sold a lot of them in my time.
Did you tell the cops to bring an artist? That's all that will get me off this armoire, you know.
Oh, and you have to let me kiss you.
Come on, come closer. Have you ever been kissed by a clown? Once you get a whiff of greasepaint, you're gone. Once you've felt that round nose against your own, you're ruined for regular guys. Once you've felt a clown's bladder inside you... Come on, let go of the cheap-ass chair and get your little tail over here. I know all about you. I know all about kissing. And I know all about stars. Because I am a star. The star clown of truth, the bright morning star, that's me. Never mind the sirens; sirens are things that happen to other people. My picture will be on your armoire forever, and the memory of me soaked into the frame of this cheap-ass house, and I will be inside you always, moving back and forth, capering and making faces, and making you want me all over again.
I won't allow you to forget me, I won't allow you to think ill of me, and I will never ever leave.
posted by Gowan Campbell | 7:58 PM
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