send in the clowns 

by Audrey R. Shangle, Harper Woods

i wanna quit school i wanna drop out
i wanna lock myself in the fucking
basement with a mag lite and a
black roller ball pen so I can
write poetry in the semi-dark all over the god-damn walls. i wanna
write all day or is it night it's all the
same down here. doesn't matter never come out
live on processed cheese and giggle all the time
because surprise! i finally lost my fucking mind.
jump around like a monkey snort the fumes from
the ez-cheez can gotta get that buzz somehow.
need someone to fuck so I'll have something to write about.
send down a man I'll send him back when I'm done
fucking and writing 'til someone dies
probably not me i should be so lucky.
need some inspiration send in the clowns i'll
fuck them too and the best part,
the best part is that it will be okay. no one will mind.
people will say "she's eccentric" can you believe that,
eccentric. and we all know eccentricity
breeds genius, right? fucking genius.

isn't that shit crazy? here's what I'm gonna do ...
i'm gonna start a cult. that'll piss 'em off.
a fucking pagan cult with me as an absentee god.
because i'm still in the basement and once a year when there's a quarter
moon i'm gonna gather all my followers together on the lawn and i'm gonna
leave my shithole basement
and come outside where all my followers await
the blessing of my presence.
and then you know what i'm gonna do? i'm gonna
scratch my crotch and spit on the lawn and
then go back to my basement.
> and my followers, they'll eat that shit up.
because that's what they do, they follow.
maybe i'll sell tickets. you wanna be my follower
you gotta buy a ticket. buy a ticket so you
can stand on my lawn and maybe catch a
glimpse of me scratching. maybe you'll be lucky,
maybe I'll spit on you. but you better believe
you're gonna have to pay more for a ticket
within spitting range. 'cuz hey, i am your
God, after all. and damn, is that ever gonna piss
off the right wing christian coalition motherfuckers
because only their God can charge people a fee
to get spit on.

 

Return to the Summer Fiction index. Send comments to letters@metrotimes.com

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