scary boo!

in which PentWhistle learns the true meaning of Hallowe'en

dearest confusticants,
your impeccable patience is rewarded. PentWhistle has returned with dire news and a new direction.

Saint Seer of Tallow and Mat the Hooplah have been in deep trance since October 21st, when the balances of Libra dipped ever towards the shadows of the Scorpion. They have but emerged today, on this most Hallowe'ed Eve, and they have much to share.
Mat scribbles, despite the numbness in both his ambidextrous forearms. He writes upside down and backwards as he rights from write to left. Soon we will be transfixed by his transcriptions.
However
something significant has happened.
While the veil between our world and the Underlands has grown very thin, a huge surge of souls, violently disposed by forces of nature under the guise of storms at sea and in the desert, bleeding blood and oil into the depths of the Earth, were met by another Spirit, struggling against the tide.
This being had been waiting in the Psychopomp's vestibule, reading back-issues of Life magazine (an article on the birth of Plutonium, as it so happens) patiently.
This being has made it known, through the larynx of Saint Seer of Tallow, that our world will descend further into the unrecgonizeable.
To Wit:
our acknowledgements are ever out of balance. With the overemphasis of the light, the darkness has remained ignored beyond its characteristic occlusion. This, the being insists, is an unspeakable crime.
the spirit of Nihil demands acknowledgement in keeping with that of the birth of the Sun as celebrated during the season of XXXmas. Three days for the birth of the Sun, three wise men, three-part spirit during the season of Winter: XXXmas eve, XXXmas, and Boxing Day.
the spirit demands that the birth of Nihil be recognised with the three days
october 31st, Hallowe'en
November 1st, Mid-Autumn
November 2nd, Dio de los Muertos
in the Season of Decay.
the spirit of Nihil, calling itself "Not Jack" has been birthed, today of all days, and wanders among us on the physical plane.
"Not Jack" is evil, and garbs itself in the skin of a Clown.
be ascared. be very ascared.
-PentWhistle
ps this is not a joke
pps no, really, it's not.

aghast and aghoul

although Hallowe'en is by its nature dark,
the blackness that poses as enlightened works of well-intended intervention,
has yet to be fully explored.

There are yet horrors for our modern world that are so new that we have yet to appropriate them into our world of mythologies. These are the ills that we do not accept, for which we avoid taking responsibility, from which we distance ourselves.

yet these ills and ails are us, which is hard to admit.

Enter the Evil Clown as Ghoul -

the Ghoul, a favourite around the graveyard, has morbid sensibilities and tastes, and in its own comical obsession with consuming death, of incorporating the rotting flesh of our corpses into its own being...

which isn't all that different from organ transplantation.

Hence, this Hallowe'en, why not dress as a Neo-Ghoul[tm]?

There are many variations of this oldie with a twist. To wit:

Organ-transplant surgeon
accessories: Pig Liver, Monkey Liver, Scalpel, Research Grant, Waiver

Organ Broker
accessories: Wad of paper where heart should be

Organ Donator (willing)
hollow zombie
accessories: driver's license with organ donation card section filled to include everything

Organ Donator (unwilling)
accessories: IV drip, confused look, one kidney

Medical Student
costume works best if accompanied by any number of organ donators (willing)

Have a safe and scary Hallowe'en!

-PentWhistle

Hats off to Hallowe'en Witches

How I learned to stop worrying and love the balm

"What's this? What's this?" griped LoveStrange the Clown, "How long has it been since the weird systers have joined our happy little Three-Rings?"
"Too long, already, I fear," replied BungWorks, "they've really put a fright into the acrobats."
"How's that?" asked Pants Mahoney.
"They're afraid of the fall, whereas before, they didn't believe it a possibility."
"The systers told them that?" asked LoveStrange, rising at the evidence against them, already plotting their dismissal.
"No, the systers didn't say anything. They looked at Ballsey's acrobats. One drew a thread, another measured. The third looked up at the highwire balancers, and cut the thread clean through." BungWorks fell silent, the rest following suit.
-from Chronicles of Three-Ring by WatersWords.

--

The above little fiction, although but a mere fingerwipe across a steamed mirror, speaks of much greater concerns than the opining of concerned Clowns and circus-chaff alike. Why so much attention paid it by Clowns?

and not just in the fiction...

The systers, three Witches, watching the threads of mortality measured out, and snipped, do so without malice. Their act may appear harmful, hurtful, evil, however, they simply measure what each of us is allotted: one lifetime. no more. no less.

they do not suffer from the illusion of time.

neither do Evil Clowns.

outside of time, are these ilk.
what milk had they nursed on
to make them so cursed?

So, in honour of Witches, in all their Evil Clownish manners, here is the Witchtide remembrance, the Three-Clown Salute, in all its fantasmaglory:

Three-Clown Salute
-Name withheld to ensure innocence

"Honk! Honk! Honk!
We bellows with our horns,
to our Devil-known Systers,
To cacophinate the morns,
awaken mothers and misters,
To celebrate with corns,
and gum-kernel blisters!

"Honk! Honk! Honk!
We give 'em a squeeze,
these three horns of ours,
For the blood to freeze,
while the rain never pours,
The Systers to please,
lest one angers, one scorns and one scours.

"Honk! Honk! Honk!
Three Systers' gall,
Look out below,
Even demons pall,
as the strings grow,
and they fall,
to the winnow."

Love your broom.

-PentWhistle

hats off to hallowe'en hats

"The Magic of Hats is that anyone can wear one."
-ButterStripe the Clown

Yes, fellow Hallowe'enies, time ticks us closer and closer
to our great day,
and greater night,
of All Hallowed Eve,
and another on
Dia de los Muertos.

The day when the spirit world is closest to ours, when the veil is thinnest,
when the gates of the Afteworld open wide,
to admit the sream of fresh souls,
fresh spirits,
descending,
under the soil,
and after time.

It's best to be prudent,
and by no means take this too seriously,
nor too lightly.

Perhaps it should be taken gravely, and smirkily.

The disguise, the creatures of the Underworld and Afterworld:

Witches, celebrating Samhain roam the streets in packs of giggling rubber faces and pointed hats;

vampires, preying for succulence at every door, something to quicken sluggish blood;

zombies, wandering randomly, yet systematically, seeking fulfilment of an insatiable hunger;

and a profusion of,

other

interpretations.

The archetypes evoked during this masquerade festival can be uniquely evocative of a localised pantheon. These are the moments when magic is most potent, and uncontrollable. The Gates of Hell are open, after all, as are those of Paradise.

The fawns, the fairies, the sprites, elves, puckish pranksters, and mischievous mites, satyrs, animals of all types, all of whom represent the spirits of the Pastoral Paradise, and they too have a place in celebrating, in escorting the Spirit of the Harvest to the Underworld.

This is mid Autumn, and pumpkins are the last harvest of the year.

spiders weave their webs, and gorge while nursing a huge egg sac.

nights creep earlier and earlier, this being the midpoint between the Autumnal Equinox and the Winter Solstice, and crepuscular critters, like the bat, are more commonly seen.

Hence the affectations.

Taking into consideration, the bats, the spider egg sacs, the cooler weather and earlier nights, and the proximity of the Spirits of the Overworld and the Underworld and the Afterworld, it is necessary, nay, imperative that one

wears

a

hat.

Avoid bat or owl guano in the hair, as with spider eggs, keep your head warm, and your thoughts under cover. The last thing you need is an Eight-Year-Old Demon reading your mind and stealing all of your candy.

Now that you're in on the secret about headwear, there are so many options available that you'd best begin here:
here

Hats work like masks. Each has a particular personality which it imposes upon yours. There are powerful archetypes associated with the Top Hat,

the Bowler, the Ten-Gallon, the Sombrero, the So'Wester, the Fez, the Beanie,
the Cap, the Fedora, the Bear-Skin,
the Tiara, the Crown, the Bonnet, the Hood, the Cowl, the the Laurels,
the Antlers, the Daisy-Chain,

and many others besides.

Once chosen, the Hat most appropriate, for both its wearer and the occasion, will appeal to the Quick (so you won't have to spend a night in the Clink) and the Dead (so you won't spend a night to remember you'd wish you'd forget).

And nothing gauche.

-PentWhistle

Inside the Big Top

Within the Realm of Running-Away-and-Joining-the-Circus

It's cheaper than therapy.

The bright, broad white-on-red stripes decorating the billowing flaps loudly snapped in the capricious zephyrs of the mundane everyday.

From without,
what mysteries lurk within?
one wonders.

The promise of fun, in the candy-striped edifice, its flimsy walls foreshadowing something of the nature of the place.

Temporary. Mutable. Transient.

From without, the imperative ticking of time, as the deadline for the magical apparition of the towering tent of marvels and the miraculous approaches with the earth's wobbly spin, as if to advise

be quick

or?

Glimpses through the triangular flap of the doorway the only entertainment allowed to the poor and the penniless, with their dreams of entry, of participation, of escape.

escape.

However, is running away with the circus an escape from something?

if so, what?

Is running away with the circus an escape to something?

If so, what?

If not escape, then can it be called "running away?"

what appeal within the mysterious folds of canvas?

Why, Mystery, of course!!!

the mystery of the unknown within. The Sun shines upon all without, illuminating every detail to dulled familiarity, however, in the shadows of the big top, something lurks behind the colourful facade. Something intriguing. Something compelling. Something extra-ordinary.

and so we enter.

and we discover, that clowns, amongst all the denizens of the circus,
are truly
the Evil ringleaders.

Run away.

Run, run away.

-PentWhistle

A Nose by any other Name would Still Smell Sweetily

The Game of the Nose.

"There are far more things to regret having ingested,
than are dreampt of in your philosophy, Mat."
-Saint Seer of Tallow

The red, bulbous nose that swells off of the tip of the Clownish proboscis, represents the disequilibrium of the drunkard, the dotart, the dreg. The red nose, tumescing with vericose vessels, announces itself proudly to never have refused a house red, or offer of invigorating, intoxicating imbibibles.

The protruberence, exaggeratedly jutting itself out, demanding attention, greater in the estimation of the audience than its bulk necessitates, pulls the Clown behind it, as if the nose contained the will that the rest of the body lacked.

Surrendering one's behaviour and reponsibility to the nose, to the drink, to the intoxin.

Any wonder why Clowns walk on flopping feet, awkwardly forcing themselves to overcome self-imposed impediments? They represent the subjugation of will to a higher power, or at least to stronger spirits.

The Clown holds themself in contrast to the upstanding ideal of the backbreaking work ethic, the sober attention to meticulous detail in executing the trickle-down demands of the market as interpreted by analysts, economists and other legitimised opinion-makers.

What good a drunken peon to undertake such serious business? What use a disoriented rub-a-dub in pursuing dreams of capturing occidental capital?

None.

The Clown is a target for such imposed imperatives, yet ultimately the foil. Despite all sincere intentions, the Clown is unable to undertake their task, their chore, their assignment, due to the overwhelming preponderence of the nasal influence.

This is also the reason that Clowns don't typically operate heavy machinery.

-PentWhistle

Fowl Play

Giving Thanks for not being a Turkey

"I'm gonna knock you out!
Marmoset knock you out!"
-LL Clown J

The flocks of turkeys cringe as the weather turns to the chill crispness of Autumn, and the human animal surrenders to the insatiable hunger from tradition long-lost into the mists of myth, and the legends of Witches, Zealots and Death.

Our Seer has a compendium in which MattheHooplah has collected channeling of the spirits of meals from the Afterworld.

As is prudent, I remain
-PentWhistle

--
Dare if you dare, to glance at the gleanings of Saint Seer of Tallow
Below
--

"They... they just gobbled me up... they were like- animals... and... and... the sternum! oh my- I- I can't continue..."
-Regurgitation of the Spirit, vol 3, Fowl and Turnkeys

"Well, funny thing is, in the afterworld, all the meat is dark meat..."
-Ibid.

"What do monkeys wish for with the wishbone? Of all the things they could wish for, do they wish for the turkey to be alive again? Oh, noooooo."
-Verbal Lashings from the Afterworld - Birds of a Feather

"And then shall we render the fat from their flesh,
that it might be blended with burnt charcoal,
and grain milled to a fine powder,
and slowly poured water,
and agitated to smoothness.
Then did the boat travel from place to place,
lightening its load,
pouring rendered fat sauce,
all over everything.
Render unto the rendered and all that.
Tell that to the egglings, and then truly will they remember to brush their combs
before bedtime."
-Regurgitation of the Spirit, vol 2, Fat of the Land

"What's the matter Sanders?
Chicken?"
-Dark Helmet, Spaceballs

Costumes for Evil Clowns

to be confused with Evil Clown Costumes

What can an Evil Clown wear on Hallowe'en,
without the
dreadful
social
embarrasment of instant recognition?

Simple!

Choose any one of the following clever disguises,
and you'll be the hit
of
the
party!

or you'll scare the hell out of children and the elderly.

either way,

fun fun fun!

The "Hide-in-Plain-Sight" Collection
*Pirate
*Ghost
*Necromancer
*Scarecrow
*Evil Clown

The "Trojan-Horse" Collection
*Trojan Horse
*Trojan
*Horse

The "Hide-and-Feet" Collection
*Penguin
*Sea Lion
*Letter "L"

The list could go on,
but the question remains
should it?

-PentWhistle

But Seeriously, Folks

"Disturbing Eavesdroppings from the Afterworld.
Very disturbing droppings, indeed."
-Sir Cuit of Round, while spending the night in a haunted chicken co-op

While it may come as supernatural to some,
channeling spirits from the afterlife isn't all it's made up to be.
Sure, any of us can channel the spirits of the quick.
No problem.

Class clowns are experts. Actors have an inkling. Thespians are most certainly accomplished in the art.

However, Seers are someones special. The Dead don't so much talk as natter, and it's not easy task to sift through the transcriptions. MattheHooplah has been doing that since he first met Saint Seer back in the early days.

"Yeah, it was really messed up. Like, Seer, he was...
Crazy. It was really something, y'know...
It was something."
-MattheHooplah under interrogation

without further adieu,
I retire
for now
-PentWhistle

--
See Below the Mystery of Saint Seer of Tallow
--

"Aside from that, how did you like the play, Mrs. Lincoln?"
-Favourite Punchlines of Statesmen of the Afterworld, vol. ii

"I've been noticing a lot more frogs coming through.
Do I want to know?"
-Verbal Lashings from the Afterworld - Rachel Carson

"I remember when Alfred and Nils used to stick their tongues out
behind Werner's back, but he could never be sure they were doing it."
-Truths Behind Nucular Technology

"And in the years,
with the double doughnuts,
in the time of the GREAT CLOWN EMPEROR,
when all things serious are ridiculous,
and all things ridiculous are serious,
and no one cracks a smile,
except at the most unfunny thing of all,
then truly will mud pies hit the fan."
-Glad They're Not Talking About Us, Vol. 19

"Honestly, I'm glad I'm dead. You people give me nothing to work with."
-Verbal Lashings from the Afterworld - Jonathan Swift

More Seer, Suckers

"For all your Hallowed Eve needs:
PentWhistle's SlideWhistle-Blowers Clown Miscellany Emporium, Incorporated"
-exerpt from discontinued marketing campaign precision-targeting clowns as consumers

As if yesterday's weren't enough, dare you to read on with the dire enterpretive channeling of spirits of the Afterworld?























Apparently so.

-PW

--
Sayings of Soothisimilitudinousness, by Saint Seer of Tallow
--

"I remember when I was a little girl,
and ruling the Empire of the Black Sun!
I was eight years old [titter],
if memory serves,
and after nine thousand years
of the Afterworld,
I've had time to reflect on it [giggle].
So, after all this time,
what with the great conjunction coming,
I've decided to reascend.
Pretty soon, too.
Even by Earth's reckoning. Do you think they still remember war?"
-Chatting with Restless Spirits, 7:29, Autumn 2005

"I'm dead?
[inordinately long pause]
That explains a lot."
-Chatting with Restless Spirits, 8:212, Autumn 2005

"Scraped the decompost from the bootheel,
and placed it delicately, deliberately, daintily,
inside a plastic bag,
then in the garbage.
[pause]
Do you know how much longer I'm going to have to wait to eat it?"
-WormWords

"Clever clever,
but you won't catch me,
because I'm not dead.
Although you may be.
Did you have the chicken tartare?"
-More Things I Regret Having Ingested

Clowning around with the Afterworld

"As Hallowe'en approaches
Evil Clowns take off their masks
and costumes. This is much scarier,
and what is known in the business
as 'Reverse Masking.'"
-Anonymous DragQueen Makeup Diva, Atlanta, 1956

In honour of the approaching All Hallowed Eve of the Day of the Dead, messages from the Afterworld will be gleaned by a local Seer of repute for interpretation for delighted readers. There's no telling what may be channeled. Titles are provided by obsessive chronicler MattheHooplah.

Beware, none of the opinions expressed hereafter are those of your humble PentWhistle.

--
Prophesis by Saint Seer of Tallow
--
"Yay, tho I have heard the voices of the despised demised, and not yet gone mad,
fully, completely,
tho I have the echoes of their yodelled conundra within the valleys of my brain, in the cavern of my skull,
tho I have drunk deep of the River Lethe,
I can't seem to forget a damn thing,
altho,
it must be said,
I can't really get the chronology straight."
-Crab Nebulon Ponderences, 4:2, Volume 7

"Speaking to a pumpkin,
of late turned into a pie,
or pied, as it was said,
or communicated rather,
I have learned the following:
Pumpkins are inappropriate pies for throwing at the dastardly.
Cream pies are preferred,
as any squash that hasn't lost its gourd will tell you,
in a manner of speaking."
-Chatting with Restless Spirits, 5:213, Autumn 2005

"Every unheard whisper, every intimation fallen into deaf ears, every cry gone unheard, every plea unheeded, every desperate entreatment that has every died upon hopeful lips,
speaks to me.
Every second thought, self-censored atrocity gone unuttered,
yet I hear.
Every aspiration of cruel harm, with serrated daggers guised as words, for all unspoken linguistic vitriol,
I have heard.
Can you guess what I'm going to be for Hallowe'en?"
-Chatting with Restless Spirits, 7:23, Autumn 2005

"Clam bakes! Clam bakes!
How dare you remove that mayonnaise from my sideplate!
Can you retrace your steps to the cauldron of carapaced,
and fish us out a soft-shoed soft-shell?"
-Things I Regret Having Ingested, Too

"And once the veil breaks thin,
and you witness death's toothy grin,
and it speaks to you of all your sin,
now's the time."
-Found Poems, or, Plagiarising the Anonymous

Black and White and Red all over

"when the world is reduced to black and white,
send in the clowns."
-PollyChromy the Clown

Without a doubt, the multi-hued cavalcade of colourful conundrum presented in the anything-but-humble uniform of the clownish, the foolish and the harlequinesque, is enough to set one's eyes to readjust their colour spectrum to something infra-yellow and ultra-green.

[select one of the following:]

However,
Yet,
Although,
Even though,
But,
Nonwithstanding,

[continue at your leisure:]

there is more to this colourful pigmentation of fabric and flesh than meets the eye - there's all that the eye does not see that the mind does.

what good is a myopic third eye?

The black and white, polar extremes of pigmentation, illumination, and opinion, are the unattainable opposites between which the everyday occurs. To presume the position of the black or the white is to abandon one's humanity - for we are the shadows and shades of grey in between, or so it might seem.

the colours, the stripes, spots, dots and dashes, zigzags and swirling spirals throw a symbol of chaotic variance and incompatibility in the unrealistic straight-edged boundaries defining the black & white position.

the colour undermines oversimplification, without offering alternatives. It exists as if to say, "you're taking yourself too seriously, and besides, you're oversimplifying the issue for the sake of lazy thinking under the guise of clever determination. May all your buffoonery show itself for what it is, reductio ad absurdum."

the binary pole of the black and white is destroyed, with the introduction of polychromatic systems, that annihilate the notion of the twin poles. Where does puce fit on the colour scale of black and white? Or amongst greyscales?

Nothing so simple for the purveyors of posh purples. Do not reduce regal violets to so much pixelated dust! Leave the dreams of colourless ephemera to contemplation by the divine, and wrap yourself in paisley swaddling, and all will be fine.

"I see a black door,
and I want it,
paint it,
red!"
-TickStabber the Clown

"Oooo - but paint it with puddings!"
-BladderSeep the Clown

make of it what thou wilst.
-PentWhistle

Choose your Produce Wisely

"Only throw the rotten tomatoes."
-GrandElf the Clown

Rotten tomatoes, including those that have been rendered inedible via other means, such as dousing with pesticides, herbicides, fungicides, nematicides, genetic tinkering in the dark, irradiation, and so on.

These, like farmed salmon, have a tendency to explode on impact, with a consistently wide splatter radius. Don't settle for anything else when you're going to the theatre.

-PentWhistle

A Clownwork Orange

The Chief Character and Clown Culture

"That tree, it kinda reminds me of the world. See, the leaves are the heavens, the trunk is where we are, and the roots are the underworld."
"That snake wrapped around it. It kinda reminds me of our spines."
"No! It's evil! Kill it."
"OK. Hand me that giant sponge mallet."

-Exerpt from Waiting for Bozot by Mule CatBack


A Clockwork Orange was banned in countries throughout the world in the year of its release. The violent nature of the subject, and its cynical, dark themes were too upsetting for decision makers at the time.

No question.

[Honk!]

ARRRR BE YE WARY OF THE ROTTEN SPOILS OF THE FILM THAT FOLLOW - RRRR

[Honk!]

Our dearest adolescent, Alex, the chief instigator of the story's "ultra-violence," and his crew of Droogs, break into a house wearing their gang uniforms, and masks.

The uniforms (in the film): black boots, full length white long john's, dancer's belt, suspenders and black hat.

The masks: grotesque clownish faces with phallic nose. Very phallic.

In this great guise, Alex rapes and murders the woman resident.

Now, there's no doubt that rape and murder are pretty universally condemned as evil acts.

Alex is a rather Evil Clown. And in this guise does he commit his most heinous act. Is he feeling immortal, like so many adolescents? Is he licentious while obscured behind the thin farcical veil he wears? Or is the guise of a Clown enough to drive any wearer 'round the bend.

It would certainly explain a lot.

-PentWhistle

Clown Effects

Where do Clowns come from?


"Now, go thou into the World,
and find thee Big Red Shoes,
that thou might flop around a bit,
and a water-squirting flower,
and the holy bottle of seltzer water,
and gaudy jacket,
and bent chapeau,
and a huge bow tie,
that thou might appear more ridiculous in mine eyes,
and rainbow suspenders,
that you might remember all the naughty times,
and the undone suspenders,
and gentle spankings and smitings and so forth..."
- glossolia or licentious hubris by ChatterWaul the Clown

The effects of the Clown, the trappings, the uniform by which we distinguish a Clown from a Mail Carrier, reflect an aesthetic derived from Vaudeville and early film.

The Clown, as that lovely chap Chaplin embodied, is our underdog. Often poor, the Clown carries the costume of the hobo, the homeless traveller, tossed along on fortunes winds like the fertile soil of the Great Prairies. They're chief antagonists, the unreasonable, the selfish, the constabulary, and the cruel tyrants hoarding their hoard with tenacious greed.

The Clown wears the uniform of the wealthy made ridiculous.

The top hat becomes bent, the top collapsed. The tuxedo and bow tie, in classic black and white is put at odds with the explosion of clashing colours and patterns in the Clown's ensemble. It's enough to make the cones of your eyes throb with overload, asking for a nice daily newspaper to restore black and white familiarity.

The butonnier becomes the squirting flower.

The travesty of adding soda water to fine, single-malt Scotch is taken to the offensive in the Clown's big, white gloves, with the seltzer bottle as impromptu crowd-control device.

The polished shoes, a sign of one's stratum in many cultures, tumesce with long, red, floppy insinuendo on the feet of the Clown.

Is Irony Dead?

In pursuit of an answer...

If a Clown Suit can refer to the typical clothes worn by a Clown, as well as the two- or three-piece uniform of the business-set, is irony even possible?

or is it intrinsic?

or is it just obvious?

For example: "Let me talk to the clown in charge of this circus!"
- sarcastic retail customer or sincere circus-goer?

death of "Is Irony Dead?" thread

GarFin the Clown once posed such questions to a mendicant. Out of the brain pan and into the friar.

-PentWhistle

Evil Clowns of Distinction

"Well, I guess we'll just have to add another one to the pantheon."
-WanTilly the Clown.

Now, it may be simply obvious, however, there has been a very recent addition to the ascended. There have been many noteworthies pass us by in the 20th Century:
Charlie Chaplin,
Bill Hicks,
and Andy Kaufman.

[Litotes and oats and little lambsey disey.]

The 21st Century has already ascended an Evil Clown of ginormous exposure.

Hedwig
and
the Angry Inch.

BEWARE TO THE UNINITIATED --- BELOW THERE BE SPOILERS --- BE YE WARNED --- AND FOREWARNED
-SlabLustre the Clown

Yes, Hedwig is our crowned queen of the new centuries crooked clownedness!

Such elaborations of head wig and maquillage, such costumed finery, such colour, such performance...

and yet


such cruelty, such anger, such vengeful intent, such disparate desires and clashing circumstance...

"all sewed up" indeed!

As Hedwig gives that lucky/poor soul the carwash, how many squirmed at the sight? That could be us looking up into the occluded darkness of revelation. Man? Woman? Top? Bottom? Boxers? Briefs? Too many answers, and yet, what can one do but smile - or gaze transfixedly in horror.

As Hedwig shreds the hope of drag-queen cruise song and dancing, there is but jealous cruelty in her face, jet black and full of rancorous loathing.

Ah, indeed is Hedwig an Evil Clown. For ever does Hedwig pursue the origin of Love, that noble pursuit, that goal of so many a knight in shining armour off to butcher people of different cultures who had really neat stuff.

Send in the Clowns.

So, if Hedwig's a herald for our Century, then she broadens our understanding of Evil Clowns to include Drag Queens and Drag Kings - who have a certain je-ne-sais-quoi distinguishing them in this from transvestites and cross-dressers.

The Transgendered have expressed the same premise by breaking the defintions of sexual identity by living on both sides of any dichotomy presented.

"So, then, this woman- at first I thought she... he was a woman -told me-"
"You mean turned you down."
"Whatever. He- this person told me that she wanted to have sex with a gay man as a gay man."
"And you weren't happy enough? Or was she a top?"
-FixedWig and TrappyTrous, overheard plotting the untimely end of something

Welcome, dear Hedwig, Welcome.

All hail her wiggishness with a 32 horn salute:
[honk!][honk!][honk!][honk!][honk!][honk!

][honk!][honk!][honk!][honk!][honk!][honk!][honk!][honk!][honk!][honk!][honk!][honk!][honk!][honk!][honk!][honk!][honk!][honk!][honk!][honk!][honk!][honk!][honk!][honk!][honk!][honk!]

-PentWhistle