Showing posts with label Borderline. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Borderline. Show all posts

Saturday, 14 September 2019

The Clown-Prince of Comedy

comedy (n.)
late 14c., " narrative with a happy ending; "

The Clown-Prince of Comedy

The Clown-King of Crime

People with Borderline Personalities tend to project their own emotional needs onto other people.

And then feel incredibly betrayed when the people near to them fail to behave accordingly.

It’s actually, now I come to think about it, very similar to a royal character on a playing card —

It’s not Narcissism exactly, in fact it can be understood perhaps better as being the functional opposite of Narcissism.

The Narcissist looks to see echoes and reverberations of themselves in both their surroundings  and derive value, meaning and significance from the degree of resonance that they find;

A Borderline Personality however, projects the fulfillment of their own lack and need onto other people, and then chases around after them (in every sense), hoping to obtain some tiny meaningful morsel as a treat, which they can overinflate into a banquet of human connection - all of it totally (or largely) illusory and inauthentic in some completely subjective and non-self aware distortion of reality.

This is going to be about That.

Then again, maybe I am just projecting.

Rupert Pupkin: 

Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. 

Let me introduce myself. 

My name is Rupert Pupkin. 

I was born in Clifton, New Jersey... which was not at that time a federal offence. 

Is there anyone here from Clifton? 

Oh, good. We can all relax now. 

I'd like to begin by saying... my parents were too poor to afford me a childhood. 

But the fact is that... no one is allowed to be too poor in Clifton. 

Once you fall below a certain level... they exile you to Passaic. 

My parents did put the first two down payments on my childhood. 

Don't get me wrong, but they did also return me to the hospital as defective. 

But, like everyone else I grew up in large part thanks to my mother. 

If she were only here today... I'd say,

 "Hey, ma, what are you doing here? You've been dead for nine years!" 

But seriously, you should've seen my mother. She was wonderful. 

Blonde, beautiful, intelligent, alcoholic. 

We used to drink milk together after school. 

Mine was homogenized. Hers was loaded. 

Once they picked her up for speeding. 

They clocked her doing 55. 

All right, but in our garage? 

And when they tested her... 

they found out that her alcohol had 2% blood. 

Ah, but we used to joke together, mom and me... 

until the tears would stroll down her face... 

and she would throw up! 

Yeah, and who would clean it up? Not dad. 

He was too busy down at O'Grady's... throwing up on his own. 

Yeah. In fact, until I was 13 I thought throwing up was a sign of maturity. 

While the other kids were off in the woods sneaking cigarettes... I was hiding behind the house with my fingers down my throat. 

The only problem was I never got anywhere... until one day my father caught me. 

Just as he was giving me a final kick in the stomach for luck... I managed to heave all over his new shoes! 

"That's it", I thought. "I've made it. I'm finally a man!" 

But as it turned out, I was wrong. 

That was the only attention my father ever gave me. 

Yeah, he was usually too busy out in the park playing ball with my sister Rose. 

But today, I must say thanks to those many hours of practice my sister Rose has grown into a fine man. 

Me, I wasn't especially interested in athletics. 

The only exercise I ever got was when the other kids picked on me. 

Yeah, they used to beat me up once a week... usually Tuesday. 

And after a while the school worked it into the curriculum. 

And if you knocked me out, you got extra credit. 

There was this one kid, poor kid... he was afraid of me. 

I used to tell him...

"Hit me, hit me. What's the matter with you? 

Don't you want to graduate?" 

Hey, I was the youngest kid in the history of the school to graduate in traction. 

But, you know, my only real interest right from the beginning, was show business. 

Even as a young man, I began at the very top collecting autographs. 

Now, a lot of you are probably wondering... why Jerry isn't with us tonight. 

Well, I'll tell you. The fact is he's tied up. I'm the one who tied him. 

Well, I know you think I'm joking... but, believe me, that's the only way... 

I could break into show business... by hijacking Jerry Langford. 

Right now, Jerry is strapped to a chair... somewhere in the middle of the city. 

Go ahead, laugh. 

Thank you. I appreciate it. 

But the fact is, I'm here. 

Now, tomorrow you'll know I wasn't kidding... 

and you'll think I was crazy. 

But, look, I figure it this way. 

Better to be king for a night than schmuck for a lifetime. 

Thank you. 

Thank you.

You know, Sweets, I like what I've heard about you, 

especially the name.

‘Harley Quinzelle.’

Rework it a bit, and you get ‘Harley Quinn.’

Like the clown character Harlequin.

I know.

I've heard it before.

It's a name that puts a smile on my face.

It makes me feel there's someone here I can relate to.

Someone who might like to hear my secrets.

It took me nearly three months to set up a session.

I studied all his tricks and gimmicks, and felt I was ready for anything.

You know, my father used to beat me up pretty badly.

Anything except that.

Every time I got out of line: 

Oh, sometimes I'd be just sitting there, doing nothing.

Pops tended to favor the grape, you see.

There was only one time I ever saw Dad really happy.

He took me to the circus when I was 7.

Oh, I still remember clowns running around, dropping their pants.

My old man laughed so hard, I thought he'd bust a gut.

So the next night, I ran out to meet him with his Sunday pants around my ankles.

"Hi, Dad. Look at me." 

I took a big pratfall and tore the crotch clean out of his pants.

And then he broke my nose.

But, hey, that's the downside of Comedy.

You're always taking shots from folks who just don't get The Joke.

Like My Dad.

Or Batman.

Harley :

Yeah, yeah, I can tell you're less than thrilled.

You know, for what it's worth, I actually enjoyed some of our romps.

But there comes a time when a gal wants more.

And now all this gal wants is to settle down with her loving sweetheart.

The Batman :

You and the Joker?

Harley :



Harley :

I've never seen you laugh before.

I don't think I like it.

Cut it out.

You're giving me the creeps.

The Batman :

You little fool.

The Joker doesn't love anything except himself.

Wake up, Harlene.

He had you pegged for hired help the minute you walked into Arkham.

Harley :

That's not — No.

No! He told me things, secret things, he never told anyone.

The Batman :

Was it his line about the abusive father? 

Or the one about the runaway mom? 

He's gained a lot of sympathy with that one.

Harley :

Stop it! You're making me confused! 

The Batman :

What was it he told that one parole officer? 

Oh, yes.

"There was only one time I ever saw Dad really happy.

He took me to the ice show when I was 7." 

Harley :


He said it was The Circus.

The Batman :

He's got a million of them, Harley.

Harley :

You're wrong.

My Pudding does love me! He does! 

You're The Problem.

And now you're gonna die and make everything right.

Saturday, 24 August 2019

The Narcissist is a Perfect Engine

The more thought I give to it, the more I find it always comes back to this Idea of Reflection.

We all see ourselves reflected in others - 

in Other People.

The Narcissist, The Borderline Personality, looks only for The Familiar, for The Recognisable, The Comfortable, Comforting and Secure.

The Unshallow Man sees all of this, sees Father

and looks still further beyond that to see 
The Differences, and finds Meaning in The Contrast.

Saturday, 13 July 2019

The Secret Origin of Professor Mysterio S. Darko

Theorising the one could Time Travel as a means of escaping the terminal collapse phase of an imploding MicroUniverse,

SuperHero Donald S. Darko of Earth-833 Quantum-flipped himself straight into the path of a plummeting 16-Ton Stainless Steel Rolls-Royce 747-Boeing ChangeEngine – and VANISHED!

He awoke to find himself rudderless, and adrift in The Multiverse,

Facing Mirror Universes that were NOT his own, 

And Driven by a seething resentment to visit righteous vengeance and just retribution upon entitled,  millionaire Borderline man-babies, with narcissistic expression, and regular drink to FAR in Excess of what might be considered (perhaps) to be possibly considered safe, far too often, and to an extent that could only be described in terms that either meet or superceed the level of 'frighting' or 'alarming'....

His only Guide on His Journey is Frank,

A Conjured Avatar of his own Highest Truth, and Telemetry relay'd Down Through Channels From Kether to Malkuth

Who Appears in The Form of a 6ft. Bunny-Rabbit That Only The Donald can See and Hear –

And So, Professor Mysterio Darko finds himself phase-shifting from reality to reality,

Everywhere forcing it's Knights of Most Mournful Countenance to confront their Dark-Reflected Shadow-Self w. Shield of Truth and Black Mirror'd Armour –

And Hoping, Each Time, in Taking a Fool's Leap into The Next World –

To Make Wine from Your Tears

I Told You

That He Could Fly –

Because Moms Always Have Drapes to Spare

But Some of Us,

Don't Know WHY

Sunday, 26 May 2019


Well, he was Borderline for a while —
Then he crossed The Border.

Jordan Peterson - Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD)

Loyalty really isn't high on your list.

Oh, is that right? I'll have you know I am damn loyal, dumbass.
(crosses her arms)

(walks slowly, painfully toward her)
You betrayed me. You are betraying me now, even as we are talking.

(raising her voice)
Because you never have any confidence in me.

No, because you have no soul.

I would if you had confidence in me.


"By his own approximation, Bob assassinated Jesse James over 800 times.

He suspected no one in history had ever so often or so publicly recapitulated an Act of Betrayal.

Bob always challenged the allegations of cowardice... but Charley seemed to agree with them.

He spoke of Mrs. Zee James as certain priests might The Madonna, and composed long soul-describing letters to her, begging her forgiveness... 
none of which he mailed.

Charley Ford became all that his countrymen wanted an assassin of Jesse James to be."