He was a constant – a man who embodied the theatrical comedy and tragedy masks of Janus. He was a clown who walked a tightrope above us, always there in the peripheral of our lives, smiling, laughing, waving, dancing, shouting. I never expected him to fall.
It’s like the scary monstrous knight who tortures him in the Fisher King. Just as his character is falling in love again, the trauma of his last love haunts him, bringing forth this horrible, unspeakable demon who chases him into a corner, until he happily welcomes a gang of thugs who beat him senseless – to end it all. It’s like suicide was the thug.
It was that deep, dark, horrible ghost – like in the corner of the attic in the mansion where he played as a little boy. That dark area he never went near to which he succumbed.
Its been over a month now. I’ve already written about him this week.
I need to get over this, but this flooded my mind today. It’s the human condition.