The Portrait Of A Joker


We live. We die. And somewhere in the middle, if we’re lucky, we find enough euphoric moments to inspire us to prosper in our actions and outlook. But, for most of us, we eventually must settle for middle ground between complacency and failure. Not because we chose it, but because it almost seemed to be placed in front of us. Dealt the hand that life provided. And then there are some who are slightly more fortunate. Hand after hand, with flushes and triples, coasting along with probability on their side. And finally, there are those who learn to adapt farely well learning to bluff their weak hands and usurp others with their strong hands.

And then there’s the wild…the joker…The ability to make someone’s life better or worse and, in some ways, even play outside the rules of the game altogether (like getting 5 of a kind). Most times, the joker isn’t necessary, and when we’re playing for high stakes, it can often times be the bane to our existence. It’s the card that breaks the rules. It makes weak hands stronger and takes down those who have learned to play (or even manipulate) the game. The joker outcons the conman, outwits the noblest, and outfoxes the gunslingers. The morality of this wild card is only sadistic because there’s no way to control it, except by the very nature of the card.  It is impossible to indemnify a creature that knows no bounds or limits or restrictions because he holds no regard to the game that is played. We fear him because we value our lives, and we don’t understand how he would not. We envy the anarchist role he plays in out-dueling a king; shape-shifting, free-wielding, un-stricken by emotional boundaries.  And thus we hate him. Not because he is bad. But because he uses others’ lives to trump ours. Not because he is deranged or vengeful or spiteful, but because he has been given the freedom. We have no freedom. Our life is necessarily precious, not from love, but from fear, and thus we are subjugated to the shackles of existence.

The unknown casts shadows upon frantic souls, who walk the lines drawn in blood by those who have traversed the paths before us. And whom shall question that path shall be punished by the over-lords. But not the joker. Because the only way to beat him is to join in his twisted games. And then he wins because the point of the game was never to win in the first place. It was to guide you off the blood line and remove the constraints and double-standards that have been placed upon you. But you already knew that. And that’s exactly what you fear. We fear change, power, death and forgotten. A life untold is only remembered within the hearts of conscious souls. And that is exactly what we fear.

And still, The joker lives in all of us. As savage or un-savage as each case may be, it takes a deep, introspective look into the very core of our existence, and a true judgment of our emotional inclinations affected by the metaphysical existentialism around us to truly understand who we are within our society and, just, and why we even decide to play the game.

Thanks for listening to some guy trying to tell his story…

[note: I, 100%, do not condone or support anything that happened during the theatre massacre. I think that absolute savagery is repulsive. That being said, this is more of a thought-provoking piece on "the joker"-type psyche that, I believe, to a certain degree, we all have inside of us.]


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