The Joke...

The Joke is on you, now.

The Jester's Soliloquy

Darkness. Faint ringing of bells, of the tri-corn variety. A candle is lit, then a second, and finally the third, completing the candelbra. As each candle is lit, the house lights are raised, illuminating a figure dressed in motley. His back to the audience, the man sits on a wooden chair in front of a wooden desk, writing with an turkey quill and scroll. His movements cause bells on his costume to sound, until at last he removes his tri-corn and tosses it on the desk and in one motion he is up. Facing the audience, the lights dance behind him, with one alternating lens on his front. He is intermittently obscurred by shadow, thourghout the piece. His voice, is raspy, as if he's just been bellowing or yelling for extended periods.

He coughs.

BEAT

Well now...

My father, he says to me...he says, this has got to be a score and two ago...he says, "Thom...you cannah let tham make a fool autta you! You onny git one life from tha laird. Don' wass it trying ta please noone!"

He was drunk, my ol' father when he gave me those words of advice. O'course he was drunk the most of a time, was me pap.

But, I took heed of his advice. I never let anyone make a fool out of me. Oh sure, I led them to believe that they were having their laugh at my expense, but it were me who was having the real laughs. I'd be telling a jovial tale, or singing an ode to some ridiculous event, all the while veiling the true meaning of my story. That's allegory. stories within stories...but you know this, one feels.

BEAT

It was about ten year ago, when I came to jest for the court of Tristan. Now, King Tristan was a tyrant, a right foul menace. He never gave an ounce of anything to his people. His was "the rule of mine".

His Kingdom, through and through. BEAT

...and I ain't talking material possessions...to him, to HIM everything was a material possession. Even his women. This King Tristan would take a woman a night, despite keeping a wife in the dreadful Queen Annabella. She were a fright, to behold no jov. They's marriage was a play to unite the two empires, and they both knew it. Her

A Bug's Life

Being on night shift, I have the auspicious pleasure of being awake when the majority of the others are sleeping. When I am at work, this is not such an issue. However, on my "days" off I find myself sitting up alone, for most of the night. Unable to sleep, unable to do much of anything, for there really is nothing to do in Spring, TX after 2am. So I watch movies, or write, or do homework.

Tonight, I sat on the porch and read a book.

While doing so, I noticed a thumbnail sized beetle or crustacean creeping toward the front door of the house. For whatever reason, the insect became upended, and was struggling on its back. I became engrossed with its battle to right itself.

For ten minutes, this creature flailed, and God help me, I didn't do anything but watch. In my defense, I have righted countless insects, before.

After about two more minutes, the beetle stopped moving, altogether.

This begs the question: What cognitive processes were transpiring in its bug brain during the struggle?

God gave man the power of emotion. The trait is evident in many lower creatures as well. The rest of the primates, canines, felines, equines, and even the swines. Is it really farfetched to believe that even the simplest of creatures have the cognitive function of emotional response?

Imagine being the insect, in the last moments of its life.

Imagine the last moments of your life, perhaps as you struggle to make it to the surface of the water before drowning, or during strangulation.

I have never claimed to be senitmental to arthropods, but taking these thoughts into account, one might feel more empowered to right a few more bugs.

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On a related note, my second cousin died tragically by an accidental hanging. He was eleven years old. Please, take care and watch out for your little ones. They may think they are being funny, or that it's just a game, but they don't yet understand.

Be well.

Dreams

Good evening.

Last night, I was feeling peckish, and was craving a most interesting combination of delectables. I couldn't help but smile while contemplating my desire for some deviled eggs and angel food cake. Perhaps, I was manifesting the eternal Jungian struggle within all of us. In any case, I really wanted some deviled eggs, more even than the angel cake. What does this say about my existential mindset? I am not really sure, but there it is.

When I fell asleep, I had one of the more incredible dreams of my life. I was singing lead vocals with Curt Cobain, and Nirvana at some huge music festival. It was one of those dreams where I knew I was dreaming, but didn't want to wake up. And when I did wake, I wanted to fall back asleep, and keep going. Alas, the ringing of my cellphone was more persistent than my psyche.

Ah well.

Today, I received my iPhone mount for the Street Glide. I can't wait to install it!

I am at work, tonight, and have quite a full weekend ahead of me, with school, engagement parties, work, and whatnot.

Bonus: Ten points if you can account for the significance of my blog title "The Jester's Soliloquy" and my URL "House of Montressor".

Enter the Jester

Behold, the court jester.

What jest is swimming through his brain?

What new satire, riseth from his heart?

Listening intently, he waits for a cue.

He, who controls the court of kings, he who silences even the throne, with his tales of mirth and myth.

He alone, who takes liberties noblemen dare not attempt.

Listening carefully, he awaits his cue.

They call him a fool, a motley simpleton, there only to entertain.

His is the domain of truth, masked in raucous allegory...jokes at his "majesty's" unwitting expense.

He pays allegiance to only one rule.

Mirth is his King*.

Waiting for his cue.

Enter the Jester.

---

So, I am sitting at work, listening to the the sound of emergencies. Listening to the sound of a hit-and-run motor vehicle incident involving a car and a bicycle. This is the sound I listen to every night. Either that, or listening to 9-1-1 calls where a father tells me his child has died in her sleep. I have been doing this for almost six years now, and I have reached a point, where I am starting to feel the strain of the profession. I have long been able to work through experiencing, vicariously, the horrors of the real world of life and death.

I fear that I am no longer quite as impervious as I once was. I find myself becoming too emotionally attached to the individual situations.

To admit this, I have taken a big step, even though my audience is small.

I recognize that the job I do is considered noble, and I understand that I am doing a great thing by being a part of the lifesaving process.

However, throughout it all, I have always felt like I was waiting for my cue.

Enter the Jester.

*I really hope I didn't cross a line...