I am Trickster the Joker
Iconoclast legend inspired from an old Indian tale.

Precursor of the Savior,
and man, like him,
Animal and God at the same time.
Superman and no-man
he is a bestial and divine human being
whose essential and alarming characteristic,
is his unconsciousness.


(Not to disturb the sensible soul of the legislator, I suggest to the minors to return to the front page.)
(The full enjoyment of this moment of sexual extravagancy is conditional to the complete loading of the images and the sounds.)

I am Trickster, the Cheater
I am also called the Joker
I am Creator
and at the same time Destructor
I am Benevolent
and Malefactor at My hours
I deceive the others but
I am also deceived by the others.

I do not have any desire nor passion
I am pulled by My impulses
I ignore the good and
I ignore the evil also but
I am responsible for the good
and of the evil also

I am not distract
by any moral value
I give no account
for any social value
I am at the mercy
of My impulses
I am also at the mercy
of My appetites
My actions give life
to infinite values

I am what you will want Me to be
Coyote, Raven and Hare at the same time

I am the Archetype of human passions
I wander all over the world, universe is My domain
I have a Pale face and I am Grand
I am neither Young nor Old
I am Strong and even Elegant
and I have above all a fabulous Penis

My story is made of incongruous episodes
during which, unconsciously and without having wanted it
I created Man, the Universe
I established the limits of this Universe
I trimmed it
I complicated it
I invented death
I invented the tears
I invented the bad fate
As well as weapons
I invented smile
and Evil to laugh about it

I do not respect any taboo
I practise incest,
I am insatiable possessed by the hunger of a wolf
A fatal hunger
I metamorphose myself as a Woman,
I can be a Man or a Woman
Man once Woman another time
or both at the same time

I transform Myself into an animal,
I change Myself into a jackal
I die I lie
I ressuscite and I am afraid
but I just pretend
to be afraid

I see My right hand
Fighting againt My left hand
I let My right hand
Cut off My left hand
I pursue My shadow
Or its reflection
I can be My shadow
and at the same time its reflection

I live of tricks I kill without wanting it
I give birth to life without knowing it
I generate invisible forces,
I am assisted by harmful Spirits
others Mischievous
and sometimes for a Beneficent rest
I withdraw myself to Heaven and Hell on other times

I create things
without understanding well neither why nor how
It is the way I create and I prescribe
Without knowing it obviously
I obey to My instincts
I decide for example death and disease for tomorrow
I condemn by this way your Daughter
to suffer
I condemn at the same time your Son
to die

I confess Myself of this action
I try to reconsider My decision
but it is already too late I lament Myself with contrition
I start to cry
to cry
over My ill actions
and Those were the first tears of Humanity

When I entered the stage
the men were not developped yet
I cut out their hands
their fingers did spread out
I bored a hole on their face
the mouth was then revealed
I took down from the landscape
Pieces of stars for their eyes
As for their hair
I tore off the hairs around their prick
I manufactured for the Man cooked for the Woman
Tools to annoy them
I was curious to note
If they could be able to fornicate

I allowed the men to experiment with love
Before that, the sex of women was garnished with sharp-edged teeth
It was perilous to be a man and in love
The women squat down to dine
A chicken between their thighs
We could hear the bones of the animal cracking
I say it to you it was quite sad
To make love was not commendable

If your wife wanted to bite it was necessary to worry
It was simpler to be coupled
with the Spirit of a cannibal
or with a monstrous Animal
then to make Love with his wife

I accomodate things fortunately
I lay Myself one night to the side of a woman
I introduced a grinder made of lava
In the sex of the woman

The woman struggle naturally
All the night one could hear her teeth break down against the lava
In the morning everything was settled
She was happy and Her husband reassured
And to thank me
All women carry from now on to their neck
Their tooths in necklace.

Now that men and women are well formed
They ask me to modify all that
Love is too risky
The sex of women has closed down
The men are hunting for other men
They were mistaken by the wrong opening
And evil was propagated
I must put an end to the adventure

They asks me to modify all that.
To close again the opening
To remove the jewels and the pricks now useless
And to bring back fear to woman
And loneliness to man
But what are they complaining about,
but for what, man is then complaining about?

They asks me to arrange things differently
To lay Myself at night to the side of a woman
To introduce a false penis made of mohogany wood
In the sex of the woman
The woman will enjoy despite everything
All the night she will be moaning of pleasure
And my penis will suffer from anxiety
In the morning everything will be regular
She will be happy and satisfied
Her husband much less and to thank me
The women will carry painfully to their neck
Their jewels in necklaces.

But why are they complaining still,
but for what, woman is then complaining about?

One asks me to arrange things differently
To lay Myself at night beside a man
To introduce my sacralized penis
Into the opening under the thighs of the man
The man will let himself sodomised
All night we will hear him suffering from anxiety
And my penis will suffer from insanity
In the morning everything will be regular
Man will probably die for it like Humanity also
And to thank me
What will remain of men and women
will make love each one on their own side

But about what are they complaining?
but about what, Humanity is still complaining?

But as always I will arrange everything my own way
I will lay Myself at night at the side of a woman
I will introduce My extraordinary penis
Into the sex of the woman
The woman thus penetrated
Will groan of pleasure all night and I will be quite happy
In the morning everything will be normal
She will be in love again her husband happier
And to thank me
The women will always carry to their neck
Their sparkling pearls in necklaces.

But tell me Grand-Mother-Spider, why, for Hell sake, do they complain Still?

Marco Polo or the imaginary journey (Soliloques existentiels, translated in English august 2000) ę 1998 Jean-Pierre Lapointe
This tale originated from an Indian myth which elements are borrowed from the archives of the "Journal of American Folklore", extract by Isabel Kelly; texts have been modified and extended by the author for the purpose of this story. Any applicable copyrights must be notify to the author of this page.


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