It’s raining, it’s dirty, and I have stuff to say. I just watched IT chapter 2 and it got me thinking. Do irrational childhood fears really stay with you for the rest of your life? I know we forget about all of it, but do we really? I mean, how the hell are clowns supposed to be funny? When I look at a clown, I see an underpaid human being dying inside. They might actually be happy people, but that’s just the way I choose to view them. Maybe my eyes seek out pain even in laughter. Maybe they seek out bright colours. Maybe I am the clown.