(In honour of stigma & Robert Shakespeare, Esquire)
You have very good reason to believe that this whole Clown & I thing has become some kind of warped narcissist’s playground. And this point of view has merit. There is altogether too much of me looking at my own reflection in a lake. Even worse, I’m forcing you to look at my reflection too. But this particular gallery actually has some purpose other than for me to stare at myself all over again. This, ladies and gentlemen, and gender fluids, is actually where I’m going to use my suite of potential book covers to tell you what I’m really thinking about stigma, the social state of mental health and the extraordinary levels of human fucktardedness we all experience trying to manage our illnesses. I have to give credit to the oh-so-esteemed, photographer, artiste, sculpter and philanderer-at-large, Robert Shakespeare, Esq. Mr Shakespeare is a genius and a certified madman. He is a womaniser and fierce devotee of the dearly departed Oscar Wilde – a writer and also a madman. In short, Robert is one of us. If for no other reason in his genuinely illustrious, debauched and effervescent career, Mr Shakespeare now deserves a bow and a curtsy for proving you can put lipstick on a beaten up swine. Actually my makeup artist, Rebecca Wiles, technically put the lippy on. But together, Mr Shakespeare and Miss Wiles summoned magic itself. I’ll update with fresh hard memes frequently.
“I won’t beat around the bush. The Clown is a fucking disgrace. He is a man whore, a moral train wreck, a living demon. My heart goes out to anyone who reads so much as one letter in his heinous memoir.” – Robert Shakespeare Esq.