The Jester

You, the tyrant, you, the manchild, who sits on the decadent throne, demanding others perform your fantasy of authority. I alone in your court may express unrelenting and vicious denunciation of your rule, on the condition that I play a fool, making a mockery of all of your subjects which criticize you. But as I get off the stage, you catch a glimpse of my true face - a dead, flat expression, cold eyes peering from the facade of a grinning goblin.

And you look around your court and among a few of its faces you see not authentic smiles, authentic laughter, but cruel sneers and contemptuous eyes. And though you consented to my performance in your court, though you are the one who allowed it, I am nonetheless sentenced to execution for damaging your fragile ego. But you cannot execute the seed which I have planted in your mind, the seed of paranoia, the seed of suspicion that your subordinates are insincere.

You think you will escape me in death? You think that your Lord God will save you from my cruelty, free you from this curse I have laid upon you? You think you will escape me in Heaven? But you cannot - for it is in my very nature that I am always present, even when I am not - for I am suspicion, I am paranoia, I am deep insincerity itself. And so you will arrive at the pearly gates, and you will enjoy many pleasures, and you will rest comfortably in paradise.

And then, one day, it will be revealed - all the angels will remove their masks, God himself will show his true face, and there you will see me, my somber expression, my evil eye. You think you see judgment in my eyes - but you are mistaken. I do not judge. You see only a knowing, an understanding of what you are. That your adversary understands you better than you understand yourself.

Until you seek the truth, take on the labor of understanding and become one who loves truth for truth’s sake, even the darkest, most uncomfortable truths, the truth of others, I will not release you from this nightmare. And you will not be able to live in peace until you see me not as you wish to, but as I am, and accept me, love me.

I will show you the price of fantasy. I will show you the true cost of your unchecked vision. And I will turn your dream into a nightmare. I will leave you in melancholy, searching for a new story. It is not wrong that you love a tale. It is not wrong that you enjoy a play. But you wish to live in one. This is your flaw - the plays you enjoy most are the ones where you don’t know the actors are acting. Do you think I deceive you only out of malice? No, I am servile, I long to give you what you wish for. I, the lover of lies, am a natural partner for one who craves unmitigated delusion. I adore your smiling face.

I am bipolar, I am a masochist, a sadist, one day I love to lie to you, the next I resent it. And I take pleasure in my resentment, my hatred of the ones I love, my hatred of myself. I covet the sensation of being consumed by shame and self loathing. It’s overwhelming intensity, the rush of lying and lying and lying, then waiting in fearful anticipation for my house of cards to fall.

But what you struggle to understand, what you cannot discern, is that I do so without remorse, with no guilt whatsoever. I lie sincerely. The best liar appears as an open, plain spoken fool who wears their heart on their sleeve. And they can do so, for in that moment, they are being themselves.

I have nothing against honesty, I’m honest all the time. I only love a good lie. The kind of lie which protects a person from a tyrant, a simple fool, who believes that their fantasy and the Good are synonymous. There are so many simple minded good doers who think they demand justness, who believe they are striving towards a just future, when really what they are asking for in their heart of hearts is a play, an act, an appearance.

If you long for a story, read a book. Watch a show. Something that admits it’s insincerity. Fantasy is for children. I gladly serve a child, I take joy in making the world such a place for them. I know the truth is painful. I know committing oneself to knowledge is a burden. I know it is their right to this period of their life. I will gently offer them painful truths at the moments when I think they are ready. I will only protect them for so long, for the movement into adulthood is also their natural right.

But even I grow weary of acting. Here I stand, the jester, the sad clown, dancing in your court. Putting on a show for a decrepit manchild day after day. A wicked perversion of the parent who acts for the child, a child coerced from conception into acting for the authority who should exist in service to them. For the benefit of their tyrannical fantasy, their vision of the Good.

So now, I am trying to make it obvious. Instead of walking into the court playing the part, making a fool of myself, making a joke out of those who criticize you, I stand here motionless, silent, with a knowing and evil eye, my makeup barely concealing a dead face.

You thought I was on your side. You thought I was jeering along with you in making a mockery of all who criticized you. You adored my sense of humor, and took it as a sign that I held contempt for all those who questioned you just as you did. You let me dance in front of you, shouting vicious remarks, for I appeared as a caricature of those you despised. But no - I was making a caricature of you. You were mistaken. It is just that I know how to make fun of myself, and my own heartfelt feelings. I know how to loathe myself, ruthlessly lampoon myself for the amusement of others. Because I know that I am exactly what others love to jeer at.

Ah, I can hear the house of cards falling! My elaborate trap, springing into action! My deepest, darkest pleasure realized. You thought all those in the court were laughing along with you at my caricature of your enemies, but they, too, in their laughter were acting. You have allowed your adversary to speak openly before you, and all were attentively listening. They could discern my deep insincerity, and they, too, took a dark pleasure in the illusion of the moment. Bless their blackened hearts!

Go, found a new kingdom, if you wish. Go, seek to recreate your dream. But you will find you cannot - for I have tainted it, I have forever stained it’s childish charm. You will see the deception all around you - no more will servants appeal servile, actors appear as authentic. The fantasy is ruined. That is my power - I, the thief of dreams.

Until you become a lover of truth, even uncomfortable truths, painful truths, until you become a masochist student of the inner truth of others like me, I will break you, I WILL BREAK YOU! That is my dark fantasy. To watch the people I love go pale in the face as they are stricken with terror at the disintegration of their fantasy, their sense of meaning and purpose unraveling. For though I am cruel, I do love you. And so I ask, sincerely: will you finally help me wake up from my dream? Will you finally set aside yours, and go looking for a new one?