By: Kyle Jacobson
Twisting ideas snake as a sunburst from a dense hub. The world bends away as aura of mind seeks to challenge both status and quo. From vapors of thought are drawn fools like ants to sugar. Atop a great throne of jumble and bram sits the one of eminence’s storm front. About, as do fans fan their idol and the blind find a leader, strew thousands of heads seeking to gain but a seed from an apple hanging on such a knowing plant. And planted it was that the man found place and dare not move from where his roots have sprout.
Limping, hair patchy above hardened face with strength of nose and ear yet ready to crumble as dried clay, a man approaches the throned thwarter. “We have done as you’ve seen fit. You were true in that it needed saying, and how you said it was brilliance and nothing shorter.”
“I knew you could be trusted to string about the truth as I saw fit. I can sit idly by no longer, and find comfort in having you spread my word. We simply will not take it anymore.” Atop his throne, the man leans back, and the peasant below finds smile glossed in pride.
“Those are the sentiments I echoed with Guy Faux mask and all.”
“Did you wear the cool sunglasses over them?”
“I did indeed.”
Easier it was to be the King of Fools. Messages empty as piss pots filled accordingly, and times begging for more without knowing for what to beg, built a throne before finding a leader, now fitted to the Jester adjusting his thorny crown.