Clown Zeroes In On Theories Of Emotional Twistedness

My Bad ?!? The Worst Day Of My Life

My head is overloaded
Cats claw at my skin
I'm dehydrated
All the flags are waving, sirens fill the din
And I've got the shakes again

Through a boozy fog I see
It's emotions that are killing me
A forgotten whisper on my lips
Make it stop
Let me out

I'm standing on the corner with a balloon dog in my hand
Hands shake the feeling from my finger tips
Being and nothingness spiral crazily
The gun's still warm and the fear comes on
What is life but a reprieve from death?

Evil Clown

If I can't blame you, who can I blame?
- Litotes The Clown


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Evil Clown Can't Sleep, Must Eat

Evil Clowns Stalk City And Stock Freezers After Dark



Behind This Tie

No one knows what it is like to be the bad clown
To be the sad clown
The mad clown
Behind a red nose

Who gets what it is to be fated
To be baited
Forever unsated
Baptized in lies

I have months were I'm only lonely
Eyes that don't gleam but are empty
No soul can touch me
When love is a monstrosity

My life may feel pointless and empty
My actions seem pithy
But my dreams are visions
Ethics own actuality

Sharp voices they guide me
Self harm nurture's me
Necrotic impulses fulfill me
Little hauntings sustain me

Evil Clown

Evil Clown image: we sleep, they go to work - business men of the night, mixed media on paper

The real artist erases the line between crying and laughter.
- Litotes The Clown


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Loving Iraq Doggie Style With Rhythm Method; Arguing Over Which Surge Or Push To Withdraw After

Evil Clowns Should Have Used A Condom

The rhythm method is named after Hermann & Ogino and involves a lot of calendars, timetables and counting days in order to have or avoid a new birth and / or an accident. It has a very high failure rate.

It is also used as the name of behaviour to peoples who have intimate contact but want to avoid any long term commitments.

Sometimes the rhythm method is confused with premature withdrawal.

The difficulty with the withdrawal method is that in the heat of repeated surges, creative deployments and tactical forays the brain can become fevered with a euphoria that pushes and trusts activity to the edge of a peak, and beyond, in the unreal and temporary belief that control can be maintained indefinitely.

Just before the edge is reached, protestations and reassurances that there is complete control, reach their pitch. Efforts at self deception and general manipulation reach their peak.

Once, you find yourself suddenly and somewhat unexpectedly, in the throws of la petite mort and the situation falls into a chaotic frenzy of abandonment.

Rationality is abandoned as one or both parties (or more) lose reason and abandon their forebrain in a passionate animalistic madness. Fury and ecstasy combine without a sense of consequence.

There may be recrimination, quilt or indifference. In the horrendous sweaty mess of the aftermath, there is smoking in the dark.

This is why a cordon or other form of control is very useful in the intercourse of nations. Even the protective barrier of sanctions and gel (water or silicone not oil) allow consumption of relations between parties, or even group play, without the risks (or significantly reduced risks) of unwanted consequences (let's not use the word 'blowback' - blowback is usually what got us heated up in the foreplay, er... first place).

Two more thoughts:

1. Talk to everyone involved before you start bashing mindlessly away with your stick. Communication and imagination is what makes it safe and enjoyable for everyone.

2. If you can't handle your stick in a responsible and adult manner, if you can't live up to the consequences of your actions, if you aren't prepared to live up to the possibility of long term commitment involved - abstain.

Evil Clown

Concede: That you are misdirected and pummeled with fabrications, and have been, your entire waking life [GIGO].

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Kolobathristes The Evil Clown; Fear Transmuted

Oh fcuk, what is that clown is doing?

Coulrophobia senses the shadowy outré world of the clown. The baleful and eerie procession of thoughts and images that flicker beneath the veneer.

Watching a clown is like watching a child tear apart a puppy. Only, you know, with an adult body, grotesque grease paint, tittering and without boundaries.

They invade our boundaries because these evil clowns don't sense them, don't know them, don't have them... 'Taboo' is an inconceivable word from a cryptic alien language.

And that smile, the same smile that a little child exhibits frying ants and pulling apart insects.

Is it only a coincidence that we associate evil clowns with the supernatural or at least incomprehensibly monstrous?

When a clown approaches you, does the hair rise on the back of your neck? Your spine shiver? Your arms dimple?

Maybe coulrophobia should not be defined as an irrational fear of clowns.

Maybe coulrophobia should not even be redefined as a rational fear of evil clowns.

Maybe coulrophobia isn't a fear at all, but a true and protective psychic ability that others are too obtuse to sense and too quick to write off as the defect of a disturbed mind.

But really, you know. And the clown knows you know.

Evil Clown

Image:

Evil Clown Coulrophobia, Ink on Paper, Portrait

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Yog-Sothoth In A Clown Mask

Disfunction Junction - Evil Twin Clowns From Calcutta Circus


Shaking through the core of my body, near my diaphram, like the irregular fluttering of my father's heart before his pacemaker, out to all the reaches of my bio-empire.

My hands vibrate like too much coffee, adrenoline overload and drug problems. Which is what it is. The sweats and sensory distortion, well, it makes for a bad day. Yog-Sothoth in a clown mask.

I'm afraid to go out, pick up the phone, or open email. Cthulhu works through compression.

Inside, my tidal forces are turbulently trying to align with the new moon of more drugs. I am at the high tide of dosage on a bloody beach of human bones.

Outside my life is waiting for me. Outside my life is going on. Outside my life is going by. Which is the dream?

The Old Ones my father told me about press in warping them like the sweating plaster walls of a badly sealed grow-op.

Is it better than the vertigo, falling into doorframes, knocking pictures off the wall, panic, anxiety and the hospital?

A change is as good as a rest.

I am forcing myself to eat and drink.

I am keeping busy with porno, house cleaning, and scalping old music from the internet.

The shakes should pass soon, I know in my head, and I will go back to real worries. The Outer Gods will retreat again, sleep again.

There is so much I have to do. It is hard to keep a grip on myself and everything else.

I can't think of a metaphor beyond my own trembling body and the eerie whine of half heard incantations.

Evil Clown

Magic, you want magic? I can change any thought that hurts into a reality that hurts even more.

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Psycho Meat Puppet Theatre Of The Mind

Evil Clown Drawings: I Like What You're Thinking, Ink On Paper

This evil clown act involves hilarious screw-ups and misdirected rescue behaviour.

The clown is trying to 'nudge, nudge, wink, wink' trick the audience or other performers into feeling sorry for them.

Rules Of Thump:

1. Don't take responsibility for your so called lif (abbrev. for liff, see: The Meaning of Liff (Paperback) by Douglas Adams & John Lloyd).

2. Don’t take any action that might lead to a solution, don't DO anything to get yourself out of funny situations. However, you must keep very busy – drama follows action.

3. Get into difficult if not improvable or paradoxical positions. How doesn't matter, give them the old razzle-dazzle. Not everyone will buy the BS but the gullible and aroused will believe and you can use their emotions against them.

4. Act helpless until you want something or they are within easy striking distance.

5. Do I Have to mention Whiney?

6. Make it obvious that you want and believe that others can make your existential existence better.

Pantomime Horse:

1. Sickness, accidents, family deaths, loving/abandoning pets, suicidal behaviour and crying during soup commercials are your stock and trade.

2. Realistically but subtly exaggerate pain to exact sympathy and get out of helping friends move.

3. Heartache: She said I looked like her 4th husband.

Bore Issues:

1. Anyone who loves me must be too stupid to see how defective I am so I'll screw them up before they discover how worthless I am and leave me.

2. Harm & Indulgence tissues – better than Kleenex.

3. Entitlement is the flip side of sexploitation.

Player Character Background:

1. I only get taken care of (not loved) when I ma ufcked up or in pain.

2. When in doubt act infantilized, if you can't spell that act spoiled.

Conscious Bot: You make me un/happy. Situations I magically fall into are untenable.

Unconscious Bot: You will rescue me because it's your fault and I'm hapless.

Doesn't Play Well With Others:

Let's focus on why Mary is hurting my feelings for no reason.

Jesus is being such a jerk!

Other Characters:

Only potential rescuers need apply.

Words That Are Not In The Dickionary:

Assertive & Responsible.

Queue For Big Scene:

Must make a decision / take action Or enter pain.

Common Freelings & Associates:

Listening, sympathy, suggestion giving, supportive, rescue response, guilt, empathy burnout, frustration leading to resentment, take a hike you brat.

Treatment:

I am neither Spanish nor a lawyer nor a Spanish lawyer.

Scoring:

Remember, the game here is not to get 'something' out of life or Do anything, the game is played by various forms of complaining and half hearted but ultimately planned/failed attempts at competence.

1. Points are counted by gaining sympathy and empathy.
2. Free rides count for triple points.
3. Repeated conning of the same mark is a 25% total bonus.
4. Guilt (from others) is good (0.5pt).

Catch 22:

Fulfillment of desire leads to regression which destroys source of gratification which leads to rescue which fulfills desire...

Evil Clown

"What sick, ridiculous, puppets we are, and what a gross, little stage we dance on. What fun we have, dancing and fucking, not a care in the world. Not knowing that we are nothing."

Somerset, se7en

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Paper Cuts And Insomnia Incongruity And Societal Criticism

I Can’t Remember Where I Hid The One True Good

Evil Clown Sketch: Sometimes It Hurts To Be Crazy, Pencil on Paper

The monstrous can not be unqualified and produce funniness. Whereas it may be weird, it must also clash with harmony so that, like, we can, you know, compare and contrast it to that superannuated ideal.

I am Sailing To Ganymede and my fingers get up and walk away.

Those plebes’ whose ambitions are inessentially pedestrian are in themselves a grotesque warning of the yearning for the false solace of currency and the implications of victory over others, over the system and the demands of self for self demands.

In the same moment they deem simple rules and procedures concerning how to handle the dangerous substances of good and evil as self evident and, further more, that these principles are fixed and resist all attempts at relativism or the troubling mundane circumstances of day to day mortal life.

Like the fact that my fingers are a big spider.

Contest these hack philosophical questions simile predestination vs. free will, why evil clowns prosper and the towers of our self projects fall into ruin, despair and fevered introspection and what is justice or the good anyway and why the hell should I care anymore? After that poisonous little princess tossed my heart into the ashes!

Why should I even try when I'm this tired. I wouldn't even be writing this if Julie didn't have a loaded camera to my head.

Evil Clown

The Consolation of Philosophy? Comic irony is meaningless.

- Litotes The Clown

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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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