Fucking clowns – Lonely Maria on the roof
Kuukausi: maaliskuu 2023
Fucking Clowns – A flexible woman.
Among the fucking clowns
He bent himself into every knot
Where man bent
A triumphal arch on the estrade
To the jubilation of others in class
The working class, the creative class, and every fucking class
And he, the most formally qualified
Forgot his form and left the circus
And took his place as a reading lamp in the country library
Fucking Clowns – Alan Paine and sector pressure
Every show was an ordeal for him
The applause rang in his ears like a firing squad
The journeys ate him up, and the train’s rattle rattled the coffin lid
The whole circus was to him like the gates of hell
But the pressure did not make him a diamond
Alan, the strong man, grew wings from the pressure
And flew away.
Fucking Clowns – Overloaded
His shadow remained in that first rain.
Fucking clowns – Just a line out of the hat
Fucking Clowns – Alex & Sandro
their collaboration withstood illness, bad times, break-ups and wild gigs. Never once did they disagree about their work.
Then they began to understand each other.
That’s where the problems started.
Fucking Clowns – Otherway
Then this would be over
And there’d be nothing to do
Now we’re just leaving
On different roads
And unspeakable deeds
Words unsaid
They were left in the air
Like spores
And yet I know
The journey is impossible
Sometimes I wish you were dead
So I could come and talk
to your grave.
Fucking clowns – Sam de Ville does his job
On Wednesday, at 6.15am, he left again, taking his cap and nine-year-old blue hoodie, which he had last washed in the spring, when the first spring rains swept the dust from the city.
Now the Canadian maples were blushing in the autumn rain and Sam de Ville was walking from the 14th Street station when he saw the reflection in the Chipotle window.
An empty hoodie and cap stood there in the rain, on the corner of Irving Place, and Sam de Ville never made it to work.
Fucking Clowns – The insight
Fucking Clowns – Dolly walks into the sky
In reality, at some points there was a gap of tens of centimetres, but the lights, the movement, the distance and the magic of the circus, what the professionals called the ropes, created for the audience what they wanted to believe in the circus, a miracle.
But it was also the case that Dolly, was very gullible, and had she not been, she might not have been a trapeze artist, for she would have wanted to be a detective story writer. But her uncle had led her to believe that there were no such things as female detective writers, and Dolly’s ideal, Agatha Christie, was in fact a Polish man.
After they’d done the trick dozens of times, Dolly believed in the magic of the circus herself, and left the wire off.
It didn’t bother anyone.