Here we are in a dark and dingy part of Gotham City. Another humm drum day around here, but there’s one place where all is different and even unique in its
content. That place is in the home of a sinister and criminal figure. This is the place where the Joker of this tale lives and prospers. He lives with a carved out
smile of discontent. He lives with one of the blackest hearts of all. A heart so raw and vengeful that even the Devil himself, touching the very thought of him,
cowers and slinks into the shadows, for he is hiding with fear from the white faced madman.
It’s a snowy morn, not a feature can be made out from car to car, hydrant to hydrant, or shape to shape. It is surreal look on the lives in this place. And the
only break in this terrain is from the foot prints cast from a stray cat, dog or pigeon. All is still outside as the flakes build their ground and reshape this world of
the city. All is still, except for activity inside a house in a secluded part of town. It is the Joker’s house. It is the house of a creature who is about to go on a
trip he had no intention on going. He would soon find out that this trip was one that no one had gone before, nor would want to go again. How else can I
describe, should I title it, should I link it to a thought … maybe. Let’s call it, “The Joker’s down the Rabbit Hole”, or maybe, “A Joker’s drink is Dandy”, no
maybe, “The Joker’s Wild!” that’s it, that’s it and worthy of this tale.
The Joker looked at the goblet filled with wine that sat on the fireplace place mantle. The Joker walked out of the room, only for a moment and came back.
As always, he had deep dark thoughts, “What shall I do today? Shall we mark this day and think of it as one that will be remembered? How shall I begin this
snowy day of winter? With snow so white and thoughts black, and mind as thick as clay. With heart so full in deep discontent and distaste for the scoundrels
who plague me day after day after dismal day here in Gotham. Shall it be the Batman I plot after or shall it be another? Time will tell. Day will tell. Morn shall
tell who of my brood and brethren I will seek. Ah, this will be a day to remember, for sure it will be.”
His eyes veered left and took focus on the cup which lay on the mantle. “A good time to put forth the cup, filled with the wine that reminds me of the blood
that will runs the veins of my enemies.” He reached out, took it in hand and drank the top of its contents. He didn’t notice that there was a coating of slime that
ran around the rim of the drink. He did not notice the pungent scent of a powder that would cast him off to a place meant for goblins and creatures far worse
that he’d ever imagined and far worse than he was in total. There was no turning back now, no not from here. There was only this and this was a terror land
loaded with mischievous demons and dark ones. Poor, poor Joker, it was only meant a prank though in reality, his new found reality, this was a far cruel place
he was going. Far worse that even he could imagine. When he realized that things were askew he threw the goblet down. The liquid in the
cup rolled out, soaking, staining and running into the cracks between the planks on the floor. It was maroon in color and shimmered from the morning light
coming in the window. This was the beginning of a state of mind he’d never thought he’d have. This was the beginning of his day mare. He tried to steady
himself, to clear his focus, to gain control of his senses. He grew, he shrank and grew again, but the items on the mantle piece, the tools of the fire place and
even the goblet itself, did not. He kicked and scattered them about the floor. All was wrong in his head, all was wild. All was to horribly real, even for his own
demented likes. The Joker man spun around in his place, but did not. All these thoughts came straight from his imagination, came directly from his mind. For
him, reality was nowhere to be found. His arms flailed left, then right. His thoughts were maddening, more vivid than ever before. “Oh keen, clear eyes, clear
mind why do you fail me now? What manner of thought rolls me down this path?” He struggled in vain to steady himself, starring down wildly at one hand and
then the other. They pulsed and throbbed like a runner might feel at a races end, but here was no finale. With evil intent his hands began to crawl up his rib
cage, over his ribs and the blue green velvet of his vest. Up on his collar and up over that, his fingers felt like the well trained legs of a spider’s intent to its
prey. Then up his white neck and up over cheeks and up and up and up through green hair. He had maddening thoughts, had a maddening walk, a stance, a
glow then his eyes to and fro. His fingers had making a journey over his face, clinging to his wild flesh like a magnet drawn to a metal. And he screamed in his
head, “I am mad. Yes mad as mad can be. Come back floor why have you gone so far away from me. Please, oh please come and befriend me again.” The
same red liquid that flowed from that goblet flowed down the chin of this demented, tortured soul. As it dripped it seemed to freeze in its place, in time,
accentuating the madness pictured in his scene. How could he make sense of this? How could he make sense of this at all?
Just as the final thought of the poem was complete, a sound shot through his eardrums. Without a moments hesitation he spun in his spot, wide eyed and
glaring at the sight of another Joker who’d arrived. This Joker was Jack. Its head must have popped from the box, that wasn’t there and then it was. It
bobbed, first left, then right, left, then right, left, twitched right, twitched right again. It was a spring loaded creature, one whose grin packed a might of its
own. It leered at him and readied itself for a confrontation born from evil, evil dark enough that only a mind as his would appreciate. This Jack’s grin grew
with bad intent and grew and grew with mouth wide open. As if the mouth was there to devour him whole. Then in one split second the horrid creature shrank
deep in its box, with lid slamming shut, with a thud, thud, thud, and only a crack for its eyes to peer out. The eyes wild and glaring, the eyes not his, but his for
sure, screamed thoughts, “Come on Joker, my friend, my fiend? For sure you are not scared of me. Though I know that you are, because you cringe and you
sweat, which does make it quite clear.” The Joker screamed and he flailed his arms in discontent and confusion, “Come out strange creature, come now and
play. Don’t leave me alone eying me to the bone. For I have but one mind and you’re twisting it so, yes tossing it. The lid slammed shut and that sound was
nowhere to be heard. Dead silence, except in his mind which chimed loud bells of confusion and an uneasy feeling that this was not over.
The Joker man fell back on his rump. This time, with the sour realization, that he shrunken to half his former size. The Joker box laid was still … no sound
… no sound. He leaned forward, nerves raw and on edge. He had the feeling that this morbid creature was ready to pop again … but when … and for what
putrid reason or purpose on this snowy morning of winter. The crack in the box showed itself again and those leering eyes did too. There still was no question
or doubt in the least, that these were the eyes of a creature of bad intent. “I see you.” spoke the Joker. The eyes went out, but not the crack, the eyes went on
and on they staid, this time wider than before and wider still. This time, the mouth showed itself and then grew its grin. The rest of the boxes interior was the
blackest of blacks in this color dark. Framing its shape it parted its lip then spoke,
The mouth shut and so did the lid. Back again, back again down for the count. The joker fell back with his arms out 45 degrees to each side. His eyes spun in
his head like a whirling top at full speed. This time, his size didn’t contribute to the ill feelings that churned inside. All that mattered was that his heart beat
loudly in his chest and raced like a horse fleeing from a fire. This beat was deafening in his mind, “Thump, thump, thump.” went its tune. This is where his
own madness was diminished by the “over the top” madness of the moment. If you were the listener you’d find him whimpering a dastardly sing song melody
that went like this,
With a jolt, the Joker sprung into a sitting position to face the Joker box before him. The lid sprang open, and the Joker Jack with wide eyes and mouth faced
his opponent. Eye to eye, Joker face to Joker face, both demented and they dared … one grimaced and then the other, both wicked, both intent on outing the
other. Smiles stretched and faces yawned ready to devour, ready this dawn. Then in defiance the Joker Jack’s mouth grew wider still, showing off a
monstrous, wriggling, pulsating tongue. And from its gums grew teeth that showed sharp slicing edges that glimmered with light from some internal source.
They split into one row, two, then three, then more, I’m sure a shark would be proud to own a set like these for sure. They chattered, the face vibrated, tooth
against tooth, saliva dripping from the cracks between the darkest crevices of this morbid Jack Joker. In the Joker’s mind the sounds were almost deafening as
a mad vomiting stench gurgled up from the cavernous hole through its neck. Already beyond reason it widened its grin again, a horse sound came from the
recesses in the back of its throat, its tonsil clanged from left to right like the bell Quasimodo loved to swing, “Big Marieeeeee”, to and fro and fro and to.
The Joker was whiter that his normal white self, he cowered and shivered and slunk into a corner of this room. Deep in fear and discontent, no longer the
evilest one around, he knew that now deep down inside. He screamed to his mind, “I am longer the darkest demon in the room, no longer the strongest between
the two.” This was his end for sure, as the mad mouth shut like a bear trap true, this was the tomb created for his eternity. And all went black and all was
done.
The End
The End? The end of the Joker? But what kind of foolish talk is that.
Epilogue
It was still morning when his eyes broke open. He lay upon the floor. He still was his white, like no other. He got up, stood straight and glance from left
then right. Nothing had change, nothing was out of place. The candle sticks, the clock, the tools to work the fire he so loved. All were right where he
remember they would be. And most of all, there was no Joker from a box. No gaping mouth of ill deeds and planning. It was not the end of the Joker at all.
Then he looked down at the floor, the cup on its side and the red liquid dried on the floor. Now it all made sense, it was a potion that took him down the road
the Rabbit took. It was the potion as the cause. He quickly took focus out his window. He was sure he noticed three pair of eyes peering back, and three sets
of mouths giggling at his dilemma. Without another moments hesitation he tore off and grabbed the doors handle, forgetting he had locked it tight the night
before. The keys were just where he left them last night, hanging in their spot. He gabbed and juggled them in his slender fingers, till the right key was found,
then jiggled them in the slot till the door opened. He flew out and starred down the street, up the street, then back again. Nothing … they were gone and
vanished in the white of the snow fall. He looked down at his feet, turning blue in the snow and knew better than to remain where there was no vengeance to be
found. He thought to himself, “I’ll get those varmints who ever they are. I bet they’re the sons of some demon seed of discontent come to bother me in total.
Come to ruin my perfect day with plans. Plans to take on the Batman and rid myself of him once and for all. Perhaps I’ll eat him up after I lay him down.
Perhaps is a very good thought indeed. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps…”
One boy looked at the other as snowflakes gathered on their shoulders and heads, “Woh Patty, did you see the Joker’s mans face when he realized it was us
that did the deed. Man he was pissed, for sure he was.” “Yeah Bobby, he was pissed and if I know the Joker, as I think I do, he won’t be forgetting us for a
long time to come.” Walter turned to his two friends and said, “Yeah but think of it. We laid one good one on the Joker and in my head that makes us famous.
Better than Batman could do. We laid him flat on his back, without a doubt. This one is going in my journal for all time to come. This one is the best of all, for
sure it. Be sure of that.”
Now this really is the end.
Hope you enjoyed.
content. That place is in the home of a sinister and criminal figure. This is the place where the Joker of this tale lives and prospers. He lives with a carved out
smile of discontent. He lives with one of the blackest hearts of all. A heart so raw and vengeful that even the Devil himself, touching the very thought of him,
cowers and slinks into the shadows, for he is hiding with fear from the white faced madman.
It’s a snowy morn, not a feature can be made out from car to car, hydrant to hydrant, or shape to shape. It is surreal look on the lives in this place. And the
only break in this terrain is from the foot prints cast from a stray cat, dog or pigeon. All is still outside as the flakes build their ground and reshape this world of
the city. All is still, except for activity inside a house in a secluded part of town. It is the Joker’s house. It is the house of a creature who is about to go on a
trip he had no intention on going. He would soon find out that this trip was one that no one had gone before, nor would want to go again. How else can I
describe, should I title it, should I link it to a thought … maybe. Let’s call it, “The Joker’s down the Rabbit Hole”, or maybe, “A Joker’s drink is Dandy”, no
maybe, “The Joker’s Wild!” that’s it, that’s it and worthy of this tale.
The Joker looked at the goblet filled with wine that sat on the fireplace place mantle. The Joker walked out of the room, only for a moment and came back.
As always, he had deep dark thoughts, “What shall I do today? Shall we mark this day and think of it as one that will be remembered? How shall I begin this
snowy day of winter? With snow so white and thoughts black, and mind as thick as clay. With heart so full in deep discontent and distaste for the scoundrels
who plague me day after day after dismal day here in Gotham. Shall it be the Batman I plot after or shall it be another? Time will tell. Day will tell. Morn shall
tell who of my brood and brethren I will seek. Ah, this will be a day to remember, for sure it will be.”
His eyes veered left and took focus on the cup which lay on the mantle. “A good time to put forth the cup, filled with the wine that reminds me of the blood
that will runs the veins of my enemies.” He reached out, took it in hand and drank the top of its contents. He didn’t notice that there was a coating of slime that
ran around the rim of the drink. He did not notice the pungent scent of a powder that would cast him off to a place meant for goblins and creatures far worse
that he’d ever imagined and far worse than he was in total. There was no turning back now, no not from here. There was only this and this was a terror land
loaded with mischievous demons and dark ones. Poor, poor Joker, it was only meant a prank though in reality, his new found reality, this was a far cruel place
he was going. Far worse that even he could imagine. When he realized that things were askew he threw the goblet down. The liquid in the
cup rolled out, soaking, staining and running into the cracks between the planks on the floor. It was maroon in color and shimmered from the morning light
coming in the window. This was the beginning of a state of mind he’d never thought he’d have. This was the beginning of his day mare. He tried to steady
himself, to clear his focus, to gain control of his senses. He grew, he shrank and grew again, but the items on the mantle piece, the tools of the fire place and
even the goblet itself, did not. He kicked and scattered them about the floor. All was wrong in his head, all was wild. All was to horribly real, even for his own
demented likes. The Joker man spun around in his place, but did not. All these thoughts came straight from his imagination, came directly from his mind. For
him, reality was nowhere to be found. His arms flailed left, then right. His thoughts were maddening, more vivid than ever before. “Oh keen, clear eyes, clear
mind why do you fail me now? What manner of thought rolls me down this path?” He struggled in vain to steady himself, starring down wildly at one hand and
then the other. They pulsed and throbbed like a runner might feel at a races end, but here was no finale. With evil intent his hands began to crawl up his rib
cage, over his ribs and the blue green velvet of his vest. Up on his collar and up over that, his fingers felt like the well trained legs of a spider’s intent to its
prey. Then up his white neck and up over cheeks and up and up and up through green hair. He had maddening thoughts, had a maddening walk, a stance, a
glow then his eyes to and fro. His fingers had making a journey over his face, clinging to his wild flesh like a magnet drawn to a metal. And he screamed in his
head, “I am mad. Yes mad as mad can be. Come back floor why have you gone so far away from me. Please, oh please come and befriend me again.” The
same red liquid that flowed from that goblet flowed down the chin of this demented, tortured soul. As it dripped it seemed to freeze in its place, in time,
accentuating the madness pictured in his scene. How could he make sense of this? How could he make sense of this at all?
Just as the final thought of the poem was complete, a sound shot through his eardrums. Without a moments hesitation he spun in his spot, wide eyed and
glaring at the sight of another Joker who’d arrived. This Joker was Jack. Its head must have popped from the box, that wasn’t there and then it was. It
bobbed, first left, then right, left, then right, left, twitched right, twitched right again. It was a spring loaded creature, one whose grin packed a might of its
own. It leered at him and readied itself for a confrontation born from evil, evil dark enough that only a mind as his would appreciate. This Jack’s grin grew
with bad intent and grew and grew with mouth wide open. As if the mouth was there to devour him whole. Then in one split second the horrid creature shrank
deep in its box, with lid slamming shut, with a thud, thud, thud, and only a crack for its eyes to peer out. The eyes wild and glaring, the eyes not his, but his for
sure, screamed thoughts, “Come on Joker, my friend, my fiend? For sure you are not scared of me. Though I know that you are, because you cringe and you
sweat, which does make it quite clear.” The Joker screamed and he flailed his arms in discontent and confusion, “Come out strange creature, come now and
play. Don’t leave me alone eying me to the bone. For I have but one mind and you’re twisting it so, yes tossing it. The lid slammed shut and that sound was
nowhere to be heard. Dead silence, except in his mind which chimed loud bells of confusion and an uneasy feeling that this was not over.
The Joker man fell back on his rump. This time, with the sour realization, that he shrunken to half his former size. The Joker box laid was still … no sound
… no sound. He leaned forward, nerves raw and on edge. He had the feeling that this morbid creature was ready to pop again … but when … and for what
putrid reason or purpose on this snowy morning of winter. The crack in the box showed itself again and those leering eyes did too. There still was no question
or doubt in the least, that these were the eyes of a creature of bad intent. “I see you.” spoke the Joker. The eyes went out, but not the crack, the eyes went on
and on they staid, this time wider than before and wider still. This time, the mouth showed itself and then grew its grin. The rest of the boxes interior was the
blackest of blacks in this color dark. Framing its shape it parted its lip then spoke,
The mouth shut and so did the lid. Back again, back again down for the count. The joker fell back with his arms out 45 degrees to each side. His eyes spun in
his head like a whirling top at full speed. This time, his size didn’t contribute to the ill feelings that churned inside. All that mattered was that his heart beat
loudly in his chest and raced like a horse fleeing from a fire. This beat was deafening in his mind, “Thump, thump, thump.” went its tune. This is where his
own madness was diminished by the “over the top” madness of the moment. If you were the listener you’d find him whimpering a dastardly sing song melody
that went like this,
With a jolt, the Joker sprung into a sitting position to face the Joker box before him. The lid sprang open, and the Joker Jack with wide eyes and mouth faced
his opponent. Eye to eye, Joker face to Joker face, both demented and they dared … one grimaced and then the other, both wicked, both intent on outing the
other. Smiles stretched and faces yawned ready to devour, ready this dawn. Then in defiance the Joker Jack’s mouth grew wider still, showing off a
monstrous, wriggling, pulsating tongue. And from its gums grew teeth that showed sharp slicing edges that glimmered with light from some internal source.
They split into one row, two, then three, then more, I’m sure a shark would be proud to own a set like these for sure. They chattered, the face vibrated, tooth
against tooth, saliva dripping from the cracks between the darkest crevices of this morbid Jack Joker. In the Joker’s mind the sounds were almost deafening as
a mad vomiting stench gurgled up from the cavernous hole through its neck. Already beyond reason it widened its grin again, a horse sound came from the
recesses in the back of its throat, its tonsil clanged from left to right like the bell Quasimodo loved to swing, “Big Marieeeeee”, to and fro and fro and to.
The Joker was whiter that his normal white self, he cowered and shivered and slunk into a corner of this room. Deep in fear and discontent, no longer the
evilest one around, he knew that now deep down inside. He screamed to his mind, “I am longer the darkest demon in the room, no longer the strongest between
the two.” This was his end for sure, as the mad mouth shut like a bear trap true, this was the tomb created for his eternity. And all went black and all was
done.
The End
The End? The end of the Joker? But what kind of foolish talk is that.
Epilogue
It was still morning when his eyes broke open. He lay upon the floor. He still was his white, like no other. He got up, stood straight and glance from left
then right. Nothing had change, nothing was out of place. The candle sticks, the clock, the tools to work the fire he so loved. All were right where he
remember they would be. And most of all, there was no Joker from a box. No gaping mouth of ill deeds and planning. It was not the end of the Joker at all.
Then he looked down at the floor, the cup on its side and the red liquid dried on the floor. Now it all made sense, it was a potion that took him down the road
the Rabbit took. It was the potion as the cause. He quickly took focus out his window. He was sure he noticed three pair of eyes peering back, and three sets
of mouths giggling at his dilemma. Without another moments hesitation he tore off and grabbed the doors handle, forgetting he had locked it tight the night
before. The keys were just where he left them last night, hanging in their spot. He gabbed and juggled them in his slender fingers, till the right key was found,
then jiggled them in the slot till the door opened. He flew out and starred down the street, up the street, then back again. Nothing … they were gone and
vanished in the white of the snow fall. He looked down at his feet, turning blue in the snow and knew better than to remain where there was no vengeance to be
found. He thought to himself, “I’ll get those varmints who ever they are. I bet they’re the sons of some demon seed of discontent come to bother me in total.
Come to ruin my perfect day with plans. Plans to take on the Batman and rid myself of him once and for all. Perhaps I’ll eat him up after I lay him down.
Perhaps is a very good thought indeed. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps…”
One boy looked at the other as snowflakes gathered on their shoulders and heads, “Woh Patty, did you see the Joker’s mans face when he realized it was us
that did the deed. Man he was pissed, for sure he was.” “Yeah Bobby, he was pissed and if I know the Joker, as I think I do, he won’t be forgetting us for a
long time to come.” Walter turned to his two friends and said, “Yeah but think of it. We laid one good one on the Joker and in my head that makes us famous.
Better than Batman could do. We laid him flat on his back, without a doubt. This one is going in my journal for all time to come. This one is the best of all, for
sure it. Be sure of that.”
Now this really is the end.
Hope you enjoyed.
| A very Mad Joker |
The Mad Monster Maker
Rear view
Some of the tools and
props for the scene.
A fireplace screen
A shovel
A poker
A Broom
props for the scene.
A fireplace screen
A shovel
A poker
A Broom
Candlesticks on the mantle piece
And now a story inspired by this piece.
The Joker's Wild
Writen September 1st, 2008
| Whirl and whirl and down and down. He twirled, he curled, and he screamed no sound. The shapes grew large and then to small. He shuttered, then stuttered, “I am to tall.” To tall for everything in sight, I’m on my knees a man in freight. Who fears these times that intertwine? His now, his then, that spews from pen. I am the Joker who is distorted. Why is this place so low and sorted? The clock, the mantle and candlelight, doth flicker, I’m sicker than dismal flight. Who did the ghastly thing to me? Who did it? I’ll get ’em. I will not flee. I am a scoundrel but don’t deserve, This horrid moment by you observed. They’d tell me of the deeds they’d done. They’d tell me just who is the one. That laced my drink, who sent me down. Through rabbit’s hole in deep, dark ground. Where worms do wriggle and foes do giggle tell tales they’ve done to me the one. For who most times is on the top, and not the bottom, not in this slop. So ‘member this I’ll get you foe, though I am weary, though I am low. Wait more a minute and more you’ll see. That I am Joker, that I am he. |
| Joker of some demon seed, can you realize our need. Need so evil, need so dim, need so horrid, black as sin. I am Jack from box I come and here’s the joke yes we are one. One to follow and one to lead bellow putrid songs indeed. May I come to share your space I’ll smile your smile of evil grace. Meld and merge and melt like dusk into night’s most darkest lust. Lust of plenty lust and more we are vibrant to the core. Insides, outside, backsides, front, flip on over do your stunts. |
Get you Joker yes even Jack who pops from box I’ll give a smack. I’ll grin yes widely and then I’ll leer. I’ve caught you brut you’re not my peer. Friend though you say we are but one tis only tricks my mind has done. Doth play on me with bad intent from deepest ID my mind has sent. The things I fear in day more night, in lurking shadows that do bring freight. So meld if melding brings Jack to me I’ll strangle him so he can’t flee. I’ll prove that he’s just Jack in box, not real and then I’ll lock the lock. That keeps him gone not dare he come another day another sun. |
| “Devour you I will this morn I’ll tare you up in light of dawn. I’ll eat your gizzard wont share with lizard, to my delight I love your fright. Come white faced ghoul with reddish drool that runs from chin that rhymes with sin. Sins from the Father and from no other today’s the day you meet you mother. Your mother dead so long in earth start over Joker as if it were birth. To times when all was joy and more to times held hands while walking to store. You’d gather dinner for family and friends you shared your goods right to the end. To bad these are just memories gone past wont last in these dark seas. |
The diorama began on 7/17/2008
Completed 9/12/2008
Sculpted by Neal Harvey
Sold by Killer Kits
Music composed and created by David Genna
Completed 9/12/2008
Sculpted by Neal Harvey
Sold by Killer Kits
Music composed and created by David Genna
