“A Thousand Clowns” is a film about an eccentric, non-conformist comedy writer living in New York city. Based on a Broadway screenplay, this brilliantly written and superbly acted story is my antidote to feelings of being overwhelmed by societal pressures to fit in, especially as a writer.
Here is the YouTube link to the entire film, something for a dreary day.
tio stib 2017
In my next life I want to live my life backwards.
You start out dead and get that out of the way.
Then you wake up in an old people’s home
feeling better every day.
You get kicked out for being too healthy,
go collect your pension,
and then when you start work,
you get a gold watch and a party on your first day.
You work 40 years
until you’re young enough to enjoy your retirement.
You party, drink alcohol, and are generally promiscuous,
then you are ready for high school.
You then go to primary school,
you become a kid,
You have no responsibilities,
you become a baby until you are born.
And then you spend your last 9 months
floating in luxurious spa-like conditions
with central heating and room service on tap,
larger quarters every day and then Voila!
You finish off as an orgasm.
I rest my case.
George Carlin, 1937-2008
A poem by Shel Silverstein (1930-1999)
There is a place where the sidewalk ends
And before the street begins,
And there the grass grows soft and white
And there the sun burns crimson bright,
And there the moon-bird rests from his flight
To cool in the peppermint wind.
Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black
And the dark street winds and bends.
Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow
We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And watch where the chalk-white arrows go
To the place where the sidewalk ends.
Yes we’ll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we’ll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.
by Shel Silverstein, 1974
When I start slipping into seriousness, I turn to Shel Silverstein to lighten up. Reading his poems with kids is better than blowing bubbles on San francisco’s BART train.
Want more fun? Watch this link on YouTube-
the singular measure
of civilized pleasure
a waking human’s treasure
the perfect morning shower
while some grade countries on GNP
the importance of which I fail to see
only one thing matters to me
my perfect morning shower
I hear the hiss
signal of my morning bliss
the flood of wet and cozy warm
the deluge splashing off my arms
consciousness begins to shake
my toes squiggle in a little lake
oh joy, the day that starts like this
if not, surely something is amiss
so here I stand expectantly
waiting for what I hope will be
that moment of pure ecstasy
my perfect morning shower
a distant rumble in the wall
my senses spark to shower’s call
the pipes begin to shake and creak
and then there is a tiny leak
and so, from side to side I sway
trying to soak in token spray
pretending things will be okay
without my morning shower
tio stib, 2016
as morning tickled consciousness
I felt the bliss of nothingness
no trains to mis
one eye peeked out
and check the day
the sun screamed back
a choir of birds
sang from the trees
my only thought was
the voice of guilt
rang through my head
it’s time, your laziness
get out of bed
this voice was buried in a flash
by memories of my recent past
the years of running for the door
then in a fit of selfish glee
I pulled the covers over me
I chose to hide inside my dreams
to feel once more
the peaceful bliss
of pure and simple