by Travis Mateer
I descended into a mental hellscape the other night and came out the other side with a poem. But before getting to the poem, we need to talk about clowns.
In my studio of books, toy bricks, and creepy artifacts, I have a book on JFK in Montana placed on a shelf with three clowns, two of which you can see in the image above. There’s 60’s Joker, there’s Heath Ledger Joker, and then there’s that thing on the left with wavy yellow hair, dark eyes, and monstrous teeth.
I got this evil looking clown from a vendor who used to have some spots at the Antique Mall here in Missoula, a vendor I met in person while I was making the documentary Engen’s Missoula. I got a copy of a short film this guy made about some French photographer, and one of the images he chose to include confirmed in my mind his creep status, at minimum. But was there something darker going on?
My hunch is yes, but one must be careful on how one follows up on hunches. Rabbit holes can quickly become blackholes with a gravity all their own, sucking your life into a lightless void. This seems to be how so many conspiracy researchers stumble into a fervent belief in the power of Jesus.
Paul Stobbs followed a hunch that had, as its catalyst, a parody Youtube video claiming clowns are actually representations of demonic Nephilim. The hunch became his own Youtube channel and an upcoming book. I recently listened to Stobbs’ pitch and, because of damn synchronicities, decided I should try and schedule a chat, which I’m currently in the process of doing.
There’s a strong hint of using bold colors and religious subversion in the new episode from Black Mirror, titled Joan Is Awful. Or maybe I’m reading too much into scrawling lipstick on the forehead, putting on a red cheerleader costume, then taking a hot diarrhea shit on the floor of a church.
There’s also the added mind-fuck of Salma Hayek helping this episode blur reality and fiction in a very technologically paranoid fashion, so considering I’ve ALREADY EXPERIENCED a Salma Hayek fiction/non-fiction bleed through, this one just heightens my pre-existing disorientation.
What the hell is going on here? Or maybe I should say what KIND of hell is going on here?
I don’t know, but I want some fucking answers, so as I wait to see what new hellscapes blossom on my personal timeline, here’s a poem:
The conclusion of the poem isn’t written on the page, but it’s on the audio recording. And that’s just how it’s going to be.
Thanks for reading!