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| How deep does the jester sink? All the way to Hell? |
It is adviced that you read part one and two before you read this.
Part 1 - Tragic beginnings and the Livid Storm
Part 2 - The Carnival is Dead
Part 3 - The Clown and Robert Johnson
Part 4 - The Angel and the Greatest Show on Earth
Relax your mind for it is time to journey back to the New World.
5
He’s
stranded now without a job
in a one
horse town.
He takes a
stroll to look around.
then sets
his course for the only bar
to swamp
his feelings with a drink.
Anything to
stop him think.
But as he
nears the door he hears
sweet
sounds from a guitar.
He’s never
heard such sounds before.
It grabs
his hurting heart and tear
and tear
and tear, but not apart,
rather
piercing like a dart.
Picking
strings
while he
sings
it sounds
as sweet as art.
Like the
very hand of God
had
sprouted from a man,
for only
the divine it can
turn soul
straight into sound
as coarse
and harsh and primitive
as from
this coloured fellow,
that sits
in the darkened corner
Looking rather mellow.
Strumming,
picking, plucking
the soul
from his guitar.
The
guitarist was hardly old enough
to be
called a man.
“He’s but a
boy how can it be?
I need to
know how it began.
Can there
be enough inside of him
of life
both sweet and grim?
Heaven,
earth and all between
from the
time before the very day
when God
him self would say:
let there
be time and space and life
and death
and all between
and all the
way until it ends
in
eternity.
How comes
it that this young man can
so easily
convey
all this
just through his play”
When the
music stops
the jester
goes
over with a
drink.
‘Those
sounds
they sure
are sweet.
They really
make me think,
that never
in my time I’ve heard
their like
before, my friend.
The
lacerations through my soul that loss
of love
from life it tore,
your music
seems to mend.’
“I’m glad
it makes you feel like this.
For the
price to play so sweet a tune
was my soul
to the abyss
on
Beelzebub’s harpoon.
Satan
showed me how to croon
and play
this old guitar
He promised
me I’d be a star.
But in
return I had to give
The Evil
One control
Of my
immortal soul.”
The Merrier
he drank his drink
And gave it
all a good old think.
“I’ll ask
the devil to make of me
the
funniest man on earth.
Make my
mother the only one
to ever
have given birth
to such a
man of mirth.
I see no
further down from here
so tell me,
if you can,
where can I
meet this devil man?
I’d like of
him to make it so
each time I
do a show
I’m always
met with laughter
never met
with frowns.
I want him
to make of me
the
ultimate King of clowns.
‘You must
be sure
that’s what
you want.
For the
price you’ll have to pay
is that you
must sign away
your own
immortal soul.’
“Oh I don’t
care about my look
my empty
gut or smell.
I have hurt
too much to care
I now want
to excel.”
But in his
heart he hoped
that he would
to find a way
to keep
Beelzebub at bay.
‘Well,
then I’ll
tell you all you need,
all you
need to know.
You have to
get a crucifix
one that’s
made of birch.
I know
there is just such a cross
You can
steal from that little church.
Then go to
the crossroads
on the
other side of town.
Just past
the hallowed ground
where the
gallows tree
stands
black and dead.
You have to
remember what I said
Nothin’
will work instead.
Then place
your hands around the cross
so it is
upside down.
You got to
stick it in the ground
so the
Lord’s whole head is in.
If you put
it right way round, you see,
your
luck’ll be runnin’ thin.
You must be
sure his head is Buried,
burried in
the dirt.
This is a
fact I must assert
the Lord
must be
made inert.
His ears
must be covered
so he can’t
hear.
His eyes
must be blind
so he can’t
see.
You’ll have
to spit,
you’ll have
to swear.
and carve a
skull
and
dead-man’s bones
deep into a
tree.
Then you
got to be waitin’,
the Devil
don’t come right away.
When he
comes, you got to pray
you know
just what to say.
The Devil
wont be waitin’
for you to
make up your mind.
If you meet
him
with your
mind unmade
the Devil
don’t care to be kind.”
6
The Clown
gets a wooden cross and
plants it
upside down,
in the
centre of the crossing roads
the call to
hell is sown.
The
Armenian merry-man
stood
waiting in the sun.
He put his
round, red clown nose on
transformation
had begun.
The fool
inside crept out from sleep,
funny
enough to make grown men weep.
But the
hours came and went away,
it is hard
to clown around all day.
He reached
into his jacket lining
and fished
out a flask of rum.
It didn’t
even touch his mind
That to
drink might just be dumb.
Don’t dance
with the Devil drunk, they say,
you just
won’t get your way.
He’ll say
he’ll fix your every need
As long as
he gets to lead.
Shuffling
‘round in the wilted grass
He spotted
a thing that shone like brass
In the
yellow straw by the dusty road,
a little
lantern gone astray
had become
the castle for a toad.
And he fell
on his face to pray.
Then he
shook the cane toad king
from the
throne where he tried to cling.
To find a
little light
to
illuminate the dark
was just
what he did need.
If the
devil came upon him
after the
sun‘d gone down.
He was sure
a simple clown
would in
the darkness drown.
Unless
there was a way he could
create a
little spark
and with it
plant a burning seed.
It is best
to see your steps
if the
devil’s in the lead.
The hours
ticked past
with
lead-footed pace
Soon the
scare crow suited clown sat
staring
into space.
Far away he
saw some sheep
And before
long he fell asleep.
7
He wakes up
to the sound of steps
coming up
the road.
His heart
it hammers,
his breath
is short
and long
gone is his toad.
There’s no
fire in his lantern
But he
holds it non-the less.
He checks
his round red nose is straight,
that the
crucifix is desecrate.
He is ready
to transgress.
The sound
of steps from hobnail boots
on the feet
of a Hobo man.
“The times
they must be hard
he thought,
when the
Devil walks the land.
Are you the
one called Beelzebub
who comes
out from the dark?”
The hobo
laughed and said he was
called by
many names,
but
Beelzebub was stark.
‘Well, then
Devil, I’ll ask you this:
Can you
make of me the king of fools?
The
funniest of every man
who don’t
have to follow rules.’
The Hobo he
stood quiet now,
they felt
the warm wind blow,
the hobo’s
eyes was staring at
the red
nose of a clown.
‘You don’t
look like you are bound
by rules
and regulations.
No, to me
it seems you should
perform at
celebrations.’
“That’s
exactly what I want.
I want to
be the best.
The one
that’s so uproarious
he’s
different from the rest.”
“Well, if you’re sure you think that’s
true
that all of
that is truly you,
that’s just
what you should do.”
“If you’ll
do me this
I’ll give
to you my immortal soul.
I assume
that’s what you want.
The hobo
looked bewildered now
and stood
there like a cow.
‘I thought
you asked just in jest
to get
something of your chest.
But
actually you think I am the evil king of pest.
I tell you
clown:
I am not
different from the rest.
And my
advice to you is this
If you
harbor such desires,
to really
be a king
or any kind
of fool
I believe
just as a rule,
you must do
it for yourself.
There will
be no help from Lucifer
or God on
heavens shelf.
If your
desire lies in art
just listen
to your heart.
If deep in
there, you know you want
to be an
idiot savant
That fills
good folks with laugh and joy
Bring
happiness to girl and boy,
You must
listen to yourself
With your
heart as a compass on your way
you will
never go astray.’
With this
the Hobo walked away
down the dusty
road
with no
delay.
The jester
stood alone
to kick the
dust and groan.
He hadn’t
dared to look inside
deep inside
himself,
for there
he knew what would reside.
A hole so
deep and black and dark
It would
eat him like a shark.
With this
inside it wasn’t strange
That people
didn’t laugh.
The sorrow
grown from loosing her
wrecked his
fate in all mankind.
It tore his
heart and soul and mind
Until his
art was so confined
It spoke to
none,
not even
him.
‘So long my
only want has been,
I want her
back.
This has
been my nightly plea,
my poor
minds only track.
Why did you
take her from me Lord?
Why did you
not take me?
How many
nights’ been spent like these
With grief
devouring me like disease,
my heart
refusing to let it go
the image
of her drowned below.
If I am to
stay around
on this
retched earth
I must make
my life have worth.
I must
release her from my heart and mind
To let
what’s happened be behind
and let my
soul appease.
The Merrier
stood abruptly up
And grabbed
the crucifix.
‘I’m
hanging up this call to hell
I no longer
wish to sell
my very
soul for tricks.’
Then in the
dark he took the cross
and dug a
little grave.
To come to
terms with loss
and her
that he still crave
he decides
that he must bury
the only
thing that’s left from home.
He dropped
the old red clowny nose
into the
little grave
the
carefully covered it with moss
then threw
away the cross.
x
The end of the day is nothing but a new beginning. Our clown has begun anew standing naked in a new world. As your friend, let me tell you the conclusion to the epic tale will be all that you could hope. The final chapter is upon us, check it out, you owe it to yourself to discover how it ends in part four.
Yours truly
Captain Frodo
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