When I was young I thought that being enigmatic and withdrawn was appealing. I thought that shouting it at the world would make me sensitive, or exposed, or brooding. It never worked. And now it’s just slurred words and crying in bathrooms like a fucking idiot. The jester must keep up his dance! God forbid he should don the mask of tragedy. No fun in that. Dance, Pagliacci! Paint me how you will. I am a vessel of humor, and my tragedy is worth it, for your laughs. No no no no. Pagliacci no more. Make it stop love of god make it stop no more of this I am not a clown. Pagliacci no more. FINITA FINITA. What I could do with steel and fire. I could burn this life to blackness and finish it for good. If not for the cowardice. But that’s the fucking rub.
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