Sometimes the crash after a festival run can be hard, imagine after Halifax, sharing a plane then train, both providing alcohol and about 20+ hours in total having interrupted the wrap party at the departure end and then a further weeks debauch in Portsmouth all in the company of invisible circus john. A man who blows bubbles in Canada and at home has the keys to the Portsmouth Kings Theatre and lives beside it and is it's stage manager. Overseeing all.
Then John and I go to Belgium until finally I am left on my own again
about lunchtime. Begin the crash, work every day while staying at the
seamans hotel in the red light district. Barely cover rent and beer and
newspapers. Searching for corners, working three.
of depression and it's innate self absorption is that it becomes an
ideal soil from which righteous indignation can grow.
When people tell me they don't like Clowns I remember this Poem I call
I’m a clown and I’m sick of people.
-Blank-Instinctive laugh-Back to blank-drones
Idle minds numbed by choices made years ago
Adrift on a conveyer of soul rotting routine assignments.
Calm husks about their shopping.
Stupid mono-mental morons with wives , husbands, children in tow.
Designer label dipshits
whose only ambition is to upgrade
to a slightly more expensive vacuousness.
sugar saturated runamoc brats, who
like their parents
know nothing more than their immediate needs
The only tool they’re issued - emotional blackmail
I hate teenagers en mass
premasticated pap formulas of sentiment without substance.
egos enormous brittle and facile
all covering their transparent fear
Teenage females preprogrammed for collective hysteria as sexual cul de sac
I see them every day
I entertain them
I make them laugh at others
unaware that they themselves have been exposed
I hate them
and I’m going to do it all again tomorrow
Their insipid blank bovine faces will lift themselves
as they strain to identify my relevance
while their naked humanity
in tears of laughter
I was a prince among men was I not?