The Dirty Lowdown on High-Wire Acts

The Dirty Lowdown on High-Wire Acts was written in August 2018 and has remained unpublished until now.

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Erasure “The Circus”

The Dirty Lowdown on High-Wire Acts
Sounds suspiciously like showdown, don’t you think
Hold on to that thought and I shall soon tickle it pink
Here’s the thing
Not about to throwdown
Shout the odds or blow my stack
Simply thought I’d buff some prose
Perhaps apply a dash or two of hot wax

You see, this is where I thrash
This is where I splash the cash
Where Johnny gets to take out trash and flash and scratch his angry rashes
This is where I’m pageant queen, miss sunshine and your majesty
Complete with jewel encrusted crown and matching ashen sash
This is where I’m dashing king, ruler of these sprawling lands
This is where I sing with passion, fashion waves of clapping hands and activate the band stand
This is where I am precisely what it is I truly am
This is where I cure the ham and lay on quite the banquet
This is where the words won’t quit
Seldom even threaten it
The crimson quill won’t hear of such
No fucking shit it’s magic
Tragically miscast until such time as I outgrew my past
Drastically improved since learning it won’t do to do shit by the half
Taught me how to fuse shit, snoozing no longer appealed so
Fought with teeth and nails to flick the manual switch from auto
Law of average stated I was headed straight for rack and ruin
Vultures swooped and looped the loop once they deduced I knew exactly what the do was actually doing
Curiously produced a rabbit, grabbed it from a nearby hat
Before I could say “fancy that”, there now seemed to be two of me
Two heads are better than eight in a duffel bag
One to snip the red wire while the other grabs the cat
One “Shazam” later, we were tumbling down the rabbit hOle
The fall alone would have broke our bones, had we not performed a combat roll
Along the path to left of us, suggestively decked out with ivy
Thank fuck for devout as payout couldn’t have been more damn timely
Gathering momentum as we steered towards a distant chapel
Made no sense dispensing of the shrapnel from our gaping wounds
Battle tokens one and all
Long since scarred and fucking cool
Standing over ten feet fucking tall
For this shit outcooled anything we learned in fucking school
Had the tools and tricks of trade
Had the sort of fix we’d craved
Dropped all sorts of hints depraved
And they were never ever any less than entertained
By twin flames burning bright with heightened senses lending trend to brave

This is where we thrash
Grab some wordplay from our stash
And turn each thought to action
This is no one-way transaction
Actually, far from it
Not to say we won’t request you rub our backs each time we vomit
Learned a lot of shit across the years and this here’s where we give some back
Prove the doubters wrong that it’s impossible to double up our stack
Takes a little practice to effectively become one person
In effect, the whole last year has been one massive dress rehearsal
Nothing passive, over-active minds like ours won’t hear of it
Spotting hazard, actioning the quick wits to steer clear of it
Don’t Ask Jeeves, the universe would care more for the honorary mention
Drove on by our disbelief and lowered the suspension
True and real, sincere in sheerest crystalline reflection
Mirrored to the ore of us and flawless in our reinvention
Tension on the plummet as we ventured on to chapel with intention now to run shit
Make some fucking magic
Every word our quill doth spill refills of royal we
Replenishing for every time we tap the vein and action bleed
Indeed, we’ve never ever been so stable
Paired royal flushes spread like Barbie’s legs across the reject table

Read it and weep, we’ll hold onto the tracks of those tears
Will have fended off packs of your fears by this time next week
Speak of the devil, we are all about the detail
That which many overlook in favor of the gradual derail
Snail trails for the frail prevailing not beneath our jurisdiction
Jack the facts in, shoot up intravenously upon the fiction
Should we fast track just one person hurting to the heal
Then goddamn right we’ll fight for rights to bleed our fucking quill
Spotless minds are overrated, remnants of a mankind incubated
Waiting for a train of thought arriving later every day
greykeeper are the wake up call
To those whose voices may have taken backseat to survival
Not by choice but fucking skyfall
Recovery takes time and patience, one small step for tiny feet
Find a pair that share your fleet of flame and take that giant leap
We’re your twisted firestarters
Martyrs for a cause in which we handsomely believe
From here, Valhalla can be seen
From here, eternity is mere checkpoint beacon
One of very many we have plans most grand to reach
Been practicing our preaching and could teach a thing or two
Yet, nothing feels as good as simply shooting shit with you

Lobotomy is not what it’s cracked up to be
Says nothing for the high-wire act of acting out productively
Got to find the balance
Trust that you will need no safety net
Thrash shit out like we did
And we’ll see you in the circus tent
Front and fucking centre

Richard Charles Stevens

Keeper of The Crimson Quill

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2 Comments

    1. Absolutely yes. This was written in the height of fusion so the paws you felt were indeed of a rabbit and a lion. Another piece which sat in the archives for far too long.

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