Circle, Mirror and Clown

I am the Clown.

Excerpt from The Circle, the Mirror and the Clown. (Ari Fuller, 2004, p.14)

"I am the clown. I am the fool. 

I am the monkey with the one key that unlocks me, unlocks none. The clock has sung its final hour, primal power in my antics never frantic, always chanting with ranting voice and raving choices about the forces of my source. 

The source is me and only one, one is the sun, and the sun is one that gives me life and colours my clothes in brightness vivid and rainbows livid. I am the pole-vaulting, somersaulting, summer shouting buffoon of loony tricks and capers mixed with clever flicks of juggling muddles and riddles for children. My laughter is golden and my face is a farce, a colourful mask that hides the void devoid of light, my knowledge nothing, my smile bright. I am only the future, my past is dead. I live for the smiles of the people, for all I know is I am they. My words don’t mean a thing, I throw them around, I make them a ring that sings lullabies, and grows legs and feet, and then runs headlong into the pale sunrise. 

I know my words are meaningless, and so I am never grinning less for I put the sky in a bucket of sunlight and swirled it around and came up with moonlight. I can rhyme if you like, if you like a rhyme, and if I rhyme so sublime will you throw me a dime so I can throw it away and show you the day that is worth more that money, a joke forever funny. For funny is forever, and forever is my never of this funny clever jester who just messed your funny gesture with his crazy never guessed. A guest I am behind this face with a big red nose as I trip over my toes and laugh another daft half-smart cart of silly-billy answers to your questions asked of chances of your future luck for dances. Dance now and pluck your luck from chances you silly-billy prancer, for questions in their answer are implicit more than certain, and I laugh and mock your foolish searches, your futile perches on invisible branches in the clouds of enchanters. 

I laugh and mock you fool, you fool, go back to school and unlearn rules, and then perhaps will the fool then rule from his lonely stool, his only tool his foolish rule of me as you, more fit to rule than rules for fools who cannot see invisible tools. 

I laugh at you for you are me, mere words to join on this laughing spree. If one word is the same as me, then all words are one word not three, not any difference in deliverance, for I say me whenever three is one and two is none, hear how near is my heart, the sun. The sum of me is all, right through the future wall so solid, impenetrable me till now so horrid and misunderstood..."

Completed Golden Forest X

The Lust that Bites

That dream unknown as future grown into the dawn so unrevealed, so blissfully the light it gathers, so artfully the darkness scattered. I wait and breath, and never see the real dream that only ever stalks the reams of data, competing thoughts and half-held quaking fears of chalk in rain, the sleeper's horror that never finds. Like new born mouths to feed the thoughts demand more, me, me me! Though that dream is but the broken mirror, shards reformed to narrate the winner, always losing, always running, always killing and always numb. The woken moment begs the question, relives the horror of thought's congestion, holding phony bony fingers, pointing at the door, the shadow comes. Bring food, the lust that bites, the stomach that feeds and fuels the night, playing half-known, misunderstood, where others tread yet never stood.

Evernight

The last beginning shone darkly spinning, bringing forth the hidden corpse that was given breath in lonely death. Forgotten was the memory clear, that awful sight of lovers near, shunned with spoken words they fled, the burning runes upon their heads. Yet only to return the spurned, as turning churned the maelstrom. A transparent shadow hid their appearance, and suddenly a change so instant. Constance brought the bowed heads low, and disappeared the past's dim glow, alight anew, they never knew, the warmth of others shrouded in blue. So close the distance, so far the near, and always knowing bent its ear, to hear the soundless cries that fly, in ever night towards sunrise.

Another word

It doesn't stop the time alloted to be there when others are clotted with time that cannot grasp the thought, the nought that passes into... my hands that work, my legs that stand, that understand the flowing ground. Reach out to speak the ideas forming, unsounded words that creep like morning to other rhythms, other thoughts, stay still the wind in my fingers caught, to try to say the impasse, speak... don't speak, or unspoken be the thought unheard by flesh the ever-present, memory gliding, gilding, gold glinting building, upward outward underneath, I cannot say the words that speak. I fear the lie that I must say, when utter sounds into the day, and in the dark the meanings mutter, when will meanings only matter. Catch it to hold, behold the drops that fell, unseen, undone, the attempt to tell the dying sun, the last light brightest, last breath lightest, permanence is permanent, always last, forever ending. The ghost jeering at the distraction formed by trinkets adorning yesterday the other way, unleft, ungone, the little known. See the tiny little light, that tiny light in shadows bright, another trick that looked away, unseen again that vast array so small when distance is the time. Arrive there not, that yesterday, where mindless plots will fester grey, arrive here never, not then or now, to see the future words somehow.

Golden forest (progress photo)