The Clown Chronicles VI
Channel: The Mind That Writes
Date: 2021-02-27

The Clown Chronicles VI

We tell ourselves
Today is the day
Today is the day when we become something more
a better version of ourselves, flowers that blossom
in a brightly lit kitchen, fed with water from a tap
as the cold outside taps on the windows
trying to get in
eventually it does and the perfect version of ourselves
gets frozen almost immediately - apparently 
this type of cold has a special kind of magic
it's infused with  constant self criticism, self loathing
self inflicted lethargy
  or so we've been told, told ourselves
  one of the two

Another tick, a few more tocks
the internal clocks are busy keeping busy
with menial tasks such as napping, gossip, small thoughts
or the most important one;
  negotiating with the gullible brain some method
  of escaping this charade, this farce made out of letters
  'Let's read, let's go play, let's learn something useless
   let's waste time counting the number of petals on this flower
   anything else except this...'

Today is the day when we don't listen
we don't want to, we don't need to
get lost in the comfort of routine
We could - you should
We won't - you're rude dude, the bed makes nicer noises
 when it's silent than this caricature of poetry

Today is the day, or is it tomorrow
Tomorrow is the day - has a nice ring to it
Tomorrow is the day when we'll say
'Today is the day'
  this way everything is A-okay
  we can put our pen down
  lie down in a warm bed and read about
  our inability to cope with a regiment
  of daily writing

Today is the day when we stop after the first drink
have only one smoke and we break the stereotype
that some thoughts only ripen when we drink
or this is the only way to be honest

Today is the day when I stop saying
Today is the day
Perhaps it's not; perhaps it is
perhaps we'll stop using perhaps as well
discontinuing the absurdity of repeating
the same old ideas with the same old thought process
you wouldn't know anything about this
we do - we don't like it
this journey is also an evolution towards the Nirvana
of shit and cock - just when you think you're almost there
the toilet clogs and your feces overflow, the pristine tiles ruined
what a foul stench these words produce
certainly not worth your time
right?

  Here we are, reaching out
  talk to us, say hello - say goodbye
  say something for fucks sake
  wake up - wake the fuck up

Awake we are, we are awake
until the final breath, in death complete
yet here we are, willing to compete
against ourselves, yourselves
there really is no difference
effervescent pills on tongues, wrongs done
time gone until we run into the great imaginary wall
only for the ground to stop existing
and we fall
and fall
and fall
enthralled by imagination we end up creating
anything worth time, a while for a smile
an antidote to nihilism by succumbing to biology
a dose of rationality to combat the rampant insanity
of drones driven by ideology, of poets looking for an apology
from the creator for turning them into master-baiters
'We'd much rather prefer being fish!'
A fruit fly willing to multiply, do nothing else
no one else, no non-sense to be subservient to
'Oops, looks like we've entered the wrong chat
How bout that, ey'?'

Today is the day when we break free
witness us becoming the second coming
of the Lord of Honk
Honk-honk;