Elegy for Al / The Plastic Clown
photo by Eric Black Scriptonian Battles
In the early hours of July 18, Al-Gene Pennison III, aka The Plastic Clown, died, having fallen from a friend’s balcony. A year ago, Al spoke about his funeral in a poem:
THE FUNERAL POEM (excerpt)
…at my funeral
(after everyone watches me burn)
I want an open bar
& dancing in the streets
my ashes in a golden vase
& I want everyone to get so drunk
that the urn gets lost
& a one-eyed, one-armed
toothless whore
steals the vase for its gold
but spills a spoonful
of my ashes
into her drink
and becomes healed
she grows back an eye
she grows back an arm
& all of her teeth
& her way up high
and firm little titties
fill back out
and she’s the best
and most prosperous whore
in the whole town
His friends had these words for him:
Clyde Richardson: H is poetry, just like the soiree of illusions was a mirror for us all to witness the horrid banality of faking it through this jaded world.
Khloe Morris: Guess that he was honest, vulgar, and a true poet. ” your smile is my safety word” was my favorite line he had.
Amanda Renee: To me, al was something of a cross between John Updike and g.g. Allin. Brutally and often uncomfortably honest, al had a beautifully macabre rawness that was alternately easy to misunderstand and to relate to. I’ve had few friends who were as encouraging, entertaining, and flat out reckless. I feel privileged to have known him, and will miss him greatly.
Salvador Macias : He was a madman, a poet, a hermit, a pervert, a jester, a genius, and friend.
One more poem (because every poet should be the one to write their own elegy):
the Propaganda of Death’s Cartography (excerpt)
… But gather together yr philosophies & unwieldy puzzle pieces of truth
To throw on the fire that we share & feed the fire
with the Propaganda of Death’s Cartography
To battle the darkness that none of us can deny
we’ll feed each other the bounty of the forest
& get drunk on its intoxicants
We’ll make suicide pacts while tending one anothers wounds
& Dismantle the disco ball of knowledge
& each carry a piece of mirror
To enjoy the distractions of narcissism
Argue about where the light comes from
& the source of the river
We’ll enact blood rituals just to prove a point
& each do our best to protect one another from the darkness
But for me
I beg that you not dissuade me
From trying to believe
That as what I experience behind the wall of sleep
So also will my experience continue
Under the shroud of death
For if I am convinced that this encampment
On the edge of the wilderness is all that there is…
I will swim to the center of the river
& give myself to its currents
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