Litotes The Clown Monkey Dream

Evil Little Monkey Impersonator

Negotiation Time : Acrylic On Paper

There are little monkeys all over the place, tiny ones, like spider or green monkeys. They can sit on your shoulder. They seem friendly, but keep their distance.

It's hard to keep track of them all as they jump around chattering at each other amiably.

It's a big, if gloomy, enclosure; ropes, trunks, simulated trees and a few toys. It's just blackness above, with no sign of a door. But there's no hurry.

Their friendly play is everything we go to the zoo for.

The monkeys freeze. Screaming, they run around ricocheting off the rocks, couches, trees and walls. But they can't leave. Something has gotten in with them.

A predator. Is it him? The howling and frenzy increases and I check over my clothes to see if I'm wearing anything that might be wrong.

Impossibly fast it bounces around like a rocketing rubber ball. The concaphony and fear are intense. I chases it around and try to stop it or distract it from the monkeys, but it is small, low and fast.

Off a particularly rubbery wall rebound, it attaches itself to my leg. There is no sensation of impact, only the wrap-around grip. It looks up at me and grins.

Nausea, revulsion and fear are only words.

Desperate shaking becomes frantic kicking, becomes wild unbalancing spasms. The grinning monkey is unmoved. With slow deliberateness it sticks it's ass out, then thrusts its hips forward and begins humping my leg.

The howling of the others has become a distant wall of sound compared to my breathing and struggles. They are gone; hidden or immobile to the point of invisibility. It doesn't matter anymore. They don't matter anymore. I have to get it off.

It gathers steam like a lascivious locomotive, the movements oddly mechanical, a machine cranking itself over in fits and jerky starts. Penetrating my leg with an organic and bloody squish squish.

Nothing will shake it loose or knock it off; my hands, leg, the ground or useless bits of woods and debris.

Its going at my leg in a frantic rhythm now. It licks and bites my thigh and looks up at me with raised brows on a quizzical and bloody face.

My screaming is a constant siren.

The world is a blur of thrashing background and monkey howls.

At every thrust the pen is getting longer. I feel it under my skin. It turns metallic, the claws and teeth are bloody and deep, the pain sears through my body overtaking all other torments.

I beat at its head ineffectually with a stick, cutting and bruising my leg. I want to cut it off.

The monkey face is a paper mask. Behind it, a tiny human face begins to sweat through, a look of gleeful, spasming eyes in an unending fit of ecstasy. The needle pistons higher, about to enter my body.

Rolling on the ground over rocks, desperate and on fire.

Thrashing and sweating I awake and rub my leg, I run my hands through my hair. I find the light and rub my leg again.

Time to go to work.

Evil Clown

I went looking for clowns and found only the evil apes of their ideas
- The Clown who was Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche

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