What do you think happens when the soul of a clown and the soul of a poet live together in one human being? Do they live in harmony? Well, while they don’t necessarily fight each other, they wage their own internal wars in opposite corners.

Having that duality within one man, it is a double whammy, folks. Most people wear some sort of mask on a daily basis. That is why when someone asks us “how are you?”, we automatically come back with something like “Fine, and you?”. We don’t really want to share how we feel and we don’t want to know how the other person is doing. That’s OK, though, the person who asked us the question in the first place doesn’t really want to know either.

Well, imagine two masks on one man: words dripping with alcohol and tears buried in laughter. Here it is: the beast that is me.

In this blog, I will share thoughts on my life, on the movies I love, on the music I appreciate and on many other things. Some of it will be in English and some in French, all depending on how the thoughts organize themselves in my head at that specific moment. There will be a little bit of everything. My sense of humour might shock some, so let all of you be forewarned. This is my space and it will fit my reality. If you get offended easily, you might want to look elsewhere.

Having said all of this now, all that is left to do is to officially welcome you to the blog of the clowning poet. Hope you enjoy your visits into my universe.

mercredi 6 octobre 2010

Un peu de poésie

Malgré le fait que mon blog se nomme PoeticClown, je n'ai pas publié beaucoup de poésie ici. Remédions à ça immédiatement. Voici un texte que j'ai écrit très rapidement hier soir. L'inspiration se passe ainsi pour moi. Les mots arrivent rapidement dans ma tête et déboulent ensuite sur papier.

Au féminin (en chaleur)

La vie
La folie
La détresse
La tendresse
La délivrance
La déchéance

L'ivresse
est une femme en chaleur
Qui vous montre ses fesses
et vous verse ses douceurs.

L'ébriété
est une tentatrice chaude
Dont la chatte griffée
ne jamais s'échaude

La mort
est une sorcière en veille
Qui nous attend aux abords
D'une nuit sans réveil

La déchéance
La délivrance
La tendresse
La détresse
La folie
La ...
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